Fragments of the Past 3
It wasn't long after the sun had risen over the horizon when Aeros awoke, rousing himself to consciousness. Stretching and stifling a yawn, he climbed out of bed and got dressed, throwing on a simple dark green shirt and a pair of plain brown pants, the colors perfect for blending in with the shadows and muted colors of the surrounding forest. When he had finished getting dressed and shaken off the last traces of sleep, he grabbed his bow from where it rested at the foot of his bed, along with a quiver full of arrows.
Leaving his room, he entered the main living space of the farmhouse to find his parents and Eira already awake and seated at the table, eating their breakfast. Setting his bow and quiver down by the door and grabbing some food for himself, Aeros slipped into his seat at the table, mumbling a brief good morning to the rest of his family.
"So what is the plan for today?" his mother, Alana, asked her husband, Jorald, as Aeros dug into his food. His father didn't respond immediately, swallowing a mouthful of his own food first before answering.
"Some of the men from the village might be stopping by the farm later today to discuss the potential bandit problem," he replied. It was a few days after the merchant caravan had left town, and almost a week since Fendell, the local miller, had warned them about potential bandits in the area. "Evidently some of the hunters have seen more and more signs over the past few days indicative of a group of bandits moving into the area, although they've still yet to actually catch sight of the bandits themselves. Folks in the village are worried that it might be the Crimson Hawks, so some of the other men decided to all come together and discuss how to defend the village in case it really is bandits and not just some vagabonds passing through the area. They asked if I would be willing to offer some advice."
Alana nodded. While there were a few hunters and former city guards in the village, Jorald was one of the few with any extensive experience in combat and in defending against enemy attacks and raids. His advice would be invaluable in helping to protect Emmeryn's Field against a potential bandit raid.
She turned her attention towards her children. "And what about you two?" she asked Aeros and Eira. "You look like you were planning on going somewhere," she said to Aeros, noting the muted green and brown of his clothes, and the bow and quiver resting by the door.
"I was planning on going hunting," he replied. "I came across signs of a deer herd in the nearby woods, so I figured I would see if I could catch one before they moved on, bring back some venison."
"I'm coming with you," Eira interjected suddenly and Aeros had to suppress a grin. Eira was actually as good of a shot with a bow as him, maybe even more so, and always seemed to have exceptional luck when they went hunting, able to make incredibly difficult shots or picking out the plumpest animal from a herd.
"No," their mother said before he could agree. "If Aeros is going hunting and your father is meeting with the other villagers, then I'm going to need your help with some of the chores around the farm."
"But-!" Eira started to protest.
"No," Alana said firmly, before gentling the rebuke by adding, "How about this? If we finish quickly, then I'll teach you a new restoration spell. You have the talent and I think we've gone over the basics long enough."
"Okay," Eira mumbled, still somewhat sullen about not being allowed to go hunting with Aeros.
Hiding his amusement and deciding to not risk hanging around any longer in case his mother found some chores for him to do as well, Aeros quickly finished his meal and cleaned his dishes. Giving Eira and his parents a quick goodbye, he grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows and ducked out the door.
"Be careful!" his mother called out after him as he left the farmhouse. He gave her a wave in acknowledgement before closing the door behind him.
Aeros slowly moved through the woods, following the deer tracks he had found, and trying to be as quiet and stealthy as possible. The herd of deer had moved farther into the forest than he had originally thought, and he was now a fair ways away from the road. The Great Forest covered a vast swathe of land, and it was very easy to get lost if you weren't careful or strayed too far from the road. The forest was also darker than one might expect if they had never been there before, as the thick canopy overhead kept out a large portion of the sunlight. It was rumored that it grew even darker the further you ventured into the forest, and Aeros had heard stories about people who went into the forest and were never seen again.
It wasn't just deer who called the forest home; there were all sorts of creatures that resided within the forest's borders, both mundane and magical. Off in the distance, a minotaur bellowed, and out of the corner of his eye, Aeros saw a spriggan merge with a tree and watch him curiously as he passed by. Still, despite the potential dangers, as long as a hunter was not careless and kept his distance, most of the forest's denizens were content to simply leave leave him be.
The trees thinned up ahead, and Aeros pushed his idle thoughts to the back of his mind as he refocused on his purpose here. Creeping towards the where the trees thinned, he emerged at the edge of a clearing. Compared to the dim lighting of the rest of the forest, the clearing was almost blindingly bright as it was bathed in sunlight. Spread throughout the clearing was a herd of deer, all grazing or resting. A few bucks kept watch over the rest of the herd, but so far, they did not appear to have noticed him.
Being sure to not make any sudden movements that might draw their attention, Aeros slid his bow off of his back. The bow was a gift for his eighteenth birthday, carved out of oak, and capable of making a shot at close to a hundred yards away with ease. It also required a good amount of strength to use, but Aeros was able to pull it back easily thanks to the many years of farmwork and training with his father. Carved along the front of the bow was a column of Old Nordic runes and a carving of a fox, which Eira insisted was the totem of Shor. She and Aeros had carved the runes into the bow stave together, using an old book that Eira had found amongst their parents belongings containing Old Nordic runes and images of the original Nordic pantheon. Though he had complained a little when she had insisted on carving them into his new bow, Aeros secretly loved the bow and the carvings they had etched into it.
Pulling several arrows from his quiver, Aeros set all but one down on the ground next to him. Nocking the remaining arrow, he picked out what looked like a well fattened deer from the herd, and drew the string back until it was taut against his cheek. Slowing his breathing, he took careful aim at the deer, and released the string. The arrow shot forward with a hiss, and the deer all scattered. Aeros muttered an oath and quickly grabbed one of the arrows he had set down. Nocking it, he quickly took aim and let loose another shot. This time, the deer he was aiming for stumbled and collapsed just at the edge of the clearing. Ignoring their fallen herdmate, the rest of the herd disappeared into the forest.
Aeros allowed a small, self-satisfied smirk to cross his lips as he held his breath, waiting to see if any of the other deer might return. Several minutes passed, and when there was still no sign of the herd returning, he collected his arrows and stood, emerging from the treeline and approaching the fallen deer. Fortunately, his shot had been a clean one, and had passed through both the lungs and the heart, meaning that the deer's death had been quick and relatively free of suffering. Drawing his hunting knife from its sheath on his hip, he set about field-dressing his kill.
However, he had only just begun the process when he sensed that he was no longer alone. It wasn't a sound that alerted him so much as an inexplicable and unsettling feeling of being watched. Looking up from his work, his eyes widened as he found himself staring down a large feline beast. The mountain lion stared at him from the treeline on the other side of the deer from him, its amber eyes watching him unwaveringly. Prowling into the open, it slowly but unhurriedly stalked towards him and the fallen deer with feline grace, its gaze never leaving him. As it drew closer, Aeros saw that it was a monster of a cat, easily the largest mountain lion he had ever seen and weighing as much as a grown man.
As it prowled towards him, his hand reflexively twitched towards where his bow lay slung across his back. Noticing the movement, and seemingly recognizing it for what it was, the massive feline narrowed its eyes and growled warningly, the powerful muscles beneath its golden pelt tensing slightly. Aeros forced himself to still his hand, as he realized that the beast was now dangerously close. He had seen before during previous excursions into the forest just how fast the mountain lions that prowled the region could move, and how far they could jump to pounce on fleeing prey. At the distance it was at now, if he made any sudden movements and the mountain lion decided he was a threat, it could easily cross the distance between them before he could pull his bow off his back and line up a proper shot.
