Hello, readers! Imperator100 here. Chapter 10 is finally here, and it's the longest and most action-packed chapter so far. I realise the chapters have been pretty inconsistent in length so far, with the last few being very short, but starting with this chapter they're going to get longer. The storylines are beginning to branch out and more characters are being introduced, so things are going to get much more interesting. I'll try to be consistent with posting new chapters, but I'm afraid I can't promise anything, especially with Christmas coming up. With that being said, though, enjoy this chapter!
Zurakh, merchant prince of Dragonstar and self-proclaimed most powerful man in Hammerfell approached Fort Ash with his band of heavily armed and armoured guards. The journey from Dragonstar to Cyrodiil had taken a long time and had been tiresome with few breaks, but when something cropped up that slighted or threatened his business, he would waste no time in confronting the situation. He had to take care of the traitor Alrukir as quickly as possible, for he knew the sellsword was a dangerous man, and he needed to set an example to others to show what happens when you betray him, a lesson most should have learned by now. A loyal man Alrukir was not, but the merchant prince had always thought that no one would ever be fool enough to betray him. It turned out he was wrong. Very wrong.
Zurakh was a tall and proud man, looking even more imposing atop his mighty black steed. His skin was a creamy brown, his eyes hazelnut in colour. He wore fine velvet garments that were suitable only for a prince of his stature, but he wore them over a chain mail hauberk, for he never took chances. He was a man who obviously took pride in his appearance, his coal black hair and beard being finely braided and oiled, the sunlight glaring off his elegant locks. He was fond of valuable trinkets that displayed his wealth and power for all to see, and as such, his body was adorned with all manner of jewellery. His fingers were covered with golden rings, encrusted with all kinds of colourful gems from his homeland. At least a dozen shining chains and necklaces hung down to his chest, a mixture of gleaming gold and shimmering silver. He wore a golden bangle around one of his wrists, and even a few of his teeth shone gold. The fine steel scimitar that hung at his side was no exception to his extravagance, the hilt being encrusted with gold and jewels.
He was a middle-aged man. He had inherited his immense fortune at the age of nineteen, after his father, Zaran, who was equally feared and powerful, passed away. After that, he quickly rose to power in Dragonstar and built up a monopoly over his province's trade. The vast majority of the criminal organisations in Hammerfell were under his thumb. Without a doubt, he was one of the most influential figures in the Empire. He even had friends in the Elder Council and had without a doubt influenced many of their decisions. Over the years, he had built up a reputation of… ruthlessness. When one small-time merchant had refused to deal with him, he took this as a slight and had his entire family, including the children, killed. When men under his command failed him in the past, he would display their heads on pikes for all to see. Perhaps that was what he would do with the ragtag bunch he was visiting now. He had no idea why Alrukir would be such a fool as to betray him, but he would make him suffer before he died. That was undoubtable, for one did not slight Zurakh in this manner and get away with it. If they did, it would make him look weak, and a man of his stature could not afford to look weak.
The group soon came upon the 'Fort Ash' the letter he received had mentioned. It was nothing more than a desolate ruin, its walls and gates crumbling, only a small watchtower standing fully. As they passed under the ancient arches, they were greeted by some armed men. One of them approached, a short, pale, ugly Breton wearing some kind of light mail and a ragged cloak.
"Prince Zurakh." he addressed the Redguard with a slight bow. "Welcome to my fort. I hope your journey wasn't too dangerous."
The merchant prince was not impressed, however. "This is what you call a fort?" he questioned in an arrogant, pompous tone that would be expected from a man of such self-importance. "This pile of brick and dust?"
"We can't all afford the same luxuries you can, m'lord." rasped the breton, trying his best to disguise any hint of contempt in his voice. "Can I offer you some food and wine? I trust you'll be hungry after your long journey."
They retreated into the main tower, going up the stairs and eventually reaching a fairly large room with a long table and chairs surrounding it. Around the table were all manner of bread, meats and cheeses. Zurakh sat at one end, his men sitting around it. The pale breton sat at the opposite end to the merchant prince, while his men stood around them, including the massive nord, who was watching on in boredom while sharpening his gigantic axe.
