Ti'laan had decided that it was time to send a message to the other bandit clans of Skyrim. He would not be refused, he would not be opposed, and he would not be threatened.
He kept his plans secret, telling Guraag to take control for the days until he returned, instructing the Orc to slaughter any would-be usurpers in ways that would eradicate any thoughts of upheaval within the kingdom of Whiterun.
The lizard rode on a horse he had stolen the previous day from a merchant who was either dumb or bold enough to travel through Whiterun, thinking he'd make it from one border to another without a hitch.
It was much to the merchant's surprise and displeasure that he had come face-to-face with the one and only Bandit King. Ti'laan smirked as he remembered the mans pleas for mercy, right before the Argonian sunk his fangs into the merchants throat and stole his horse, who seemed none the wiser as to the death of its previous owner.
It was Ti'laan's second day of riding, and he believed that soon he would arrive at his destination. Not for the first time, Ti'laan's mind wandered back to the morning of his departure.
As he instructed, Emrik had arrived early, eager to hear what his king had in store for him. Ti'laan had told him little, but had directed him west to meet with a contact within the stone city of Markarth. Emrik took his leave to make preparations after that, and Ti'laan made to open the letter addressed to him from the Aldmeri Dominion. Again, he was interrupted before he could do so. An all-in brawl in the Plains District required his attention. So, Ti'laan left the letter to assess the situation.
Ti'laan, once again, thought of Emrik. The task he had in store for him he believed the Nord to be fully capable of, and as such he didn't worry.
A towering fortress cast its shadow over Ti'laan, bringing his mind back to the present. He had arrived.
Ti'laan slowly rode the horse off the road and into the nearby undergrowth, where he reined the stallion and sat, watching the movement of the fort.
The Sandros Clan had apparently set up their main base of operations at Fort Amol, within Eastmarch. They had driven out the conjurers that normally resided there with brute force of numbers and had been building power ever since.
Ti'laan scoffed.
He wouldn't call it power. If they had power they would have made a move on Windhelm by now. But nevertheless, the clan had built themselves up over the last few weeks to host a respectable force of almost fifty men. Sandros, their leader, was a High Elf, but unlike the other, more intelligent of his kind, Sandros was built like an Orc and had the wit of a Skeever. Sandros was no thinker, and that is what Ti'laan believed would win him this encounter.
The Argonian settled in, being sure to keep a watchful eye on the fort. He noted the movements of the shadows on the battlements, the sluggishness of the lookouts, the drunken roars of the bandits within.
Even though Ti'laan believed his victory to be inevitable, he was no fool, and most certainly didn't have a death wish. He would take this fort his way, and that meant waiting out the hours until nightfall.
When night came, Ti'laan was ready. He'd spent the last three hours watching the Sandros Clan at Fort Amol, moving with unmatched stealth and caution to a different vantage point every half hour.
Ti'laan had a plan ready in his mind, and if his hunch proved correct, he would be in and out of the Fort within twenty minutes. Still, Ti'laan expected the worst. It had been some years for him since one of his plans had failed, but the vampire knew more than to assume too much confidence.
He made his way to his chosen entry point: a sturdy tree that had a branch situated a few feet above the battlements. Ti'laan waited at the base of the trunk, watching the lookout above. Time passed until the lookout decided the night was empty and moved on. Ti'laan counted three beats before he gripped the wood and began to climb.
When he got to the branch he looked up and down the battlements. Satisfied that no one was coming, he dropped from the branch and into the fort.
He landed with a barely audible thump and immediately crouched, reducing how much of his body could actually be seen.
The battlements and most of the fort were cloaked in blackness. When Ti'laan had come to the conclusion that Sandros wasn't a thinker, he was correct, and the lack of torches was his evidence. The High Elf obviously didn't have much respect for the safety of light, which only played in the Argonian's favour.
Calling upon his powers of the night, Ti'laan's eyes began to glow with pale orange light, and it was as if the darkness was suddenly alight with the brightness of the sun. Using his vampire sight, Ti'laan could make view the world of night as if it were the day.
