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Chapter Two: The Castle Dour

19th of Morning Star, 4E 213

The striking blows of the hammer echoed in the air like a beating drum. On the grounds of the Castle Dour lies the training area, where Solitude guards and Imperial Legionnaires alike hacked and slashed against the abused straw dummies. A massive crackling bonfire lit the middle like the beacon of Meridia, melting away the snow around its grasp. In one corner lays an area where guards seek to hone their skills in the ways of archery. The Solitude commander, with his dark, thick beard, barked orders like a Daedric God to the row of inexperienced archers. Their lack of skill shined as their arrows flew in the air like a clumsy goose and nicked the stone walls behind.

"What manner of shooting is this?" Yelled the Commander; clearly dissatisfied with their abysmal accuracy. "Raise your hand and aim down the shaft! Your fellow soldiers will die on the field if you can't hit a simple, unmoving target!"

One guard failed to pull the string back, the arrow cluttering uselessly on the ground. Fuming, the commander walked over and robbed the guard of his bow and arrows.

"How can yourself an archer when you can't properly pull a simple bow back?" He jabbed his finger at the guard's face.

"But pulling the strings felt like lifting a horker with one hand!" He stammered, "Let alone pulling it every cursed second!" Sweat dripped down to his chainmail, "We all have a limit you know!"

The commander stepped forward and met eye to eye, nose to nose.

"You dare talk back to your superior?" The commander yelled, boiling with anger, "Get back to the barracks!" he pointed, "For the entire week, I will have you pull that bow until your arms fall right off their sockets and your hands covered in welts." He took a deep breath, "Go!"

The defeated guard lowered his head as he walked back to the city barracks, a cloud of shame weighing upon his shoulders. Guards and soldiers stared at his depressing stature and whispered to one another. The commander's fuming temper still lingered in the air; they resumed their training, lest being yelled at.

All this commotion was all captured by the eyes of three amused foreigners. They talked among themselves, clearly satisfied of what they had seen. One of which scribbled something in his journal, carefully observing the guards and their sword play. Continuous mechanical clicks emitted from their hands and fumbled around one of their many chest pockets. They talked to one another in the same garbled tone heard in the tavern, but were drowned out by the hive of grunting and yelling men. They walked deeper into the training ground with a sense of amazement on their faces. The snowy mountain where Solitude stands towered into the sky like a giant frost atronach, ramming its head into the sky as a challenge to the Gods. The foreigners admired the old stonework built around the Castle Dour with Solitude guards watching down from the ramparts. At a distance were two legionnaires, standing by the door of the Castle Dour, their Imperial armor gleaming in the sunlight. More mechanical clicks emerged from those foreigners as they quietly observed the statue-like Imperials.

"A Khajiit!" Someone yelled, "It's time for you to leave the city, cat."

There were some grunting and shuffling, before a fire lit up between the guards.

"My arm!" A guard exclaimed, falling over to his side, "It burns!"

"A magic user! In the name of the Jarl, catch that damned cat!" Another guard pointed at the fleeing Khajiit.

Tsahari slipped between the grasping arms of guards and ran right into the training ground. Everyone, including the foreigners, turned their head to the noisy commotion in the background. Ten guards chased after the cat, their heavy footsteps stampeding towards the Castle Dour. Tsahari stared in bewilderment at the mass of guards collected on the training grounds. She did not notice the bulging rock that lay beneath her foot. She fell on the cold hard ground, injuring her hands as she tried to soften her fall. The momentum caused her to hit her head on small pile of dirty snow. Guards and soldiers alike stood around her like the walls of an arena.

"You have committed crimes against the people of the Jarl. What do you say in your defense?" One ordered, standing before her with his Nordic guard helm reflecting the clear sunlight. Tsahari tried to speak, but the throbbing headache she took from the fall prevented such.

"Silent, eh? Let's see how long you'll stay silent before we send you to prison." He said, withdrawing ropes to tie her hands.

Noisy footsteps came closer to the group of guards with each passing second. The guards turned and looked to see three oddly dressed elves running towards them with their arms flailing. They yelled gibberish sounds at the top of their lungs. The guards around stared at them with utter confusion. If one could see beneath the guards' helmets, they kept their mouths open and their eyes squinting. The foreigners stood before the guards and Tsahari, and made wild pointing gestures. With all his gibberish nonsense, one of them pointed at the Khajiit mage then pointed back at himself. This granted nothing but amusement for the other guards. Some chucked and laughed at their ridiculousness.

"By the Gods! Quit yelling about!" A guard said, interrupting the foreigner's little act, "Speak like a proper man, and be quick. We have a criminal to haul."

"This one is my owner," Tsahari lied, wiping blood from her forehead, "This one cannot speak the common tongue, but they have raised Tsahari as a child." I hope those foreigners cooperate. This is a last ditch effort to escape being sent to prison. The guard looked at her, then back to the foreigners.

"Is this true?" The guard pointed at Tsahari, "Did you raise the cat?" He pointed at him. The foreigner nodded furiously, completely oblivious to what he just said.

"Very well then, the cat is yours," he signaled one of the guards to push Tsahari back to the foreigners, but only caused her to fall once again, "But if any of us find that cat assaulting or stealing anything, we will haul her to jail whether you like it or not." The guard placed the ropes back to his belt, "Since you will be taking responsibility for her actions, the fine is forty gold pieces for the assault of a guard." He reached out his open palm.