"Pour our guests some wine." the breton calmly ordered one of his men, who immediately fetched a large jug of red wine and began filling the copper goblets around the table.
"I don't remember you having this many men." pointed out Zurakh inquisitively, as he was tended to. He swilled the wine around in his goblet and took a sip, the red liquid dribbling down his clean-shaven chin.
"I acquired them through… various means." the breton rasped. He quickly changed the subject. "Do you like the wine?"
"Ha!" the merchant snorted. "You call this sheep's piss wine? Let's stop beating around the bush, Tyler. Why have you called me to this stinking pile of rubble?"
"You know why I called you here." the breton replied, his voice completely without emotion. "To discuss the traitor."
"Aye, to discuss Alrukir. So if you claim you're so loyal to me, why haven't you killed him yet?"
"If it was that easy, I would have. But Alrukir is a slippery one, as you know, and he's one of the best fighters I know, if not the best. It won't be easy to kill him or even find him."
The merchant finished swallowing a large mouthful of chicken leg. "If I knew you were this incompetent, I would never have hired you, Tyler. If you must know, I've already sent some of my men after him. I have not heard from them yet, though."
"I have my own men searching for him as we speak." said the breton. "Cyrodiil may be a large place, but the traitor can't hide forever. He'll be found eventually, and then we can exact retribution. But until then, all we can do is be patient."
"Then I ask again, why am I here?" spat Zurakh, using a chicken bone to pick his teeth, clearly becoming bored and agitated. "I just as easily ordered him killed from Dragonstar, so stop wasting my time, breton."
The breton rose from his chair and began pacing across the room, earning inquisitive glances from Zurakh and his men, their dark eyes regarding the sellsword with contempt from behind their chainmail hoods. "As for the purpose of your being here…" the breton began. "It is quite simple really. Alrukir is my enemy as much as he is yours." He approached Zurakh, and walked behind him so far that the merchant had to crane his neck to look at him from the corner of his eyes. "The only problem with that is… you're my enemy too."
By the time Zurakh realised he had been betrayed, it was too late. He felt cold steel running across his neck, and everything began going dark before him. He coughed up a warm, fresh liquid, which ran down his chin and ruined his fine clothes. Reaching for his throat, he felt a gaping opening that ran from ear to ear, more of the warm substance pouring out of it. Looking up, he saw his men, his loyal, elite men, some of the finest warriors in Hammerfell, were being butchered before him. One screamed as a spear was thrust through his heart. Another got an axe to the back of the skull. He watched in horror as the towering nord who had been calmly standing by the wall ripped the head off one of his men with his bare hands, as if he was tearing a sheet of parchment. Looking at his hands, they were red and glistening. With one last dying cough, he fell out of his chair and slumped against the stone floor.
The breton cleaned the blood off his knife with a rag and shoved it back in his belt. He gave a sinister chuckle, one of the few times he showed emotion, as he stared into the empty eyes of the man he just murdered.
"You always spat on me didn't you, merchant?" he rasped at the corpse. "Always treated me like scum, just another of your expendable hired swords." He delivered a vicious kick to Zurakh's ribs, causing two of the sellswords under his command to glance at each other awkwardly. "You fucking pompous cunt!" he hissed, barely hiding his anger. "Who's laughing now, Zurakh? You're dead and I'm filthy rich! All those lords and ladies back in High Rock, they all looked down on me. 'Edwin Tyler, that filthy lowborn cutthroat'. Didn't want to be associated with honourless scum like me, but they were always content to pay me to do their dirty work, the hypocrite bastards!"
His men had remained silent during his whole rant. They knew better than to interrupt him during one of his fits of rage. Tyler finally managed to suppress any anger he had left, his face returning to its usual cold, emotionless state. He turned to his men. "Someone get these fucking bags of meat out of here." He casually strolled towards the window as his men dragged the bodies away, leaving trails of fresh blood. He gazed out of the window, one of his common habits nowadays.
"What happens now?" boomed a voice behind him. He did not need to look to know it was the nord giant.
"Now, we get money and supplies any way we can." Tyler rasped in reply. "Accept any contracts, rob caravans, raid villages if we can get away with it. How did your last foraging go, by the way?"
