When Nels awoke to the sound of shuffling and found both Carolara and his satchel to be missing, he was far from surprised.
Rather than get up to pursue her, he decided he was too comfortable. On top of that, calling the little Breton out on this breach of privacy would be nothing short of hypocrisy. His own curiosity had led him to follow her into Castle Leyawiin, and now this was the consequence. His supplies, dragged off into the night and picked through by the eager agent in hopes of uncovering some connection to the enemy. It wasn't as if she would find anything; well, nothing she was looking for. It was easier to let her learn this on her own. At least then she'd be certain.
Nels knew now that he should not have goaded her. It was difficult for him to picture someone like this, a woman who just barely resembled an adult, being in the sort of situation she was in. Of course, he had been able to discern she worked for the Empire, but that she was a Blade working under direct orders from the heir to the throne seemed outlandish, even to him. Once he put the pieces together in his head, though, it made perfect sense. Carolara was carrying a great weight on her small shoulders. He had personally witnessed her come close to death and keep moving forward in spite of obvious fear. Was it devotion? Desperation? He couldn't be sure which, maybe even both, but it was a powerful tool in her hands.
At least now he was fairly certain who she had been daydreaming about, he thought with an amused grin.
So instead of starting a fight, the Dunmer just relaxed, staring up at the stars. Tomorrow, he would tell her the purpose of his journey as a show of trust, and perhaps if he was lucky she'd confess to looking through his things behind his back. After a while he let his eyes drift shut, enjoying the sounds of the frogs and myriad of insects that inhabited the banks of the Lower Niben.
The first time he heard it, he was sure his ears were playing tricks. Then it came again. It wasn't Carolara... she could still be heard softly picking through his satchel, and this came from the opposite direction. This was something else. Still keeping his eyes shut to better focus on the sound, Nels slid a hand beneath his bedroll and closed his fingers around the hilt of a backup dagger. Voices; her was certain of it once he heard them speaking together in a bizarre rhythm.
The Dunmer left their camp behind without hesitation, keeping low, moving through the dense ferns. Even significantly uphill from the river Niben as they were the ground was still soft and wet, allowing him to be silent as a rat. The closer he got, the louder the voices were and now he could unmistakably hear chanting in a language he was certain he'd heard before, but what they were saying was beyond his knowledge.
Soon, he came upon a sight that snapped him out of his sleepy haze, and stopped in his tracks. A few steps further and he would have walked right into the occupied clearing before him. In an area the size of a small room, a handful of robed figures had cleared out most of the vegetation. They stood in a circle, reciting the same dreadful-sounding words over and over and over. Two armored dremora were nearby, arms crossed and expressions disinterested, perhaps on watch or in wait.
Back in Morrowind, the rogue had seen his fair share of Daedric cults and rituals, but this resembled none of that. This was no prayer, nor simple rite. It was too dark and foggy to see the particulars of the design on the ground between the cultists, but the faint crimson glow it gave off filled the elf with unease. Six summoners plus two armed Daedra totaled up to poor odds for even this daring gambler.
A gentle 'tap tap' on a nearby tree trunk told Nels that his odds had improved by a small margin. He looked over to see Carolara nod at him and returned the gesture, thankful she was wise enough in the ways of subtlety not to startle him with a touch. The small Breton was using one of the mossy wetland trees as her cover, dark green cloak making her blend in rather nicely. He shot her a questioning look in hopes she had some idea of how to proceed, but all he received in return was a shrug, so both turned their attention back to the cultists.
Something was happening in the center of the ritual circle. The red glow intensified. In perfect unison, the robed figures were performing an exaggerated motion of reaching down and pulling something unseen skyward. Their chant had changed; the new, alien words spoken with greater intensity as they repeated the strange movements. The two dremora took up point on opposite sides of the circle, carrying themselves with a mixture of arrogance and boredom in contrast to the enthusiasm of their mortal associates. And then, the scorched earth started to rise.
First one mound, then another, but they were not shapeless for long. Stone pillars were beginning to take form under the sway of the cult's magicka, swiftly becoming large enough that the ritualists had to widen their circle. Nels spared Carolara a glance to see that she was just staring, lips parted, eyes wide like a startled deer. The pillars themselves, though large, were spiked and looked sharp enough to cut one's hand. There was no mistaking it now; they were witnessing the creation of another Gate. Desecrated stone connected well above their heads. Their framework now complete, the horrible chanting ceased.
Tap, tap. The Dunmer cast his eyes toward his companion to see her motioning frantically. Her face was lit up with a strange mischief and from what he could gather he was being instructed to lie in wait. He nodded, watching in perplexed tension as she took off through the dense wetland, out of sight in moments thanks to the fog.
A flash of light brought his attention back to the clearing. It was too bright for his dark-adjusted eyes to look at directly but of this he was certain; one moment the Daedra had been silhouetted against the fire, the next they were gone. The magic dimmed but did not fade out, and now the cultists raised their voices again, speaking alien words and channeling fervently. The fiery center of the Gate flickered like a candle in a breeze, and from the way their chanting rose and fell in response, he presumed they were trying to stabilize it.
Nels found himself growing impatient, not that this was terribly uncommon for him. It was against his nature to sit back as opportunity passed him by. It was his chance to do something that mattered, and needless to say, the great Saint Nerevar wouldn't let another one of these Gates crop up. His hand tensed on his dagger as he frowned, reminding the gambler within of the skewed odds. Six against one, armed with but a single blade and no toxins. Oh, but the Daedra were gone, and what were six flimsy, distracted magic-users against the rogue extraordinaire? And he'd seen first-hand that the Blade wasn't half-bad either... wherever she was, he thought with a hopeful glance around. It was in vain. His history with others of his particular talents led him to think for a moment he'd been left as bait, but that was quickly dismissed. In spite of her secretive tendencies, Carolara was too genuine for a cheap move like that.
