Grr, Grammarly wouldn't work so this might have a few grammatical mistakes. This is a variation on the story I started before in Skyrim, but I got bored of writing a story that was already written so I added my own layer of narrative. Let me know what you guys think.
Fosul swayed through Lake view manor with book in hand, her tail brushing against the edges of tables and door frames as she walked into the small dining room at the back of her home. They never used the bigger table in the central hall of the house and only used it for cooking over the large fire, it was just too big for the two of them.
Darkness from the chilled skyrim night seeped in through the windows, barely held off by a handful of fitfully burning candles. She sat at the round table in the center of the small room and brought a candle nearer, her eyes glowed with a powerful focus in the near dark but her pointed ears we constantly swiveling and searching for sound, particularly from directly above her, where her daughter slept.
Fosul simply sat at the table for a moment. It had been less than a month since she had move in here with Jeana. Less than a month since she had received the letter that changed her life. From begging on the streets of Cyrodiil to living in a veritable palace was quite the jump, but apparently she'd had a well to do relative, and when she'd died she left this house to Fosul. A courier had dropped a last will and testament and a title deed to a house in Skyrim. The poor man was sure he was lost, picking his way through the filthy backstreets of the the Imperial city to find a khajiit with matted fur and ragged jute cloth clothes to deliver an inheritance worth more than most kings.
Fosul idely scratched a claw into the iron binding around the edge of the table. At first she had been only grateful for the chance that her and Jeana had been given, but now after they'd settled in she couldn't avoid the nagging curiosity. Who was this relative? How had she amassed such a wealthy estate? Fosul eyed the trapdoor entrance to the cellar, she had never seen anything like it, not in all her years.
Without the constant need to beg for food or money, Fosul found herself with a great deal of free time; she spent her days searching her new home while Jeana went for walks in the countryside. Digging through the library tower she came upon a set of homemade books. Over a dozen plain, wood bound books without a title tucked away in the sturdy weather proofed chest sitting atop the tower. She'd had to break the lock to get into it - the only skills she had in life had been scholarly - but when she opened it and leafed through the pages a hiss of satisfaction rushed through her jaws. A journal. The previous occupant had written a journal, and a rather substantial one at that. That night she had leafed through them, deciding she would have to read them in depth to fully sate her curiosity.
Now she sat and stared at the cover. Jeana was abed and the rest of the volumes were tucked away in the cellar, where her daughter would never find them. Jeana… The young Nord girl was the only family she'd ever known. Fosul found her in the imperial city when they both had been a great deal younger. Fosul scowled absently and scratched a patch of fur on her face that even without a mirror she knew was graying. They had taken care of each other through the worst life threw at them, and then some. Jeana still muttered in her sleep. Fosul stayed up sometimes unable to sleep and listened to her daughter's pained dreams. The Aldmeri dominion had a lot to answer for, starting their 'Great War'
Fosul's belly rumbled, she smiled and padded into the central hall, a tangle of smoked meat strips hung over the fireplace, now only a broad bed of embers. Fosul took one down and buried the coals for tomorrow's fire. She shivered, she appreciated the lavish home and plentiful food, but the weather could be better.
Fosul went back to her table and her book, chewing the tough meat. Fosul took a deep breath, this is it, your questions will be answered, she thought.
She opened the book and began to read.
It's been so long since I've looked back on my life, so long since I've even given thought to how I came to be where I am now. I'm surprised it's as clear as it is, you might think these memories might be dull and hazed with age, but even now they are as sharp and clear as though it had happened this sunrise.
The clarity only runs so far, as much as I've tried, the time before my adventures in Skyrim are nothing but a dark murk in my mind. A strange contrast, don't you think? I can tell you the exact combination for every single dragon claw door in the entire province but for the life of me I cannot tell you who my own mother was.
So this is all I have left to do, I will recall with exact, painful perfection my entire known life. I will write for you what is likely to be one of the greatest stories you have ever read. (I do hope you can read, I truly have no idea what kind of person you will be.)
I woke up for the very first time on a wagon. My eyes opened slowly, as if they knew of the headache that would await me. The first thing I knew was lightning pain blasting through my eyes and scorching my mind. I groaned and tried to bring my hand up to my head. I frowned in confusion, I couldn't separate them. What? I thought. I twisted my wrists, trying to shake off whatever was binding my hands.
