A/N: In case you're wondering, the dropdown title for this chapter features the number 17 because the lettering wouldn't fit; it's a long title. Hopefully, after the rather poor showing of the last chapter, I have improved, but, be warned; no fighting in this one, it's very much a plot advancement chapter. Also, six reviews is OK, but Chapter 15 got 9... I know 15 is better than 16, but that's no excuse not to review... in fact, it's more of an incentive to review; you can help me out more by telling me where I went wrong. Anyhow, to those who did review, thanks.
Nomz: Yes, the Redguard will be significant in later chapters. Very significant for Gorgoth in particular. His full appearance won't come until much later, however.
Underpaid Critic: I love the Fighter's Guild as well; some of their quests are, quite simply, amazing. Gorgoth vs Ri'Zakar should be a good fight, if it comes to that.
Random Reader: For now, Saliith is staying well away from the Arena, but he WILL return in his own time.
That's all for now; I'll give you a strong reminder to review now, and an even stronger one in the ending author's note. Read on.
Chapter Seventeen: The Pursuit of Vengeance
Gorgoth left Cheydinhal a few hours after sunrise, having stayed to have breakfast with the Guildsmen who'd just returned from the mine, now completely free of goblins. He'd stayed the night in the Guildhall, maintaining that sleeping in a free bed was far better than paying for a bed that wasn't much better. The well-rested Vorguz had been eager to go despite a light drizzle that caused spray to erupt from the ground wherever the stallion's hooves impacted. Gorgoth kept up a fairly fast pace, but didn't push as hard as possible; he was in no hurry, and didn't intend to tire himself or his horse needlessly.
The sun was dipping beneath the horizon when he guided Vorguz into the stable attached to the Roxey Inn, just north of the Imperial City. Throwing a septim to the ostler, he walked into the inn. Immediately, the usual atmosphere of a crowded inn washed over him. For an inn that was far from any major population centre, it was quite crowded; a squad of mercenaries occupied one table, drinking prodigious amounts of alcohol, while shooting dirty glances at a squad of Imperial Legionnaires at another table. The Legionmen, drinking nearly as much, periodically returned these dirty looks with glares of their own. Most of the other tables were occupied by travellers and couriers. Gorgoth took all this in with one sweeping glance, then walked over to the bar.
"How much for a bed for the night?" he asked the Nord innkeeper as he eased himself onto a bar stool and leaned on the bar.
"Ten drakes, though I wouldn't call it a bed," she snorted. "It ain't much. If its luxury you're after, you're in the wrong place." At least the Nord was honest; plenty of publicans would claim that a filthy bedroll was a four-poster bed fit for an Emperor.
"I'll take it," grunted Gorgoth, sliding ten septims over the bar. The innkeeper tucked them away somewhere in her dress with the speed and precision that came from years of running an inn.
"Upstairs, second door on the left, when you're ready for it," she told him. "Anything else?"
"Beer, and something with a lot of meat," replied Gorgoth, aware of his near-empty stomach. He got up off the bar stool and found an empty table near the door. The warrior-shaman removed his gauntlets and stretched out his legs under the table, so much so that his feet almost protruded out from under it on the other side. A handful of the patrons glanced at the Orc, but dismissed him and went back to their business. Some newcomers attempted to sit at his table, but one cold glance sent them scurrying off to find somewhere else to sit. Gorgoth never appreciated strangers eager to make small talk.
He was gulping down his second beer and awaiting his meat when an Imperial flopped down heavily in the seat across from Gorgoth. The warrior-shaman put down his tankard and was about to issue another cold stare when the Imperial leant back and showed Gorgoth the hilt of his Akaviri katana. This was the only clue as to his occupation; he was dressed in nondescript, lower-class clothing that would blend in anywhere.
"What can I do for you, brother?" asked Gorgoth. The appearance of the Blade wasn't unexpected; he'd been waiting from word from Cloud Ruler Temple for days now.
"You're not hard to track down, but you do move around a lot," smiled the Blade, leaning forward and resting his folded arms on the table. "We received word from Baurus and Glenroy. Jauffre can tell you more at Cloud Ruler Temple." The Imperial abruptly stood. "My task is done," he told Gorgoth, and left as quietly as he had come. He'd been in the inn for less than two minutes.
