Disclaimer: I don't own Morrowind or any characters or ideas from the
Bethesda games. I have simply used ideas and places to create my own story.
Some characters in this story have been completely made up and any
resemblance to anyone in real life is bloody amazing as I didn't know there
were orcs and elves out there. Ive also taken some liberties with the
Tamriel world, so R&R and tell me what you think. Enjoy.
CHPT 1: Events
As blood slowly dripped down Kirathe's nose and landed in a pool of muddy water, the puddle turned a murky red. The gash over his left eye stung with sweat and dirt, but he was thankful his tormenter was full of matze and hardly able to focus. He hardly deserved the beating, but violence towards others was an easy way of making people feel better about themselves, albeit only temporarily.
The Orc warrior who strode out of Arille's Tradehouse with his equally inebriated accomplice had been refused service, and who better to blame but the shivering pile of rags and its occupant trying to protect itself from the freezing winter rain. Kirathe had curled up under one of the tradehouses pathetic oil lanterns. He had assumed no one would bother a harmless beggar at such a late hour.
The Orc had kicked Kirathe's dirty blanket, and his momentum had carried him over the top of the stunned elf to land in the mud at the bottom of a short flight of wooden stairs. Kirathe had begun to move away from the impending trouble, but the orc's friend had begun to laugh outrageously at his compatriot's misfortune and this in turn had embarrassed him. The fallen orc picked himself up out of the mud and had stumbled over and kicked Kirathe hard in his side as he tried to crawl away.
"Little sack of maggots trip Birag!" the orc yelled as Kirathe picked himself off the wooden planks.
"Your turn for mudbath, Rat!"
The orc grabbed Kirathe's clothes and threw him backwards, down the stairs to land in the mud. The rain instantly soaked Kirathe to the skin and the mud squelched through his fingers as he lifted his head. Kirathe's tired eyes widened as he saw both orcs advancing on him. He tried to crawl away but his drunken assailants grabbed him and lifted him up.
Kirathe wasn't sure which orc actually held him up while the other beat his stomach and face, but he remembered the searing pain as one orc had slashed his face with a dagger and then being dropped to the ground.
Vaguely, Kirathe heard a loud bellow of pain and the two orcs arguing. The sound was muffled and he couldn't feel the rain any more. Kirathe focused on the drips of bright red falling off his face and disappearing into the murky brown of the mud puddle.
*********
Sarynia heard the fighting as she neared the town, it sounded like two drunks as the words were sometimes slurred and not many people would be out on a raining winter night but drunks and the poor.
"...and mage guild evokers sent on ridiculous quests by snobby conjurers!" mumbled Sarynia. Sarynia had travelled on foot for three days from the growing Hlaalu town of Balmora. A newly appointed 'Conjurer' in the guild had seen fit to show off her new rank by ordering her to search for alchemy ingredients. These ingredients just happened to be native to the swampy conditions of the coastal town of Seyda Neen. In winter! While the weather workers had predicted storms! To top it all off now it seems she would have to defend herself from a couple of rowdy drunkards.
As Sarynia trudged across the small bridge near the entrance to the small port town she readied her fear spell. Designed to frighten off opponents in the hope she would not have to actually fight. Never unprepared, Sarynia had a sharp dagger imbued with a paralyses charm, just to be on the safe side.
Just in front of the tradehouse she saw two large orcs fighting. One had a cut on his hand, which seemed to be the focus of their argument. As she walked closer she gathered that one of the orcs, who was pointing a dagger at the others face, had accidentally cut his friend. She also spotted a young dark elf on his hands and knees in the mud, bleeding from a cut on his face. Sarynia quickly cast her fear spell as she correctly guessed the cause of the night's drama.
The injured orc stopped arguing mid-sentence as he saw a shadowy figure emerge in the darkness behind his friend. His mouth fell open and he blanched as he felt the terrible waves of hate and pain emerging from this hellish creature. His friend stopped arguing and turned to the source of the awful feelings. They saw the creature walk slowly towards them. A dark figure, whose very presence rocked the earth and caused the moon to hide behind a shelter of clouds. Glowing red eyes burnt a warning into the orc's souls; this creature was worthy of fear and would deal out pain and anguish without thought and with terrible swiftness and ease.
Its terrible voice ordered them to run.
The orcs had never been so eager to carry out an order in their entire lives.
*********
Kirathe heard the argument stop suddenly, though he had never been sure of the content of the disagreement anyway. He saw a small pair of high-quality boots walk into his field of vision, just near his growing pool of blood. It was then that Kirathe heard a beautiful feminine voice.
"Run." Was the simply command, and it seemed the orcs followed the order, though Kirathe was sure two orcs of that size would have been able to handle a solitary girl. Kirathe tried to shake his head in the hope it would clear it, but all he got was a blistering headache.
He groaned.
"It's alright. They've gone now. Can you hear me?" came the musical and beautiful voice.
Kirathe tried to respond in the affirmative but couldn't force the words from his throat. Suddenly he felt a small hand on his cheek, and saw the face of a tiny Altmer woman looking at him with an expression of worry. Kirathe then saw her mouth move as if to speak and suddenly the world went dark.
***********
Bendar Rockhands was a fighter of good morals and of a background filled with glory and honour. Or at least he thought he once was at least. Bendar was currently ankle deep in rats and mud, in the lower depths of an old Dweower ruin, mimicking a pack mule for an irritating young bosmer thief who he thought was either very good at playing cards, or cheating.
Bendar shifted his weight to better carry the dusty old artifacts that he had promised his new companion he would drag from the depths of this mine in order to help pay for the considerable debt that Bendar had accrued playing cards.
It had started when Bendar had helped a family travelling the road to Pelagiad from an attacking pack of nix-hounds. Bendar was simply at the right place at the right time, for the family who's scrib jerky filled carts had attracted the pack looking for an easy meal. Bendar wished for no more than a thank you from the grateful family, but they had insisted he take a few coins and have lunch with them for saving their wagon, and possibly their lives. It seemed the cart was filled with a few months worth of income for the family and a friendly mercenary helping out of the goodness of his heart was a rare thing lately. Bendar and his new friends parted ways feeling the world was a better place with people such as that.
Bendar's outlook of 'better people' was destroyed when that same night a young bosmer had approached him in a local bar while he was using the rescued families coins to buy his dinner and an ale. Through sweet words and free ale the young bosmer had convinced Bendar to play a friendly game of cards.