Sounds made my ears twitch. A man sitting across from me spoke, he had blonde, dirty hair and wore blue padded clothes. Through the bright haze of my headache I saw his lips move, but the sounds didn't seem to line up in my mind. They sounded perfectly familiar, yet utterly alien at the same time.
I shook my head. Two more men shared our wagon, one sat beside me and another diagonally opposite; the diagonal man looked ragged and worn, a man living rough. The man sitting beside me was almost the complete opposite, and wore fine black furs and even bound he held himself with a regal confidence of a man in power, his body and limbs looked powerfully built. The most curious thing about him, however, was the filthy rag stuffed in his mouth as a gag. The man across from me spoke again, but I didn't catch it. The ragged man snapped something bitter at the other two men. My head felt like it was full of cotton, my thoughts were slow, they lacked substance.
I looked at the passing countryside, two banks of untouched snow flanking a long track of ugly wet snow pounded into slush, ahead a half-dozen wagons like my own trundled along escorted by soldiers, a lot of them. Where am I? I thought. I closed my eyes, trying to remember how I got here. Nothing, blackness. That was worrying. Around me the men still talked save for the gagged one, he glared at the world with dark eyes.
The wagon convoy turned a corner slowly, bringing into view what I could only assume was our destination. A broad, squat fortress perched on a cliff top like an old toad. A whispering voice muttered in my ear. Check for drainage outlets, sightlines for wall patrols, infiltrate at night under new moons. Not something heard, more like the memory of a feeling. The wind shifted to blow over the fortress and up to the convoy, carrying the scent of unwashed men and horses under the crisp smell of winter air with smoke and hot steel filtered in over it all.
The wagons rattled over cobblestone and a sharply dressed man on horseback broke away from the front of the convoy to converse with a pair of dark robed elves. They spoke quietly but intensely. My ears twitched and swiveled to try and catch their words but between my still pounding head and the wind all I heard was whispers.
The convoy rolled further into the fortress, past a row of houses, families in rough wool clothes stood on porches and watched from shadowed door frames; children rushed out with an optimism and happiness reserved for the naive and the foolish, they darted in and out of the convoy's wagons with carefree abandon while their parents looked on with dark expressions. A barked reprimand from a soldier scattered the children, who were content with what fun they'd had and returned to their homes without trouble.
The wagons shuddered to a halt in a broad square, dozens of soldiers in unfamiliar dark red armour dotted the borders of it, in the center stood three people, two men and one woman. The first man was the sharply dressed man from before, his armour similar to the others but far more splendid, the woman wore bright orange robes and carried an air of loftiness about her. My mind was still mostly blank, I was not really understanding anything I saw, only experiencing things for what was essentially the first time; but even with a mind wiped clean, the second man in the center of the courtyard was unmistakable in his purpose. The dark giant of a man wore rough black clothes, sewn with links of chain and a rough leather hood, in his hands he carried a grim axe, a headsman's axe.
Fear flooded my chest and my tail quivered from stem to tip. A headsman? The driver shout at us, the other men stood and filed off the wagon. I stood shakily and followed, my thoughts began to clear, words around me began to make sense. My ears twitched and swiveled, catching snippets of conversation from all around the courtyard.
"I can't believe we finally caught him..."
"The wars about to take a change now."
"We'll be storming Windhelm in a month."
The men in front of me had their names read from a list by a kindly looking soldier, beside him stood a hard faced woman in steel armour who looked like she ate stones for the pleasant softness of them. The ragged man, Lokir, was a horse thief. The other two men, Ulfric was the gagged man and Ralof the man wearing blue. With my mind clear I could see that Ralof's blue clothes were worn over a chain link hauberk, a soldier's uniform judging by the identical garments worn by a handful of other prisoners that disembarked from the other wagons.
When their names were called the men moved on, waiting for the headsman's axe. Each man and woman wore a grim mask except Lokir. His face was fear carved on flesh, he shook head to toe, the voice from before whispered again, He's going to run, he'll run and he'll die.
