RAIN
It was raining for a while now, maybe a couple of hours. I felt as if this would turn out to be nothing, as real as I felt the raindrops hit my helmet and drip down the sides and into my uncovered face. For the past hours there I was laying down beside a tree, bow and arrow in one hand, and my waterskin in the other. The smell of rain, dirt and wet leaves was almost maddening, it was the only thing that I did for the couple of hours I was there, besides drink water, smell the fucking ground. The other thing that crossed my mind while I waited was to stick my axe in the skull of the oblivion-damned son of a diseased skeever that told me that my bounty was making camp with his band of highway robbers a day by foot from Falkreach. May his soul rot and never reach Sovengarde! I was almost, almost, cursing my own stupidity for believing that stupid potato farmer that said he was sure he saw a group of men and women wearing furs dyed red the last time he was out in the wood near the road gathering firewood. It was my own damned fault for thinking I could trust him, I should've known better, but my coin pouch was lighter than it should be, and I already spent too much trying to track them. Turning my back now would be no different than throwing the coin in the river. No, I had to catch them, that way I would recover my money and some. If only I hadn't believed that stupid son-of-a-shriveled-hagraven potato farmer.
As I was mid swearing that one arrow in my hand to the neck of the bastard, I finally hear the noise I was waiting two hours in the blasted rain: voices. I could discern at least two, they came from the east, talking loudly I could bet every septim on me that they were mindboggling drunk, drunk as a nord stuck in a mead cellar. What made me smile was, as they walked holding lanterns across the bridge above the road, which joined the old scaffoldings in each side of the mounds that rose above the ground I was able to see, even in that heavy rain, furs badly dyed in red. Still smiling from ear to ear I got up slowly and without making noise, bent to a knee and notched the arrow. The sound of the bowstring tensing as I pulled it back as almost as music, it was finally time to hunt.
I stared them down without ever blinking even when ungodly amounts of rain water poured from the helmet to my face, closing my eyes even for less than a second was a luxury that I would not indulge. A good hunter knows the value of a good shot and for that I had to wait eyes wide open. And it took less than I thought it would. They soon parted ways in the middle of the bridge, one walking to the open shelter build on the east side and the other standing still in the middle of the wooden bridge. I aimed carefully it was not a missed shot that guided my hand, but the desire to hit where I wanted to hit: straight to the neck.
The arrow flew without a sound, and hit without a sound piercing the nape of his neck. For a breathless while he stood grasping at the air and confused, more than in pain. A second arrow set it straight, through the back piercing the front, close to where the heart should be. Now I could only grin at thought of piercing his heart, no one would believe me if I told of that shot. I snapped back from the tavern tales back to the action. The woman was still walking, more stumbling than walking, but still headed to the other side where I could see what was probably a bow strung across a simple chair, an improvised lookout if you asked me. I started quickly and with care to not be seen or heard to the east side of the mound, passing my bow across my shoulder and back, the bowstring against the front of my armor. I could hear faintly even with my best cares the clink and clack of the steel of my armor as I rushed to the mound. I've lost count of the times I was called a fool for wearing that much steel, that it would be heard from miles away when I tried to sneak, the fools were them if they thought that an armor that went everywhere and hit itself every time you walked was fitted right. A good armor and well fitted to you will be silent and fell as a second skin, regardless of what it was made of. Finally, after reaching the wall, I started climbing fast, my heart pounding against my ribs and my ears focused on the sound of an approaching arrow that would strike my back. Thankfully it never came, before I could think more of the sound my armor made I was at the top, near to where the first victim of the night was lying in a pool of blood. Now I was moving even slowly, an arrow ready in the bow, eyes fixed on the other side of the bridge where now the women was sitting in the chair, a bottle of mead in one hand and the bow on the other, arrows scattered across the floor.
