Skyrim: The Rising Dark
On the night of the twenty-seventh day of Last Seed, in the 207th year of the Fourth Era, an Imperial Legionary cursed his luck.
His name was Cassius Valentius and he cursed his luck over and over again as he shivered in the cold. He was from the Gold Coast, born in a small village just north-west of Anvil, where his family had raised horses. However being the second son he'd have had nothing to inherit so instead he'd joined the Imperial Legion on his eighteenth birthday. Seven years later, here he was, stuck on a gods-forsaken mountainside somewhere north of Cheydinhall, in the middle of a moonless night, guarding a hunting lodge.
"Fucking rebellion." He thought to himself as cold wind from the north scoured his face. "Fourth Legion couldn't hold one damned province and now I'm here, babysitting."
After Skyrim had fallen to Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebels five years ago, those of Skyrim's Jarls who had stayed loyal to the Empire had come south, at the invitation of Emperor Titus Mede II. If they came, the Emperor'd said, they would be treated with the respect they deserved as true and loyal servants of the Empire. They would be kept in circumstances fitting to their former stations and protected. Which meant footsloggers like him, good soldiers with fire in the bellies and strong sword-arms, were now stuck looking after half a dozen nobles and their families.
Officially the Penitus Oculatus, the Emperor's bodyguards, were in command of Operation: Babysitting, but he'd not seen one of those bastards up here, freezing their asses off in the Valus Mountains. How the Nords stood this cold he'd never understand.
"And I just had to get this assignment didn't I?" Cassius thought, trying to edge closer to the nearby brazier. "Ancus gets to look after another one of these nobles down in the Niben Valley, while I'm stuck here in the coldest bit of Cyrodiil."
At that moment he heard a horse whinny out in the dark.
"Who goes there?" He called out, hand falling to his sword.
"A friend." A voice answered. From the familiar accent, Cassius could figure out the rider was from the Gold Coast as well.
"What's the pass-phrase?" He demanded, sticking to regulations.
"Stendarr's Light." The rider replied.
Letting his hand fall from his sword-hilt, Cassius answered. "Pass, friend."
With that the rider approached, afoot and leading his horse by the reins. He was a tall man, and though not large carried himself with a sense of well-honed muscular power. As he drew closer and the fire illuminated him, Cassius' eyes widened as he saw black armor of leather and steel and the purple tunic beneath.
"Pentius Occulatus." His mind told him. "And not just any, a damned Praetorian. Emperor's own guard."
Then his eyes caught sight of the crested helmet that hung from the saddle horn of the black stallion the Praetorian was leading; the crest was the black and purple of a Tribune. Immediately he snapped to attention.
"Sir." He said, performing the customary salute: fist over heart, then arm extended, hand flat and facing the ground.
"At ease soldier." The Tribune said, at which Cassius relaxed. Walking up next to the brazier, the man pushed back the hood of his purple riding cloak. He was an older man, his short cropped hair and beard more grey streaked with black than black streaked with grey. He had a typically Imperial appearance; tanned skin with an aquiline nose. A pair of dark eyes looked out from under a heavy brow. His sword, Cassius noticed, was an impressive piece; the hilt of white ivory, scored to provide grip, and the pommel shaped like the head of a bird.
Holding his hands over the fire to warm them, the Tribune spoke again. "I am Praetorian Tribune Marius Corvus, Penitus Oculatus." He looked at the younger soldier. "Yourself?"
Cassius gave the response promptly, still keeping his eyes on the inky darkness before him. "Legionary Cassius Valentius, sir. Tenth Cohort, Seventh Legion."
"The Seventh?" Tribune Corvus said, nodding. "Good men. My father served in the Seventh during the Great War. Fine group of men."
"Best in the whole Legion sir." Cassius replied, suppressing a grin.
"Indeed." Tribune Corvus answered, smiling. "Anyway, I'm inspecting the various places the northern Jarls are staying. Making sure everything's going smoothly."
"Very good sir." The legionary answered.
"And?" The older man asked.
"Sir?" Cassius replied, turning to look at the officer.
"Is everything going smoothly?"
"Oh!" Cassius exclaimed. "Yes sir. Everything's fine, all's quiet."
"Good, good." The tribune said. "And how're the Jarl and her family doing?"
"Jarl Idgrod stays abed most days sir, combination of age and she's still mourning her husband." Cassius answered, to which Corvus raised an eyebrow.
"I thought he died in the rebellion." He said. "Killed by her bodyguard when he tried to stop him running away when the Stormcloaks came."
"He did sir." Cassius explained. "But I suppose her grief cuts deep." He didn't want to say it, but Jarl Idgrod had always been, odd. Talk of visions and seeings and all that.
"And her children?" Corvus asked.
"Her son and daughter wander around the valley most days, sir. We keep an eye on them, no trouble."
"Good man." Tribune Corvus said, before donning once more the hood of his riding cloak. "Well then soldier, I'll be going."
"You don't need to speak to the Jarl, sir?" Cassius asked, again confused.
Tribune Corvus shook his head as he put a foot in one of his stirrups. "No, no. No sense getting her up at this hour. I should be back in a month."