Sheathing his knife, he stood slowly, making sure to not make any sudden movements, and keeping his hands at his side. The mountain lion watched him warily as he slowly backed away from the deer, before, deeming him to no longer be a potential threat, it shifted the majority of its attention to the deer, approaching the carcass with an eager twitch of its tail, although Aeros noticed that it didn't fully relax and still watched him out of the corner of his eye. He continued to slowly and calmly back away, until he had reached the edge of the treeline. Even after he had entered the shadowy embrace of the forest, he continued to retreat further, until he could no longer see the clearing.
He slumped against the trunk of a nearby tree, heaving a sigh of relief. That was far too close for comfort, he thought to himself. I'm just lucky that it was more interested in the deer than me. He heaved another sigh as he realized that all that effort of tracking down the herd of deer was for naught. And with a predator like a mountain lion in the area, the herd had likely moved on to a safer part of the forest.
Still, he didn't want to just admit defeat and return home empty handed; he was sure that if he did, he'd be forced to suffer Eira's teasing for the next few days. So he decided that instead
of heading straight back home to the farm, he would take a more circular route in the hopes of finding signs of another herd of deer.
He set off eastward, following old game trails while still keeping an eye out for any fresh tracks or signs of deer in the area. Striding purposefully through the forest, he soon left its murky depths behind, as the trees began to grow further apart and allow more sunlight to filter through the canopy. Recognizing the general area he was in now and able to gain his bearings, he realized that he wasn't all that far from the road, if a bit further east than he had intended. The village now lay to his west, a ways down the road, and his family's farm was even further in that direction.
Pausing momentarily, Aeros tried to determine his next course of action. He could begin making his way west back towards the farm, and hopefully stumble across a deer or two along the way. Or he could see if he could find any prey in the surrounding area. In fact, if memory served him correctly, he recalled that there was a large glade nearby that was a frequent destination for deer and other creatures of the forest thanks to the large patches of berries that grew within the glade. Deciding to try his luck there, he changed direction again and began making his way towards the direction of the glade.
However, as he hiked through the trees, he heard a raucous cawing. Looking up, he saw through a gap in the canopy a large number of crows wheeling in the sky nearby as they called out to one another. They seemed to be circling something nearby, likely the carcass or remains of some predator's kill. But there seemed to be far too many crows for just a single carcass. He had seen groups of maybe one or two dozen sometimes for especially large kills, like a minotaur or bear, but from what he could see, there had to have been at least several dozen, maybe even a hundred, crows circling in the air, if not more.
Curious, and more than a little perturbed even if he didn't want to admit it, Aeros decided to investigate. Altering his path, he began making his way towards the mass of dark feathered, flying shapes and whatever it was that had attracted them in such numbers, glancing up through breaks in the treetops to make sure that he was heading in the right direction. The crows' cries grew louder the closer he drew to his destination, a raucous sound that grated on the ears.
Trying his best to ignore the insistent cawing overhead, he finally reached the center of the massive murder of crows, emerging in a space where the trees thinned, not too far from the road between Chorrol and Bruma. Startled by his presence, a number of crows took flight, cawing at him reproachfully. However, he paid their cries no mind, all of his attention focused on the horrific scene in front of him.
"Ysmir's beard," he breathed. It was the scene of an attack, or maybe massacre was a better word for it. Scattered amongst the trees were the remains of what looked to be a caravan of some sort. The wagons had all been looted, with some tipped over onto their sides, while others had been set alight, with only charred shells remaining. But the worst part was the bodies. There must have been two or three dozen of them, many unceremoniously thrown in a pile while others simply lay scattered here and there, lying on the ground or propped up against the looted wagons. They had all been killed by various means. Some had been run through or sliced open by swords, others had been bludgeoned to death with blunt weapons like mauls, maces, and warhammers, while a large number appear to have been picked off from afar, black-fletched arrows and what appeared to be crossbow bolts piercing their bodies. More than one wagon had gruesome blood splatters painting the sides.
Fighting his revulsion, Aeros hesitantly took a step towards the scene of death, trying to discern important details. From the looks of some of the bodies and their clothing, they must have been merchants, traveling between cities and peddling their wares. A few of the other bodies wore armor, mainly chainmail and other light pieces of equipment, and carried weapons; likely the merchants' guards. However, it seemed that even the presence of armed protectors had not helped these men. Men, women, merchant or guard, all of them had been slaughtered by whoever had attacked them. However, as he looked around again, he noticed that there were no obvious signs of fighting or panic on the ground, and very few bloodstains considering the number of victims. Looking around more closely, he found the faintest hint of wagon tread marks leading from the road to here through the trees.
An ambush, he realized. The attackers, whoever they were, must have lain in wait for the merchants and ambushed them along the road, then dragged the wagons and bodies here so that they weren't left lying on the road for someone to find. He also saw no bodies that might have belonged to the attackers, meaning that they must have taken their own dead with them. They're smart, whoever they are, he thought, his mind clinging to the thought desperately in order to cope with the horror of the situation he now found himself in. They didn't want to leave any clues behind as to their identity.
Knowing it was likely a futile effort, he began searching through the bodies for survivors. But the attack must have been at least several days old, possibly even a week, and anyone that might have survived the initial ambush had likely died from their wounds, leaving only a clearing of corpses for him to search through. But as he searched through the bodies, he stumbled across the body of a Khajiit with brown and grey tabby markings, lying facedown in the dirt. Rolling the body over, he jerked back in shock.
It was the Khajiit who had been apart of the merchant caravan that had passed through Emmeryn's Field only a few days ago, the one whom he had purchased the necklace of Kyne for Eira from. S'adya, he remembered was her name. Had been her name. She looked to have been run through by a sword of some kind, a large stab wound being set in the center of her chest, her eyes still wide open in shock.
Jerking to his feet, he stumbled over to the charred remains of the nearest wagon. Through the ash and charcoal, he could just make out the vaguest hint of the symbol of the merchant caravan that had visited his village on the side of the wagon.
Returning to S'adya's body, he stared at it in disbelief. The last time he had seen her, the Khajiit woman had been alive and well. And now she, and everyone else that had been a part of the caravan were dead, ambushed and slaughtered by unknown attackers. Crouching down beside her, he closed her eyes. He couldn't do much for her or her fellow merchants now, but this was the least he could do. He went to place her hands on her chest when he noticed that she was clutching something tightly in her right hand.
Gently prying her fingers open, he found a scrap of black cloth bunched up in the palm of her hand, looking as if it had been torn from something. Unfolding it, he found a dark red hawk emblazoned on it. No, not red, crimson. He suddenly remembered his father mentioning how there had been signs of bandits in the area recently, and how many villagers were afraid that it was the infamous band of bandits, the Crimson Hawks.
He stared at the scrap of cloth with the insignia on it, and then at S'adya's body. She must have torn it from the clothes of her killer, he guessed. But the merchants had left the village only two days ago. If the bandits had been lying in wait and ambushed them this close to the village…
"Oh crap," he said in realization, jumping to his feet. He needed to get back to the farm right away and tell his father and the other men of the village about the attack and warn him that the bandits were a lot closer and bolder than expected.
He sprinted from the clearing, his hunt forgotten as he hurried back in the direction of the farm. Choosing to forego the road, he chose to take the straightest path back to the farm, through the forest. Relying on his knowledge of the terrain from years of hunting and exploring the area, he sprinted along hidden game trails, jumping over exposed roots and small gulches and ravines. He knew he was probably overreacting, but he couldn't shake this feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. The bandits had attacked the caravan not long after it had left Emmeryn's Field, seemingly unconcerned with the close proximity to the village. If they were that confident, then they might even be bold enough to attack the village itself, unless some defenses were put in place as soon as possible.