I reached the open shelter without any problem, thanking Talos each step of the way. Now, under the shelter I almost let a sigh of relief after so much time under the punishing rain. I could see clearly the poor sod that died by my hand, he wasn't unsightly even a bit handsome if he took a bath more than every time it rained. It was a shame, but I didn't admired him long, I reached to the bedroll in the corner and stuffed him quickly inside, and pushed the stuffed bedroll atop the small pool of blood. It wasn't a seamless job, but it would suffice if someone saw it from distance and that was enough. Only one of the arrows in the bastard was fine to use again, the bastard had strong bones I give him that, and now to deal with the other one. As I prepared another arrow, a gust of wind blew strong, strong enough to loosen the wet hair that I braided so it wouldn't come in the way of a shot. With winds as strong as that an arrow was no match; it would lose its way or be caught in a strong gust and lost but, fortunately, a strong wind also a good cover to the faint sounds of an armored assailant sneaking close with a hand axe in hand.
The bow went into the quiver and tied firmly with the arrows. With a quick motion the axe was unfastened from my belt and held in my hand. It was a familiar, almost comforting weight; it brought me back to memories of the days chopping wood in my father's farm learning to swing it to chop firewood correctly and learning how to swing if you wanted to take an arm, sweet memories from a past forgotten in ash and mist. I took off my backpack with my shield and quiver from my back and laid it on the ground, I could almost feel as I was walking in clouds, free of the weight. My steps were even quieter and my movements even more subtle, carefully choosing where to take each step and when to move as to no alert the target of my presence. The rain that I cursed so much was now a big grace from the Nine, hiding me in plain sight, no more than a few steps from the chair. I took silent and shallow breaths, a habit that was unnecessary in the current circumstances, but it would take a strong conscious thought to stop. The first blow went without a noise, digging deep in skin and bone, calling forth blood to pour down the poor woman and me. I took the axe from its resting place from her shoulder and struck her head with the same motion and technique to split firewood. Some would be amazed how well this technique translated to skulls, almost without flaw. She didn't had the time to express full shock, seeing that the two blows were in fast succession and spanned a little less than a couple of seconds. Her face was a mask of dumb shock still not fully realizing what had happened even after dead. It was a shame, really; her case was similar to the first victim, a pretty face and body hidden with so much dirt you would not believe.
I turned quickly back to me things and slung the across my back and strapped everything back to where it belonged. I gave a quick and silent prayer to Kyne as I walked to the spot of the forest whence they came, I asked for the tracks still to be recognizable, just enough to reach their hideout. And as soon as I saw them, I could not believe my eyes; they were still barely readable in the soft mud and even if I did not knew how to read tracks they had the courtesy of leaving a small trail of empty bottles stretching beside their trail. If the Crimson Bear found out that his lookouts were drinking their way into their posts and leaving a trail while at it, he would've slashed their throats were they stand. He should thank me for dealing with that for him, it was already past time we met to trade a few words.
KEEP
It took only a quarter of an hour for me to reach the end of the trail. While on the path the rain slowly stopped and the wind quieted down. The sky slowly opened and the stars shone but giving nothing but faint light and thankfully the moon was absent leaving the night dark as I need it to be. Against the sky I could see a small walled keep in ruins, hiding besides the tall trees. No banner flew against the barren walls, only a red coat of furs rested against the battlements above the doors leading into the inside patio. There were at least five guards patrolling the walls two walking with torches, two sitting in badly built open shelters bow in hand and one standing above the door. For a group of mostly uncultured barbarians it was a good defense, it would keep a small group from sneaking inside. It would not stop me but I had to give them praise where it was due. I watched and waited, eyes darting from a guard to the other, looking carefully to where they were looking, creating a path in my mind that would lead me close to the walls. Opportunity rose and I dashed, as quietly as humanly possible towards the walls only stopping when under the shadow of the battlements. I listened for a while before deciding that my dash went unheard.
The next part was the tricky one: to find another entrance. I stated shimming against the stone, looking carefully ahead to anything that looked like it could be made as an entrance be it a hole on the wall or a drain gate. After a while I found my entrance: a hole on the wall big enough for a man to pass through that they barred from the inside. It was on a good position, far away from the two posts and the exit. Once the guards were patrolling away from the hole I started moving things carefully. I mean it when I say that it was badly barred, if that could be called what they did. They put a pile of stones some small enough for a child to carry and none so big that one person couldn't carry. I worked while the guards were distant and stopped and listened when they were close. I have the impression that maybe it was protocol that every guard and patrolman on duty to be as drunk as he could be without passing out, as one of them almost fell right off the wall while trying to piss. It took a little less than ten minutes to clear the way enough that I could pass inside. Inside the patio were a few dozen of tents raised, people loudly sleeping away their problems, oblivious to me walking in between them. There were some covered braziers still lit, a little too close to some tents, close enough to give me an idea quickly stored for later. The walk to inside the keep went smooth as honeymead slid in your throat on a hot day, I didn't gave them time to even think if something was amiss.
