Nero brought his horse to a stop, sighing quietly in the shadows of his cloak as an Imperial convoy approached. The guards had five prisoners in irons, walking away from Whiterun. A tingle ran down the lycan's spine as the convoy stopped before him. The lead guard squinted as he looked Nero over, his mouth twisting into a frown as he crossed his arms.
"You there." The man said. "State your business. "
"I am but a humble traveler, on my way to Solitude for the birth of my first niece." Nero replied, coating his voice with a false enthusiasm.
Nero's eyes flashed a vile shade of blue as he heard the other guards mumbling. His heightened hearing let him hear every word they said. Much to Nero's annoyance, they were going to attack. Not out of self defense, but out of boredom.
"Off the horse, traveler." The guard said, pulling his blade from its sheathe.
Shaking his head, Nero dismounted, pulling his hood off as he hit the ground. Without much warning, the guards attacked. But, this traveler was anything from ordinary. With seemingly little effort, the lycan dodged every slash, visibly angering his attackers.
The horse fled, the prisoners fled, and now, there was no risk of collateral damage. A raven called overhead as the guards continued their offensive. For being of such height and build, Nero was as agile as a Khajiit. A calm smile crossed his lips as he continued to wear the enemies out, their fatigue becoming apparent from the sweat forming on their exposed skin.
Winding up for a powerful strike, the lead guard was shocked as Nero leapt at him, drilling an armored knee squarely into his mouth, breaking the aggressor's nose and front teeth. It seemed that before the guard even hit the ground, Nero had punched the other two in the throats with armored fists, dropping them to their knees gasping for breath.
As the two underlings suffered broken voice boxes, Nero returned to the head guard, kneeling next to him before grabbing him by the throat, standing, and holding him over his head.
"Now, what was that for?" Nero asked, casting a terrible glare to his new prisoner. "Do you always attack soon-to-be uncles for no reason?"
Tightening his grip on the Imperial's throat, Nero grinned as he heard the air escape from the man's mouth. Beginning to flail wildly, the guard began to gurgle as Nero's clawed gauntlets drew blood.
"I suppose I should expect nothing less of dogs of the military. Pathetic."
Inhaling sharply, Nero crushed the guard's throat in his hand, dropping the corpse to the roadside. In the blink of an eye, Nero slashed the throats of the other two guards, leaving them to bleed out on the stones below. With a sigh, he wiped the blood from his gauntlet onto his cloak, grumbling at the mess he had made. Looking around, he grimaced, quickly kicking the bodies into the river. A sigh of relief passed his lips as a merchant caravan rounded the corner. Quickly tying his hair back, Nero threw on a most convincing smile as the group approached. Exchanging a few pleasantries, Nero followed the caravan to Whiterun, partially glad the cat people weren't allowed in the city walls… But that would soon be changing.
Ivarstead, sundown…
A chill gripped the land as the sun sank behind the Throat of The World. The twins Faust and Fenrir walked the stone road, coming to the sleepy village of Ivarstead as the town was swallowed by the mountain's massive shadow. The Imperial watch paid the two no mind as the slipped into the inn, moving without a sound to the innkeeper.
"There should be a room for us..." Faust said, pulling off his mask. "The reservation should be under DeSade."
"Why yes, that is correct!" The woman behind the counter said, tilting her head. "And they cost is 10 Septims."
"Of course…" The teenager replied, pulling a coin purse from his cloak, dropping it on the counter.
"Thank you very much, your room is to the right. Enjoy your stay."
With a nod, the two retired to their room, discarding their cloaks as they shut the door behind them. Throwing open the wardrobe, Faust reached through the forgotten clothing, feeling the pockets for what he was in search for. He smirked, sliding an envelope from an inner pocket. Tossing the item to his brother, Faust moved to the bed, sprawling out from their long day of travel.
With the moons rising, the twins settled in for sleep, curling up on the single beds under thick furs. Even though it was nearing the end of HeartFire, the night air held a terrible chill, and the drafty old inn was not the best defense against the winds of Skyrim.
"I wonder how the others are doing…" Mumbled Faust, sinking into the straw bedding.