As he ran through the trees, he crested a hill that allowed a brief glimpse over the rest of the treetops. As he reached the top of the hill, he cast his gaze in the direction of his family's farm. He froze as he felt the cold hand of fear and worry grip his heart at the sight. "Oh no…" he whispered.
To the west, a thick plume of smoke rose in the air directly above where his family's farm lay. The sight would have been all but invisible from the village, but from his vantage point atop the hill, he could see it all too clearly.
He took off running again, redoubling his pace as fear and worry surged through him. He paid no mind to the forest around him or any potential obstacles in his way, relying on his memory and reflexes to guide him there safely. Soon, he could smell the acrid smell of something burning, and smoke began to fill the air, winding its way through the trees and casting a greyish haze over the forest. As he neared the farm, the smell only grew stronger and the smoke thickened, making it difficult to breathe.
Bursting from the treelines and into the clearing where his family's farm lay, Aeros skidded to a halt, and for a moment, his chest tightened and he forgot how to breathe.
His home was burning. The farmhouse and barn were ablaze, flames hungrily consuming the aged wood while thick pillars of black and grey smoke billowed into the air. The fields of crops had been trampled, and bodies lay strewn across the ground, the ground beneath many of them stained a dark red.
His mind in shock, Aeros stumbled towards the farmhouse, feeling numb. As he reached the first of the bodies, he had to fight the urge to retch as he saw their face. It was Fendell. He and Aeros's parents had always been close friends, and he had regularly visited the farm as Aeros and Eira grew up, so much so that his face at the table during mealtimes was a familiar sight to both of them, and he had been almost an uncle to them. The last time Aeros had seen him had been only a few days ago, his face creased with worry but still filled with life as he warned Aeros's father of bandits in the area. His appearance now was a stark contrast to the relaxed, cheerful face that resided in Aeros's memory. The side of the man's head was caked in dried blood, turning his ruddy hair an even darker red. He stared emptily up at the sky, his eyes glassy and his expression still twisted in a grimace of pain as his hands clutched at a stab wound through his gut.
Staggering away from the fallen body of Fendell, Aeros looked apprehensively at the other bodies that lay scattered across the ground. His father had said that he was meeting with some of the other men in the village to discuss the bandit problem. If Fendell was here…
Knowing what he would find, and yet filled with dread all the same, he hesitantly examined the rest of the bodies. His fears proved true, as many of them were familiar faces, men from the village. Here was Hoggvir, who used to always tease Aeros and Eira when they were little; there was Leif, the carpenter's son, who had been set to take over his father's business when he retired; next to him lay Bran, who had slipped Aeros a bottle of Nibenese wine during the previous year's New Life Festival and laughed at him when he staggered into town the next day with a pounding hangover; many other familiar faces joined them, people whom Aeros had known all his life, now lying cold and dead on the ground. However, there were also unfamiliar faces mixed in with the bodies of the villagers, men and women of various races, wearing armor and gripping weapons of all sorts. Bandits, he realized, after spotting a scrap of cloth wound around one bodies waist emblazoned with a crimson hawk design. His fellow villagers must have put up more of a fight than the bandits expected, judging by the number of bodies, enough that the bandits had left in a hurry, even leaving their comrades' bodies behind instead of taking them with them like they had after they ambushed the merchant caravan.
Aeros slowly made his way across the field towards the burning farmhouse and barn, until he could feel the heat of the flames against his face. However, as he continued to examine the bodies strewn across the ground, he had yet to find the ones he was searching most anxiously for; his mother and father, and his sister. A large part of him was relieved that he had not yet come across their faces amongst the bodies of the dead, but at the same time, a small voice in his head whispered that might not necessarily be a good thing.
A pained cough from nearby drew his attention, and his head snapped up as he searched for the source. He found it almost immediately.
"Father!" he cried, running towards where his father, Jorald, lay propped up against the low stone wall that separated the small garden his mother, Alana, kept from the rest of the farm. Jorald cradled the body of his wife in his arms protectively, her dress dark with blood, centered around a single stab wound in the center of her chest, which lay still and unmoving. Aeros skidded to a stop and dropped down to his knees next to his parents, staring at his mother's face in shock and disbelief. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed at peace, although her expression seemed tinged with traces of worry.
"Thank the gods you're alright," his father coughed. "That is one blessing on this day at least."
Lifting his gaze, Aeros realized that his father was not in much better shape. He bore several cuts and wounds, and the hair on one side of his head was matted down with blood. However, what immediately drew Aeros's attention was the large number of arrows buried in his father's torso. There had to be at least half a dozen feathered shafts protruding from his chest. It was a miracle that his father was even still alive, although just looking at him, even Aeros could tell that he was just barely hanging on, and perhaps for not much longer.
"Hold on, Father!" he said urgently. "I'll try to stop the bleeding and heal some of your injuries." His hands lit up with the golden glow of restoration magic, but as he moved them towards his father's injuries, Jorald grabbed his wrist and stopped him.
"Save your magicka, lad," he rasped. "My injuries are beyond your healing. One of the arrows pierced my lung, and another grazed my heart. Even breathing is a challenge right now. I'm not long for this world." He paused to cough violently, the sound wet from the fluid inside his lungs.
Though he hated himself for it, Aeros nodded in understanding and lowered his hands. "Father, what happened here?" he asked in a voice thick with grief as his gaze returned to his mother's body, still held gently in his father's arms despite his own injuries.
"Some of the men from the village and I were discussing the recent signs of bandits that had been sighted in the area recently," Jorald explained. "Many of them were concerned for the safety of the village, so we discussed potential defenses we could put up. That was when…" he cut off and covered his mouth as his body was wracked with another bout of coughs. When the fit had passed, he straightened with a grimace, his hand coming away red with flecks of blood. "That was when the bandits, the Crimson Hawks, attacked the farm," he finished grimly.
"We...we were unprepared. The bandits caught us all completely by surprise, releasing a volley of arrows from the cover of the trees. By the time we could react, several of us had already been laid low by the volley, and the bandits burst out from cover and attacked. Your mother saved us. She and Eira had been practicing their magic in the garden when the bandits attacked. When they charged towards us, she raised a wall of fire and lightning separating them from us. It was enough to make them draw up short, and for those villagers who had brought bows with them to retaliate while the rest of us made it to the barn, where we were able to arm ourselves and strike back at the bandits."
"Your mother told your sister, Eira, to hide, before joining the rest of us as I led the other men in a counterattack against the bandits." He paused to cough again before continuing. "Most of the villagers didn't have much experience with fighting or using anything besides a bow, but they still fought as best as they could." He laughed weakly. "I think what really caught the bandits off guard though, was your mother and I. They clearly didn't expect a retired legionnaire and a former priestess of Kyne to be part of the group of supposedly defenseless villagers."
Aeros listened intently to his father's words, glancing about at the ruined farm around them and piecing together a picture of what the battle must have looked like. He saw several scorch marks that must have been the remainders of some of his mother's spells, and he noted several of the bandits' bodies were riddled with arrows and that a number of the villagers' weapons were stained with blood. His people hadn't gone down without a fight.
However, as he surveyed the remnants of his family's farm once again, he noticed something was missing, something that he had not noticed initially. His blood went cold.
