A/N: reading all the ranting about series is required to comprehend what is going on plus a daedra's promise.
. . .
"Hey, you."
"…"
"Fellow Breton, wake up." Whisper slowly opened his sleepy orbs with a slight yawn. The carriage he hired in whiterun was more than comfortable in the rocky paths of the reach. "We are nearly there; you'd better stay away from the silver bloods."
"Why?" Whisper asked the carriage driver with little interest.
"There have been some clashes with the imperials and the forsworn in the last couple of month. The city is in unrest pouring her resources to-" a forsworn arrow prevented further words as it punctured the poor lad's neck and exited from the other end. The troubled horse met the same fate with five more arrows fired from the dense fog around them. Whisper on the other hand survived another volley by using his driver's dead shell as a flesh shield.
"For the reach!" cried a forsworn warrior whilst charging at Whisper from behind. The Breton used the driver's corpse for the last time and threw it on the charger. His ebony dagger made a clear statement that he was not to trifled with as it slit the unbalanced forsworn in an instance.
"Who's next?! I will be dammed if my life ends here!" he looked left and right in the ring of fog around him expecting more to attack. Two sprouted from the fog: a shaman woman and another warrior with a mighty axe in his right hand and forsworn sword in his other.
"Let's dance." First was the shaman, she first bolts of fire and thunder till the dual wielder would tangle with Whisper. Of them, a bolt of shock sent a numbing sensation in his right leg while another bolt of fire scourged his daggerless arm. He grunted in pain but he eventually swallowed it. As expected, Whisper carefully dodged the unplanned vulgar attacks of his foe making sure he is always out of the shaman's reach. The side and back steps proved to be the key of outbesting his foe with ease; all whisper had to do was to wait for a window … an opening.
The forsworn axe stuck in the wooden carriage from an unlucky swipe. It was his last as Whisper plunged his dagger in the reach man's bare chest. Getting to the pesky shaman was rather easy, her magicka reserve were almost dry when he approached "P-please d-"
He gutted her open like a fish showing no remorse or pity. "I am sick of this foreplay, show yourself or begone!" he expected another wave of rage but instead he heard an echoing applause. From the fog, came a pale forsworn with his heart exchanged for a magical object… a Briarheart.
"Well done outsider, you showed courage in facing my men. Tell me, what brings you to the Reach?"
"Rage, revenge and redemption… among other things." He bluntly said then his wits tangled in his next sentence "And the false ruler of the reach: the Silverbloods."
"Oh?" the forsworn leader was taken aback by surprise "Then, we have much to discuss…."
. . .
The city was livelier and colourful from his last visit. Now it reeked of grimness and oppression from the authority. He hadn't caught a glimpse of a smile across the dwemer streets of Markarth. "Haven't I seen you before outsider?" a guard focused on Whisper's pale complexion.
"I doubt it; I am here to work for the Silverbloods. I heard that they would use a hand or two after the mine's collapse." The dark whispers in his minds started possess his thoughts.
"How did you- bah! Just mind your own business, outsider." The collapse had occurred only yesterday; that'd why the guardsman was confused.
'Rest assured, all will come to an end….'
. . .