"No! I'm not a rebel, you can't do this!" Lokir lunged past the guards and darted across the courtyard, barefeet slapping on cobble.
"Halt!" The armoured woman shouted at Lokir, the horse thief ignored her, taking an arrow's path straight towards the gate they'd come in. The woman scowled and raised a hand. "Archers!" Her arm dropped like like a felled tree and a trio of arrows lept into the air, slamming into Lokir's back with the sickening crunch of breaking bone and flesh.
My ears lay flat on my skull and my teeth bared as the sharp scent of blood sprang into the air. I tried not to hear the breath rattle through the man's throat as he died.
"Anyone else feel like running?" The armoured woman asked.
The line shuffled forward and I came to the front, the soldier carrying the list looked at me and scanned down the page then looked to the armoured woman. "Captain, there isn't a Khajiit on this list, what shall we do with her?"
The captain glanced at me as though she might look at a midden heap laid across her path, something unpleasant to be dealt with. "She's on the wagon she goes to the block," She grunted. The kind looking man turned back to me, "I'm sorry Khajiit, I'm be sure your remains are returned to Elsweyr." He spoke softly, almost sounding sad. "May I ask your name?"
"Muh…." my voice failed, I could think the words but my mouth could not produce them. "Nham?" What was my name? I tried to think, name, name, what was my name? A sound popped into my head, to this day I don't truly know if this was my name or if it was simply a collection of sounds that came to my haggard mind. "A..riin," I said slowly. "Ariin."
"Ariin?" The soldier jotted my name down on his list. "A pleasure to have met you Ariin." He nodded to me sadly, almost a short bow.
"Enough of that!" The captain snapped, "To the block!" She gave me a rough shove and I stumbled forward. I watched as a blue clothed prisoner from another wagon was lead to the black and forced to kneel. The woman in orange beside read some kind of rite for the dying. The headsman raised his axe, "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperial, can you say the same?" He sneered, then the blade descended.
I fought a wave of nausea, I could almost taste the blood on the air now, I looked at my compatriots, the men destined to die with me, or rather I with them. Their faces held nothing of fear, only stoic determination, faces that would hold their strength right to the end.
"Next, the cat!" The captain called. Someone behind me shoved me and I stumbled forwards again.
I'm not an animal, I grumbled to myself. I suppose insult added to execution shouldn't have bothered me, but it's the principal, you see. Cats have four legs, I have two.
I had thought the scent of viscera and dead had been strong before, I was not prepared for the scent of it when my snout was mashed into it. The executioner blithely kicked the corpse of the last prisioner to the side and forced my neck into the groove set in the chopping block; a small basket set on the other side still held the dead man's head. My tail thrashed and I fought down a wave of nausea again.
"What was that?" a soldier asked behind me. My ears flicked, the echos of….something still rang in the air, something grand.
"It's nothing, carry on." The man in splendid armour barked. I felt a foot press against my neck. I closed my eyes.
The world shook.
A sound like a drum the size of the sky pounded the air. the foot left my neck and I looked around wildly, the headsman was on his knees and every eye was fixed upwards, a look of fear and awe carved onto ever face in the courtyard.
A massive black dragon perched on a tower, peering down at the courtyard with I could only guess was curiosity. A silence stretched over everything, for a moment nothing moved, not the imperials, not the prisoners. "Dragon!" someone cried, breaking the silence and shattering its hold on us. The dragon drew a breath and a blast issued from its maw, fire streaked through the sky and stone rain tumbled down with droplets the size of tombstones falling among the scrambling people.
A hand seized my collar. "Get up Khajiit, those guards won't be distracted forever." Ralof hissed in my ear and hauled me to my feet, giving me a good push to get me going. I started to run, Ulfric beckoned us from the doorway of the tower opposite the one the dragon had landed on.
"Jarl! What is that thing?" Ralof asked. "Could the legends be true?" several other blue soldiers scurried in after me and hurried up the stairs to the next level
Ulfric had managed to ungag himself. "Legends don't burn down villages." He said darkly. His voice was a rich baritone, one that oozed power. "We need to move, now."
"Wha…" I tried to speak. "Whe...re?" I pointed several directions and shrugged.