"Father, where is Eira?" he asked as calmly as he could, though his voice shook fearfully as he noticed for the first time that his sister was not with his parents, nor had he seen her amongst the bodies of the slain.
His father grimaced, and worry and regret crossed his weathered features. "We were fighting off the bandits as best as we were able, but they outnumbered us and things grew chaotic as the fighting descended into a melee. We were clearly more of a fight than they had anticipated, and they had begun to falter. But just when it looked like the tide might turn our way, I heard your sister scream. Concern for her overrode my sense and caused me to ignore the battle around me as I turned to find her. And the sight that greeted me made my chest constrict with anger and fear. It would seem that amidst all the fighting, a few of the bandits had slipped by and began ransacking the farm in the hopes of finding any valuables before their comrades. They found your sister hiding just inside the farmhouse, from where she had been watching the battle. She fought as best as she could, but they grabbed her and started dragging her away. Your mother, Alana, saw this as well. 'Eira!' she cried, taking her attention away from her fight with one of the bandits to lash out at the men holding your sister, cutting one of them down with a bolt of lightning. Unfortunately, her opponent did not miss such an opportunity, and mortally wounded her while she was distracted."
Jorald drew in a shaky breath. "Seeing your sister being dragged away like that, and watching my wife be run through, I...I lost control," he admitted. "I went into a rage and started cutting down every bandit I could reach. Unfortunately, in my anger and desire to kill more of the men who had killed my wife, I abandoned the relative safety of fighting alongside the other villagers, and made a target of myself for the bandits' archers. You can see how well that turned out," he said, gesturing to the multiple arrows protruding from his chest. He shook his head ruefully. "All those years as a legionnaire, the one thing that our master-at-arms drilled into our heads above all else was to never leave our shield or comrades behind, and I forgot it in an instant of blind rage."
Aeros opened his mouth to argue, but Jorald shook his head, already knowing what he was going to say. "It was my own fault," he told him. "I forgot my shield in my haste to protect Fendell and the others, and then let my anger cloud my judgement and rule my actions. And now I'm paying the price for that action." Another coughing fit seized him, and seemed to remind him of his quickly dwindling time left.
"After your mother and I fell, the other men from the village had no one left to rally around or to direct them, and the bandits were quick to cut them down. They raided the house and the barn, seizing whatever valuables they could find, and then, laughing all the while, set everything ablaze. Apparently concerned about possible reinforcements from the village or perhaps a wandering Legion patrol noticing the smoke, they left hurriedly, leaving even their own dead behind. Your mother and I lay there, mortally wounded, unable to do anything but watch helplessly as they abducted our daughter. Unable to even stand, all I could do was hold your mother, my beloved wife, in my arms as she took her last breath. My beloved Alana…" he whispered sorrowfully, bowing his head as he gently brushed a stray strand of blonde hair out of the way of his wife's face, her expression serene even in death.
Aeros felt his own eyes sting with unshed tears as he stared at his grieving, dying father and the serene expression of his mother, pretending not to see the tears running down the older man's cheeks. Jorald grieved for a few moments more, but quickly composed himself, raising his gaze to meet his son's, his gaze strong and resolute despite his fast-approaching doom. He held Aeros's hand with his own in a firm grip.
"Son, I don't have much time left. I've held on as long as I have through sheer stubbornness and force of will, because your mother and I did not want to leave you alone and without answers. We love both you and your sister dearly, and neither of us wanted to leave you so soon, especially not like this, but sometimes there are things that you just cannot change or prevent. I also have two requests for you, although your mother likely would not approve of the first, even if she did agree with me; call it the dying wishes of a father to his son."
He took a pained breath. "Save your sister. Those bandits took her with them, and I dread to think what might happen to her if she is left with them. No father could ever wish such a potential fate on his daughter. Afterwards, look after her for us; no doubt she'll be frightened and confused and will need her older brother to look after her and provide a shoulder to lean on."
Aeros nodded, squeezing his father's hand tightly. "I'll save her," he swore. Even if his father hadn't asked him, he would have gone after the bandits and tried to rescue his sister from them anyways.
His father nodded. "Good. And now for the second request, one from both your mother and I. Live. Live and make a life for yourself. You're young and talented, and have the whole world ahead of you. Don't let yourself be trapped by the ghosts of the past; learn to move on from this event and forge your own path."
"I'll...I'll try," Aeros said hesitantly. It was one thing to say that, but it was another to actually do so, to move on and start a new life after everything that had befallen his family.
However, Jorald wasn't fooled by his noncommittal answer. "Promise me," he said, gripping his son's hand tightly, almost painfully so, as he fixed him with a piercing stare. "Promise me that you'll save your sister and that the both of you will live on and make lives for yourselves, that you won't give in to despair and be weighed down by this day."
Unable to withstand his father's gaze, and not wanting to lie or disappoint him in his last moments, Aeros acquiesced to his father's request. "I promise," he said solemnly. "I'll save Eira and I promise that the two of us will go on living our lives as best as we're able."
Having extracted an oath from his son, and satisfied that he would keep his word, Jorald smiled peacefully, some of the tension leaving his body. "Good," he murmured, releasing his grip on Aeros's hand. "Then I can at least face your mother in Sovngarde knowing that I did not completely abandon our children to the whims of the world. Be strong, Aeros, my son."
With those final words, Jorald closed his eyes. One final breath escaped his lips before his chest stilled, his features relaxing into a similar look of calm acceptance as that of his wife.
How long Aeros knelt there, he did not know. It could have been several long minutes or it could have been hours. He lost all track of time as he knelt in front of the bodies of his parents, his mind numb as he tried to come to terms with their deaths. It had only been a few hours ago that his family had been alive and well, talking and eating breakfast together around the table. And in that short span of time, everything had changed forever. His parents were now dead, their family's home was in flames, and his sister had been kidnapped by bandits.
At the thought of his sister, Aeros remembered his promise to his father, and he felt the first embers of emotion start to smolder in his heart, burning away the numbing feeling that had suffused his body. He would have time to grieve later, after he had saved Eira from the bandits that had taken her. Taking his father's sword from where it lay next to him in the dirt, he rose to his feet. Surveying the wreckage of the farm and the bodies that lay scattered here and there, he noted signs of passage, multiple sets of footprints all coming from and heading in the same direction before vanishing amongst the trees that ringed the clearing in which his family's farm lay.
"Sleep well, Mother, Father," he murmured in a brief prayer, before chasing after the trail leading into the forest.
He followed the tracks into the trees, relying on his tracking abilities from hunting to follow the bandit's trail. Despite their desire to quickly leave before reinforcements arrived, it was evident that the bandits had experience moving without leaving an obvious trail, as despite what must have been a fairly large group all moving together, there were very few signs of their passage, and Aeros had to rely on guesswork as much as any actual clues in his attempt to track them down. He moved quickly, wanting Eira to spend as little time amongst the brigands as possible. He had heard all kinds of horror stories about how bandits and their ilk treated any captives they took, especially womenfolk, and the Crimson Hawks were supposed to be especially abhorrent in such matters. The longer Eira was their prisoner, the greater the chance that she would suffer a fate that would haunt her forever.
With such thoughts swirling about in his mind, Aeros pushed deeper and deeper into the Great Forest, the trees growing thicker and taller around him the further he went. It wasn't long before he didn't recognize the woods around him anymore; he had never been in this particular stretch of the forest before, and the farther he went, the more he felt a sense of great age from the woods around him, and the feeling that he did not belong here, almost as if the forest itself sought to ward off all mortals who tried to enter.