Gorgoth rethought his travelling plans. He'd have less distance to travel, but it would be uphill, colder, and slower than the route to Chorrol. He still intended to leave early the next morning. Finishing off his second tankard of beer, he shoved it away and looked around for his meat; he could smell it cooking in the kitchen. Another Imperial appeared and sat down at Gorgoth's table. He was old, seventy at least, and his tanned skin had the appearance of aged leather. Most of his hair was gone, but above a well-trimmed goatee, his blue eyes were clear, and focused on Gorgoth. He was wearing some kind of brown, well-worn tunic, with a broadsword in a scabbard on his sword belt.
"Did I hear that young lad mention Cloud Ruler Temple?" he asked, his voice sharp. Gorgoth suspected that it was the old man's normal tone.
"I don't see what business it is of yours," replied Gorgoth, staring levelly at the wizened Imperial, who held his gaze.
"Oh, it's my business all right," sighed the Imperial. "I happen to be going there, and I think it'd be better if I – we – were accompanied by a Blade."
"We?" asked Gorgoth. "Who is with you, and what is your business there?" He kept his posture the same, leaning back in his chair, but his senses were on heightened alert.
Instead of answering, the old Imperial waved to someone over Gorgoth's shoulder, motioning them over. Gorgoth looked up at their approach and raised an eyebrow fractionally. The woman taking the seat across from him didn't fit any one race, so he instantly classified her as a half-breed. Leaning back in his chair, the warrior-shaman folded his arms and examined her. As he had told Aerin on more than one occasion, he had little understanding on non-Orcish beauty, but he could tell that any man or mer with eyes would find the woman in front of him striking. Several of the mercenaries were constantly shooting her sidelong glances, and so were the Legionnaires, though with less frequency, and a lot more concealment.
The old man's companion was almost as tall as him, with a golden tinge to her skin and slightly pointed ears, a clear sign of her Altmer blood. Her golden hair was luxuriant and cascaded in gentle waves to her shoulder blades. Emerald-coloured eyes set in a perfectly-formed, slightly long face stared at the Orc, full of challenge, indicating that at least she had some spirit to match her appearance. The half-elf's armour was like nothing Gorgoth had ever seen; light steel plate armour covered her arms, and steel boots and greaves reached to mid-thigh, providing good protection for her limbs, but her torso, arguably the most vulnerable part of the body, was covered only by a flimsy chainmail cuirass that left most of her midriff bare, displaying a stomach that many women would only fantasize over. Moving down, a short chainmail skirt seemed to protect her modesty but little else. Gorgoth's left eyebrow twitched.
"Is that armour or a lap-dancer's costume?" he rumbled.
Her face turned a light shade of red as she blushed, but she continued to hold his gaze. "It worked well enough as armour last time it saw action," she told him. The half-elf's voice was rich and melodious; Gorgoth wouldn't be the one to know, but he suspected that she was good at singing. "The point is, this is why we're going to Cloud Ruler Temple." She threw a sheathed katana onto the table. It rolled over and stopped a few inches from Gorgoth.
The Orc disguised his curiosity as he picked up the blade. It was undoubtedly of Akaviri design, being very similar in appearance to the larger katana strapped to his back. This katana, however, was far older than his relatively new dai-katana. He bared a few inches of the blade, and quirked an eyebrow at the presence of blood on the weapon. He drew the sword fully and noted that most of the sharp edge bore bloodstains. Touching the dried blood with his bare hand, it crumbled to powder, spilling onto the table, but the experienced Orc recognised it for what it was. "You should clean Dremora blood off the blade as soon as possible," he grunted, sheathing the katana and replacing it gently on the table. "Left for too long, some of their blood can etch the metal."
"Thought I'd cleaned all that crap off..." muttered the Imperial under his breath. He looked up and fixed Gorgoth with an impatient look. "Well? Will you come with us to Cloud Ruler Temple or not?" The old man's dry, sharp voice sounded like a whip cracking. "Don't beat about the bush, Orc, I hate it when the youth think it's funny."
"Youth?" growled Gorgoth. "I witnessed, took part in, the bloodbath that was the Bjoulsae Delta, old man. I doubt any there could describe themselves as young after witnessing that."
The Imperial snorted. "That may be so, Orc, not that I know anything about that, but you haven't answered my bloody question," he barked. "I hate wasting my time; it's inevitable that when you need time, you have none. Time is fickle."
Gorgoth grunted. "How did this happen?" he asked, indicating the katana lying on the table.
The half-elf sighed, and Gorgoth noticed that she seemed to be carrying a great burden; the slumping of her shoulders and her red-rimmed eyes spoke of immense grief held back by force of will. "It was my father's" she explained. "He fell holding back daedra from the planes of Oblivion. He was a hero, a Blade to the last." Her shoulders straightened, and she looked Gorgoth in the eye. "I will honour his memory," she told him in a firm voice.