The friendly game of cards suddenly had a friendly wager, which after several more ales had turned into a serious wager, which suddenly turned into Bendar losing not only all his money, but also his freewill. Bendar had apparently sold himself to slavery in a desperate attempt to win back his weapons and armour. The following morning he had awoken to a splitting migraine and a grinning bosmer with a signed contract.
Bendar Rockhands, from generations of warriors and honourable mercs, who had fought and killed countless werewolves in the freezing snowlands of Solsthiem, had turned into a packmule.
Bendar sighed as he watched his nimble companion jump from rock to rock, seemingly unable to get dirty or run out of energy. The bosmer had returned from another hidden alcove with some more Dweomer coins and bowls.
"Here you go Bendar! More coins and stuff. We'll have that debt of yours payed off in no time!" the bosmer chirped merrily as he stacked the bowls in Bendar's arms and the coins in his backpack.
"We've been in this mine for almost a fortnight Bosmer! I think my debt had been well and truly payed for. Release me from my contract, I'm carrying enough wealth on my back to keep you happy for years, if you're careful with your money."
"I think not Bendar, you drank away a lot of my money the night we met, and your wagering continued even when you lost all those games straight. You were winning quite a bit at the start, you should have stopped then!"
"You told me the drinks were free, for you were lonely and I never once asked for another. You Bosmer, probably cheated me in cards and got me drunk in order to become your blasted pack mule to carry all these illegal Dweomer artifacts!"
"Such a temper you have Bendar, and I've told you my name is Zaareth, so call me it. No, I think you simply misunderstood me and are now trying to renege on our lawful agreement. Will you leave and break our contract, or do the honourable thing and stay until you've payed me back- which shouldn't be far off anyway?"
"Stealing Dweomer artifacts is hardly honourable Bosmer; it's illegal, but I will honour your contract and stay, though I hate to be around you every second, at least you feed your 'packmules' the same good quality fare you eat at taverns."
"What can I say, I'm a nice boss! So quit complaining. Anyway, I think that's all there is, I've picked this place clean. Let's drag this lot back to town and look at getting some food and rest. The closest place is Suran, and my favourite place in Suran has lovely women to look at while we eat. What do you say?"
Bendar perked up at hearing food, rest and beautiful women, but firmly believed he was being cheated. Whilst angry and honourable, he was not stupid, and always tried to make the best of any bad situation.
"Sounds like the best idea you've had all day Bosmer!"
"Zaareth!" Countered the little elf.
Soon the young thief and the tired Nord had left the mine and were making their way down a barely visible dirt path that would lead them to the highway, and take them to Suran. All the while the two bickered and fought and unbeknownst to the two companions an unlikely friendship was beginning to form.
Also, unknown to the pair of tomb robbers, high in the trees above them waited a large raven. The raven stared silently at the pair with empty eye sockets and dried blood and gore where the eyes should have been and a large dry wound on its chest. The bird moved its stiff neck to better 'see' its target causing a maggot to fall out of the cavity in the bird's chest. Dry blood covered the black feathers and when its prey was out of sight a silent command was felt in the reanimated carcass.
The undead creature was beginning to decompose too quickly. It spotted a large rat scurrying in the undergrowth beneath it. With magically enhanced strength the bird swooped down and pounced onto the rat, and ripped out its eyes. The rat choked out its dieing breath as blood loss took its toll. The raven then simply fell onto its side, empty of the magic that had just possessed it. The almost dead rat then suddenly stiffened and rose to its full height. Blood still leaked out of its eye sockets as it sniffed the air and quickly scurried in the direction of the highway.
**********
Navireth readied her arrow in perfect silence. The cloth-yard shaft was painted black, which matched the polished black wood and ebony battlebow she carried. Her weapons in turn matched her outfit as she blended seamlessly with shadows and dark corners with non-restrictive robes of black and boots polished dark and without shine.
Navireth was an assassin, and she was good at it.
In the manner of her guild she was given notice of her mark without knowing the reasons this persons death was necessary; such things made jobs complicated. Navireth didn't mind; she knew her guild would only take bounties for a lot of money, and petty feuds never warranted a strike from the guild of assassins.
The target was a wealthy noble from the Redoran town of Ald-Ruhn; a female Altmer that used her masses of wealth along with her body to sway the outcome of court hearings, trade negotiations and the decisions of high ranking, lonely men. Rival house leaders had decided that the woman was simply too dangerous to be allowed to continue stealing their profits and halting their business'. The Altmer woman was immoral and cunning, egocentric and arrogant, ruthless and efficient. She was, however, using completely legal and legitimate business techniques, so outright murder would be traced and frowned upon.
Navireth simply knew her name and an address. She had shadowed her target for five days. Navireth determined that the opportunity that would be most efficient would be a strike when the woman was returning home via a back road, in the early hours of the morning, from visiting a male merchant 'friend', whose wife was away at the time. Navireth had come to dislike this target that used her perfect body as a tool to sway the fat, rich and genuinely disgusting men of the city. She thought to provide a message to the other rich whores of the city. After her night with whatever rich merchant she was visiting at the time, she would be hurrying home wearing only her jewels, a dress and a cloak. An arrow through her throat would make for a painful and messy death. The lack of undergarments would be a funny and shocking sight to behold when the woman is stripped and robbed by the urchins and the poor before the city guards would find her stinking corpse in the morning.
Navireth waited patiently sitting on the roof of a house nestled between the branches of a tree that completely covered the house. In her vantage position she had correctly guessed the route that the woman would return home. It was only a couple of hours before sunrise, already the netch and their young had retired for the day.
The target walked unsteadily down the alleyway she had chosen. Navireth had spotted her long before she had moved to draw a bead on the woman. The woman hitched up her dress and tightened her cloak. Obviously slightly drunk from alcohol and a night of fornication, the woman stumbled towards the building where Navireth waited.
Navireth took three deeper breathes then stopped her breathing. Timing so her arrow flew at that moment gave her complete accuracy and the arrow ripped a hole in the woman's throat as it propelled her backwards to land on the cobblestones.
The woman writhed in agony spraying bright red blood from her neck wound. Unable to make any sounds save for a wet, gurgling the woman lasted only a few seconds before shock and blood loss took its toll and she died.