He had just started thinking that he might be drawing close to the bandits when the sound of voices up ahead alerted him, the sound growing louder as whomever it was drew closer to his location. Thinking quickly, he darted behind a nearby tree, pressing his back against it and trying to be as still as possible as he waited for whoever it was to appear. He didn't have long to wait. Soon enough, two bandits appeared from amidst the trees, talking loudly between themselves. They came to a stop not far from where he hid, and there was the faint rasp of leather against bark as one of them shifted, possibly resting against a tree.
"I can't believe the boss is making us go out on patrol," one of them bemoaned in a rough, gravelly voice. "Who's going to venture this far into the forest? Most people don't venture far beyond the forest's outskirts, and even hunters and trappers don't usually come this far into this regions of the forest. It's a waste of our time!"
"You know how the boss gets after a raid," the other bandit replied, older and more experienced than his companion from the sound of his voice. "He always gets a little anxious afterwards and has us put up additional sentries in case someone tries to follow us. I'd say he was just being overly paranoid if it hadn't saved our hides a few times. Not to mention that we took more losses than expected in this last raid, and had to leave some of our comrades' bodies behind. If someone were to find them and recognize our crest, the Legion might put together another manhunt."
The first bandit scoffed. "I doubt it will come to that," he replied dismissively. "Although I will admit that those villagers put up more of a fight than expected. Especially that old Nord soldier and his wife. Troublesome bastard cut down a number of my friends, and that bitch of a wife of his fried Cordius with a bolt of lightning when he tried gutting one of those villagers."
His companion laughed. "Of course, after that woman got a sword shoved through her chest and her husband was turned into a human pincushion, the other villagers turned into a bunch of bleating sheep. It was almost pathetic how easy they were to cut down once their leaders were gone."
Hidden behind the tree, Aeros silently shook with rage as he listened to the two bandits casually describe how they slaughtered his parents and so many of the people he had grown up knowing. His hand twitched compulsively towards the hilt of his father's sword, belted at his waist, but with great effort, he fought back the urge to draw his weapon. He still needed to know if Eira was still alive, and with any luck, he could follow the bandits back to wherever their camp was.
"Still, it's a shame," said the second bandit. "All the others are probably drinking and celebrating by now. By the way, did you get a good look at that wench some of the lads grabbed when they hit the farm? She's a real looker, but she's turned out to be quite the feisty one."
Aeros went still at the mention of Eira, listening closely. Meanwhile, the first bandit laughed coarsely. "The boss will love that. He likes them feisty, and the fierier the better; says it makes things more exciting. He'll soon straighten her out. Who knows, maybe once he's housebroken her, he'll let the rest of us have a turn?"
Aeros snapped. Hearing them talk about Eira like that, and talking about what they were going to do with her, he lost all self-restraint. Drawing his father's sword, he burst out of hiding with a snarl, catching the bandits by surprise. There were two of them, like he had thought. One of them was leaning against a tree, while the second, who was closer to Aeros's position, had his back to him. Both of them turned in shock at Aeros's outburst. Even in his anger, Aeros realized the smartest course of action would be to remove one of the bandits from the fight as quickly as possible, or at the very least temporarily incapacitate one of them. He changed course slightly and targeted the closer of the two.
"What the-?!" the man, a tall Breton in his thirties, wearing a set of chainmail armor and an open-faced, iron helmet, stammered as Aeros charged him. He half-drew a plain looking mace from where it hung from his belt, but as he drew close, Aeros gripped his sword with both hands and smashed the pommel into the side of the man's helmet. The Breton cried out and crumpled, clutching at his head as the heavy blow set his helmet to ringing against his head. Hearing a noise from behind him, Aeros spun, bringing his sword up instinctively as his reflexes kicked in, just in time to stop the second bandit's sword from cleaving into the space between his neck and shoulder.
"Where'd you come from?" the second bandit demanded in a gravelly voice as he strained against their interlocked blades. A Colovian, he appeared to be only a few years older than Aeros himself, although his appearance had an altogether more rough and wild edge to it than his companion, his hair matted and tangled, and a number of scars running across his features. Despite his course looks, he seemed to be one of the newer or more inexperienced members of the Crimson Hawks, based off of the stiff leather jerkin he wore for protection, and the battered and worn iron longsword he wielded.
Aeros did not answer, instead grunting slightly as he tried to keep the bandit's sword from slipping towards him. Realizing that simply holding off his opponent would get him nowhere, he leaned forward and shoved back against the bandit's blade. Caught off guard by the sudden reversal, the bandit's arm was thrown wide and he took an inadvertent step back. Before he could recover, Aeros rammed his shoulder into the other man's chest. The man staggered backwards, clutching a hand to his chest and gasping for breath. He eventually straightened and glared with seething hatred at Aeros.
"You little bastard!" he snarled. "I'm going to make you regret that." He charged towards Aeros, swinging his sword down towards his head in a heavy, double-handed grip. Relying on his father's lessons, Aeros sidestepped and parried the attack, pushing the blade away and off to the side rather than trying to stop it head on.
The bandit's sword slammed into the ground, and he stumbled as his weapon momentarily became lodged in the loamy forest ground. Not wasting his opening, Aeros slashed at the man's side, cutting through the battered, old leather jerkin he wore and slicing shallowly into flesh. The man yelped and released his grip on his weapon, clutching at his wounded side as he danced away from Aeros's sword. But Aeros did not allow him the opportunity to retreat and kept pace with him, and the Colovian soon found himself with his back against a tree. With nowhere else left to run, he fumbled at his belt and pulled free a small dagger he kept there, barely large enough to do much more than peel fruit.
Lunging forward, Aeros ducked under the man's wild and clumsy swing with the dagger and ran him through, pinning him to the tree with his blade. The man gasped and clutched at the blade buried just beneath his rib cage, trying in vain to pull it free. His struggles soon ceased and he slumped, his eyes glassy as his hands dropped to his sides lifelessly. With a grunt of effort, Aeros pulled his sword free, and the dead man's body collapsed against the base of the tree.
A sharp blow struck Aeros between his shoulder blades suddenly, and he pitched forward from the unexpected blow. Stumbling forward, he managed to avoid falling to the ground and regained his balance, he whirled to find himself facing the remaining bandit, whom he had forgotten about in his struggle against the Colovian. The man had evidently recovered from the head blow he had received, grimacing in pain slightly as he shook off the last of the ringing sensation. He held his mace with a familiarity that spoke of his experience with the weapon, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The man frowned as he glanced at the body of the other bandit, watching Aeros warily out of the corner of his eye.
"The boss isn't going to be happy when he hears that Sigyrr's dead," the Breton muttered. "He's really going to let me have it when I report in." He sighed in resignation before turning his gaze fully towards Aeros. "Where did you come from, boy?" he questioned. "From the looks of you, you're obviously not Legion," he said as he took in Aeros's simple attire. "Normally, I would say that you were just a hunter who strayed too far into the forest, but not many hunters carry a sword with them unless they're anticipating trouble, especially not a Legion gladius, nor do they typically attack strangers they run across in the woods."
He waited for Aeros to answer, but when he remained silent and made no move except to tighten his grip on the hilt of his blade, he shrugged. "Well, whoever you are, you made a grave mistake when you decided to attack us. I'll admit, you have some level of skill to have been able to kill Sigyrr; the boy might have been young and brash, but he had a talent with the sword. That, or it was nothing but pure luck. But don't think luck or some small amount of skill is going to save you." He hefted his mace. "I'm a far cry from some wet behind the ears brat who joined up less than three months ago."
