A/N: Thanks for the attention guys, seems I'm getting more followers by the day. This is more combat heavy, for those who liked it in the last chapter. And for Bloodmark Mentor, I wasn't sure how long to make the chapters as per fanfiction standard, but I think 2k words is a nice balance. So this one is significantly longer, as will be all the subsequent ones. And for JakMartheDarkWarrior, I haven't made up my mind yet for allegiances. Like I said, it's a complicated issue. Personally I've always been an Imperial kind of guy, but we'll have to see for Strid'r. If you guys find any lore mistakes just let me know, and as usual subscribe and comment!
"Mead mead mead... kill 'em to get some beer every now and then? Stupid bees and their stupid honey." The rough bandit voice wafted up the mine tunnel, where Strid'r and Fraener stood listening. Slowly, the two began their descent into the mine, carefully listening to the bandit's voice grow louder as they drew closer. Strid'r looked around, kept his eyes alert for any sign of trouble. He slowed his approach further to examine the peculiar rock formation of the ceiling. Somehow, it didn't look natural, all the big rocks jutting out of the main bedstone like that. When he saw the rope that was inside of the rock cluster, he stopped dead, felt his heartrate quicken. A trap. He followed the rope with his eyes, watching as it draped down the wall and to the ground, buried under a thin layer of dirt, leading straight to-
"Oof!" a very surprised Fraener grunted as he was tackled to the ground. The young Nord threw the offending Redguard off of him, dusting himself off indigently. Before he could inquire as to exactly why his partner had thrown him so vigorously to the ground, Strid'r pointed to the pressure plate on the floor. Fraener realized with horror he had almost triggered the trap, bringing his expedition into a very short, very brutal ending. Stupid, stupid! he mentally admonished himself. Have you forgotten everything father taught you? "Know where your head is and your feet fall, and harm will seldom trouble you." Those were the simple words of advice his father had given him before the young Nord left for his first solo hunt. The world seemed... simpler back then. Before the Stormcloaks. Certainly before... well, events of late seemed to make life all the more confusing and dangerous place.
"What was that?" The bandit's alarm was now raised, suddenly becoming alert and aware that someone was here that shouldn't be. Fraener leapt to his feet, Strid'r not far behind. "Is someone there?" the bandit inquired, drawing his axe and approaching them slowly. Fraener notched an arrow on his bow, waiting...waiting...
Twang. Fraener's arrow pierced the bandit's shoulder, straight into a chink in his armor. Either from the mead he was just drinking or his battle rage, the bandit didn't show any sign of pain aside from a slight stagger. He switched the axe into his other hand as he turned to face Fraener. "Ha! Found you!" Heavy iron boots clanked on the ground as he broke into a dead-sprint towards the Nord archer. Rapidly closing the distance, he hefted the axe above his head, preparing to cleave Fraener's head from his body.
He never got the chance. There was a sudden shift in the wind, a metallic ring in the air and a hard impact to his chest. Next he knew he was on his back, staring at the bloody stump where his hand once was. He looked up to see a wicked blade in an arc for his neck, the Redguard wielding it with murder in his eyes. "Sovengarde..." the bandit whispered with his last breath, before his head was neatly severed from his body.
"You certainly let him get close enough didn't you?" Fraener remarked as he tossed the body for anything good. As he strapped on the dead bandit's leather bracers, a key fell out of his pocket.
"I had faith in my ability to stop a drunken bandit with an arrow wound," Strid'r replied lightly. A small grin had appeared on his face, betraying an enjoyment of the moment. In combat, in battle... any Redguard is in their element. "Grab that key, I see a gate up ahead, and I suspect we'll be needing it." Nodding, Fraener did so and followed the Redguard companion to the gate.
Careful of traps, the two made it further down the mine tunnel, until they reached a wooden platform overlooking the main cavern. There was a large amount of iron around them, with pickaxes scattered throughout, all signs that this was a functioning mine. Below them, two bandits were discussing the best way to cut into a mammoth corpse lying on the ground, a sheen of oil coating the floor around it (no doubt used to ease the transport of the dead mammoth). A third bandit, the chief, was on a wooden platform within a corner cut into the cavern. He paid no attention to the two down by the mammoth, instead seeming busied with a note of some sort. Fraener, impatient, pulled his bow out and began notching an arrow when he felt Strid'r's hand stop him.
Fraener followed where Strid'r's finger was pointing: towards the oil lamps on the cavern ceiling. They were held with old, frayed rope and filled with burning oils. Fraener shook his head at the stupidity of the bandits, but took aim at the center lamp. "Talos have mercy on your souls," he whispered as he loosed his arrow. It flew true, breaking the weak bonds on the lamp. It fell, crashing to the ground in a spat of flames. The oil on the ground instantly caught aflame, and the cavern was filled with screams of agony as the surprised bandits were roasted alive. The intensity of the flames forced Strid'r and Fraener to retreat away from the burning cavern. The heat was intense but quick: it only took a few minutes for it to burn itself out.
"Well, that was easy," Fraener quipped. Just as the words left his lips, a figure emerged from around the corner and entered the tunnel. His fur armor charred and his skin burned, the bandit chief, another Orc, pulled a wicked looking mace from his belt.