Enough hesitation. Whatever her intentions were, the most he could hope to do alone was keep the portal from being anchored. The Dunmer had a clear shot at three of the six, the rest obscured by the stone framework of the Gate. The dagger in his hand wasn't weighted very well for throwing but it would have to do. Nels lined it up, carefully raised his arm, and let it fly.
He knew better than to watch it hit, getting only the satisfaction of hearing the fall and ensuing chaos as he ran southward. The red ambient glow from behind him vanished and he smiled to himself. Unfortunately, the fallen cultist's comrades weren't as drained from the ceremony as Nels had hoped they'd be. Nor were they as clumsy in their pursuit as the average magicka-user.
'Throw the weapon and run' was, perhaps, not such a cunning plan after all. One can only do so much with so little time to think.
Quite suddenly he had to dig his heels to the ground and halt. One of the cultists had not only kept pace with him, but in a seemingly effortless sprint, completely cut him off. The run had knocked her hood loose, revealing pale skin and long, slender ears. Nels was face to face with a Wood Elf... no wonder he'd been so deftly outmaneuvered.
For now it was just the Dunmer and Bosmer while the rest of her comrades caught up. No time was wasted. The cultist lunged at him, both hands tight around the hilt of a dagger with intent to gut her opponent. He sidestepped, grabbing at her wrist, but was knocked away with a hit from her elbow. The Wood Elf turned on a dime and stabbed for him again, and without as much room to dodge he felt the blade bite into him, even as his hands successfully locked around her arm and twisted.
She yelped in pain, her weapon falling to the damp ground beneath them. A shout answered it, uncomfortably close. The others were closing in, but now he had a hostage. With the vice-like hold he had on her, he swung her around and put her between himself and the rest of the cultists as a shield. Despite the stinging pain in his side, he managed to lean over and swipe up the weapon, holding it to the Bosmer's throat for all to see. Though their pace slowed to a walk, they continued to approach, all the while Nels cautiously back-stepped.
"Come now, friends," he called out with laughter in his voice, "let's not make this any more unpleasant than it has to-"
But the Mythic Dawn was not there to negotiate. One of them extended a hand and unleashed a bolt of lightning so bright the whole wetland forest was lit up white for a split second. The Bosmer spasmed, gasped, and slumped back against him. He felt her body trembling... still alive, at least for the moment. So much for camaraderie, the elf thought bitterly, feeling not a little sorry for her.
Another spell fired off and his shield was rendered entirely dead weight. Nels released the corpse, holding the dagger out before him now, readying himself to dodge whatever magics they threw. But something was off. They had stopped, just staring at him now, whispering to one another. Why did everything look so... unfocused? In a sinking realization, the Dunmer struggled to see the dagger in his hands clearly. Aside from his own blood, there was something shimmering on the metal.
He had been poisoned.
The ritualists surrounded him like a hungry pod of cliff racers, their hooded figures making them seem otherworldly and terrible through the haze of toxin and darkness. They did not strike, however... probably waiting for him to be helpless enough to be an easy sacrifice. Mehrunes Dagon was infamous for his thirst for the blood of mortals. The Dunmer swung the dagger at them wildly, losing more focus by the second. That was not the sort of death Nels Llendo wanted. He would not stand for his lifeblood fueling their dark machinations. He tried to cut at anything he could reach, hoping to infect the dark casters with their own poison. If nothing else, they would go down with him.
Then came a loud sound. At first he wondered if he was hallucinating, for a chorus of grunts and growls like that just could not be real. The cultists began to glance around in between watching their still-frenzied elven prey, so then he knew they heard it as well. And then one of his assailants fell, an arrow sticking straight out of their back and Nels smiled. He wasn't on his own any longer. It was still the last thing he expected to see a pack of huge boars running through the ferns, charging into the startled ritualists without a sliver of fear. The creatures were massive, the largest of them almost waist-high, but they completely ignored him. As the cultists went down, the animals fell upon them with their tusks.
The Dunmer fell to his knees in the midst of it all, the weapon dropping from his hand. He looked down at the hole torn in his good cuirass with a dry chuckle. The wound itself wasn't so bad, but the toxin made it burn like the fires of Red Mountain. He eased himself over to a nearby tree to have something to lean on.
As the chaos died down, the charm spell on the boars wore off and they wandered back into the forest. Carolara left her hidden post and approached him, concern in her eyes. "Nels," she inquired in that soothing High Rock accent whilst kneeling down beside him, "what in Kynareth's name happened?"
"I got impatient," he replied. She didn't seem to be buying it, expression skeptical, but he gestured to his wound. "And, sloppy. They've dosed me."
The Breton caught sight of the dagger nearby and scooped it up. "With this?" Nels simply nodded; it was laborious to talk, so he refrained from straining himself. For several long seconds she squinted at it, sniffed it, and finally just dropped it again with a sigh.
"I saw some foxglove down by the river. I should be able to get you walking with that; then we can get you to the Chapel healers in Bravil," she was saying. He let his eyes shut, trying to relax, nodding thankfully.
"So, stay here. Don't move."
Nels opened his eyes just long enough to glare at the smirking redhead who just shrugged and said, "Just making sure," then turned around and made her way down to the riverbank.