The keep was small and had been receiving small repairs here and there, almost looking like a decent enough place to live. Through the walls echoed in equal measure snores and loud drunken shouts. I again placed my things on the first storeroom that I found, hidden behind some kegs of ale. Now with axe in hand I went explore the keep. Most of the rooms were being used for people to sleep, the few that were not were storerooms used for storing weapons and loot from past raids. In the middle of the keep there was a small dining hall where half a dozen sods were drinking and shouting and eating. So entertained by those activities they were that my passage went unnoticed. The path was clear to the end of the keep, where I knew the target was to be.
With little searching I found his bedroom, the last room at the end of the keep. The gods gave me a good path to his door and reaching the nob, turning ever so slowly a found it locked. I guess the gods could not give you everything on a platter; you had to fight and earn what you wanted. From my coin pouch I took five lockpicks, held four with my mouth and one in the hand opposite of the knife that I used on locks. My axe rested against the stone while I worked with an attuned ear for the noises that a learned to search, hands moving in careful and delicate movements. It took close to nothing to that old lock to give way and unlock the door. The five picks went back to the pouch and the axe back to my hand as I pushed lightly on the door.
The room was a perfect mess. Bottles of the most different shapes and sizes, even a keg, lied on the ground together with tapestry, coin, and an assortment of loot and food. On the other way of this labyrinth was the target, as big as a bear with red fur scattered across the bed and over at least two women that shared the bed with him all of the soundly asleep without a care in the world. Against the wood of the bed was a fine sword, the grip covered in the red furs that were his signature. I made my approach carefully to avoid making sound or stepping on something that would stick to my soles. Upon reaching the bed I gave a smile from ear to ear, there the fat bastard was his head worth at least two thousand septims if you asked to the right person, and with proof of death you could even pick up his bounty of three thousand septims; a son-of-a-fat-horker worth at least five thousand septims he was and it was high time that I should take that money.
With a sharp dagger I quickly slashed the throats of the two women. They tried to jerk away but quickly died while I held my hand over their mouths. Now with the axe I struck him with a powerful blow to the neck. As my axe landed in the middle of his neck his eyes burst open and before he could muster any thought about doing something a second blow severed his head from his body. Blood was everywhere, spreading that rusty smell in the air, the smell of money. Holding his head by the hair and his sword I made back to my belongings with the same ease that I did the path the other way around. After making sure that the bag the head was would not leak I put it inside the backpack, strapped it against my back and took my shield strapping it to my other hand.
Now it was the time for that idea that was stored when I came to the keep. I went to the storage and, after a quick clean-up of anything of value, found a barrel of oil that was quickly spilled on the said storage and then rolled around some spots of the keep. Now with a torch I ignited the oil trail and quickly went outside. Now running and not giving a broken septim to being silent I put as many tents I could find to the torch, and others I simply overturned the braziers on top of tents. It quickly became an unholy chaos. Weapons were drawn, arrows flew, I saw strokes coming and deflected with my shield all the while running my way back outside through the hole I entered. I quickly saw a man come in between me and my escape and I did not even gave that much thought. I put the shield in front of me, and put all my way behind it, aiming low at his hips. Upon contact I put all my strength and was able to throw him above my head screaming. I remember I was laughing the whole time. Another one, holding a sword tried to block my path and I met him with cold steel and death, hitting him on the top of the head after a jump. I lost some speed, but not enough for anyone to reach me, and before some even realized that their hideout became a living inferno I was running through the woods, sword and head worth enough coin for the spot of land that I've been dreaming of. This was a good hunt was the only thing I thought all the while running away, backpack slamming against my back and the light coin pouch bouncing almost lose inside the breastplate against my breasts. It were a good hunt indeed.
xxxxxxxxxxx-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim nor any of the things from the game here represented.