"Well…" Fenrir yawned. "It's hard knowing with some of those lunatics. Gerda and Aurora should be fine… Not sure about Rurik and Maksim though."
"What ever happened to Vega?"
"Last I heard he was in Hammerfell, but my gut tells me he will have a hand in this."
Their idle chatter continued for a few minutes, but their pleasant conversation was interrupted by the sounds of battle. A fight broke out between a Stormcloak and an Imperial guard in the inn, which spilled out into the street. As the action heated up, their blades sprung forth, the clashing of steel attracting the respective forces to arms.
"Blood?" Fenrir asked, a childish glint in his eyes.
Rolling his eyes as he slid out of bed, Faust motioned to get dressed. Strapping on their masks in unison, the twins nodded to each other in the candle light before moving to the door. Cracking the door, Faust peered through the crack, not seeing a soul in the main hall. The teens split, snuffing every source of light in the building.
"Plan?" Fenrir asked, summoning a spectral battle axe into his hands.
"We must move swiftly to reach Whiterun." Faust replied, cracking his knuckles. "We can reach the Bannered Mare by dawn, and Nero should be finishing up his talks with the Companions around that time… I hear they're tough to persuade."
Kicking the door open, the pair rushed onto the porch, ready for whatever the skirmish was about to throw their way. Wasting no time, Fenrir drove his axe into the railing, using the momentum to vault off the porch and dropkick an Imperial directly into the blade of a Stormcloak soldier. The sound of metal on flesh sent a chill down the young lycan's spine, filling him with excitement.
Ripping the axe from the wood, a crazed look emerged behind Fenrir's mask. His eyes glowed an icy blue as he spun on his heel, slashing across several soldiers of both sides. The screams of the men delighted the teenager as they echoed in his ears. The blood from his axe splashed across his brother's mask, making the calmer of the two shake his head.
"You know none of them can leave, right?" Faust chuckled, his tone unsettling.
"I am aware…" Fenrir replied, pouring even more magick power into his summoned weapon. "Would you like to take out the ones who escaped?"
"I would like nothing better."
Ripping off his cloak, Faust rolled his shoulders and dropped to a defensive posture. Pulling off his mask, a decidedly wolfish sneer crossed his face as his eyes turned from blue to yellow. A low snarl crept from Faust's throat as his skin went darker than a Dunmer. Thick black fur erupted from every pore as his bones began to break and reform, shifting him into one of the horrors of Skyrim. A vicious howl cut through the sounds of battle as the moons broke the clouds.
In a terrible blur, Faust tore through the enemy, rending flesh from bone as he took off down the eastern road on the hunt for deserters.
Jorrvaskar, Whiterun.
"I don't know…" Kodlak muttered, sitting down in his chambers. "We usually stay neutral in political issues…"
"But this isn't so much political as it is a declaration of war." Nero replied, standing in the shadows of the room. "And once all is said and done, Whiterun hold will be a haven for you warrior types. And what would bring the Companions more honor and glory than ruling the new mercenary hold? Besides getting the vulgar amount of money that is on the way here for you and your men…"
"I have no need for such wealth… But the rest of them could use it." Kodlak pondered, stroking his beard.
"My father may have been a patient man, but I am not…" The lycan said, his tone twisting to one of darkness. "Even wolves have their price…"
As Nero seemed to melt into the shadows, Kodlak sighed in disgust. His mind churned in the fog of decision: accept the shocking amount of gold, essentially selling out the Companions, or be against this new player in the civil war. Both options weighed heavily, as both were something he would rather not put his guild through, but there was no third option. Nero has frightened him, and that in of itself was terrifying.
"Skjor!" Kodlak called out.
A few moments passed, and the aging warrior in question appeared at Kodlak's door. Crossing the threshold, the short haired man narrowed his eyes as he leaned on the doorframe.
"Is that person gone?" Skjor asked, scanning the room.
"Yes… And we have come to an impasse." Kodlak replied, stroking his beard once more. "This whole scenario bothers me."
"I think he should bother you more." The man scoffed, crossing his arms. "How do we know he won't just slit our throats after all is said and done?"