The barbarian grinned sadistically. "Great. We hit some farmers on their way to Hammerfell. I nearly hacked some dumb fucking bitch in half. They had a few trinkets and septims on them." The nord seemed to be more interested in the brutality of the attack than the meagre amount they scavenged. "What are we doing about the redguard?"
"Like I said, Vaaz is after him. But if he can't find him, so be it. Let him come to us. I have more pressing concerns right now. You and Vaaz said Blackwood Company accepted my offer of alliance when I sent you to Leyawiin, so I can hopefully expect their help if I need it."
The breton suddenly realised how thirsty he was after all this killing. He turned to fetch himself some more wine, carefully stepping over the pools of blood that covered the floor.
Sir Titus tasted warm blood in his mouth as he struggled against his bindings. He had fought bravely against his captors, even killing two of them, but in the end he was vastly outnumbered and him and Methredhel had been taken captive. The knight, as brutal reprisal for his resistance, had been beaten within an inch of his life. He was now covered in cuts and bruises, and missing a few teeth. Luckily, he did not think he had broken any bones during the beating. The men had bound his hands and feet together as tight as they could and now the once proud knight lay on side in the cold, wet mud, covered in dirt and his own bodily fluids while his captors sat around a campire laughing, drinking and feasting on the flesh of some animal they had recently hunted. He was too exhausted and in pain to even attempt to lift himself up. They had taken his armour and left him naked except for a loincloth. He did not know what they had done with it, but he hoped they had not destroyed it or dumped it in some pit, for it had been a present from his father many years ago. Most likely they planned on selling it. Armour that pristine was hard to come by, and it had been forged by some of the finest smiths in Tamriel. Filthy Vagabonds like these weren't worthy of laying their eyes on it. Methredhel, also bound, was resting against a tree, appearing to be more bored than worried, despite their situation.
He had not a clue where they were, where they were heading, or how far they had travelled, though the dunmer had mentioned some kind of keep before he was captured. All he remembered was being carried on the back of a horse for hours on end. Whatever was to happen, he was certain it wasn't going to end well for them.
A chorus of laughter erupted around the campfire. "Until that day I never thought it was possible to fuck a girl with an axe." jested the bearded dunmer with a sadistic cackle. "But I guess I proved myself wrong!" His name was Vaaz, as Titus had made out from overhearing the men's conversations, and he was truly a vicious cretin of the worst sort. He was the kind of person who would kick a puppy just for the fun of it. During this night, he had told all kinds of jokes and tales of his reaving and raping. He bragged about all manner of sadistic acts, as if they made him the greatest person in the world. His interactions with Methredhel had also been… disturbing at the least. He had made crude sexual remarks about her as well as threatening to grope or molest her. Titus considered himself a noble person, and he had never enjoyed killing anyone. However, Vaaz was the sort of person he would have no compunctions about decapitating there and then.
"Tell us the one about the Khajiit and the milkmaid!" a greasy haired Imperial demanded.
"I was just about to get to that one! Well, you know how Khajiit have these barbed cocks…" Titus decided he did not want to hear anymore, focusing all his efforts on ignoring the dark elf's vile stories.
"What do you suppose we do now, knight?" hissed Methredhel, who was now glaring at him, spite evident in her beautiful eyes.
The knight managed to push himself upright in his fury. "Me?! Do you have such a short memory, wood elf? You're the one who got us in this mess!"
"You're the one who opened your idiot mouth about that Redguard!"
"Bah!" he spat. "You're a liability. I never should have brought you with me, damn what Jauffre said."
They were interrupted by the booming laughter of the men around the campfire as Vaaz's tale came to it's gruesome climax.
Methredhel turned back to him after their laughter had subsided. "Why did you bring me if you hate me so much?"
"Because he saw something in you." replied Titus. "For some reason. And he seemed a wise old man, so I believed him"
Suddenly Methredhel was grabbed by two of the thugs, who began to drag her towards the campfire. She yelped in surprise and vainly struggled. Titus looked on, equally taken by surprise.
The dark elf stood over her, looking at her with a sadistic grin. "Don't worry, you'll each get your turn. Get her armour off."
It immediately became clear to Titus what they intended to do to her. "Stop!" he roared. "What are you doing?"