Ti'laan scanned the fort for signs of traps or enemies, and was not at all surprised to see that traps were non-existent and the amount of men out on patrol was pitiful.
Ti'laan shook his head and snuck his way along the battlements. He found a ladder and deftly scaled down it onto the ground. On ground level there were two bandits, both of which were preoccupied cooking a hare over the fire.
Ti'laan hid in the shadows and waited. There was a possibility, however small, that these two would block his escape. They had to die.
Ti'laan rapped his knuckles against the stone wall behind him and waited.
"What was that?" One of the bandits said.
"It's probably nothing," the other replied. "But you should go check it out."
"Why me?"
"Because it's your fault that we're out here on guard duty."
The first bandit grumbled and rose from her place by the fire. She walked lazily over to where Ti'laan was crouched. The Argonian sank deeper into the shadows as the girl came within three paces of him.
She looked around without seeing anything.
"There's nothing here," she called back to her friend.
But there was.
In a fraction of a second Ti'laan's iron-clad hand shot from the shadows like a hissing snake and struck the bandit full in the face. There was a crunch as her nose broke, and blood began to flow in torrents down her face. Ti'laan didn't wait. He gripped her by her tunic and threw her hard against the wall. Another crunch sounded as ribs splintered, and Ti'laan swore he heard the pop! of one of the girls spinal discs rupturing. He rammed his fingers down into the girls' throat, bursting it open, bisecting her vocal chords and letting blood flow down into her lungs.
She choked for a few brief moments. And then… silence.
Her companion heard the struggle, however, and came over to investigate.
The time for subtlety was gone, so Ti'laan leapt from the shadows and shoved the second bandit onto the dirt floor.
The bandit picked himself up, but Ti'laan was quicker. He unsheathed the mans very own dagger and pressed it up against his throat.
"Where is your leader?" The Argonian growled.
With shaking hands, the man pointed to the glowing window at the top of one of the towers that stood proudly within the fort.
Ti'laan nodded and lowered the dagger.
The bandit breathed a sigh of relief, but it was cut short as Ti'laan drove the metal up behind the mans sternum and into his heart.
The second dead bandit of the night fell to the floor.
Ti'laan crept to the tower and put his hands to it, feeling the rough stone, the age of the brickwork. It was climbable.
It took him ten minutes, but Ti'laan took extra care, making sure to pick a path that followed the movements of the shadows and that would cause the less amount of noise.
Ti'laan reached for the windowsill and climbed into a room lit by a single torch. In the centre of the room was a desk, and behind that desk was a chair, and on that chair a High Elf sat, his eyes foggy from drink, his white hair in a ponytail, and a half-naked girl on his lap.
Both pairs of eyes turned to the intruder, who watched the situation with mild amusement.
Even though Sandros' mind was impaired by grog he seemed to know who his unwelcome visitor was, and his golden complexion visibly paled.
"You," he said.
"Me," Ti'laan confirmed.
"What are you doing here?" Sandros asked darkly, pushing the girl from his lap and standing.
"I'm here in hopes that we could discuss my invitation, Sandros," Ti'laan said, studying his claws mockingly.
"I've told you twice, lizard, I will not bow to the likes of you."
"That's racist."
With a roar, Sandros got his hands under the desk and hurled it at Ti'laan.
The action was unexpected, and even though Ti'laan's reflexes were excellent, he didn't have time to evade the wooden projectile. The desk hit him and he went down. He threw the desk off of him, but Sandros was there, picking him up, driving him into the wall of the room. Sandros threw punch after punch into Ti'laan's exposed belly, and Ti'laan retaliated, clawing at the Altmer's back, beating at him uselessly with his tail. He hissed, his fangs extending slightly as he dug his teeth into the back of Sandros' neck. The girl screamed.
Sandros backpedalled, releasing Ti'laan. His hands went to the back of his neck and came away sticky with blood. He roared again and charged, but Ti'laan was ready. He evaded the tackle and lashed out, catching his opponent on the side of the head. Sandros turned, somewhat disoriented, and charged again. Ti'laan stepped to the side and grasped the taller mans arm, using his own momentum to swing the Elf around and toss him face-first against the wall. Sandros didn't have time to strike again. Ti'laan gripped the High Elf's ponytail, stuck a knee into his back, and pulled.
