The Reachman: The Temple is the third book in my series. Please read The Reachman: Prologue and Dayan's Riders or you won't understand the story!
1
3 Midyear 3E429, Fort Wooden Hand, Cyrodiil
"Remind me again why we just don't go in there and torch the place? It seems like an awful lot of work to steal vegetables."
"Not vegetables Alvar, Cinnabar Polypore and Steel Blue Entoloma Caps, Aloe Vera and Milk Thistle Seeds, but most importantly - Lady's Mantle Leaves."
"So…do you eat 'em?"
"They're ingredients stupid. You mix them together and make potions. Healing potions."
"Bah! Who needs to waste time drinking that panther-piss? Besides I don't think anyone has landed a blow against me for six months at least."
"And when the time comes and you have a fucking gash the size of a banana across your stomach, what then? You gonna walk all the way to the City to pick up a potion? What about Skingrad? I'm sure they would love to see you again especially after what you pulled last week."
"That guard had it coming." The Nord smiled examining his newly acquired steel longsword. "We should just go into that Priory and take whatever we want. Might even have me some fun with those Sisters before we leave them dangling from the rafters."
"You really are as stupid as you look you fucking polar bear! Without those Priory Sisters who the fuck is going to replant the ingredients? Do you know how to fucking grow Mantle's Leaves?"
"You forget your place, Finch. That bow won't do you any good when I have this here blade pressed against your jugular." The Nord moved in closer and drew his sword.
"You won't make it another step with an arrow in your heart." Finch threatened.
Alvar raised his hand to slap Finch across the face but was stopped mid-strike. An imposing Orc was gripping him by the wrist. Alvar lunged his sword at the Orc's ribs. His aggressor easily evaded the attack and clamped down on the Nord's forearm nearly breaking the bone. When the pain became too much to bear, Alvar finally dropped his sword.
"Let go of me Shebaz, you ugly monster!"
The Orc Shebaz grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground. The beast growled revealing his dirty unkempt teeth, sharpened like fangs. Alvar squirmed with all his might but could not break free. A small crowd of other marauders gathered around them in a circle chanting for the fight to continue.
Finch stepped up and spit in Alvar's face, then raised his hands in victory cheered on by the marauders. When Finch turned his back to the Nord, Alvar swung his legs over Finch's neck and squeezed tight, nearly cutting off the circulation to his head. Shebaz tightened his grip but the Nord resisted, prying the fingers off from around his neck and bending them backwards as if he were folding a piece of paper. The Orc cried out in pain and dropped the Nord onto his feet. The fight continued. Alvar landed several punishing blows on Finch. The man's face split open at the nose and he fell to the ground. Shebaz begged for one of his companions to intervene as he wallowed over his mangled fingers. Alvar stormed across the room and tackled the Orc into a wooden bookshelf.
"That's enough! Alvar, get off of him!" Gortwog, leader of the marauders ordered.
It took several minutes to finally pull the angry Nord off the unconscious Orc. Two marauders held a firm grip on Alvar, one on either arm. They held him upright before their leader.
"Are you really that foolish?" The Orc scolded. "You're lucky I don't kill you myself!"
"They started it!" Alvar protested.
"I don't give a rat's ass! Now I have a bowman who can't draw his bow and a swordsman who can't hold his sword! And what about the rest of you?" Gortwog turned to face the crowd who had been cheering the fight on. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere, like guarding our fucking hideout?'
The marauders looked down at their feet in shame, some trying not to laugh.
"If the Legion decided to raid this place, how do you expect us to defend ourselves if we only have ten sentries patrolling the outer perimeter?"
"Actually it was more like eight…"
Gortwog's eyes flared with rage.
"Which one of you dead men said that?" Gortwog interrogated standing nose to stubby nose with one of his archers. "Was it you Vance, you worthless fuck?"
Before the man could answer, a steel arrow pierced his throat spraying blood across Gortwog's face. The remaining marauders quickly drew their weapons and scanned the room looking for the assailant.
"Shebaz what've you –"
Gortwog turned to see three arrows stuck deeply inside the Orc's back. He was sprawled oddly across the ground having been shot from behind.
"Wasn't him Gortwog…" A distant voice teased.
The Orc spun around in panic. Beads of sweat dripped down his face. The throbbing of his heart beat loudly inside his ears.
"Was it…the Argonian?"
The twang of a bowshot pierced the air. Gortwog turned around just in time to see his Argonian archer fall dead with an arrow in his neck.
"Maybe your battlemage…"
This time only the hilt of a small throwing knife could be seen sticking out of the Altmer's pronounced forehead.
"Come out and fight fairly!" The Orc's voice cracked with fear.
One of the two remaining marauders let out a yelp of terror followed closely by a dissonant clatter of familiar sounds - a blade being drawn from its sheath, metal piercing flesh, the dripping sound of blood falling upon stone. The marauder stood in a state of shock, examining a blade protruding in his back out through his chest – a shadowy silhouette crouched inconspicuously behind him. The aggressor moved swiftly from the shadows and with the blade still inside his victim's chest, pushed the marauder into a second skewing two upon the same blade as if they were fruit. Gortwog was paralyzed with fear. The silhouette disappeared.
"Have I wronged you in some way?"
"I suspect you have wronged many in your travels…"
An arrow tore through the Orc's calf and he fell to a knee. Defiantly, Gortwog stood and readied his blade. A second arrow penetrated the armour behind his knee and the Orc fell on his face, unable to muster the energy to rise again. His sword fell from his hand and slid across the stone floor. Gortwog desperately crawled to regain control of his weapon but he could not lift the blade. A boot was clamped firmly down upon it. A large brown cloak covered the man's arms and torso and a hood obscured his face. His Elven shortsword, the blade point just inches away from the Orc's face, gleamed in the torchlight.
"Spare me demon! Spare me and I shall never do wrong again! I swear it!"
"I am no demon. I am called Roe and you will never threaten anyone again I assure you."