Almost immediately a figure emerged from the darkness next to the body, and started to pilfer the corpse of anything useful. Navireth knew that the stalker was there, having already noticed before the kill. She had simply not cared, as the stalker would be grateful for the easy robbery and would try to get away as quick as possible anyway.
Navireth silently placed the battlebow into a holster on her leg and vanished into the night.
The figure robbing the fresh corpse of the noble woman was Pegorn; a dirty, homeless imperial nobody that preyed on the weak late at night; if there was no guards around. He pocketed the jewellery and money, and quickly scanned for anything else of value. Not bothering with the blood soaked dress or cloak, he found the arrow that killed the woman embedded deeply into the wood post of a house he was next to. A cloth-yard arrow was nothing special, but a black painted, blood stained arrow from the Morag- Tong might fetch a few coins from someone at the local bar.
Morag –Tong assassin arrows were made with sharp barbs on the arrowhead and instantly identifiable. This, however, also made it impossible to retrieve from the wood post.
Pegorn shrugged and turned away, he was met face to face by a figure in black from head to toe. No features could be seen in the dark hood even directly in front of Pegorn's face. The figure was a silent as a cat and seemed to be staring at Pegorn.
"I – I didn't kill 'er!" Stammered Pegorn quickly, "I jus found 'er and..."
The figure in black suddenly shoved a dark blue tinged short sword through Pegorn's stomach. The blade went in up to the hilt and Pegorn coughed out his last lung full of air as the figure then quickly snagged the jagged blade towards Pegorn's chest then quickly ripped it out of him.
As Pegorn fell on the cobblestones next to the noble woman his last sight was that of the black figure calmly plucking the assassin's arrow out the wall, and his terrible short sword dripping blood on the ground, as the figure walked away.
Then the world went dark.
*********
Luien Oskler came upon ownership of the Lucky Lockup in a game of cards. After a life of running guar hides between cities when the suppliers could not afford ships, he looked upon this as a favourable turn of events. Running guar hides is a long, boring, sometimes dangerous and always uncomfortable profession.
Luien had been accosted by a small band of Dunmer raiders as he attempted to move his cart along a road by a small inlet. The Dunmer had seen the easy chance for some fun at his expense and proceeded to heckle Luien for 'passage tax' along the dirt track, which passed their temporary camp.
Luien recognised a no-win situation and pretended to reach into his wagon for some gold. When he withdrew holding his rusty old crossbow with a loaded bolt, the Dunmer at once turned serious and attacked. Only a rival band of Dunmer raiders who had a grudge against the first band prevented Luien from losing his life. As the band attacked so did the rival group, taking the opportunity to surprise their enemies and kill them.
After it was over the leader of the second band informed Luien that they will let him live, and in return Luien would tell no one of the bloodshed that occurred there that day. Luien was granted a second relief as the leader told him that they would be taking his cart, but they would let him keep anything he finds on the stinking corpses of their former adversaries.
Amongst the carnage Luien found a backpack with food and placed the gold and jewellery he found in it as well. He cleaned off and pocketed any daggers. Adorned the chitin armour and collected as many swords or other sellable items he could carry.
When he sold the weapons and armour in Balmora, Luien had enough wealth for a week's bed and breakfast in the Lucky Lockup, with enough left over for drinks and gambling.
Luien gambled with soldiers and common folk, and during a game involving the owner of the establishment, a fight had broken out where the owner was killed. A high ranking member of the town guards had decreed that the owners property be forfeit to house Hlaalu, and the murderer be taken away for trial. Luien asked the guard what he was to do about his winnings owed by the former owner. The guard had responded by offering the establishment to Luien and in return he would submit to being a vassal of house Hlaalu, and would give ten percent of all takings to the house.
Luien gladly accepted.
During the past few weeks' business had been good. Guar and netch hunting had been profitable, and many traders spent their stopovers in Balmora and always spent up big as the first of the profits came rolling in. Luien had amassed a fair bit of wealth with the takings from the Lucky Lockup. He had hired some Hlaalu guards to keep the peace and many commerce transactions were filed away making it an easy transition for Luien to take over.
Hlaalu guards frequented the pub, which now had grown to include a fine kitchen and ample bedding upstairs. The pub was considered a good place to eat and get drunk without having to worry about fights or too many pickpockets.
On particularly slow mornings Luien had time to mingle with his patrons and build on his reputation for being a nice, fair and approachable member of the Balmora community. On this morning Luien spied a small Bosmer lad eating and drinking with a sullen looking Nord. Obviously treasure hunters, the two had a few full sacks under the table in the corner. The huge Nord was probably the one who got to do all the heavy lifting, Luien thought, while his smaller companion would manage to squeeze into tight places, or perhaps even pick locks; A useful combination.
"Hello lads, hows the hunting been?" said Luien amicably as he approached the pair and gestured towards the third stool at their table.
The Nord remained stoic whilst the Bosmer's eyes lit up. A sad expression crossed the young Bosmer's face however, as he indicated that Luien's company would be welcome.
"Ah, not too good I'm afraid, friend barkeep." Said the Dunmer, "I'm afraid that the rare and valuable goods are found deep in Dweomer strongholds, and its illegal to break into those. All we managed to find was some very rare Dweomer crockery in some shipwrecks... why don't you take a look at this finery; quite rare and reasonably priced y'know, friend!"
Luien smiled as the Bosmer opened a bag of Dweomer artefacts and showed him.
"What do you think, friend Redguard?"
"Well, since you got these from shipwrecks, which is quite legal, I might be persuaded to take some off your hands." Said Luien with a sly wink.
The Bosmer grinned and winked back.
"Ill take what you have in this bag, minus that dead rat for 4 nights free bed and breakfast, plus one bottle of my finest wine."
"Make it 5 nights and 2 bottles and we have a deal friend."
"How about 4 nights and one bottle and I tell the group of Hlaalu guards that just walked in that you're old friends of mine and definitely took these only from shipwrecks."
The Bosmer looked behind the barman as the group of guards came in and sat down, taking off their helmets and shouting for drinks, "Ho! Luien! Dark ale for the four of us, and tell your friend we will be checking their bags for anything stolen or suspicious!"