"He has honor, albeit misplaced." Kodlak said, laying back on his bed. "I would rather stay out of it, but as he says, we don't have much of a choice."
"There is always another option, and bullying factions into obeying him has no honor in it. I will be no part of this." Skjor hissed, turning his back to his superior.
"That may be worse than our current predicament with the war, but I will make sure the Companions prosper from it."
The main gates of Whiterun lurched open, allowing two women to enter the walled city. Their boots clicked on the cobblestone below as they made their way to the wind district by moonlight. Slipping into the former home of Uthgerd the Unbroken, the pair made themselves comfortable. The ivory haired woman of the two set to lighting candles as the red head began poking around for food.
"Took you long enough to get here." Nero sneered from his perch in the rafters of the house.
"Gods damnit!" The ivory haired woman screamed, clutching her chest. "Do you really have to make every entrance a heart attack?!"
"Well of course." Nero chuckled, dropping to the floor without a sound. "I trust things in Solitude are progressing well?"
"Exceedingly." The red head chimed in. "The Legion was in an absolute fit as we were departing."
"Excellent." The lycan laughed, changing into more civilian attire. "Aurora, how was the trip here? It took longer than I recall."
Pouring a glass of wine, the white haired woman leaned on the fireplace. Shaking her head, she took a long sip of her drink, sighing heavily.
"We were only late because the carriage was almost robbed." The woman replied with a huff. "And the only reason we were there at that exact time was because Gerda was too preoccupied robbing the Blue Palace blind!"
"We had to have something to pay the driver with!" Gerda shot back. "Because someone spent all the money at Radiant Raiment! Your wardrobe is packed to the brim as it is!"
The two continued to bicker as Nero made his way to the door, pulling on a less suspicious cloak.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to press some information from those damn Battle-Borns. I'll be at the Bannered Mare if you need me."
Nero's footsteps were silent as he made his way to the inn, slipping through the odd gatherings of people still milling about in the near midnight hour. As he descended the stairs, his eyes narrowed to mere slits of blue as a Redguard approached him.
"Hold, citizen!" The man said, getting a little too close to Nero. "My name is Nazeem, and I advise the Jarl on varying matters."
"Great. I don't ca-" Nero was cut off.
"There have been matters of late that the common rabble don't know about. You look rather common yourself, but strike me as an intellectual." Nazeem said, his tone overly condescending. "Might I have a word?"
"I don't really wan-" Cut off again.
The words began to pour from the Redguard's mouth like the after effects of a bad batch of mead. Every syllable started grating on every last nerve Nero had, replacing his once good mood with a rather foul one. Nazeem's voice was like fork scraping against a plate to the lycan. His eyes began to scan the area. Not a single town guard in sight, or townsperson for that matter. It was as if Nocturnal had shadowed the way for him.
Nero wasn't even listening at that point, just formulating on what to do with the body afterwards. Adopting a blank expression, Nero began staring at the Redguard's mouth, taking note of his verbal mannerisms and annunciation, seeing how wide his mouth opened when speaking certain words.
"What was that last bit about the Jarl?" Nero asked, feigning interest.
"Well, the Jar-" It was now Nazeem who was cut off.
In the blink of an eye, Nero had his hand in the Redguard's mouth, skewering the man's tongues between his claw-like fingernails. A shocked expression washed over Nazeem's face as Nero locked eyes with him.
"If your voice was any more irritating I would sever my ears in spite." He growled, applying more pressure to his vice grip. "I'm sure all of Skyrim will thank me for this."
With a vicious boot to Nazeem's chest, the Redguard tumbled backwards down the stairs, but his tongue did not. The burst of nerves made the piece of muscle twitch between Nero's fingers as Nazeem rolled to a stop, bleeding profusely from his mouth. Tossing the tongue into the bushed, Nero continued his descent, casting an ill glare upon the fallen man as he passed. He knelt, grabbing the now silent "advisor" by the jaw, bringing his face mere inches from his own.
"You won't be getting to the Could district very often anymore…" Nero growled, a horrible sneer returning to his face.
