Book II
Titus Pullo kept his eyes ahead, swaying slightly as his horse trotted calmly down the road. The sound of birds chirping in the trees, and hooves clopping on the ground filled his ears.
A single bead of sweat rolled down his brown from beneath the steel of his legion helmet. The sun above was at its zenith and the day was as hot as any Titus could remember this past month. He found himself almost wishing for a bit of a light drizzle, though memories of the storm from the night before cast those wishes away.
He was just returning from Anvil, and a few of the guards had told him that three ships that were supposed to come in during the night still weren't anywhere to be seen this morning. It was more than likely that they were lost in the remorseless seas.
Titus said a quick prayer for those lost in the darkness of the Abecean before thoughts of Kvatch started to fill his mind. Since the end of the Oblivion crisis the survivors of the city have been hard at work rebuilding. In the five months since Mehrunes Dagon was defeated the rubble had been mostly cleared from the streets and buildings have started to rise again. The people and the city were doing well under the eyes of Savlian Matius for the time being, the ruined city has yet to find a new count though Savlian carried the ring in his pocket.
Titus let out a breath and pulled a wineskin from a pouch hanging off his saddle. Uncorking it, and bringing it to his lips he felt the cool splash of water down his throat. The day was hot, and his armor didn't help in the least.
The bushes just off the side of the road started rustling as a young Altmer popped out from the foliage, an Elven bow in hand, arrow already notched. Titus dropped his wineskin, not hearing it hit the ground and spilling its contents across the road. Instinct immediately made him reach for his sword, his heels digging into his horse's flanks to urge it forward.
The world blurred as Titus focused everything on this bandit before him, the sword sliding from its sheath, glinting in the bright light. His mouth opened and a scream of fury poured forth directed to the poor soul before him, sword lifted above his head, ready to bring the blade down towards the bandit's unarmored neck.
Pain exploded through his side, rocking him in his saddle. Titus looked down to see an arrow sticking out from under his armpit. A second bandit was crouched in the foliage setting another arrow on his bow just as the first bandit released his own, hitting Titus in the chest. The arrow and bow were both surprisingly good quality and the arrow punched through Titus' cuirass, slicing through flesh, between ribs and tearing into his lung.
His horse feeling the man's heel weakening their hold slowed down to a stand still. Titus looked forward, blood bubbling down his chin, anger filled his gaze as he stared at the bandit before him. A third arrow hit him in the side and the legion soldier fell from his horse, hitting the ground hard. He felt the what little breath he had burst from his lungs, could feel blood bubbling around the wound in his chest, soaking into his shirt. He felt so tired, could feel his life slipping away. His hand reached out for his sword which had fallen somewhere, but he couldn't find it.
The bandit who had been on the road stepped over Titus, and took off the soldier's helmet. He held a knife in his hand, and brought the blade down so it rested gently on the skin of Titus' throat. Titus stared up at him, trying to voice words of anger, but all he could do was sputter, small globs of blood splattered across his face.
"Sorry soldier… this is war now," the Elf said, before his knife slid across Titus' throat, splitting skin, veins and arteries. Bright red blood squirted weakly from the wound as the Elf stood and wiped his dagger off with a cloth.
As the road was stained crimson, Titus looked up at the two men. War? His mind was full of confusion as he slipped into darkness.
Gnisis had once been a lively little village. Up here on the north western shore of Vvardenfell, where fishing had been good, and the separation from Morrowind politics a relief.
Now though, it had been touched by the merciless hand of war. Most of the buildings were in ruins, smoke drifting from their ruined forms. Healers and soldiers alike walked across the small battle field looking for any survivors amongst the torn bodies, Imperial legionaries mixed with Nord warriors and Orc mercenaries, their blood flowing from wounds and intermingling in the mud with their enemies. Archers walked through the mess, pulling arrows from the ground and the bodies of the slain. Tattered Imperial banners fluttered in the breeze, the standard bearers slumped to the ground and still holding their colours in death. The caw of ravens filled the air as the black birds flew down to gorge themselves on the remains. No one had the strength or resolve left to scare them away.
Ariane Furtivus looked across the ruins of the town from the top of Fort Darius, leaning against the battlements of the small and simple structure, letting out a long sigh. Despite the horrid losses here on Vvardenfell, it was just a skirmish compared to the battles waging on the mainland. She had heard tales while in Ebonheart, stories of blood flowing like rivers, the screams of men seeming to be echoes from Oblivion.
"Ma'am?" came the deep voice of one of the Legionnaires.
Ariane turned her head to acknowledge the Orc soldier.Nash gro-Khazor, sergeant of the Imperial Legion, had been here in Gnisis for years, had seen the Nerevarine come and rise to power, had seen the fall of Dagoth Ur, and now could very well be witnessing the fall of Morrowind. The green skin of his face was marred by a vicious scar that ran across his cheek and through the ruins of his nose, a mark left by a fellow Orc in the initial landing on Vvardenfell about two months before.