Wasting no more time with words, the bandit rushed towards Aeros, swinging his mace in an upward arc that would have smashed Aeros in the jaw had he not frantically jerked his head back. He yelped in shock as the man reversed the attack, now using the force of gravity to add to the weight of the blow as he brought it down towards Aeros's shoulder. Aeros brought his sword up to parry or block the oncoming weapon, but changed his target at the last moment, instead swinging at his opponent's wrist. His sword rebounded off of the man's gauntlet with a loud clanging sound, but the force behind the blow was enough to push his arm out and cause his attack to go wide.
The man grunted and stumbled from the unexpected lack of resistance. While he was off-balance, Aeros struck at the exposed flesh of his armor in the gap between his spaulder and gauntlet. The keen edge of his father's sword sliced into flesh and muscle, leaving a long, angry red line that ran horizontally across the man's biceps and upper arm. The Breton swore in pain as the sword bit into his arm, glancing down at the cut as it began to bleed
With a growl, he swung at Aeros again, aiming to catch him in the chest. Ducking under the man's arm, Aeros darted behind him, striking him in the back with the pommel of his sword as he did, before spinning about to face him, sword held at the ready in front of him. The other man stumbled a few steps from the sudden blow against his back, before he caught himself. Turning about, he eyed Aeros with a newfound wariness and what might have even been a hint of respect.
"Hmph, it seems that you do know how to use that sword after all," he said. "Maybe it wasn't just luck that let you kill Sigyrr; somebody trained you, and trained you well. Well, let's see how well that training holds up."
The Breton renewed his attack, and Aeros was left frantically avoiding or parrying away his mace as it swung towards him in broad, sweeping arcs, unable to mount a proper counter-offensive as he focused all his effort on defending himself; what few strikes he did manage to get in were unable to cut through the Breton's sturdy iron armor. He hissed in pain as a glancing blow from the other man's mace clipped his shoulder, and as another clipped his hip. An idea coming to mind suddenly, and seeking to put some distance between them, he parried away another blow and disengaged, jumping backwards a few steps. He panted heavily from exertion, and his shoulder and hip throbbed. He was fortunate that they had been only glancing blows and that he had avoided having his shoulder or hip broken, but they were still enough to bruise the muscle.
The bandit laughed as he saw Aeros panting for breath and drenched in sweat, his sword practically dragging at the ground from seeming exhaustion, instead of being held at the ready in front of him as it had earlier. "What's wrong, boy?" he asked mockingly. "Is this really all you've got? Maybe I overestimated you, since it seems all that training taught you to do was to cower and defend yourself."
Still laughing, the bandit advanced towards him, quickly closing the distance between them and swinging his mace overhead before bringing it down towards Aeros's unprotected head. But as the mace descended towards him, Aeros exploded into sudden movement, mimicking the feat he had used against his father in their sparring match only a few days ago, and using a sudden burst of adrenaline to force himself to move even faster than he had before, twisting out of the way and bringing his sword up in a blur of motion to bat aside the oncoming mace, the edge of the blade biting into the wooden haft of the bludgeoning weapon as he forced the other man's arm wide.
"What the-?!" the bandit sputtered in shock at the sudden burst of speed and counterattack from the young man who only moments ago had seemed to be nearing the limits of his stamina. Caught by surprise, he was slow to react and was unable to prevent Aeros from breaking through his guard. He stumbled back a few steps, urgently pulling his arm and mace back in an attempt to shore up his defense, but Aeros was too close. Unwilling to lose this opportunity and risk his opponent turning the tides against him again, he lunged, his sword lancing forward as he thrust towards one of the few weak points in the other man's armor: his throat.
The blade pierced the soft flesh of the bandit's throat with disturbing ease, tearing it open. The Breton warrior dropped his mace and staggered backwards, pulling himself off of Aeros's blade as he choked on his own blood, clutching at his ruined throat in a vain attempt to stem the flow of blood and perhaps prolong his life. His knees gave out beneath him as he bled out, and the bandit collapsed, struggling to breathe and kicking feebly. It wasn't long before his struggles ceased, and his chest stilled.
Aeros planted the tip of his blade in the loamy forest ground and bent over, resting one hand on his knee and clutching tightly the hilt of his sword for support with the other so that he didn't fall over as he panted for breath, his chest heaving. As the adrenaline began to wear off, he started to shake as he realized what he had done; the movement was almost imperceptible at first, but soon he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. He had just killed those two men, cut them down in a fit of anger; it was the first time he had ever taken a human life and the realization made him feel sick. The eyes of the second bandit's corpse stared up at him accusingly, as his mind began to replay every nauseating second of the fight. Trying desperately to shut the images out, his breathing began to pick up, soon coming in quick, shallow gasps for air as he leaned against a nearby tree for support, on the verge of hyperventilating. As darkness began to creep in around the edges of his vision, he closed his eyes and forced himself to focus on his breathing, taking deliberate long and slow breaths.
Gradually, Aeros's breathing slowed and his shaking stopped. He opened his eyes and shook his head to clear it of the disjointed images. Now's not the time to be having a moral breakdown, he mentally berated himself. The horror and guilt over what he had just done wasn't gone, he could still feel it lurking in the back of his mind. But a mental wall had been erected between those turbulent thoughts and the rest of his mind, and they no longer threatened to overwhelm him at any moment, although he didn't know how long that would last. But he could reflect on what his actions and his consequences at a later point in time; right now, he needed to focus all of his attention on rescuing Eira. The conversation between the two bandits had only left him more desperate to rescue Eira before something irreversible happened.
Pushing himself off of the tree that he had been using to prop himself up, he stood on his own. Looking away from the accusing stare of the dead bandit, he wiped his sword clean of the blood on its blade by wiping it off on the tall grass, returning it to its scabbard once he was satisfied that it was clean. As if to remind him of its presence, his shoulder chose that moment to throb painfully, echoed a moment later by his right hip where the bandit's mace had clipped him. Wincing and gritting his teeth at the unexpected pain, Aeros noticed a small, red bottle poking out of a pouch on the older bandit's belt. Crouching down next to the body, Aeros averted his eyes from the bandit's blank stare, quickly searching through the small leather pouch and pulling free a small healing potion.
Using his teeth to pull the cork loose, he raised the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, draining the small bottle of its contents, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste. Still, taste aside, he could already feel the potion start to take effect, the pain in his shoulder and hip dulling slightly. Deciding to speed up the process, his hand lit up with a golden glow as he recalled the basic healing spell that his mother had taught him and his sister. Holding his hand to his already bruising shoulder, the soft glow enveloped it, and he felt the magic seep into his muscles and begin healing the bruising and stiffness that had begun to form within the tissue, bolstered by the potion's effects. As the last traces of pain and stiffness in his shoulder faded away, he moved his hand to his injured hip and again concentrated on healing the muscles and bone.
Several long moments later, the bruising had all but disappeared, leaving only a few faded yellow and brown bruises that looked several days old rather than recent, and he could move relatively freely without any undue pain. Turning his attention towards the direction the bandits had come from, Aeros could just barely make out a trail amongst the trees, little more than a game trail. The younger of the two bandits had mentioned that the pair had been sent out on patrol, which meant that if he backtracked the path that they had taken, it should lead him directly to the main bandit camp. Or at least, that was his hope. Praying that he wasn't going in the wrong direction, he followed the faint trail deeper into the forest, as it wound its way through the woods.