Ulfric opened his mouth to speak, but the dull cracking of breaking stone interrupted him. I hear men scream and a deep bass voice. "Yool tor shul!" A wave of heat surged down the staircase. stone blacked and steamed almost to the bottom of the stairs. Ulfric and Ralof traded looks and bolted up the stairs.
A ragged hole in the side of the tower let in a frigid wind - thankfully - because the air inside stunk of burning flesh. My nose wrinkled and I was consumed with revulsion for a moment, the other two men were looking out of the hole; below a wood and thatch building burned, a gaping hole in the roof exposing the second floor of what might have been an inn once. Ralof looked back at me. "Think you can make the jump?"
"Yeh..." I nodded. I took a step back, careful to avoid the smoldering corpses, and sprinted three full steps before launching myself through the air. For a moment I felt weightless, snow seemed to drift like sand in water. The pads of my paws slammed into the wooden second floor of the burning building and I rolled instinctively to break my momentum. I looked back and waved, the floor was hot under my feet, but stable.
One of the other blue coats leapt out to follow me. He was halfway across the gap, still in the air, when a black blur swept down and the man vanished, only to reappear several moments later as a screaming meteor falling to Nirn.
"Gods! Get back!" Ralof shouted from the tower. He wasn't following and I couldn't' stay in the building, the fire below was quickly heating through the floor and the linen wraps around my paws did little to shield them. I quickly hopped across the building until the floor gave way. I dropped down and poked my head out the door, eyes on the sky and ears straining for the sound of black wingbeats.
"Still alive Ariin?" The kind looking soldier asked from up ahead, although truth be told he no longer looked overly kind or sad. He held a broad bladed shortsword and lead a troop of men protecting a group of villagers, scooping up a young boy just as dragonfire would have consumed him. "Gunnar, take care of the boy, I need to find general Tullius and join the defense." He let the boy down at the gaggle of civilians, he dashed to the open arms of a man and woman, they clutched each other tightly as tears made streaks in the ash on their faces.
One of the Imperial soldiers nodded and began to herd the civilians to safety. "Gods guide you Hadvar." he said. I looked at the soldier and at Hadvar. Men aren't looked up to like that if they're bad people, are they? The legion had just tried to have me executed, but this man seemed well enough. Confusion added another layer of darkness to an already clouded mind.
Hadvar led me behind some houses; we dashed through a back alley of some kind, dodging dragon fire as best we could then emerging into another courtyard through the wreck of a burned and smashed house. The courtyard was a battlefield; men screamed as spells and arrows lanced up into the sky, most disappeared into the bright white above and what few that landed struck hard black scales like pebbles against steel plate.
Fear pounded my chest. There was nothing to do but run, men clothed in blue and red alike died in droves as the black dragon swooped down with claws or swept the ground with fire. Flaming stones still fell from the sky to crush the unaware, I saw two men aim arrows at me, with my prisoner rags and bound hands I'm sure I made a likely target, just before they loosed they disappeared in a splash of stone and flames.
I put it all out of my mind, the screaming, the heat, the smell of cook flesh; I put everything out of my mind and I ran. I found the other end of the courtyard in a relative peace, the dragon was busy terrorizing the men behind us. The meat of the Fortress stood over us, a dark angular block of stone and mortar that was crumbling in more than one place. Hadvar made for the far door.
"Come on, the barracks is just through -" His eyes narrowed. Ralof had vaulted over a pile of rubble, taking an arrow's path to another door.
"You can't stop us!" Ralof barked. "You!" He jabbed a finger at me, "You would throw in with the men who tried to execute you? Come with me!"
I hesitated, just for a moment; I could choose, a rather novel sensation for me at the time, so I did what I thought was the only truly sane thing to do. For all of Hadvar's kindness and bravery, the empire still tried to have me killed. The fellows in blue had been with me from the beginning. I dashed inside the fortress with Ralof and the swinging wooden door shut out the chaos behind.
Fosul scratched her chin. Dragons. She had heard some of the nords talking about dragons when she'd made her way up here, utter nonsense. Everyone knew that the dragons had been gone for centuries. "Although…" Fosul ran a thumb over the pages of the book. Maybe it wasn't as ridiculous as it sounded.