"They've struck hard for a simple egg farming community," Ariane said turning her gaze back towards the battlefield. Nash followed suit, and joined his commander by leaning on the battlements himself.
"Gnisis would be a good foothold to launch attacks from, and she's not as defended as Khull. Considering they are attacking from Solstheim it makes more sense than assaulting our primary northern port. Bastards aren't dumb despite the jokes," the sergeant said, glad that the Knight of the Imperial Dragon was not too proud to ask the opinions of lowly grunts.
"Unfortunately for us. The fact that they have been warriors since birth and most of our own are simply soldiers doesn't help either," Ariane said glumly.
"If you don't mind me saying ma'am, I think that you're wrong there," Nash said, tearing his eyes from the field to look at his commander.
"Speak your mind sergeant, don't leave me in suspense," Ariane retorted matching the soldier's gaze.
"It all comes down to discipline ma'am. Sure one on one a warrior would defeat a soldier. But in open warfare, where strategy and formations count for as much as fighting skill, the Legion will always have the advantage. That's why our instructors have always tried to drill that warrior instinct out of us that were 'born to be warriors'. For most of us, its worked and we're still alive," Nash said.
Ariane let out a small humorless laugh as she digested the words. She stood up and started walking away from the sergeant, back towards the trap door leading deeper into the fort.
"If you can discipline one warrior… what about all the others? Like you said sergeant, they're not dumb," the Imperial commander said before disappearing within the fort, leaving Nash alone to ponder not alone his own chances for survival, but also for the men he fought with.
His brothers.
Lucien signed the necessary paper work while Vieira pulled her belongings from an oaken chest at the dungeon entrance. Vieira's legs felt a little wobbly after climbing all the steps, she'd been in the cell way too long. She now faced long sessions of personal physical training to get her edge back.
"Thank you sir, that'll be all of it," the warden behind the desk told Lucien as the final sheet was signed. The battle mage shook his head in wonder as the sheets were pulled away to be filed by some clerk and forgotten.
Vieira had all her belongings dumped into a backpack that was handed to her. It was all accounted for: her curved dagger, leather armor, scaling claws, and her personal favorite item; a small crossbow which folded down for easy concealment. The weapon was as lethal as any other in her arsenal, and so very feared, especially here in Cyrodil where crossbows were about as rare as a personal visit from the gods. She wouldn't doubt if she had one of the only ones.
"So… where are my quarters?" Vieira asked her new boss.
"Well, despite getting you out of prison, you're not moving very far," Lucien said, nodding his hooded head towards a small three story tower that had been built just off of the Legion barracks.
"In there?" Vieira asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes, the Stone Tower as it has been coined by the troops, is for us knights of the Stone Dragon. Let me give you the guided tour," Lucien said walking up to the front door, unlocking it, and walking in.
The interior was plainly decorated, which was fine for the assassin's tastes. A simple staircase hugged the back wall, and led up to the second floor. Here was a simple table with a few benches around it. A second door led off to what Vieira presumed was the kitchens.
"This level is where we take meals and gather for whatever meetings are required," Lucien said, sweeping his hand around the room before starting up the stairwell. Vieira shook her head and followed.
The second floor had a small landing in before the next flight of stairs began. The landing was big enough to turn and step comfortably into the room itself. Six single beds with fresh looking sheets and pillows were arrayed around the circular room. At the foot of each bed was an oaken chest hardened with steel. Each had a set of keys sitting on the bed.
"The sleeping quarters," Lucien said.
"It looks unused," Vieira stated.
"You're the first of us besides myself," Lucien said simply.
Vieira couldn't help but laugh, as she took in the room. It was much better than the prison cell. Though she was somewhat looking forward to other people to talk with. After so long in that cell companionship was quite valuable.
Lucien was already heading up the next flight of stairs. Vieira quickly gathered herself and started up after him.
The third floor had the most decorations, and that was only because it was the only true inhabited room. A simple bed like those on the floor below was nestled against a wall, a desk against the opposite one. The other walls were lined with bookshelves and ancient tapestries. Some of the hangings depicted artwork of battles and historic times, while others seemed a long scroll of text that Vieira could never hope to decipher.
"This is the library and my own quarters. Anyone is allowed in here to gather whatever information may be needed. In the desk there are maps, parchments, quills, inks, whatever you may need for the administrative side of your work. Trust me, it is all in here," Lucien said with a small little smile.
The battle mage was comfortable in this room; he felt at peace.
"So… what are my rules?" Vieira asked.
"For now, you have your time to yourself. Check in twice a day with me to see if there is anything that needs be doing," Lucien said quietly as he started to pull his armor off.
Vieira immediately turned her eyes away and started back down to her level. Lucien did not call after her. Freedom: after so many months it had an odd taste, but she wanted more. Vieira threw her bag in a chest, locked it up and laid claim to a bed before pocketing her keys and heading out into the city.
It was time to live once more, before any chance of that was taken by war and strife.