The three foreigners hustled together and whispered quietly to each other, exchanging and counting coins beneath their breath. One of them turned and handed the guard forty gold pieces. He took the coins and slipped down his satchel.

"I believe we are done here." Satisfied, the guard turned and shooed other guards away.

Everyone shuffled off to their own duties, leaving the foreigners and the Khajiit to their own affairs. Tsahari slowly pulled herself off the ground, leaving an imprint of her rear on the dirty snow. The foreigners communicated again with their nonsensical sounds before leaving the Castle Dour. One of them stopped and wagged his fingers at her, just like the bartender from the night before. Kicking up a cloud of snow, she jogged after the foreigners.

"Tsahari thanks this one for saving her from the guards," she thanked, "Is there anything Tsahari can repay you with?" The foreigners looked at her, raising an eyebrow. Again they wagged their fingers at her, beckoning her to follow them. Perhaps I will ask another time. They walked down the slope to the city market, the magnificent Blue Palace dominating the background.

The afternoon sun dipped slowly behind the mountain, casting a deep shadow that hovered over the city. Darkness reign supreme where sunlight once touched. Thieves and pickpockets slowly emerged from their hiding, praying for those whose purses are fat with gold. Men and women beckoned their children to follow them closely, afraid of lowly scum that slithers in the dark alleyways. The foreigners were in a hurry as they quickly maneuvered through the crowd and towards the main gate. Huddled close was Tsahari, her heart pounding with excitement. She knew not the place they will next go. Perhaps they are boarding their ship back to where they came, taking her along as a possible acquaintance. Tsahari was too young and inexperienced to see the dangers of following strangers. If she did, she did not care, as reading books for the rest of her life in a secluded room of the College sounds gruesomely boring and lonely.

Tsahari and the foreigners walked forever through the streets, avoiding stares from people passing by. Up ahead, a peach-colored argonian wearing hide armor leaned against the poles of a perfume shop. People took care to avoid him, as he will shove his snout to the business of others. His yellow lizard eyes darted around, until he laid eyes upon the foreigners. With a glee, he said,

"You're not from around here are you?" He asked, attracting the foreigner's attention.

They just stood there, gawking at him, like they have never seen a lizardman before. So it appears that these elf-like foreigners are ignorant of the existence of the beast race.

"You're new. I'm new too. Perhaps we could be friends." The argonian smiled, baring his razor sharp teeth in display. The foreigners just kept staring at him, scanning him from head to toe. One of them rubbed his eyes, assuming he was just but an illusion. He was not. Agitated at their behavior, he thought twice of hiring them.

"If you're so keen to stare at me all day, why not do it at one of the guards here?" He glared, "I have other business to attend to." Then he walked off down the street. Tsahari was bemused by the foreigner's reaction to the argonian. One of them elbowed his friends from their hypnosis state and ushered them to continue forward. Tsahari followed close behind, shaking her head with a smirk.

Emerging from the commercial district, where street remain crowded, Tsahari and the foreigners walked in the square where once a guard was beheaded. They came upon the large entrance to the city of Solitude; its beautifully decorated doors contrasted the dull gray stones of its hinges. It remained open for all travelers that seek to live or visit here. Two guards that stood by stared at the strange little group that walked past the large gate. They looked at each other, and shrugged. Maybe we've been drinking too much mead lately.

Fields of farmland lay beyond the walls of the city, struggling to grow in the cold weather. No one could have thought that a blizzard may strike here, of all places. It caught all farmers by surprise from the day previously, forced to shelter in their homes while the storm outside ravaged their precious crops lying hopelessly outside. Tsahari and the foreigners walked down the icy stone path, watching their every step, taking care not to slip and injure oneself. Travelers, carriages, and mercenaries traveled to and fro on the road, ignoring the oddly dressed foreigners, as they too are watchful for the icy ground. The windmill beyond stood proudly by the Solitude Stables, ice melting from their wooden wings. The smell of manure and hay filled the air like an expanding cloud. The foreigners took no heed of the foul air while the Khajiit's sensitive nose struggled to breath. Tsahari clenched her nose with her sleeve as they walked past the stables.

They continued down the trotted path until trees began to cover their entire view. Snowflakes drifted from the spike-like leaves of towering trees. Old and new footprints littered the pure white snow. It was all silent, save for sounds of bird calls and the water beating against the shoreline. It all caught Tsahari by surprise when a disembodied voice emitted out of nowhere. The foreigners paused as they saw Tsahari's fright. It sounded eerily similar to the same garbled tongue the foreigners conversed with each other. Again, the demon voice sounded, but now she saw it originates from the foreigners themselves. One of them reached to a black box embellished on his left shoulder and talked to it, much to Tsahari's confusion. The daedric-like disembodied voice replied back to him. One of them saw her discomfort, and patted her in the back, assuring the Khajiit all was alright. We are not in danger. That did little to sooth her mind. Were they daedric soldiers in disguise or were they the actual people of the Dwemer, assumed to have disappeared thousands of years ago.

She continued to ponder the thought, until she stood rigidly still and stared ahead. The foreigners heard her pause and looked back at her frozen stance. They turned to look to where she stared.

Multiple agents of the Thalmor Justiciar marched closer, their golden armor made fit for the people of Mer.