"Settle your group of idiot friends down Marluth or I'll have a drink in front of them and they can wait! Oh, and this is my friends from down south Marluth, and good customers, I wont have you interrogating friends. I'll go get your drinks!"
"Fair enough Luien. Well make it the good stuff!"
Luien turned to face the Bosmer and the Nord while the group of guards laughed at some joke and started to relax.
Luien looked the young Bosmer in the eyes, "4 nights and a bottle or did I mistake you for friends?"
The Bosmer quickly glanced at the guards then back to the barman, then suddenly split into a grin and reached to shake his hand, "Pleasure doing business with you friend, the names Zaareth and this is Bendar!"
"The names Luien, Zaareth, let me take those off your hands and get you that bottle."
Luien picked up the bag of illegal artefacts and placed them behind the bar. Just as he retrieved a bottle of cheap wine to give to his new 'friends' the front door opened and in walked a cloaked figure supporting another figure dressed in equally obscuring clothing.
Luien dropped the bottle and two goblets on Zaareth's table, returned and grabbed four big tin goblets of dark ale and gave them to the guards. "Here Marluth, these ones are on me if you leave my friends alone this time, eh? I'll warn them about smuggling and ask them if they've seen anything, eh?"
The guard nodded and took a drink out of his goblet, "Very well Luien, anything for a friend, just remember we will check next time they're in."
"Very good gentlemen, enjoy your drinks. If you'll excuse me?"
As Luien passed the table with the two treasure hunters, he saw the Bosmer fill up the goblet of his Nord friend. After the Nord reached to get his drink and taken a swig to quench his thirst, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at his smaller friend.
"Well Bosmer, the girls in Suran may be nice, but the wine is better here in Balmora"
The young Bosmer raised an eyebrow and looked at his huge friend, "...but not as good as that Mead stuff you always go on about hey my friend?"
The Nord looked wistfully at the ceiling and barked a small laugh, "Not even close, Bosmer! Someday ill share a cask with you if we ever return to my homeland!"
Luien would have stopped to mention he had a small supply of Mead under the bar, shipped directly from a contact at Thirsk on Solsthiem, but his tavern's latest arrivals were a more pressing concern.
Luien hurried back to the bar and confronted the hooded figures, "Sarynia, is that you?"
The figure that was being suppported pushed back her hood and smiled, "Yes Luien, it's me, give us some water will you?"
"Who do you have there? Are you ok? What happened to make you need help walking?"
"My name is Kirathe, and Sarynia just twisted her ankle on your blasted cobbles out the front." Said the other figure, "After 3 days of walking here the first trouble we have is on the doorstep of the first pub we go to!"
"Sarynia! Your little feet are the only ones to ever trip on that doorstep; you must watchout. Let me get that water and maybe something for you to eat. Are you hungry?"
"Famished!" responded Sarynia.
"So where did you two meet? In the guild?" asked Luien.
"No, she saved me from being cut to death by some Orcs, then probably again from bleeding to death, I'm just trying to help any way I can."
"Actually, when I stopped him from bleeding everywhere I discovered something the guild might find interesting. We've come back to see them." Sarynia looked around. Just then a few more people entered the building and sat down at a table. They produced a pack of playing cards and proceeded to make themselves at home.
"Well it's getting busier today Lui!" calling Luien by her personal nickname. The two had been friends for many months; Luien being there whenever Sarynia needed to talk about problems in the guild, and Sarynia because it suited Luien to have as many friends as possible, especially attractive ones.
A man then opened the door and let a woman enter before him. Both were plain dressed but walked with a calm grace. The clothing they wore was quite common and of dark shade pants with white tops. The man had a good quality dai-katana strapped to his side, while the woman had an extraordinary ebony battlebow strapped to her side. Her quiver on her back was covered with an old cloth concealing any arrows she might be carrying.
Luien put a bottle of spring water on the counter and some fruit, anticipating Sarynia's favourites. "Looks like a couple I might have to keep an eye on." Luien said referring to the pair that just walked in.
Sarynia and Kirathe both turned to watch the pair who had just taken up seats near the entrance. The man noticed the attention and smiled confidently at Sarynia. The woman was staring at the guards on the table at the centre of the room. Sarynia turned and picked up her glass of water that Kirathe had poured and drank the contents, "They seem fine to me Lui, just relax!"
Just then an explosion shook the earth, spilling drinks and smashing glasses. The sound was deafening and the bar patrons were thrown to the ground. It had evidently originated from just outside the bar as dust and rocks had been thrown inside the front door. Small boulders and stones fell through the door and soon after the hulking form of a dead silt strider crashed just outside, taking part of the front wall with it.
Kirathe had managed to keep his wits about him during the explosion. Although the room was thick with dust, Kirathe could see the dead silt strider lying atop what remained of the Lucky Lockup's front wall. Just behind were the remains of the city wall and debris from signs, urns, baskets and even unlucky people. Everything else beyond that was obscured from sight by smoke from fire that had begun to burn.
Patrons of the bar started to lift themselves up and check for injuries. The armed couples sitting by the front door had surprisingly enough jumped out of the way, and were now standing at the bar with Sarynia, Kirathe and Luien.
The Bosmer and the huge Nord were standing at their table. The Bosmer was doubled over coughing while the Nord stood with a stunned expression. His hand was on his temple and a thin stream of blood trickled down his face.
The town guards had been thrown from their table, which now was lying on the ground broken and covered with large stones.
Marluth, the Captain of the guards that had come in to drink, was now lying face down on the ground. His clothes and armour were scorched black and his right arm was crushed beneath a large boulder. Blood poured from several wounds, but it was obvious that he was dead.
Next to him sat another guard. This one was impaled through the chest with a large piece of wood. His face was pale and his expression was of horror and fear as he looked at the large object in his body. His breathing turned from rapid to slow. Finally he looked up at the smoking hole in the wall, closed his eyes, and died.
The other two guards were slowly gaining consciousness. One tried to clear his head by shaking it while the other rushed to his fallen friends.
Through the smoke and rubble a figure appeared. It was dressed from head to toe in red and black daedric armour. The facial mask grinned a wicked smile of metal teeth as the figure surveyed the damage atop his vantage spot of debris and ruin.
All who remained in the demolished pub watched this figure in silence. Behind him came some smaller creatures, adorned in roughly spun robes and cowls of black.