"No one... bests an Orc," he growled as he threw himself at the pair. His eyes were wild with rage as he swung his massive mace with skill. Strid'r threw himself back, but caught a glancing blow on his shoulder. The spikes ripped straight through his leather armor, drawing blood. Strid'r felt his energy suddenly leave him, his limbs becoming heavy and his body fatigued. The Orc grunted as he spun around, swinging his mace in a low arc towards Strid'r's face. Ducking quickly, the Redguard thrust his blade for a strike of his own. The Orc caught it on the hilt of his mace, and threw his massive weight behind the block. Strid'r helplessly watched his sword tumble out of his hand as his wrist was bent to the breaking point. He slipped and fell onto his rear, his back to the wall. Reaching into his armor, Strid'r pulled a dagger and threw it at the bandit chief. The dagger stuck into the Orc's abdomen, but did nothing to slow him. He lifted the mace above his head, and Strid'r closed his eyes. Forgive me, brothers he thought as his hand fingered the small, hard pouch in his breast pocket.
"Heeeyah!" Strid'r felt the familiar touch of blood to his face as his eyes shot open. Half embedded into the side of the bandit chief was a battle axe, blood squirting from the severed flesh. The light left the Orc's eyes as he fell, limp. Standing above was Fraener, panting as he held the battle axe with both hands. "How... do you guys... do that... all day..." the Nord panted, "the blood, the guts... it's disgusting. I think I'll stick... to my bow... in future." The Nord collapsed onto the ground, his body succombing to fatigue. "Damn thick skin, Orcs."
Strid'r felt mirth from within him, and unleashed a hearty, Hammerfell laugh at the Nord's observation. After a few moments, Fraener joined in. It had been a long time since Strid'r laughed. He didn't think he could, but somehow this Nord brought it out of him. The two laughed for a few more minutes before collecting themselves. Strid'r picked up the dead Orc's mace. Instantly he felt energy thrumming, the enchantment binding to the user's lifeforce. Stamina drain, he thought, of course. I'll have to be more careful in future. He'd seen his fair share of enchantments in Hammerfell, but they were much rarer. The Redguards had a deep hatred of all things magical, as they were the tools of the cowardly.
"Hey, check it out!" Strid'r turned and looked down from the platform onto the charred floor. Down below, Fraener had picked up one of the unburned mammoth tusks. "For my fair lady back in the city!" he declared, shoving the heavy thing in his backpack. Strid'r chuckled as he came down to the main floor.
"You were serious about that promise, weren't you?"
"To Ysolda? Surely," the Nord replied as he hefted the bag onto his back. "Life is generally cold and brutal here in Skyrim. If I can spend some of that time helping a pretty woman, then it at least doesn't seem so cold." Walking carefully over the charred corpses of the bandits, the two walked onto the chief's quarter.
Fraener turned to examine the chest, while Strid'r tossed the desk. Atop it, the Redguard found a book labeled "Spell Tome: Transmute Mineral Ore". He skimmed a few pages, all on the process of using magic to turn iron into gold. It was a subject he had no depth of knowledge in, and so he closed the book and put it into his bag. "Looks like they were trying to turn the iron they mined into gold," he said his companion, who was rummaging through the chest.
"Woah," Fraener said as he pulled an item out of the chest. "Check this out," he said. Strid'r examined the bow in his hand. It was a pale gold hue, light and flexible. Fraener gave a few test pulls on the string, feeling it respond to the pressure with ease. His hands fit into the bindings easily, giving him an easy grip. "It's light as a feather," he added with awe.
"It's Elven," Strid'r replied, "looks of Valenwood origin. Finer marksmen would be hard to find in all of Tamriel. Their bows are equally existitue. It's a good find."
"Aye," Fraener replied, still going over the bow with his hands. "My pa always told me about the wood Elves, how they could shoot a bird out of the sky at over two hundred paces. He said their bows sung like a choir when they fired off a volley."
"Your father know many wood Elves?" Strid'r asked. He could see the muscles in his partner's neck tighten up.
"He got to know them... very well." He offered nothing more, and Strid'r let it drop. The two walked back up towards the mine entrance, after picking up as many septims as they could find. When they at last emerged, night had fallen on Skyrim.
"No use trying to get back to the city tonight," Strid'r said as he motioned for the bed rolls the bandits had used. "You get some sleep, I'll take the first watch."
"Well, if you insist..." Fraener replied, throwing his bag on the ground next to the bedroll. He quickly crawled in, becoming sound asleep just a few minutes. Strid'r hauled himself onto the watch tower, alert for any movement or sound that could indicate the bandits coming back. When he was sure Fraener was asleep, he reached into his armor and pulled out the pouch. Pulling the drawstrings open, his face became bathed in a green light. He pulled the pouch closed and returned it to his place within his armor, and resumed his night watch.
Soon, my brothers. Soon.
A/N: bit of growth on both characters, hope you enjoyed! Any tips or criticisms, be sure to comment. It makes my day to get that email saying that people have commented on my story. Also a return to the storyline will be coming next chapter, so be ready. Thanks for reading!