"None of your business." hissed Vaaz as his men forcibly stripped Methredhel, who was kicking and screaming. One of them kicked her in the face in retaliation, causing her to spit out blood. "Don't hit her too hard. I want her to still look pretty by the time I fuck her."
"Leave her alone!" the knight yelled, determined to stop them. "Now!"
"You'll shut your mouth." spat the dunmer. "Or are you itching for a second beating so badly?"
Titus would not sit by while it happened. She may have been a thief, but he was a knight, and he could not let a crime that vile happen under his watch. He could not let any crime happen under his watch. While the men jeered and roared in anticipation, he found a fairly sharp rock and began rubbing his leg bindings against it. He cut into them, and while he could not fully break the rope, he managed to loosen them significantly enough for his feet to move around with a great deal more freedom. He pushed himself gradually to his feet, ignoring the incredible pain that soared across his body.
He charged at his captors, roaring in anger. He slammed into the dark elf's chest headfirst, knocking him on the ground with a thud. The men's jeering turned to cries of anger as they drew their weapons. Titus dodged a sword swing from the greasy Imperial and slammed his bound fists into his face. The would-be rapists surrounded him at all sides as the half-naked Methredhel crawled away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Titus hurtled at one, headbutting him in the shoulder and knocking him into one of his comrades. He turned around just in time to see Vaaz's mace coming for his head, but not in time to dodge it. It smashed across his cheek, tearing half of it open and doubtlessly shattering his cheekbone. Burning pain, as if he had not been through enough of it today, soared across his face as he fell onto the ground, avoiding the fire by an inch.
The dunmer was clearly infuriated, baring his yellow teeth in a snarl of rage. "I have had enough of you!" he hissed, almost foaming at the mouth. "Cut his balls off and roast 'em on a spit!"
Whether Vaaz actually meant to follow through with the gruesome threat or not would remain forever unknown as an arrow from an unknown source slammed into his eye and protruded from the back of his skull. The dark elf was dead before he hit the ground.
"Fighters Guild! Chaaaaarrrge!" a cry rang out as the cutthroats drew their weapons in shock. A large group of warriors came charging from the darkness between the trees, brandishing all manner of weapons: axes, bows, spears, swords. They fell upon the leaderless brigands like a boulder, with the advantage in both numbers and equipment. Many tried to run, but were mowed down more arrows. The more foolish or brave ones tried to fight back, inevitably being cut down by the warriors of the Fighters Guild. Before long, every single one of them was dead, and the Guild had suffered not a single loss.
As Titus and Methredhel were cut free from their bindings by their rescuers, a relatively aged dark elf in plate armour approached the knight. He was considerably less sinister in appearance than Vaaz, but he had a serious, warrior-like demeanour that came with being a hardened mercenary.
Titus' eyes widened in recognition. "Modryn?" he gasped, pulling himself to his feet once again while cringing at the pain that still seared across the side of his face.
"Titus!" The dunmer had an equally surprised reaction. "My old friend! What are you doing here?"
"I could ask the same of you."
"Guild business. We've heard disturbing reports of attacks on caravans and travellers by vicious brigands around these parts. These must of been some of them, by the looks of it."
"Yes, they captured us a little further south. They were planning on taking us to some keep."
"I can see they weren't exactly gentle with you…" pointed out Modryn, noticing the sorry state of the knight and the bosmer, unaware that his group had luckily arrived before the worst of it. "Vicious lot. Did they say where this keep was?" he asked, curious.
"No, unfortunately."
"Pity. The brigands have never been this bold, which leads me to believe they're not simple bandits. A few days ago we found a burnt out farmstead, and it wasn't pretty. All the livestock slaughtered and not even any meat stripped from them. The farmer and his entire family had been butchered, and not quickly, from what I saw. These are troubling times for sure. First the Emperor's death and now this." The worry on his face seemed to vanish as he remembered he was speaking to his old friend. "But enough of all this doom and gloom. We wiped out this lot, and that's progress, at least. How's the Anvil guild?"
"Couldn't say, I haven't been home in a while." Titus replied.
"Oh?"