Gorgoth's subconscious mind clicked, and he realised what the half-elf was describing to him. "Whiterock Island," he muttered, noting their shocked expressions and exchanged glances. "No, news does not travel that fast, and I doubt many people care about a forgotten island miles off the coast of Anvil," he told them. "I obtained news of what happened on your island by... other means." He certainly wasn't about to tell them about his connection with Daedra who'd almost certainly taken part in the killing of their friends and family.
The Imperial grunted. "Well, it matters not," he grunted. "Will you come with us to Cloud Ruler Temple? I'm loath to believe that the Blades would let one of your kind in, but it'd probably streamline the process. I hate standing unnecessarily out in the cold." His companion nudged him and muttered something in his ear, probably to tell him to tone down his racism, as it would probably hurt their chances of gaining aid.
Gorgoth tapped one of his canines and thought about the man and half-mer across from him. He was in no doubt that what they said was true, and while they would slow his journey tomorrow, neither had a reason for sticking a dagger in his back. He wanted an old Blade, heroically fallen in battle, to be honoured just as much as they did. If their story was accurate, then his katana deserved a place of honour in the great hall of Cloud Ruler Temple. He regarded them levelly. "I am leaving for Cloud Ruler just before dawn tomorrow," he told them. "If you wish to join me, feel free to meet me at the stable. I will not wait past dawn."
Relief was evident on the half-elf's face, while the old Imperial merely grunted, nodded, and stood, jerking his head over to the table they had previously occupied and making his way over to it. His companion lingered for a second, then joined him. A few seconds later, Gorgoth's meal finally arrived, and he settled down to the task of quelling his hunger.
After downing a few more tankards of beer and devouring most of the boiled meat, Gorgoth became aware of someone watching him. The Khajiit was leaning back against the far wall of the tavern, the first two legs of his chair off the floor, resolutely ignoring the two Imperials eating quietly at his table. His amber eyes were fixed on Gorgoth, and his gaze did not change as the Orc returned his look. The Khajiit was without doubt a Suthay or a Suthay-raht; his fur was a deep gold, almost deep enough to be called golden-brown. Dark, form-fitting leather armour covered most of his body apart from his feet and head, offering some little protection while not compromising his agility, and showing off an impressive physique. The leather stopped short of his hands, leaving his claws unhindered in the damage they could deal. At the moment, the cat's ears were laid back along his head, and his posture was one of relaxation, but Gorgoth was willing to bet that he could draw the war axe at his belt within seconds. The Khajiit's most distinctive feature was a black streak of fur over his right eye; apart from that, he could have blended into any Elsweyr crowd.
Gorgoth finished off his last tankard, pushed his seat back, and stomped over to the innkeeper. After finding out the cost of his meal, which to him seemed extortionate, he paid and turned back to the corner the Khajiit had been in. It was empty, apart from the two Imperials sitting at the table. Gorgoth hadn't expected the cat to stay; he seemed sensible enough to know when he'd been spotted. The Orc snorted quietly and went up to his room. Something about the Khajiit had stirred something in Gorgoth's memory, but it ran through his hands like water as he tried to grasp it.
As the innkeeper had told him; it was nothing special; the room was a tiny cubicle for an Orc as large as Gorgoth; the bedroll took up half the available space, and there were no other furnishings. The window was tiny and jammed shut. However, the warrior-shaman had slept in far worse places, and the single point of entry made it easy to secure. After setting his various traps, Gorgoth proceeded to remove his armour and most of his clothing, stacking it in a slightly neat pile at the foot of the bedroll, leaving him to crawl under the blankets wearing nothing but the ragged loincloth that had been with him since the Imperial Prison. The irony of going from condemned prisoner to heroic saviour was not lost on Gorgoth. Sleep came quickly.
"It was the Roxey Inn, north of the Imperial City. I got here as quickly as I could." That much was evident; the Khajiit was still panting, hands on knees, from his sprinting through the caverns, and outside, his horse was in similar shape, steam rising from its flanks, dissipating into the cold night air. "I know it was him," continued the Khajiit, the black streak over his right eye seeming even darker in the torchlight. "I know nothing of his plans, but I suspect he is going north." The cat forced himself to straighten. It would not be good to show weakness under the gaze of his superior, even after serving under him for the last six years. Those years had also eroded the normal Khajiiti way of speaking; the master had never liked it when they referred to themselves in the third person.