"Very well, sir." Cassius said as the Praetorian swung himself into his saddle. The Penitus Oculatus sure had odd practices.
At that moment, a terrible, bone-chilling wail echoed from the hunting lodge. In an instant the Praetorian was off his horse, sword drawn. Cassius followed him as he burst into the hunting lodge. Rushing through the main hall, the two men ran up the steps of the grand staircase. From the doors that lead to the small garrison's sleeping quarters the other guards, most of them only wearing bedclothes, emerged and joined them. None of the other men even questioned the Tribune's presence, needing only to see his armour to know he was in command.
"The Jarl's room?" Corvus demanded as they ran.
"This way sir." Cassius answered, taking the lead.
As the group of Imperial soldiers piled into the corridor that held the rooms of the Jarl and her family, they saw her daughter, Idgrod the Younger, hammering at the door to the Jarl's bedchamber, whilst a young boy simply stood in the doorway of the room opposite, a vacant stare on his face. She turned to the men, her eyes wide and frantic.
"Mother cried out, but the door's locked from the inside." She explained, tears of desperation pricking at her eyes. "Please, you've got to help her!"
"Stand aside, miss." Tribune Corvus said, sheathing his sword.
Not even questioning him, the young woman stepped aside, which allowed both he and Cassius to take positions in front of the door. Rolling his shoulders, the Tribune looked over at the younger soldier, who nodded. Together they slammed into the door, their metal armor clashing against the oak. After three tries the door gave way as the lock was forced from its socket and the entire group of people piled into the room from which the blood-chilling wail had emanated.
The Jarl was in a terrible state; she was laying in her bed as stiff as a board, the sheets thrown against the far wall. Her hair was disheveled, her mouth half open and her eyes gazed seemingly unseeingly at the ceiling above her. She was not dead though, for all could see the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. However she did not seem to even notice as half a dozen armed Legionaries, as well as her daughter, burst into her room.
Idgrod the Younger, understandably shocked at her mother's condition spoke first.
"What's wrong with her?" She asked, eyes darting around to meet those of her guards. "This has never happened before."
"I don't know, miss." Cassius said, staring at the stricken Jarl though keeping a hand out to stop the young noblewoman from dashing forward, in case there was anything dangerous.
Walking around to the other side of the bed, Tribune Corvus looked down at the woman on the bed.
"Jarl Idgrod?" He said, casting his eyes over her form, looking for wounds, signs of a struggle, anything. "Can you hear me?"
There was no response. The Jarl just lay there, staring up at the ceiling.
Deciding to try another approach, Corvus reached out, intending to see if physical contact could rouse the Jarl. But just as he was about to touch her arm, the Jarl's aged hand shot out and grabbed onto the black steel of his bracers with almost impossible swiftness and strength. Such was the speed of Jarl Idgrod's response that the Praetorian's other hand nearly went for his sword.
Then, with a voice as dry and rasping as a death rattle, the Jarl called out, her eyes changing, rolling back so only the whites were visible.
"The forgotten enemy returns, from deep within the bones of the Old Kingdom. It returns and death follows it, death to the children of Atmora. Death for the acts of the dead."
Then the old Jarl's grip slackened, her hand fell from Corvus' wrist to lie slack against the bed and the light faded from her eyes. There, in a hunting lodge far from her true home, Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone breathed her last.
For a moment, all was quiet as those assembled took in what just happened. It was if time had paused for a brief moment as they all silently looked down on the now deceased Jarl, whose final moments had been so disturbing. Then that moment passed; Idgrod the Younger ran to her mother's side, tears streaming down her face as the grief began to hit her. The soldiers shot uneasy glances at each other, before Tribune Corvus moved past them, leaving the room. Then turning, he addressed the legionaries.
"You'll stay here to protect the Jarl's family." He ordered, bringing them all to attention. "I'll ride to the Imperial City and inform the Emperor and the Elder Council of what has happened."
"Yes sir!" They all chorused.
However, a moment after the tribune left the corridor, Cassius ran after him, his mind wheeling from what he'd just saw; had it been Daedric possession, a true seeing, divine intervention? He caught the Praetorian just outside the lodge.
"Sir!" He called as the Tribune mounted his horse.
"Don't worry soldier." Corvus said, donning his plumed helmet. "I'll let it be known that you performed your duty to the best of your abilities. You won't be punished for this."
"Thank you sir," Cassius answered. "But that's not it."
"Then what?" The Praetorian asked as he wheeled his horse.
Fumbling for a better way to put it, Cassius just said it plain. "Just what in the name of the fucking Eight was that, sir?"
"I don't know." Corvus answered. Then he looked northwards, towards the border. "But if death is coming for the sons of Atmora, then the Nine save them."
Before Cassius could even question either the Tribune's response, or his use of the Nine, the Praetorian spurred his horse and was soon lost in the inky blackness from which he had come. Once again alone outside the lodge, with the embers in the brazier beginning to burn low, Cassius to turned his gaze north, towards Skyrim.
"Maybe it was good that we lost the province." He thought to himself as the wind howled around him, whipping at his cloak.