"I went to the Imperial City on a contract, ended up staying there a while and got sidetracked fighting in the Arena to earn a little gold. Then I…" He stopped and wondered if he should be telling anyone about his situation, even if it was a close friend like Modryn Oreryn. He decided against it. "I'm heading back towards Anvil right now." He felt bad keeping a secret from such a close friend, but word spread easily, and this was something the masses did not need to know.
"Well, good look on the journey this time. Should be safer at least, now that these scum are dead." He passed a curious glance towards Methredhel. "And who's this? Can't be high up in the Guild, I've never seen her before."
Continuously he had to force Titus to betray his conscience. "She's a new recruit. I met her in the Imperial City and I'm charged with evaluating her performance to see whether she's worthy of joining the Guild or not."
At this, Methredhel shot him a spiteful glare as if to say 'You damned hypocrite, you claim to be a man of honour then you go ahead and lie!'
Titus changed the subject before the dark elf could question the logic behind his answer, such as why a Guardian of the Fighter's Guild would be tasked with something so petty as babysitting a recruit. "How's Vilena? Haven't seen her in years."
Oreyn's expression changed back to one of sorrow. "Not well, I'm afraid. She's not been the same since her son died."
"Her son died?!" Titus replied with shock. "Which one?!"
"Vilanus. Killed fighting some necromancers. Damn shame, he was a great warrior."
The knight didn't know what to say. Vilanus was an affable lad and Titus had taught him many things about combat. He was almost like a son to him. "Give her my condolences." he told Oreyn. The dunmer nodded.
"Ever since then, she's become so protective of Viranus to the point of sheltering him from any contracts. She barely lets the boy leave her sight. I swear, if she keeps coddling him like this, he's going to grow weak. She has my sympathies for her son's loss, but she's leading the guild to ruin. Her grief is clouding her judgement. I barely managed to get her permission to take action against these murderers."
"That is concerning." the knight agreed. "Vilena has always been a good leader. She's a strong woman at heart, but I can understand her grief. I'm sure she will recover over time, though."
"Let's hope so." muttered Oreyn, doubt apparent in his voice. "You should come visit while you're up here. I'm sure Vilena and the others would be glad to see you."
"I will sometime, but I'm afraid I can't now, my friend." replied Titus. "I have… something important to attend to."
"A shame, but I guess duty comes first." agreed Oreyn, disappointed. "We'll stay in the area for a while, see if there's any more scum around and check these bodies. Farewell, Sir Titus."
"Farewell, Modryn." the knight replied. Oreryn walked away to debrief his men. As soon as the guildsmen were out of earshot, Methredhel turned to Titus, still shaken from her experiences.
"You… you tried to save me." she said, her eyes red from tears.
"I did."
"Why, though? You knew you had no chance of fighting them off, and that they would hurt you, so why did you do it?"
"It's like I told you, I'm a knight. It's my duty to defend the helpless." Titus walked away to see if he could recover his armour, leaving the young wood elf dumbfounded.
Alrukir had been riding for a few days in a straight line towards Anvil. He avoided the roads, for he had a higher chance of running into Zurakh's men by taking them. The wilds were more dangerous and littered with feral animals and beasts such as goblins, trolls and spriggan, but they were nothing he couldn't handle and he couldn't risk Zurakh being alerted to where he was going. When he did sleep, it was only for a couple of hours at a was currently in some grassy plains, and he was certain that Anvil was less than a day's ride away. If he was lucky, he would reach the city in time for a ship to Stros M'kai. The redguard halted in his tracks when something caught his eye in the distance.
It was some kind of city, but he didn't know Cyrodiil and therefore couldn't say which. Smoke was billowing out of it and filling up the sky, but that wasn't the strangest thing. The sky was completely red above the city and lightning boomed and cracked, creating a very sinister image indeed. It looked as if it was under siege, but this was definitely no ordinary siege. Checking his map that he bought in the Imperial City, he realised it was Kvatch, the city the old monk had told him to go to, if he recalled correctly. Cursing his curiosity, he decided to go over and investigate.
As he rode further up the hill towards the city, he came upon what seemed to be a refugee camp. Tents were set up and people in rags were wandering around aimlessly, many staring up at the red sky and the city in ruins. Mothers held crying babies in their arms, vainly attempting to comfort them, lone children called for their parents to no avail and a few vagrants were even begging the others for supplies. Alrukir rode up to a ragged dark elf, who was babbling in terror like a madman.