The figure in the magnificent and terrifying armour lifted his arm and pointed at Kirathe, "Kill the others but leave that one alive!" came the coarse and horrible voice.
Immediately, all four cloaked figures revealed jagged daggers and jumped towards the survivors.
**********
CHPT 1: Events
As blood slowly dripped down Kirathe's nose and landed in a pool of muddy water, the puddle turned a murky red. The gash over his left eye stung with sweat and dirt, but he was thankful his tormenter was full of matze and hardly able to focus. He hardly deserved the beating, but violence towards others was an easy way of making people feel better about themselves, albeit only temporarily.
The Orc warrior who strode out of Arille's Tradehouse with his equally inebriated accomplice had been refused service, and who better to blame but the shivering pile of rags and its occupant trying to protect itself from the freezing winter rain. Kirathe had curled up under one of the tradehouses pathetic oil lanterns. He had assumed no one would bother a harmless beggar at such a late hour.
The Orc had kicked Kirathe's dirty blanket, and his momentum had carried him over the top of the stunned elf to land in the mud at the bottom of a short flight of wooden stairs. Kirathe had begun to move away from the impending trouble, but the orc's friend had begun to laugh outrageously at his compatriot's misfortune and this in turn had embarrassed him. The fallen orc picked himself up out of the mud and had stumbled over and kicked Kirathe hard in his side as he tried to crawl away.
"Little sack of maggots trip Birag!" the orc yelled as Kirathe picked himself off the wooden planks.
"Your turn for mudbath, Rat!"
The orc grabbed Kirathe's clothes and threw him backwards, down the stairs to land in the mud. The rain instantly soaked Kirathe to the skin and the mud squelched through his fingers as he lifted his head. Kirathe's tired eyes widened as he saw both orcs advancing on him. He tried to crawl away but his drunken assailants grabbed him and lifted him up.
Kirathe wasn't sure which orc actually held him up while the other beat his stomach and face, but he remembered the searing pain as one orc had slashed his face with a dagger and then being dropped to the ground.
Vaguely, Kirathe heard a loud bellow of pain and the two orcs arguing. The sound was muffled and he couldn't feel the rain any more. Kirathe focused on the drips of bright red falling off his face and disappearing into the murky brown of the mud puddle.
*********
Sarynia heard the fighting as she neared the town, it sounded like two drunks as the words were sometimes slurred and not many people would be out on a raining winter night but drunks and the poor.
"...and mage guild evokers sent on ridiculous quests by snobby conjurers!" mumbled Sarynia. Sarynia had travelled on foot for three days from the growing Hlaalu town of Balmora. A newly appointed 'Conjurer' in the guild had seen fit to show off her new rank by ordering her to search for alchemy ingredients. These ingredients just happened to be native to the swampy conditions of the coastal town of Seyda Neen. In winter! While the weather workers had predicted storms! To top it all off now it seems she would have to defend herself from a couple of rowdy drunkards.
As Sarynia trudged across the small bridge near the entrance to the small port town she readied her fear spell. Designed to frighten off opponents in the hope she would not have to actually fight. Never unprepared, Sarynia had a sharp dagger imbued with a paralyses charm, just to be on the safe side.
Just in front of the tradehouse she saw two large orcs fighting. One had a cut on his hand, which seemed to be the focus of their argument. As she walked closer she gathered that one of the orcs, who was pointing a dagger at the others face, had accidentally cut his friend. She also spotted a young dark elf on his hands and knees in the mud, bleeding from a cut on his face. Sarynia quickly cast her fear spell as she correctly guessed the cause of the night's drama.
The injured orc stopped arguing mid-sentence as he saw a shadowy figure emerge in the darkness behind his friend. His mouth fell open and he blanched as he felt the terrible waves of hate and pain emerging from this hellish creature. His friend stopped arguing and turned to the source of the awful feelings. They saw the creature walk slowly towards them. A dark figure, whose very presence rocked the earth and caused the moon to hide behind a shelter of clouds. Glowing red eyes burnt a warning into the orc's souls; this creature was worthy of fear and would deal out pain and anguish without thought and with terrible swiftness and ease.
Its terrible voice ordered them to run.
The orcs had never been so eager to carry out an order in their entire lives.
*********
Kirathe heard the argument stop suddenly, though he had never been sure of the content of the disagreement anyway. He saw a small pair of high-quality boots walk into his field of vision, just near his growing pool of blood. It was then that Kirathe heard a beautiful feminine voice.
"Run." Was the simply command, and it seemed the orcs followed the order, though Kirathe was sure two orcs of that size would have been able to handle a solitary girl. Kirathe tried to shake his head in the hope it would clear it, but all he got was a blistering headache.
He groaned.
"It's alright. They've gone now. Can you hear me?" came the musical and beautiful voice.
Kirathe tried to respond in the affirmative but couldn't force the words from his throat. Suddenly he felt a small hand on his cheek, and saw the face of a tiny Altmer woman looking at him with an expression of worry. Kirathe then saw her mouth move as if to speak and suddenly the world went dark.
***********
Bendar Rockhands was a fighter of good morals and of a background filled with glory and honour. Or at least he thought he once was at least. Bendar was currently ankle deep in rats and mud, in the lower depths of an old Dweower ruin, mimicking a pack mule for an irritating young bosmer thief who he thought was either very good at playing cards, or cheating.
Bendar shifted his weight to better carry the dusty old artifacts that he had promised his new companion he would drag from the depths of this mine in order to help pay for the considerable debt that Bendar had accrued playing cards.
It had started when Bendar had helped a family travelling the road to Pelagiad from an attacking pack of nix-hounds. Bendar was simply at the right place at the right time, for the family who's scrib jerky filled carts had attracted the pack looking for an easy meal. Bendar wished for no more than a thank you from the grateful family, but they had insisted he take a few coins and have lunch with them for saving their wagon, and possibly their lives. It seemed the cart was filled with a few months worth of income for the family and a friendly mercenary helping out of the goodness of his heart was a rare thing lately. Bendar and his new friends parted ways feeling the world was a better place with people such as that.
Bendar's outlook of 'better people' was destroyed when that same night a young bosmer had approached him in a local bar while he was using the rescued families coins to buy his dinner and an ale. Through sweet words and free ale the young bosmer had convinced Bendar to play a friendly game of cards.