Sandros screamed in agony as his hair was torn from his skull, taking much of the scalp with it. Ti'laan gave one last concerted effort and wrenched. The sound of tearing flesh replaced the Altmer's cries, and soon Ti'laan held the head of his foe, the spine still dangling from the neck.
Ti'laan looked to the headless corpse and then to the form of the girl on the floor. She had long since fainted.
Ti'laan barged open the door that led into the rest of the fort and was hit by the smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies. The Sandros Clan's drunken babbling subsided, and they looked to the lizard who had just appeared with confusion.
Ti'laan hoisted the head.
"This," Ti'laan said loudly, "was your leader. This is what happens to those who oppose me." He tossed the head into the crowd of bandits, most of who recoiled with terror.
"Friends, I do not wish to hurt you," Ti'laan continued. "I wish to offer you a place in my kingdom. Come to Whiterun and live prosperously under my rule. You can take what you desire: ale, women, gold… All I ask from you is your loyalty. You have nothing to fear from me."
He spread his arms. "Join me, and live like kings for the rest of your lives. Oppose me," his tone darkened, and the atmosphere in the room darkened with it. "And you will perish."
One by one, the bandits in the room fell to their knees.
Two days later, Ti'laan returned to Whiterun with a host of fifty bandits in tow. He noticed the heads and bodies of people and beasts on pikes as he entered the stables, and finally, the city, where he was welcomed with cheers from his people.
He met with Guraag in Dragonsreach later.
"I noticed the heads of wolves on pikes outside the city, my friend," Ti'laan said. "Tell me, when did we become savages?"
A primal noise came from the depths of Guraag's throat. It could have been a chuckle or a growl. "They're the heads of werewolves," the Orc stated.
"Ah, so the Companions made their play for Whiterun, then?"
Guraag nodded.
"How many did we lose?"
"Twenty men at the most."
"Did you at least kill them all?"
"All but one."
"Who?"
Guraag clicked his fingers and two bandits rounded the corner, a Nord woman with a tattooed face and auburn hair between them. She was tied, beaten, and gagged.
Ti'laan raised an eyebrow, but walked over to her. Using a claw, he slashed the gag around her mouth.
The woman took a heavy breath, and at last met Ti'laan's gaze, her eyes blazing with pure hatred.
Ti'laan stroked her cheek.
"My, my, you are beautiful," he said quietly, cruelly. He wrinkled his nose. "It's too bad you have the beast blood in you."
"Do not touch me, filth," the woman snapped.
Ti'laan raised an eyebrow. "Feisty. Perhaps your ego needs to be taken down a rung or two." He addressed the men holding her. "Take her to the beds in Jorrvaskr. Let her see the men who have desecrated the place. And tell them they can do what they wish with her."
The blood drained from the woman's face.
"Go!" Ti'laan snapped.
The bandits went, dragging the shocked woman between them. Her screaming for freedom started just before she exited Dragonsreach.
Ti'laan and Guraag stood in silence for some moments.
"There is one other thing," Guraag said at last.
"What would that be?"
"An Elf arrived just this morning, claiming to be a Thalmor Ambassador," Guraag said. "Says he's here to see you."
Ti'laan's heart was racing. "Well, where is he?"
Guraag jabbed a thumb in the direction of the former Jarl's (now Ti'laan's) sleeping chambers.
Quicker than Ti'laan would care to admit, he strode to the door, and entered.
A/N: Ok, that's the last chapter for a few days, maybe a few weeks, since school is still a thing. Also, I'm thinking of upping the rating from T to M. Do you guys think it's warranted?
Anyway, I know some of you wanted to see mention of the Companions, so I slipped them in. Sorry if it wasn't as grand as you'd hoped, but I have a vague plan for where I want this story to go, and the Companions just weren't part of that plan. But hopefully that gave some of you some closure.
Thanks again guys, all the best, I'll see you all later.