Fosul glanced at the candle, it still had plenty of wick left. She flipped back to the page she'd left on.
I looked at the dead body. She wore the same armour as Ralof, quilted fabrics and leathers over chainmail. The major difference was that hers was caked in blood, a loose stone had tumbles from the ceiling and cracked her skull. Her eyes were pale and already beginning to cloud in death. I shivered, it was cold even inside, but that wasn't the reason for my shaking.
Ralof shouldered past me to check on the hallway further in, torches blazed at irregular intervals to give off shoddy light.
"You'd best gear up lass," Ralof nodded to the dead woman. "She will not be needing it."
I gritted my teeth and stripped the woman as quickly as I could, trying my best to ignore the the fit was less than perfection. Nords tend to be larger than Khajiit in….certain areas; but it was clothing. The woman had a roughly made hand axe and a leather strap in her belt - my belt - as well as a similarly made dagger. I picked up the axe and slipped it through the loop and stuck the dagger in my belt.
"Are you ready?" Ralof asked. I nodded, still not trusting my mouth to speak. Ralof ushered me into a circular room. "This next room is clear, but I think I heard voices." he nodded to the left. Ralof stepped softly, obviously preferring to avoid a fight in this instance. I followed suit, keeping my paw light on the ground and keeping to the shadows. Ralof looked sideways at me. "You look like a natural, girl. You have any experience.?" We went through a metal bar door and down a broad set of stairs.
"I...Dhn kno." I mumbled, looking down at my feet. "hed...blnk" my lips were still clumsy around words, but I was getting better.
We reached the bottom of the stairs and entered a wide hallway. Two steps into it a might crashing brought a shower of rock and dirt down, completely blocking it off.
Ralof pointed to a side door and looked over again. "You take a hit to the head lass?"
I ran a hand over my skull, nothing caught my attention. I shrugged.
"Alright, going light on the conversation." Ralof whispered, opening the door just a crack to peek into the room. He jerked back as though stung, his hand snapping down to his own axe. "Two imperials, can you fight?"
I pulled the axe out of the loop in my belt and nodded. Either way I'm about to find out, I thought. The axe felt heavy and clumsy in my hand, I twisted my grip on it nervously. I shared a look with Ralof and nodded, the nord raised a booted foot and slammed it into the door.
The pair pour through the door and into some kind of dining room or kitchen. Two imperial soldiers stood on the far side, arguing about something. They both turned with surprised looks on their faces at the crash of the door and drew weapons when they saw who it was. "Stormcloaks!" One shouted and brandished a greatsword before charging, the other drew a broadsword and grimaced, joining his partner in his charge.
I barely had a moment before they were on us. Ralof took the one with the greatsword, trading blows like the veteran soldier he seemed to be. The man with the broadsword fell into a defensive posture and waited, he grinned and spun the blade in a circular arc at his side.
I held my axe before me, trying not to tremble. The soldier advanced with a wide swing across my chest. I swung wildly, my axe blade struck the sword with a warped 'clang' and tossed the blade back and stumbling my opponent. My axe was flung sideways as well, throwing me off balance by several steps. I barely managed to keep my grip on the axe's handle. The imperial recovered quickly, bringing his blade back into form with practiced ease. I dragged my axe in front of me, warily trying to keep it between me and the sword as much as possible. The soldier attacked, more cautiously than before, testing the waters. I tried to maneuver axe to block but I was too slow, too clumsy. Imperial steel scored two hits along my arm, hot blood sent streamers down to my hand.
The weight of the axe dragged on my hand, made wet by blood. I glanced to the side. Beside me Ralof still held his ground against the greatsword, dodging and weaving around the blade more than directly stopping it, even then he only tried to push the blade off course with his axe.
Ok, I thought. Don't block directly. The Imperial made a sharp thrust to my chest, I danced backward and batted the flat of the blade with my free hand. My claws scraped noisily on the steel as my opponent stumbled, just for a fraction of a second I saw an opening in his defense. I flexed my fingers but the moment had passed. The soldier brought his sword back into form again, still cautious, he'd assumed I was an easy mark.