The friendly game of cards suddenly had a friendly wager, which after several more ales had turned into a serious wager, which suddenly turned into Bendar losing not only all his money, but also his freewill. Bendar had apparently sold himself to slavery in a desperate attempt to win back his weapons and armour. The following morning he had awoken to a splitting migraine and a grinning bosmer with a signed contract.
Bendar Rockhands, from generations of warriors and honourable mercs, who had fought and killed countless werewolves in the freezing snowlands of Solsthiem, had turned into a packmule.
Bendar sighed as he watched his nimble companion jump from rock to rock, seemingly unable to get dirty or run out of energy. The bosmer had returned from another hidden alcove with some more Dweomer coins and bowls.
"Here you go Bendar! More coins and stuff. We'll have that debt of yours payed off in no time!" the bosmer chirped merrily as he stacked the bowls in Bendar's arms and the coins in his backpack.
"We've been in this mine for almost a fortnight Bosmer! I think my debt had been well and truly payed for. Release me from my contract, I'm carrying enough wealth on my back to keep you happy for years, if you're careful with your money."
"I think not Bendar, you drank away a lot of my money the night we met, and your wagering continued even when you lost all those games straight. You were winning quite a bit at the start, you should have stopped then!"
"You told me the drinks were free, for you were lonely and I never once asked for another. You Bosmer, probably cheated me in cards and got me drunk in order to become your blasted pack mule to carry all these illegal Dweomer artifacts!"
"Such a temper you have Bendar, and I've told you my name is Zaareth, so call me it. No, I think you simply misunderstood me and are now trying to renege on our lawful agreement. Will you leave and break our contract, or do the honourable thing and stay until you've payed me back- which shouldn't be far off anyway?"
"Stealing Dweomer artifacts is hardly honourable Bosmer; it's illegal, but I will honour your contract and stay, though I hate to be around you every second, at least you feed your 'packmules' the same good quality fare you eat at taverns."
"What can I say, I'm a nice boss! So quit complaining. Anyway, I think that's all there is, I've picked this place clean. Let's drag this lot back to town and look at getting some food and rest. The closest place is Suran, and my favourite place in Suran has lovely women to look at while we eat. What do you say?"
Bendar perked up at hearing food, rest and beautiful women, but firmly believed he was being cheated. Whilst angry and honourable, he was not stupid, and always tried to make the best of any bad situation.
"Sounds like the best idea you've had all day Bosmer!"
"Zaareth!" Countered the little elf.
Soon the young thief and the tired Nord had left the mine and were making their way down a barely visible dirt path that would lead them to the highway, and take them to Suran. All the while the two bickered and fought and unbeknownst to the two companions an unlikely friendship was beginning to form.
Also, unknown to the pair of tomb robbers, high in the trees above them waited a large raven. The raven stared silently at the pair with empty eye sockets and dried blood and gore where the eyes should have been and a large dry wound on its chest. The bird moved its stiff neck to better 'see' its target causing a maggot to fall out of the cavity in the bird's chest. Dry blood covered the black feathers and when its prey was out of sight a silent command was felt in the reanimated carcass.
The undead creature was beginning to decompose too quickly. It spotted a large rat scurrying in the undergrowth beneath it. With magically enhanced strength the bird swooped down and pounced onto the rat, and ripped out its eyes. The rat choked out its dieing breath as blood loss took its toll. The raven then simply fell onto its side, empty of the magic that had just possessed it. The almost dead rat then suddenly stiffened and rose to its full height. Blood still leaked out of its eye sockets as it sniffed the air and quickly scurried in the direction of the highway.
**********
Navireth readied her arrow in perfect silence. The cloth-yard shaft was painted black, which matched the polished black wood and ebony battlebow she carried. Her weapons in turn matched her outfit as she blended seamlessly with shadows and dark corners with non-restrictive robes of black and boots polished dark and without shine.
Navireth was an assassin, and she was good at it.
In the manner of her guild she was given notice of her mark without knowing the reasons this persons death was necessary; such things made jobs complicated. Navireth didn't mind; she knew her guild would only take bounties for a lot of money, and petty feuds never warranted a strike from the guild of assassins.
The target was a wealthy noble from the Redoran town of Ald-Ruhn; a female Altmer that used her masses of wealth along with her body to sway the outcome of court hearings, trade negotiations and the decisions of high ranking, lonely men. Rival house leaders had decided that the woman was simply too dangerous to be allowed to continue stealing their profits and halting their business'. The Altmer woman was immoral and cunning, egocentric and arrogant, ruthless and efficient. She was, however, using completely legal and legitimate business techniques, so outright murder would be traced and frowned upon.
Navireth simply knew her name and an address. She had shadowed her target for five days. Navireth determined that the opportunity that would be most efficient would be a strike when the woman was returning home via a back road, in the early hours of the morning, from visiting a male merchant 'friend', whose wife was away at the time. Navireth had come to dislike this target that used her perfect body as a tool to sway the fat, rich and genuinely disgusting men of the city. She thought to provide a message to the other rich whores of the city. After her night with whatever rich merchant she was visiting at the time, she would be hurrying home wearing only her jewels, a dress and a cloak. An arrow through her throat would make for a painful and messy death. The lack of undergarments would be a funny and shocking sight to behold when the woman is stripped and robbed by the urchins and the poor before the city guards would find her stinking corpse in the morning.
Navireth waited patiently sitting on the roof of a house nestled between the branches of a tree that completely covered the house. In her vantage position she had correctly guessed the route that the woman would return home. It was only a couple of hours before sunrise, already the netch and their young had retired for the day.
The target walked unsteadily down the alleyway she had chosen. Navireth had spotted her long before she had moved to draw a bead on the woman. The woman hitched up her dress and tightened her cloak. Obviously slightly drunk from alcohol and a night of fornication, the woman stumbled towards the building where Navireth waited.
Navireth took three deeper breathes then stopped her breathing. Timing so her arrow flew at that moment gave her complete accuracy and the arrow ripped a hole in the woman's throat as it propelled her backwards to land on the cobblestones.
The woman writhed in agony spraying bright red blood from her neck wound. Unable to make any sounds save for a wet, gurgling the woman lasted only a few seconds before shock and blood loss took its toll and she died.
Almost immediately a figure emerged from the darkness next to the body, and started to pilfer the corpse of anything useful. Navireth knew that the stalker was there, having already noticed before the kill. She had simply not cared, as the stalker would be grateful for the easy robbery and would try to get away as quick as possible anyway.