Clouds had begun to gather overhead and rumble ominously when, through the trees, Aeros eventually glimpsed something up ahead. Slowing cautiously, he halted and peered out warily through the trees. There, at the edge of a narrow gorge that divided the forest in two, lay a fortified camp, ringed by tall, wooden palisades, with a heavy wooden gate that looked large and sturdy enough to stand up to a great deal of punishment. He also noted what appeared to be guard towers or sentry posts set at each corner of the enclosure, as well as a handful of sentries, no doubt supposed to keep watch from their perch for any potential threats, although many of them looked bored or inattentive.
Aeros swore. Beyond his alarm that such a sizable and well-fortified structure could lay so close to his village and a major Imperial road without being detected, he felt a growing sense of despair sinking in. He had hoped that the bandits' camp would be open and relatively unprotected, so that he could slip in, rescue his sister, and slip back out undetected. As much as he desired to take revenge on his parents' killers, his promise to his father and the cool voice of reason allowed him to keep a level enough head to realize the foolishness of trying to take on an entire camp of bandits alone, especially ones as dangerous as the Crimson Hawks, and he knew that getting in and out unseen was more important than starting a fight he couldn't win. But seeing the camp now, he realized that the rumors about the Crimson Hawks being more cunning and well-organized than the average band of bandits were true.
From his hiding spot amongst the trees, he stared at the bandit camp, trying to think of a way for him to somehow slip inside without being detected. There was enough tree cover that he could probably get fairly close to the camp unseen; the problem, however, was the palisades and the sentries. The wooden walls, a good two or three times his height, prevented him from simply sneaking into the bandit camp, and even if he was able to get to the base of the camp's walls, the sentries were sure to spot him if he tried to climb them, no matter how lax in their duties they looked to be right now. And he didn't relish his chances of survival if that were to happen.
As he briefly considered creating a distraction and attempting to slip in through the gates when the bandits went to investigate, Aeros's hand brushed against something on his back. Surprised, he reached behind him and grasped ahold of one of the limbs of his bow, which he had all but forgotten about in his anger and haste. Slipping it off of his shoulder, he inspected it and saw that it was still in prime condition, if a little jostled from all of his sprinting through the forest and his earlier fight with the pair of bandits.
He looked back up at the walls of the bandit camp and the sentries in their towers with a newfound gleam of determination in his eyes. Choosing one of the guard towers near the front of the camp, he slipped forward cautiously through the trees. Pausing just at the trees' edge, he looked up at the sentry in the guard tower overhead. From his spot on the ground, he could just barely make out the man's head and part of his shoulders over the edge of the wall. Pulling his bow from his back and stringing it, he nocked an arrow and waited. He was tempted to make the shot right then, but it was a difficult shot thanks to most of the sentry's body being hidden from sight, and if he missed, he risked alerting the entire camp. Instead, he reached down and plucked a sizable rock from the forest floor. Hefting it in his hand, he pulled his arm back before chucking it at the base of the palisade. The fist-sized rock struck the thick logs with a dull thunk that reverberated up the wall.
"Huh? What was that?" Aeros heard the sentry mutter to himself as he leaned forward to get a better look, which was exactly what Aeros wanted. As the bandit leaned over the edge of the guard tower to look for the source of the noise, Aeros pulled back on his bowstring and took aim. With a silent prayer to Kyne, he released the taut string, and with a hiss, the arrow flew through the air towards the unsuspecting bandit. His aim was true, and the arrow buried itself in the man's throat. With a choking gasp, the bandit slumped forward over the edge of the guard tower before plummeting down to the ground below. Aeros didn't move, his eyes flicking towards the other guard towers to see if the other sentries had noticed the disturbance. When they didn't react or appear to take any notice of the disappearance of their fellow, he heaved a small sigh of relief as he returned his bow to its place on his back.
Averting his eyes as he stepped over the broken body of the bandit he had killed, Aeros approached the base of the walls enclosing the bandit camp. Finding a foothold, he scaled the wall as quickly as he could, using bumps and notches on the rough surface of the logs and the gaps in between them as handholds to assist in his ascent. Clambering over the edge, he hoisted himself into the empty guard tower, furtively glancing around him to make sure that he hadn't been spotted. When there were no immediate shouts or sounds of alarm, he allowed himself to relax slightly before approaching the edge of the guard tower facing the rest of the camp. Waiting until the sentries in the other towers were looking away from him, he dropped down to the camp below. Landing with a soft thud, Aeros let slip a small grunt as his legs absorbed the force of the impact. Taking care to stay out of plain sight, he slipped through the Crimson Hawk's camp as quietly as he could.
The camp was larger than he had expected, even after seeing it from the outside. While there were a few permanent buildings such as makeshift storage sheds and the like, the majority of the space within the walls was taken up by a large number of tents. The tents were grouped together in clusters, and he could hear the sounds of revelry and drunken laughter coming from several groups of tents as he passed them by, bandits apparently carousing and celebrating their latest successful raid around the campfires. As he crept through the camp, Aeros made sure to glance inside or peer under the edge of any tents that he passed in hopes of finding his sister, but he saw no sign of her in any of the tents that he searched. More than once, he had to quickly duck out of sight as a bandit stumbled out of a group of tents towards him, holding his breath until they staggered unsteadily past him.
"Damn it, Eira, where the hell are you?" he hissed to himself as he once again turned up empty after searching one of the ramshackle storage sheds along the walls of the camp. His search of the bandits' tents had proven fruitless, many of them filled mainly with half-eaten food and spoils from various raids. Similarly, his search of the rest of the camp had been equally futile; he had discovered that the Crimson Hawks were stockpiling an alarming amount of kindlepitch and fire salts, but he had still yet to come across any sign of his sister.
As he began to despair, his mind turned towards a darker possibility. What if he was too late? What if the reason he couldn't find Eira was because she was already…?
"No," he growled, shaking his head and shoving the bleak thoughts out of his mind. "She's still alive, I know it. But the problem is, where in this godsforsaken camp is she?" As he tried to think of where the bandits might keep their prisoners, he recalled the conversation between the two bandits that he had ambushed. They had mentioned something about their "boss," presumably the chief or leader of the notorious band of brigands, taking an interest in Eira. If that was the case, then there was a good chance that she was being kept in his tent or quarters, or somewhere nearby.
Refocusing, he turned his attention back towards the rest of the camp. Alright, Aeros, he thought to himself, which tent looks like it would belong to the leader of the Crimson Hawks? He scanned the rows and clusters of tents, trying to find one that stood out or seemed of better quality than the rest. There, that must be it, he thought, as he focused in on a tent that appeared to be larger and more extravagant than the rest. It was separate from the rest of the tents, sitting near the very back of the camp, with a wide, open space in front of it, large enough for likely the entirety of the Crimson Hawks to gather.
With his new destination set in his mind, Aeros once again crept through the camp, avoiding any bandits whose paths he crossed and doing everything he could to not make any loud noise or draw attention to himself. He had been fortunate so far; he possessed some level of skill at moving quietly and stealthily, gained from years of hunting wild game, but he harbored no illusions that it was due purely to his own skill that he had remained undetected. If the bandits hadn't all been too busy drinking and celebrating the success of their raid on his family's farm, allowing their guard to grow lax, he would have not made it nearly so far.