For a few moments we traded blows again, his attacked were precise and sharp, another gash was opened on my side but it was shallow. I was beginning to slow, his attacks came like lightning. A grin stretched his lips, he had me, he would kill me and then turn to Ralof. He was good, but not good enough for two men at once.
The imperial's eyes blazed and he made a final thrust at my chest. This time his attack came at my other side, my axe slammed sideways on the blade and swung it wide, before he could recover my free hand shot forward and my claws dug into the unarmoured flesh at his neck. With a savage pull blood poured over my hand and wrist and my opponent fell with a wet gasp. Beside me Ralof delivery a savage punch to the chin of his opponent, the man fell back with a groan and Ralof quickly dropped a killing blow.
We shared a look, blood still pounded in our ears and the room was filled with out laboured breathing. "You alright lass?" He asked with a wide grin. "Nothing like a good fight to remind you you're alive, eh?"
I looked at my blood soaked hand and the axe. My mind was a wild blur, I tried to smile, but from the look on Ralof's face it might have looked more like a snarl.
"You're looking a bit hurt there lass." Ralof gestured to my wounds with his axe before sheathing it at his side. "Why don't we check a few of these here barrels for something to take the edge off." As the big nord set to searching I was viscerally reminded of my wounds, pain flared on my left side and arm. I hissed in a breath and joined in the search.
After several moments I found a cluster of red bottles stashed at the bottom of a barrel, under a bunch of straw and a bushel of apples.
"Take a swig," Ralof nodded to me when I held the bottles up.
The fluid inside the bottles was thick, almost like honey and the colour of bright blood; it had a strange taste, almost absent, I swallowed quickly. As soon as the potion entered me I felt a warmth spread from my belly, the heat rose over my limbs and I watched in awe as my wounds slowly began to stich themselves closed. tendrils of flesh reached across the gap to wind themselves around opposite partners. Inside a minute the wounds were gone, ever my fur had grown over, the skin was tender, but utterly untouched. I smiled.
"You right again?" Ralof asked me. I nodded. "Good." He pointed to the axe still in my hand. "That looks a bit big for you lass, might think of changing it to something lighter. Try a sword or a dagger." He opened a door carefully and peeked out.
I looked at the axe in my hand, then I remembered the dagger. I slipped the axe in its loop and pulled out the small blade. It felt good in my hand, pulling it out I made a few practise swipes with it. It was light, quick, it felt...right. Finally, a real weapon. That tiny voice whispered. We can be safe with this.
Ralof looked at me, hand on his axe. "Worth a shot, I guess." He shrugged and waved me to follow. I crept along behind him, hand on my dagger. We moved further down, broad flights of steps taking us deeper into the fortress. After a stretch of silence the sounds of combat leached into the air, we shared a look and hurried forward. We followed a stairway into an open room lined with cages, the half dozen men in the room engaged in a furious melee and one of the imperials crackled with energy as lightning sprang from his hand. Ralof and I surged into the fray, my dagger took one of the imperials by surprise, the one wielding a spell swung his hand to me.
"Argh!" My body convulsed and my grip on my weapon went slack, my dagger clattering to the floor. The mage grinned and pulled his own dagger. I forced my still shaking limbs to move, I stepped sideways and snatched up my weapon, swinging it in a blind slash. The blade ground against something and the man fell. I looked down at him, a ragged slash across his throat leaked blood onto the cold stone floor.
For a second I was alone in the battle, the sounds of steel crashing against iron and wood were muted, distant. I looked at the slash across the fallen man's throat and the dagger in my hand. "Luck." I whispered. It was the first word I said clearly. "You can't beat bloody luck." It had the ring of familiarity to it, as if my mouth had said those words many times before. I stood and turned to the continuing fight.
The Imperials were now sorely out-numbered, along with losing their mage they quickly fell. "Everybody alive?" Ralof called out.
"Yeh" I barked a response, still not trusting my voice as far as words. The stormcloaks were getting to their feet and tying wounds, Ralof was going to the others and talking quietly while I searched the area for anything useful. A knapsack help a book and a few lockpicks. I tossed the book aside and walked to the cages. I inserted the pick and began to fiddle with it, not really knowing what I was doing at all. I broke two picks trying to open the first cage, and another on the next. I did gather a spell book and a set of robes from a dead mage however, the robes tingled under my fingertips, must be enchanted, I reasoned.