Navireth silently placed the battlebow into a holster on her leg and vanished into the night.
The figure robbing the fresh corpse of the noble woman was Pegorn; a dirty, homeless imperial nobody that preyed on the weak late at night; if there was no guards around. He pocketed the jewellery and money, and quickly scanned for anything else of value. Not bothering with the blood soaked dress or cloak, he found the arrow that killed the woman embedded deeply into the wood post of a house he was next to. A cloth-yard arrow was nothing special, but a black painted, blood stained arrow from the Morag- Tong might fetch a few coins from someone at the local bar.
Morag –Tong assassin arrows were made with sharp barbs on the arrowhead and instantly identifiable. This, however, also made it impossible to retrieve from the wood post.
Pegorn shrugged and turned away, he was met face to face by a figure in black from head to toe. No features could be seen in the dark hood even directly in front of Pegorn's face. The figure was a silent as a cat and seemed to be staring at Pegorn.
"I – I didn't kill 'er!" Stammered Pegorn quickly, "I jus found 'er and..."
The figure in black suddenly shoved a dark blue tinged short sword through Pegorn's stomach. The blade went in up to the hilt and Pegorn coughed out his last lung full of air as the figure then quickly snagged the jagged blade towards Pegorn's chest then quickly ripped it out of him.
As Pegorn fell on the cobblestones next to the noble woman his last sight was that of the black figure calmly plucking the assassin's arrow out the wall, and his terrible short sword dripping blood on the ground, as the figure walked away.
Then the world went dark.
*********
Luien Oskler came upon ownership of the Lucky Lockup in a game of cards. After a life of running guar hides between cities when the suppliers could not afford ships, he looked upon this as a favourable turn of events. Running guar hides is a long, boring, sometimes dangerous and always uncomfortable profession.
Luien had been accosted by a small band of Dunmer raiders as he attempted to move his cart along a road by a small inlet. The Dunmer had seen the easy chance for some fun at his expense and proceeded to heckle Luien for 'passage tax' along the dirt track, which passed their temporary camp.
Luien recognised a no-win situation and pretended to reach into his wagon for some gold. When he withdrew holding his rusty old crossbow with a loaded bolt, the Dunmer at once turned serious and attacked. Only a rival band of Dunmer raiders who had a grudge against the first band prevented Luien from losing his life. As the band attacked so did the rival group, taking the opportunity to surprise their enemies and kill them.
After it was over the leader of the second band informed Luien that they will let him live, and in return Luien would tell no one of the bloodshed that occurred there that day. Luien was granted a second relief as the leader told him that they would be taking his cart, but they would let him keep anything he finds on the stinking corpses of their former adversaries.
Amongst the carnage Luien found a backpack with food and placed the gold and jewellery he found in it as well. He cleaned off and pocketed any daggers. Adorned the chitin armour and collected as many swords or other sellable items he could carry.
When he sold the weapons and armour in Balmora, Luien had enough wealth for a week's bed and breakfast in the Lucky Lockup, with enough left over for drinks and gambling.
Luien gambled with soldiers and common folk, and during a game involving the owner of the establishment, a fight had broken out where the owner was killed. A high ranking member of the town guards had decreed that the owners property be forfeit to house Hlaalu, and the murderer be taken away for trial. Luien asked the guard what he was to do about his winnings owed by the former owner. The guard had responded by offering the establishment to Luien and in return he would submit to being a vassal of house Hlaalu, and would give ten percent of all takings to the house.
Luien gladly accepted.
During the past few weeks' business had been good. Guar and netch hunting had been profitable, and many traders spent their stopovers in Balmora and always spent up big as the first of the profits came rolling in. Luien had amassed a fair bit of wealth with the takings from the Lucky Lockup. He had hired some Hlaalu guards to keep the peace and many commerce transactions were filed away making it an easy transition for Luien to take over.
Hlaalu guards frequented the pub, which now had grown to include a fine kitchen and ample bedding upstairs. The pub was considered a good place to eat and get drunk without having to worry about fights or too many pickpockets.
On particularly slow mornings Luien had time to mingle with his patrons and build on his reputation for being a nice, fair and approachable member of the Balmora community. On this morning Luien spied a small Bosmer lad eating and drinking with a sullen looking Nord. Obviously treasure hunters, the two had a few full sacks under the table in the corner. The huge Nord was probably the one who got to do all the heavy lifting, Luien thought, while his smaller companion would manage to squeeze into tight places, or perhaps even pick locks; A useful combination.
"Hello lads, hows the hunting been?" said Luien amicably as he approached the pair and gestured towards the third stool at their table.
The Nord remained stoic whilst the Bosmer's eyes lit up. A sad expression crossed the young Bosmer's face however, as he indicated that Luien's company would be welcome.
"Ah, not too good I'm afraid, friend barkeep." Said the Dunmer, "I'm afraid that the rare and valuable goods are found deep in Dweomer strongholds, and its illegal to break into those. All we managed to find was some very rare Dweomer crockery in some shipwrecks... why don't you take a look at this finery; quite rare and reasonably priced y'know, friend!"
Luien smiled as the Bosmer opened a bag of Dweomer artefacts and showed him.
"What do you think, friend Redguard?"
"Well, since you got these from shipwrecks, which is quite legal, I might be persuaded to take some off your hands." Said Luien with a sly wink.
The Bosmer grinned and winked back.
"Ill take what you have in this bag, minus that dead rat for 4 nights free bed and breakfast, plus one bottle of my finest wine."
"Make it 5 nights and 2 bottles and we have a deal friend."
"How about 4 nights and one bottle and I tell the group of Hlaalu guards that just walked in that you're old friends of mine and definitely took these only from shipwrecks."
The Bosmer looked behind the barman as the group of guards came in and sat down, taking off their helmets and shouting for drinks, "Ho! Luien! Dark ale for the four of us, and tell your friend we will be checking their bags for anything stolen or suspicious!"
"Settle your group of idiot friends down Marluth or I'll have a drink in front of them and they can wait! Oh, and this is my friends from down south Marluth, and good customers, I wont have you interrogating friends. I'll go get your drinks!"
"Fair enough Luien. Well make it the good stuff!"