"You there, dark elf. What happened here?"
"I- It was terrible!" wailed the dunmer, his voice filled with a combination of fear and grief. "They- they attacked the city and started killing people! They burned everything!"
"Who attacked the city?"
"They can't be stopped!" the elf roared, his eyes widened and his mouth frothing like a madman. "They slaughtered everyone, men, women, children! They showed no mercy! Get out of here while you still can! Run! They'll kill us all!"
The sellsword roughly seized the elf by the scruff of his collar. "Listen, you fucking idiot, I don't have time for your shit. Stop your jabbering and tell me what the fuck happened here before I throw you down that hill!"
His roughness seemed to bring the dark elf back to his senses. "It seemed like a normal day. Then some things- portals of some kind- opened everywhere. Foul Daedra spilled out of them and started butchering everyone, leaving no survivors. Then some- some foul monstrous thing came out of one and began laying waste to everything." From that point on he seemed to turn back to his madman babble. "We're all that's left, don't you see!? You can't stop them! No one can, run while you still can!"
Having had enough of the fool's nonsense, Alrukir threw him to the ground and rode further up the hill, finally seeing what the elf was talking about. In front of the city stood a massive portal the height of a castle, red and burning with fire. In front of it were littered the corpses of humans and daedra alike. Alrukir now understood. The Emperor's prophecy, Jauffre, his role in all of it. It was real.
"You, civilian!" A small group of guards dressed in chain mail hauberks approached him. A black wolf was emblazoned on the tabards they wore over their mail, presumably the sigil of Kvatch. They were led by a helmetless man with brown hair and wrinkles around his eyes, the one who had called him. "This is no place for you. Get down to the refugee camp below if you know what's good for you."
"Do I look like a civilian to you?" Alrukir replied snidely, fingering his scimitar hilt.
The guardsman got the message. "Perhaps not, but this is a job for the Kvatch Guard, not any traveller who rides in here."
"Captain! There's more of them!"
They turned to see more Daedra emerging from the portal. There were several varieties. Some were small and horned, frail looking. Others were more reptilian. Others looked like some vile cross between spiders and human women.
"To arms!" roared the captain, drawing a silver longsword which gleamed in the portal's fire. His men followed him, charging towards the monsters. Alrukir drew his scimitar in turn, leaping from his horse.
He sidestepped to dodge a fireball thrown by one of the small horned ones, a scamp. He sprinted towards it before it had time to conjure up another and whirled his blade, slashing its head clean off its shoulders. He turned to face a reptilian beast, a Clannfear, which slashed for his neck with its bloodstained claws. He responded by jumping back a step and swiping its left arm off. The beast let out a roar of pain and hurtled towards the sellsword, but Alrukir impaled it on the blade. The Clannfear, still barely alive, snapped its beak in an attempt to bite his killer, but finally died as he withdrew the scimitar.
He heard the savage roar of a large beast and a human scream behind him. A huge, reptilian daedra with the appearance of an anthropomorphic crocodile was advancing on a guardsman, who was on the floor and screaming in pain, his sword arm having been slashed off. The beast had fangs and claws like long razors. It was known as a Daedroth.
The brown haired captain finished beheading a scamp and watched in horror as the monster picked up his man and brutally tore his head from his shoulders, tearing into his body with its teeth. It threw the corpse aside like a piece of bloody meat and let out another roar as it caught sight of Alrukir. It must have detected the danger he posed, as it seemed to concentrate only on him.
The redguard stood his ground, staring the daedroth right in its yellow reptilian eyes. It charged, surprisingly quick for a daedra that heavy. The sellsword raised his scimitar in preparation as it drew closer and closer. It leapt towards him, swiping with both pairs of claws, but he dodged to its side and slashed across its leg. The blow was not enough to severely hurt it, mainly due to its tough skin, but it did create a moderate gash in its leg.
The beast hissed in rage, turning around for another assault while the Kvatch guardsmen fought off the lesser daedra around it. Alrukir jumped backwards as it swiped again and again and again, growing more angry each time he dodged its savage swings. It was much larger than he was, and quick for its size, but the sellsword was quicker. He delivered another slash, but this time it was more significant, ripping off a few of its claws. This was not enough to stop it, however.