"You coming lass?" Ralof asked, gathering at the passageway further into the keep. I nodded and joined him. We traveled in a small knot, only four of us in all. My ears twitched and swiveled, keeping a vigil for approaching enemies, before long we ran into another group of imperials.
I caught snatches of the soldiers talking about finding another way out, I threw an arm out and we cautiously emerged into a large room. They spotted us and their quiet words became a battlecry. We charged. Now armed with an even smaller weapon, I tried to focus on dodging blows rather than blocking them, and for a time I was very nearly successful; an arrow whistled through the air and clipped my ear just as I tried to twist away from an imperial sword, the arrow produced only a flicker of pain but it set my dodge askew and I gained another mark on my skin, a shallow gash on my shoulder.
Imperial archers drew and loosed as fast as they could. I slipped around my sword wielding opponent to keep him between me and the arrows. He feinted, I took the bait and received yet another wound, on my leg. But it was not without gain as my dagger slipped in under the man's swordarm armpit and he fell, weapon clattering to the stone floor. Exposed, I darted as fast as I could across the large room, one of the archer's aim trailed me and send two arrows winging my way, I weaved around them and was soon within arms reach. The archer threw down his bow and struggled to draw a sword from his waist, too late. I crashed into him and slammed my blade into his neck with a scarlet spray that reached my snout. A startled cry from the other archer alerted me and I barely managed to avoid an arrow, which put a slice across my ribcage instead of burying itself in my chest. I growled and launched myself forward as fast as I could. The second archer learned from his comrades mistake and drew his sword as soon as he loosed his last arrow, he held his blade up defensively. I struck to his left with a savageness that surprised the both of us, he gasped and fell back while a tiny portion of my mind watched in awe mixed horror at my body's actions. My continued attacks to his left side kept his right open, I swiped my claws forward and made deep furrows across the man's face, when he recoiled in pain I planted my dagger in his neck.
I stood over the dead men, my breath coming in ragged bellows and my heart pounding in my ears. The sound of boots behind me spun me around, my dagger raising and a snarl on my lips.
"Gods lass!" Ralof held his hands up non-threateningly. He and the other stormcloak that survived looked at me in fear. "Are you alright?" The other stormcloak peaked out from behind Ralof, not wanting to get closer.
I relaxed, my heart was still loud in my head. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, a fog that I had not noticed falling over me lifted. "Yes," I said, as intentionally and clearly as I could. I opened my eyes and nodded, my breath slower and my heart quieter. "Yes." I placed a hand on my head. "Good."
Ralof looked at the two archers I'd killed. He reached down and stripped a bow from one and the arrows from both. "Why don't you try using this eh?" He held the bow out to me. "Might be to your liking. I hesitantly reached out for the bow; a rough and simply wooden bow, not as long as my arm span clawtip to clawtip. I shouldered the leather quiver and tugged on the string. No! Use the dagger, get in close and feel your opponent's blood on your hands! That tiny voice was not so tiny anymore, it roared at my mind in brutal anger. I looked down at a puddle of water at my feet. The blood was on my face, it seemed to coat it like a mask. I frowned at the thought. I shook my head. "No, Blood not mask." I said to myself.
Ralof shared a worried look with his partner. "Alright?" He asked uncertainly. I looked up and nodded, "Yes." I tried to smile, Ralof and the other jerked back. I quickly dropped it. "Good." I bowed slightly in stead.
"Good then," Ralof said, "We'll be off then." He set off and walked ahead of me. "Archer in the middle, Grel, watch our backs." We slowly made our way forward, finding a lever controlled bridge-
"Fosul?" Jeana's dark hair hung in a loose braid for sleeping, she seemed unfazed by the cold skyrim air despite only wearing a thin shift.
Fosul looked up from her book. "Jeana, why are you up so early?" She asked worriedly. Jeana needed all the sleep she could get. Even thought Nord woman was younger by quite a bit, she was still taller, Fosul had to crane her neck to look at her 'daughter's' face.
Jeana nodded to the glowing windows. "The sun is rising, mother," she said wryly. "It is hardly early."