Luien turned to face the Bosmer and the Nord while the group of guards laughed at some joke and started to relax.
Luien looked the young Bosmer in the eyes, "4 nights and a bottle or did I mistake you for friends?"
The Bosmer quickly glanced at the guards then back to the barman, then suddenly split into a grin and reached to shake his hand, "Pleasure doing business with you friend, the names Zaareth and this is Bendar!"
"The names Luien, Zaareth, let me take those off your hands and get you that bottle."
Luien picked up the bag of illegal artefacts and placed them behind the bar. Just as he retrieved a bottle of cheap wine to give to his new 'friends' the front door opened and in walked a cloaked figure supporting another figure dressed in equally obscuring clothing.
Luien dropped the bottle and two goblets on Zaareth's table, returned and grabbed four big tin goblets of dark ale and gave them to the guards. "Here Marluth, these ones are on me if you leave my friends alone this time, eh? I'll warn them about smuggling and ask them if they've seen anything, eh?"
The guard nodded and took a drink out of his goblet, "Very well Luien, anything for a friend, just remember we will check next time they're in."
"Very good gentlemen, enjoy your drinks. If you'll excuse me?"
As Luien passed the table with the two treasure hunters, he saw the Bosmer fill up the goblet of his Nord friend. After the Nord reached to get his drink and taken a swig to quench his thirst, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at his smaller friend.
"Well Bosmer, the girls in Suran may be nice, but the wine is better here in Balmora"
The young Bosmer raised an eyebrow and looked at his huge friend, "...but not as good as that Mead stuff you always go on about hey my friend?"
The Nord looked wistfully at the ceiling and barked a small laugh, "Not even close, Bosmer! Someday ill share a cask with you if we ever return to my homeland!"
Luien would have stopped to mention he had a small supply of Mead under the bar, shipped directly from a contact at Thirsk on Solsthiem, but his tavern's latest arrivals were a more pressing concern.
Luien hurried back to the bar and confronted the hooded figures, "Sarynia, is that you?"
The figure that was being suppported pushed back her hood and smiled, "Yes Luien, it's me, give us some water will you?"
"Who do you have there? Are you ok? What happened to make you need help walking?"
"My name is Kirathe, and Sarynia just twisted her ankle on your blasted cobbles out the front." Said the other figure, "After 3 days of walking here the first trouble we have is on the doorstep of the first pub we go to!"
"Sarynia! Your little feet are the only ones to ever trip on that doorstep; you must watchout. Let me get that water and maybe something for you to eat. Are you hungry?"
"Famished!" responded Sarynia.
"So where did you two meet? In the guild?" asked Luien.
"No, she saved me from being cut to death by some Orcs, then probably again from bleeding to death, I'm just trying to help any way I can."
"Actually, when I stopped him from bleeding everywhere I discovered something the guild might find interesting. We've come back to see them." Sarynia looked around. Just then a few more people entered the building and sat down at a table. They produced a pack of playing cards and proceeded to make themselves at home.
"Well it's getting busier today Lui!" calling Luien by her personal nickname. The two had been friends for many months; Luien being there whenever Sarynia needed to talk about problems in the guild, and Sarynia because it suited Luien to have as many friends as possible, especially attractive ones.
A man then opened the door and let a woman enter before him. Both were plain dressed but walked with a calm grace. The clothing they wore was quite common and of dark shade pants with white tops. The man had a good quality dai-katana strapped to his side, while the woman had an extraordinary ebony battlebow strapped to her side. Her quiver on her back was covered with an old cloth concealing any arrows she might be carrying.
Luien put a bottle of spring water on the counter and some fruit, anticipating Sarynia's favourites. "Looks like a couple I might have to keep an eye on." Luien said referring to the pair that just walked in.
Sarynia and Kirathe both turned to watch the pair who had just taken up seats near the entrance. The man noticed the attention and smiled confidently at Sarynia. The woman was staring at the guards on the table at the centre of the room. Sarynia turned and picked up her glass of water that Kirathe had poured and drank the contents, "They seem fine to me Lui, just relax!"
Just then an explosion shook the earth, spilling drinks and smashing glasses. The sound was deafening and the bar patrons were thrown to the ground. It had evidently originated from just outside the bar as dust and rocks had been thrown inside the front door. Small boulders and stones fell through the door and soon after the hulking form of a dead silt strider crashed just outside, taking part of the front wall with it.
Kirathe had managed to keep his wits about him during the explosion. Although the room was thick with dust, Kirathe could see the dead silt strider lying atop what remained of the Lucky Lockup's front wall. Just behind were the remains of the city wall and debris from signs, urns, baskets and even unlucky people. Everything else beyond that was obscured from sight by smoke from fire that had begun to burn.
Patrons of the bar started to lift themselves up and check for injuries. The armed couples sitting by the front door had surprisingly enough jumped out of the way, and were now standing at the bar with Sarynia, Kirathe and Luien.
The Bosmer and the huge Nord were standing at their table. The Bosmer was doubled over coughing while the Nord stood with a stunned expression. His hand was on his temple and a thin stream of blood trickled down his face.
The town guards had been thrown from their table, which now was lying on the ground broken and covered with large stones.
Marluth, the Captain of the guards that had come in to drink, was now lying face down on the ground. His clothes and armour were scorched black and his right arm was crushed beneath a large boulder. Blood poured from several wounds, but it was obvious that he was dead.
Next to him sat another guard. This one was impaled through the chest with a large piece of wood. His face was pale and his expression was of horror and fear as he looked at the large object in his body. His breathing turned from rapid to slow. Finally he looked up at the smoking hole in the wall, closed his eyes, and died.
The other two guards were slowly gaining consciousness. One tried to clear his head by shaking it while the other rushed to his fallen friends.
Through the smoke and rubble a figure appeared. It was dressed from head to toe in red and black daedric armour. The facial mask grinned a wicked smile of metal teeth as the figure surveyed the damage atop his vantage spot of debris and ruin.
All who remained in the demolished pub watched this figure in silence. Behind him came some smaller creatures, adorned in roughly spun robes and cowls of black.
The figure in the magnificent and terrifying armour lifted his arm and pointed at Kirathe, "Kill the others but leave that one alive!" came the coarse and horrible voice.
Immediately, all four cloaked figures revealed jagged daggers and jumped towards the survivors.
**********