Nazeem moaned, but not a soul was around to hear his cries. A sinister chuckle escaped Nero's throat as he walked away, ducking into the Bannered Mare.
Meanwhile, back near Ivarstead…
The injured Stormcloak hobbled through the woods, holding the stab wound in his side, attempting to keep equal pressure on it. Her breathing was ragged, her other puncture wounds still bleeding vulgarly as her heart pounded most audibly. The woman's steps were clumsy and heavy, crunching every branch and leaf beneath her. A terrible, spine chilling howl slashed through the moonlit forest, freezing the soldier where she stood. Her injuries and loss of blood began to take her into a state of shock, as the howl seemed to come from all sides.
Her eyes widened in terror as she felt a pair of eyes on her, their gaze seemingly burning through the darkness into her very being. Her heart rate increased as she heard the soft crunching of leaves somewhere near. The soldier's remaining vision blurred into horrible blackness as she fell to her knees, her wounds throbbing with a disgusting pain.
"Poison…" She muttered, covering her mouth as she began to cough up blood.
She was aware of the glare again, she felt the look move over her every curvature, seeming to grow in intensity as the rustling of leaves grew louder. Her vision went from black to terrible hallucinations of drowning terror. Surrounded by the giant skeevers of her fevered state, she pulled her steel sword from her hip, wildly swinging at every mirage in reach. The rats laughed, adopting the voices of those who had scorned her in the past.
"Whore!"
"What business do you have joining the rebellion?!"
"Nord? More like Imperial mutt!"
"You weren't even born in Skyrim!"
She collapsed, mentally and physically spent. Her heavy breathing could be heard rasping through the woods. Her eyes rolled in her head as crippling paralysis crept through her body, emanating from the knife wound in her side.
A slick voice reached her ears, but she could not turn her head to address it.
"Do you believe you will reach Sovengard?" Fenrir asked, his ghastly battle axe vanishing back to the plains of Oblivion.
"Yes… I died in battle." The soldier replied, her voice trembling horribly.
"Death by poison is not a very honorable, human." Fenrir scoffed, rolling his neck with a vulgar crunch.
"Bastard." She gurgled. "You disgrace my afterlife by merely speaking her name!"
"You shouldn't be so eager to die… Such a garbage philosophy." Fenrir laughed, crossing his arms. "Faust… I cannot stand the sight of this pitiful creature any longer."
Stepping from Fenrir's shadow, Faust eyed his dinner, dropping to all fours as he inhaled deeply. What sounded like a laugh escaped the monster's fanged grin. The poison's effect had taken complete hold of the woman, causing her to convulse horribly before the pair. Turning his back, Fenrir pulled his hood over his head. The teenager snapped his fingers, commanding the beast to get rid of the evidence.
The terrible sounds of ripping flesh filled the woods, the echoes of bones snapping and marrow being slurped cast an ill atmosphere over the surrounding area. The local scavengers dare not approach lest they suffer a similar fate. As Faust withdrew from the gore, Fenrir stepped forth, weaving an odd spell in his hands. An oppressive black flame erupted from the teenager's hands, scorching the remains of the solider to nothing more than a pile of ash.
Shifting back into his normal form, Faust shook with a chill, forcing a laugh out of Fenrir. Tossing him his cloak, the two made tracks back to Ivarstead before making their midnight run to Whiterun.
Later on, at the Bannered Mare…
"Ridiculous!" Spat Olfrid, Patron of clan Battle-Born.
"It really is in your best interest, and in your clan's best interest." Nero said, his icy voice hanging in the air. "Now this is the last time I'll ask you. Imperial troop movements please."
"I don't care how you threaten me! I'll never give out such information!" Olfrid grumbled.
Seeming to phase through space, Nero was face to face with the Magnate. The lycan's glacial eyes cut through Olfrid's soul, causing him to recoil into a chair.
"Isn't it odd that you haven't seen your son Jon in a few days? Or that your clan house seems strangely empty?" Nero hissed, sliding his hands into his pockets. "A great darkness is approaching Skyrim… I'm sure those you hold dear would want you to make the correct decision… Unless it's as they say, and you really just want money."