Fosul looked at the candle, it had burned down to the base a while ago, she must have used her night-eye without realizing. "Gods…" She muttered, dragging her hands over her face. "Indeed it is." She smiled up at Jeana.
Jeana tilted her head to look curiously at the book on the table, "You were up all night, what were you reading?"
"Nothing in particular," she lied. "Catching up on current events from around the empire." Fosul didn't want Jeana reading this, it might giver her ideas. Gods know she's already adventurous enough. Fosul already had spoken to her about wandering off, warning her of bears, bandits, and wolves. lucky Jeana was as concerned with the goings on of an empire as Fosul was with adventuring and being in danger. Books held quite enough, thank you kindly.
"So have you decided?" Jeana asked eagerly, sitting down and pulling a brush through her now unbraided hair.
"Decided?" Fosul twitched an ear.
"On whether or not we can go into town!" Jeana exclaimed. "Its been weeks and we've barely seen a soul in Skyrim yet!" She crossed her arms, "and don't say we did on the trip up, we both know that doesn't count!" She added hotly.
Fosul sighed, She'd forgotten. She promised Jeana that they might head into one of Skyrim's cities for supplies and anything else they'd noticed they needed. Fosul sighed again. she couldn't think of a good reason to not go, and she suspected Jeana was getting to the point where she might go on her own soon, better to have them both go. "Fine, yes, bring me a map." She waved tiredly. Jeana dashed away and returned suspiciously quick with a rolled map in her hands, she spread it out on the table using the book and the candlestick to weight the opposite corners.
"We're here." Jeana pointed to a house symbol near the bottom of the map, situated between two mountains. "It looks like we're halfway between here, and here." She pointed to a similar house symbol labeled 'Riverwood', and a symbol of a stylized buck wreathed in knots labeled 'Falkreath'.
"hmmm." Fosul considered. she couldn't tell which was closer. "I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it?"
"Riverwood does sound like a nice place."
Fosul frowned, Riverwood, hearing it aloud made her shiver, and a dark cloud settled over her mind. No, that wasn't a place she wanted to go. "No, let us go to Falkreath instead." Saying the second place held no dark feelings, it was safe. "It is closer and larger, more likely to have what we need." Her voice sounded stiff in her ears.
"But-" Jeana began.
"No!" Fosul snapped. "We are going to Falkreath, get dressed, I want to leave before the sun is fully risen."
Jeana hung her head. "Alright." She turned and walked up the stairs morosely.
Fosul watched her daughter leave, making sure she was definitely all the way upstair and out of eyeshot before she scooped the book up and knelt at the trapdoor to the cellar. Producing a thick key, she thrust it into the heavy lock and twisted sharply. Holding the book tightly, she slipped down and let the door back down gently.
The cellar was dark, lit by a handful of torches that never seemed to loose their fire or make any smoke, the walls were lined with weapons and armours enough to arm a small army and the entire room was centered on two mannequin stands, each wore a set of armour and held a weapon in it's hands.
The first was a complex suit of white plate armour, it glowed faintly in the dim light and scrollwork trailing down the edges seemed to move when she wasn't looking at it directly; the suit was topped with a dark hood and thick face mask of metal carved with hard, angular lines. This mannequin held a long bow, of a substance Fusol could not identify, it felt as porous as wood or bone but was a hard as steel ten times over. The second set was far more strange, however, in that it was utterly plain. Normal, unadorned steel plate armour hung from wooden shoulders and a sturdy steel sword lay sheathed at it's belt.
When she touched the steel her fingers buzzed, it was infused with magic to the brim, so much so she was surprised it wasn't quivering on its own. Strangest of all a small bundle of flowers lay before the steel boots. Lavender, a variety of mountain flower along with a handful of others she didn't recognize tied together. They were beautiful, collected and arranged with a loving hand that cared more than could be measured by the minds of men or mer. Those flowers had remained bright and colourful since she'd arrived here; she had no doubt that they would keep their luster for as long after the last elder scroll was deciphered and read.
Fosul stashed the book on a shelf and made for the door. making sure to lock the cellar door securely. She would have to hurry herself if she wanted to be presentable for their trip into the city.