It lunged for Alrukir, quickly leaning down in an attempt to bite his head off. He dodged back just in time to avoid the fatal bite, but the daedroth took hold of his sword in its powerful fangs. Not foolish enough to cling on, he let go and drew back as the beast cross swept its frontside with both arms. It tossed the blade to its side, several yards away. The sellsword was not completely without weapons, though. A warrior had to be very unprepared to carry only one weapon, as the threat of disarmament was constant, especially with enemies more physically powerful than you.
The growling daedra hurtled towards him again as he drew a knife. Taking aim as the creature drew towards him, he tossed it. It landed straight into its left eye. The daedroth stopped in its tracks and let out a shrill scream as it flailed madly, the knife sticking out of the gory mess that used to be its eye. Alrukir took the opportunity to run and pick up his scimitar. By the time he had it, the monster was turning towards him, more furious than ever. Before it could fully face him, he charged to its rear end, jumping over a violent swing of its mighty tail. He clambered onto its back, using the scales for grip as it ecstatically swung from side to side, attempting to shake the sellsword off.
Barely managing to hold on, he leapt onto its massive head and jammed the blade straight down into its other eye, blinding the beast. As it flailed about in agony, he hung over its nose upside down, staring into its huge gullet. Before it could bite his head off, he jammed the blade through its upper jaw and into its brain. The roars of pain gradually subsided as the daedroth crashed to the ground and ceased to move, blood pouring from its mouth.
As the guards finished off the rest of the daedra, Alrukir withdrew his sword and throwing knife from the monster's corpse. The captain, cleaning daedra blood off his longsword, approached the redguard.
"Well, it seems you are useful after all." he pointed out. "Perhaps I misjudged you. My name's Savlian Matius by the way, and I'm captain of the Kvatch Guard."
"Well, you must be excellent at your job." remarked Alrukir sarcastically, motioning towards the ruined city with his head.
The guard captain was less friendly this time. "Careful, redguard. I admitted I misjudged you, what more do you want?" Alrukir evidently had a habit of pissing off people he had barely met. "Tell me, what have you come here for? I doubt anyone has gotten our distress signals this quickly."
"I'm looking for a priest." Alrukir told him. "Name of…" he thought for a second, trying to remember the name Jauffre had given him. He finally remembered. "…Martin."
Matius nodded his head in recognition. "Ah yes, Brother Martin. To tell you the truth, we're not sure who's alive and who's not. Everyone could be dead for all we know. Let's hope not though, of course. But if he's alive, he'll be in the Chapel of Akatosh in the city." He turned and pointed at the huge portal, anger filling him. "However, that damnable thing is blocking the main gate! No one can get in! I sent some men inside to figure out some way to close it, but they haven't returned yet. Argh!" He snarled in anger, shaking his fist at the air. "I wish we could just get in there and do something!"
Alrukir thought for a moment. He did not know why, but all the evidence pointed to the same thing: he had been chosen by the gods for whatever reason. They must have had a foul sense of humour to choose someone like him. But he needed to find Martin and take him to Weynon Priory, that was for sure. "I'll go in." he finally said. "I'll find a way to close it. I must."
Matius raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Who knows how many of these… monsters are in there. I've seen them rip some of my most experienced men to shreds."
"Unlike your most experienced men, I've fought daedra before, as well as other more dangerous things."
"Fine. Go on in, I'm not stopping you. But I warn you, once you're in there, there may be no way out. We have no idea what lies on the other side."
"I'm willing to take that chance." replied the sellsword. It felt strange to say that. This was the only time he had done anything without any personal gain involved. Perhaps, though, there was a sort of personal gain. Tamriel was in danger, and he was an inhabitant of Tamriel. Regardless, he approached the fiery portal with caution.
"Good luck." called Savlian. Alrukir ignored him. The closer he got to the portal, the more he had second thoughts. No. There was no going back now. He could not afford to have second thoughts. He stood right in front of the monstrosity, staring into its fiery depths. He took a deep breath and stepped into the marble jaws of Oblivion.