"Petty insults will win you no battles here!" Battle-Born growled, jumping to his feet.
Lunging at Nero, Olfrid tripped over his own feet. Nero took this lack of grace to sidestep, dropping a vicious elbow between his attacker's shoulder blades, sending him to the floor with horrible impact. A few books and assorted trinkets shook off their shelves, crashing to the floor. Nero cast a look of disdain down upon the human, flashing his terrible fanged grin.
"You won't get away with this, you heathen!" Olfrid gurgled, writhing on the floor trying to regain his breath.
"Please." Nero scoffed. "Leave my faith out of this."
"You'll never get away with this. I won't allow it!" The man said, trying to regain his composure.
"I don't think you have much say in the matter." Nero replied, turning on his heel.
In a flash, Nero's boot connected with Olfrid's windpipe, crushing it on impact. A disgusting croak slide out of his mouth as the door to the room creaked open. A member of the Dark Brotherhood stood in the door, only their eyes visible from the red and black cowl. The agent's light footsteps hardly made a noise as they crossed the aging wooden floor, handing a sealed letter to the lycan. Waving his hand dismissively at the agent, Nero turned his attention to the letter as Olfrid writhed in agony, unable to make a sound.
"Nero, all targets have been silenced in Markarth and Solitude. As you read this letter, the persons of interest in Morthal, Falkreath and Winterhold are being attended to. Also, thank you for your generous payment in full and upfront. Sithis and The Black Hand appreciate your patronage. –A"
With a smirk, Nero shoved the note in his pocket, giving the Battle-Born patron a solid kick in the ribs.
"I guess only ugly people don't have a price… Hm." Nero said, pulling on his cloak as he made his exit.
Stepping into the cool late night air, Nero inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling back in his head as he began to make his way back to his temporary safe house. His eyes darted from side to side, keeping an eye on the shadows in his path. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he passed the house of clan Battle-Born. Glancing at the house, his eyes narrowed as he noticed a light in the upper floor.
"Professionals… Hmph." He scoffed, slipping into the safe house.
Aurora and Gerda were asleep, apparently plastered from the numerous bottles of Argonian blood wine strewn about the kitchen area. Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs, tossing his cloak on a chair as he sat down on the bed, the open window before him giving him a clear line of sight into the Battle-Born residence. He grimaced at the mess left by his hired hands: blood and gore covered the walls, and the bodies of Alfhild and Bergritte Battle-Born laying in several parts in the master bedroom.
"Not like that drunk can dislodge himself from the Jarl's ass anyways… Looks like he hasn't been home in days." Nero scoffed, laying back on the bed.
Rolling onto his side, Nero began routing through the bedside table, pulling out a book. He cracked the volume open, beginning to read the tale of Queen Barenziah. His eyes tracked each line, his mind getting more and more enthralled with the story. Hours passed, and the only sounds in the house were the drunk snoring of his companions downstairs.
His ears twitched as he heard sounds from the street below as the familiar scent of blood crept on the air through the still open window. His eyes narrowed as he heard something scaling the outer wall of the house. Sitting up, he readied a frosty bolt of magick as a pair of hands clasped onto the windowsill.
"And just what are you two doing here?" Nero asked, retracting the spell.
"Ivarstead is no good." Faust said, pulling off his mask. "A skirmish broke out, and we had to flee."
"Then why do you both reek of death?" Nero questioned, cocking an eyebrow.
"Because we had to escape somehow! We're just helpless teenagers after all!" Fenrir chuckled, dropping into a chair. "Too many people saw us, and we didn't have the energy to light the place up."
"I see… " Nero replied, laying back down. "Get some rest. We head directly for Riften today. The Black-Briar woman must be… Persuaded."
"She's scary!" Faust laughed, getting ready for bed.
"But Aurora is worse!" Fenrir replied, laying down next to the bed.
A few minutes of idle chatter between the twins lulled Nero to sleep, his mind still trying to think five moves ahead of Skyrim.
[A/N] Nazeem had to die. I know you feel the same way. Also, there will be a small intermission over the next week. Family gatherings for idol worship and whatnot. Happy Holidays! -N