Solstheim, Sixty-Third year of the Fourth Era, 8th day of Rain's Hand.
The marketplace of the Raven Rock Mining Settlement was always not a place to be at midday. Counting the exasperated Redoran Soldiers coming back from their early-morning patrol, the East Empire Company attempting to unload their cargo of whatever Imperial luxury item they had been told to ship that day, with the fatigued ebony-miners rushing to spend their lunch hour waiting in line at the local Sujamma vendor, it was extremely difficult to try and pass through the village proper without instigating some altercation; even more so likely, a brawl.
Nevertheless, that didn't stop the local mining foreman, a Dunmer by the name of Drevlyiin Vir, along with his wife Eira; his stalwart Nord of a wife, who at the time was with child, from attempting to lecture the captain of the Redoran Guard for previous grievances against his co-workers.
The captain of the Guard was intimidating, to say the least; even to his own subordinates. He was an 8-foot tall bulk of an elf, who many thought at first glace to be a Troll or Ogre, or some other creature of primitive brute stature. His name was Moraeg Ryt, and had been the commanding officer of the Bulwark for little over a year at the time of this confrontation. He had been stationed at Raven Rock against his will, due to his volatile nature and violent outbursts, and was put farther away from the mainland branch of House Redoran; so as to remove any chance of scandal or rumor. He was extremely unliked in the community, even more so by someone as loyally righteous as Drevlyiin Vir.
"Ah, hello again Captain Ryt! May I ask as to what you are doing this fine day?" asked Drevlyiin, with a facade of innocent inquiry and cheerfulness. The Captain wore the mandated Bonemold armor which radiated an ashy reflection on his person; although it had to be fitted three sizes larger, lest his chest collapse due to the lack of structural support. Moraeg motioned for his troops to return to the barracks, as if the words he would say during this exchange was not meant for the common elf; but kept two of his most trusted lieutenants, who had numerous records of illicit activity, having their records expunged by Moraeg himself, flanking him, as to create an aura of intimidation; already suffocating with menacing intent enough due to his immense person. "Listen Vir, I don't care about whatever thrice-damned thing your workers are complaining about today, Councilor Rathril wants to load off all the ebony from 26th of First Seed come the next East Empire freighter. That means your pitiful diggers need to work during the day as well", said Moreag. Drevlyiin was visibly trembling in fury, but before he could retort, Moreag started again. "Oh yeah, and they also can't be paid overtime; Councilor's request. Something about not working long or hard enough, I didn't really catch what he said, but either way, he wants it done by next Morndas."
Drevlyiin Vir was known to be a kind man, someone with an even temper, that only showed itself in moments of righteous anger. He was a fair man, and paid his workers a fair day's wage for a fair day's work. But they worked for fifteen-hours a day, many staying even longer to finish smelting the ingots and loading them into shipping crates. This was unacceptable! The Councilor was mad as Sheogorath for thinking that he could make his already weary workers double their workload, for seemingly no given reason; although this was nothing new. Councilor Rathril was also known for his shady dealings; many suspected he pocketed a portion of every ebony shipment going out of Raven Rock, but nobody could bring forth any evidence; and any evidence actually presented was taken by the Redoran Guard Captain for "Validation and Review".
"NO! No fetching way! You tell Rathril that I'm not doing it anymore! I'm not going to partake in such a crude abuse of power; such as an N'wah like you already have!" yelled Drevlyiin, who now delivered these words with angry fervor to Captain Ryt, who looked dumbfounded, but quickly regained his posture of authority. Drevlyiin was about to continue his rant, but was stopped by his wife Eira, who pulled him aside and directed his attention to the marketplace proper. Everyone in the marketplace was staring at him, the Guards, the merchants, even the sleepy miners!, with wide eyes full of admiration and awe; as not many individuals stand up to corrupt authority figures, much less ones 8-feet tall and carrying an ebony sword. Drevlyiin was undeterred, and was about to unload even more of the flaming vernacular which his ancestors were proud of watching collide with a bully like Captain Moreag; when his wife quickly whispered something in his ear, and calmed his nerve; at least for the time being. The pair quickly attempted to depart; as the sound of the merchant district filled with the sounds of gossip buzzing about the two merfolk, when Captain Moraeg screamed, "Get back here Vir! Don't think that pale-skinned bitch can pull you away just cause she's about to give!". Eira stopped her husband in his tracks, swiftly grabbed a Sujamma bottle from a passerby miner, and struck Captain Moraeg across the head with the beverage urn. It exploded on impact, leaving ceramic chips embedded in the workings of his visage. The townsfolk now completely held fast; many appeared to stop breathing in anticipation. Even Moraeg's bodyguards were stunned by what had just occurred.
"You bitch, you filthy pale-skin, ice-eater! You and that damn bitch will rot in the Bulwark until the Fifth Era!" gibbered Moreag, his face bleeding sufficiently enough to sate the innate Nordic appetite for bloodshed. Drevlyiin stood with a look of approval, mixed with a healthy dose of dread, as his soon-to-deliver wife walked over to his quarrel. "You call me a bitch one more time, and I'll be sure kick your ass so hard, i'll go to Sovngarde when I die." , muttered the ice-lady, before spitting on the Captain as a final insult. The pair suitably departed, leaving Moraeg in a puddle of his own blood and sweat; surrounded by astounded villagers.
"That was some show you put on back there", said Drevlyiin jokingly, hoping to hear the voice of the woman he married, and not the voice of Ysgramor's chosen warrior. "A Nord doesn't back down to some milk-drinking troll like him," sassed Eira. She was now walking at a slower pace than before; as her pregnant self exerted a whole days worth of energy in just a few minutes time. "That's what I get for marrying the descendant of Jorunn the Skald-King I suppose, a fiery spirit comes pre-packaged. But that's why I love you", said Drevlyiin tenderly. Eira retorted by laughing a hearty laugh, booming is more precise, and then blushing a rosey pink. Just before they were able to enter their home and end their day on a quiet note, Eira began gasping; as though she was losing her breath with every sip of air she took. Drevlyiin was horrified, and began asking what was wrong with his beloved. The sound of a pale of water gushing onto the floor suddenly was introduced into his ears as his wife suddenly stood in place, shaking. Then, a watery substance fell out of her nether-area, and Drevlyiin was confused no more.
She was going into labor.
**Continued in Chapter. 3***
EDIT** Fixed some grammatical errors, added one last line at the bottom. Please review, or send me a message with your opinions. Thanks everyone who followed! I think I'll get another Chapter out today as well, so keep a look out.***