Approaching the bandit leader's tent after safely sneaking through the rest of the camp, Aeros darted across the open space between it and the rest of the tents. Stopping in front of the entrance to the tent, he was surprised to find that there were no guards out front, but he supposed that would be rather unusual for a group of bandits, even one as notorious as the Crimson Hawks. Pushing aside the heavy cloth flaps covering the entrance, he peered inside. The interior of the tent was surprisingly well-organized, and seemed out of place in the midst of a camp of ruthless brigands. A large chest and a weapon rack stood against one of the walls of the tent, while on the opposite side of the tent sat a small table, around which several cushions had been set. A single, flickering candle sat upon the table, bathing the rest of the tent in a dim light. In the very back of the tent, a small cot had been set up, with a dresser next to it. But there was no sign of his sister.
Withdrawing from the tent, Aeros silently cursed. Where? Where could these murderous bastards possibly be holding Eira? As he cast his gaze about desperately, trying to think of somewhere, anywhere that he hadn't looked yet where his sister might have been held prisoner, a sound reached his ears, a voice.
"How much longer do I have to keep standing guard here?" a voice complained. Aeros instinctively pulled back into the confines of the bandit leader's tent to avoid being spotted, listening intently.
"You've got another hour until the next shift arrives, so suck it up," a second, female, voice replied. The voices seemed to be coming from somewhere nearby, off to the side of the bandit chief's tent.
"But why am I the one who has to stand here, while everyone else gets to get drink all of the ale?" the first voice whined in a reedy tone.
"Consider it punishment for your lackluster performance during the raid today," the second bandit replied smugly. "Don't think that no one saw you slip up and almost get skewered by one of those villagers. If it hadn't been for Raolin stepping in and cutting the fool down, you'd be lying facedown in pig wallow with a pitchfork through your gut. Besides, someone has to guard the prisoner and make sure she doesn't escape."
"Ha!" the first bandit barked. "Fat chance of that. With her tied up as tightly as she is, it'd be a miracle if she managed to escape this tent, let along slip out of the actual camp without being caught. Besides, all she's been doing thus far is spitting fire and staring daggers at anyone who enters the tent. I tell you, if looks could kill… It almost makes me want to have a bit of fun with her, see if I can get her to make a different expression."
The other bandit, who was evidently female based off of the sound of her voice, made a sound of disgust. "You lay a hand on her, and the boss will have your head faster than you can say 'Martin Septim's wooly habit,'" she warned. "You know how possessive he can get once he's set his eyes on a prize."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," the first bandit grumbled. "It was just a jest."
"Good. Make sure you keep it that way." With that parting remark, the female bandit apparently took her leave, as Aeros heard the sound of retreating footsteps. Cautiously slipping out from the chieftain's tent, he carefully looked around the edge of the tent in the direction in which he had heard the voices speaking.
There, tucked away behind the bandit leader's tent, all the way up against the rear wall of the camp, was a small, solitary tent. It was smaller than any of the other tents that he had seen in the tent thus far, and looked as if a small breeze could push it over. Located where it was, it had been hidden from his view when he first approached the leader of the bandits' tent, which was also likely why he hadn't been spotted himself. Standing in front of the tent's entrance was a single bandit, inattentively leaning against his spear and looking incredibly bored.
Sneaking around the other side of the chieftain's tent, Aeros approached the lone tent and its guard from the man's blind spot. Picking up a small rock that was laying on the ground, he chucked it off to the other side of the bandit, where it made a dull sound. The bandit immediately perked up, alerted by the sound, and turned in the direction of the noise and began searching for its source. Creeping up behind him, Aeros slipped his hunting knife from its sheath. Before the man could turn around, he clasped a hand over his mouth to prevent him from crying out as he stabbed him from behind. The man jerked and Aeros felt him gasp against his hand even as he tried his best to ignore the feeling of warm, metallic blood splashing against his hand. Only once the other man grew limp and he no longer felt his breath against his palm did he remove his hand, before hooking his arms under the bandit's armpits and dragging him around the side of the tent and out of sight, gently lowering his body to the ground.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, Aeros wiped his knife free of blood before returning it to its sheath on his hip. That makes three, he thought grimly, but once again, he shoved the thought behind the wall that had been erected in his mind, keeping his turmoil at bay until a more appropriate time. Returning to the front of the tent, he hesitated in front of its entrance. What was he going to find in there? Was his sister alright, or was he going to find her beaten and bloody, if not worse? As much as he wanted to save her, part of him was afraid to find out the answer.
Forcibly shaking his head, Aeros gathered his resolve and stepped forward towards the tent flap. Pushing it aside, he peered inside of the tent's dark interior. There, against the back of the tent, he spotted a huddled figure. It was dark and gloomy inside of the tent, but even so, he was still able to recognize his sister and her distinctive blonde hair in what little light there was, although her bright golden locks were now dirtied and tangled.
"Eira," he breathed in relief, feeling some of the tension that had been hanging over him since he had found the wreckage of their farm dissipate. At the sound of her name, Eira lifted her head and stared at him warily, apparently not able to immediately recognize him as he stood there outlined against the fading light of day.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" a voice rumbled from behind him. Releasing the tent flap, Aeros spun, his hand automatically reaching for his sword. Before he could draw it however, something heavy struck him across the back of the head, and he felt himself falling as his consciousness fled. He hit the ground with a thud, and darkness overtook him.
Author's Notes: I'm not dead yet! I'm still alive and well, and so is this story, even if I did essentially vanish into the wilderness. I apologize for the absence, but I admittedly lost a lot of my motivation to write for a while, which is why this chapter essentially went on hiatus for a long while (although the release of Monster Hunter World didn't help). But I've started to pick things back up, so expect a much smaller time between updates. Now that my normal apologies are out of the way, I'll focus a bit on the chapter.
Now, I know I hinted at it a little in the previous chapters, but this is not quite the same Aeros as in the rest of the series. This is a much younger and less worldly version of him who, up until now, had not had to experience any real hardships in his life. He's never had to fight for his life or deal with loss before. Similarly, he's never had to take another person's life before, and the realization of what he had done is something that affected him heavily, even if he did temporaily shove it to the back of his mind in order to focus on saving Eira. This is a stark difference to present day Aeros, who has since then grown somewhat used to and hardened against the idea of taking someone's life in battle, and is not as heavily affected by it as he used to be.
I also wanted to take the time to show how important family is to Aeros and how normal his life used to be before he ever found out that he was Dragonborn, which is why I included a brief little glimpse into normal family life for Aeros's family. It's for this same reason that his parents' death hit him so hard and why he is so determined to save his sister.
Anyways, that's enough exposition for today. The next chapter will be the conclusion of Aeros's tale and of this arc, so I look forward to seeing you all then.
Characters:
Hoggvir: One of the villagers of Emmeryn's Field, Hoggvir was a large, boisterous man who was friendly to everyone and loved to tell jokes. He used to like to tease Aeros and Eira when they were younger, although that stopped for the most part as they grew older.
Leif: The son of the village carpenter, he was a responsible young man who many of the younger residents of the village looked up to. He was set to take over the family wood mill once his father retired.
Bran: A resident of Emmeryn's Field and around the same age as Aeros's parents, Bran was able to hold his liquor better than anyone else in the village, and regularly drank others under the table. Despite this, he and his sons ran the largest farms surrounding Emmeryn's Field, and regularly grew more than many other farmers in the area. During the previous year's New Year Festival, he was the one who gave Aeros his first bottle of Nibenese wine. Not expecting him to drink the entire bottle in one night, he had a good laugh when Aeros staggered into the village the next day with a pounding headache and barely able to see straight.
Dragon Language: None used.