"You have done well, Do'kazirr," reassured a shadowy figure, hidden by the shadows thrown by a rock formation. "I expected it to take longer to track him down... apparently; he is good at keeping a low profile." The figure rubbed his chin, which was as smooth as his voice. "Our new ally will have to be informed. Send Jo'danirr to me; I have to compose a message." A wave of his hand combined with the command dismissed Do'kazirr, leaving the figure alone to contemplate his next move against an old acquaintance.
After dispelling all his traps and making sure his armour was on properly, Gorgoth left his hired room and headed down to the stables. The common room of the Roxey Inn was empty at this hour; even the Nord proprietor was sleeping behind the bar. Gorgoth stepped out into the grey predawn and moved over to where Vorguz was stabled. He felt no need to wake an ostler; he'd been caring for and training his own horses for over a decade. The Orc needed no man or mer to do a job that he could do himself.
The sun was spreading tendrils of light over the grey horizon as Gorgoth checked his saddlebags for the last time and prepared to mount. There was no sign of the old Imperial or the half-Altmer he'd met in the Inn yesterday. The Orc had dismissed them from his mind and was about to mount when he heard footsteps crunching on the straw. He turned to see the half-elf approaching him, her appearance unchanged from yesterday apart from the distracted look on her face. "Gnaeus refuses to cut short his sleep for the whim of an Orc," she told him, her tone one of exasperation. "He said he'll rise at dawn and no earlier." She sighed, her shoulders slumping.
Gorgoth looked down at her stonily. "I sense much magicka flowing through you," he grunted. "Why did you not shock him a few times? In my experience, that is an adequate cure for laziness." He kept one hand on Vorguz's back, ready to hoist himself up into the saddle.
The half-elf made a sound that could have been a snort or a giggle. "If I did that to Gnaeus... well, I don't think I'd be sitting down for a long time," she explained. "Besides, I do need him a bit..." She awkwardly traced lines in the straw with her booted foot, hands folded behind her back, not quite meeting Gorgoth's gaze. It suddenly struck Gorgoth how vulnerable she was; from what he'd heard and deduced, she'd either not set foot on mainland Tamriel for a long time, or had not set foot there at all. No-one would notice if these two islanders went missing; to them, they'd never existed in the first place. It would be all too easy for him to Silence the half-elf in front of him and do whatever he wanted with her, but that would accomplish nothing. Instead, he stepped away from Vorguz.
"If we're going to be travelling together, I'll need to know what name you go by," he rumbled, folding his arms.
She looked up. His movement had taken him closer to her, and if she was intimidated by the massive, heavily-armoured Orc looming over her, she showed no signs of it. "I'm Selene, and my companion is Gnaeus Magnus," she told him.
Gorgoth nodded. "I am Gorgoth gro-Kharz, warrior-shaman of Orsinium," he replied. "As you've probably deduced, I am a Knight Brother of the Blades." That was about us much they would get to know about him, unless he started to trust them a bit more. Knowledge, used well, was power almost beyond comprehension. "What race was your mother?" he asked, having already deduced that it was her father that was the Altmer; a human father would have given her his surname.
"A Breton," she replied, seeming startled by his interest.
Gorgoth nodded. "Altmer blood and Breton blood combining in one person will create potent magical ability," he mused, half talking to himself. "I thought I detected large reserves of magicka within you. If you are skilled enough to unleash it, then you are a powerful battlemage." He'd noticed that she had a finely-wrought steel glaive, almost as tall as she was, strapped across her back; that, combined with her armour, meant that she was no typical mage, to disregard mundane weapons and armour.
"Well, my father was a student of the Psijics at one point, and he taught me everything he knew," replied Selene. The sun was cresting the horizon behind Gorgoth, reflecting off the steel plates of her limb armour.
Gorgoth tapped one of his canines. "Psijic-trained is not the same as a fully-fledged Psijic, but respectable enough nonetheless," he observed. "I once considered going to Artaeum, but circumstances meant that it would be best if I stayed in Orsinium." In hindsight, Gorgoth recognised that his choice had been a good one; life at that time had given him vital lessons that he wouldn't have got under the guiding hand of Psijic teachers. Turning to squint at the sun, Gorgoth judged it to have risen enough to say it was now day.
"What horses are yours?" he asked, peering at the stabled row of sleep horses. There were five; two nags who'd seen better days, a fine bay that probably belonged to a mercenary who'd stayed the night, and two fine Anvil whites.
"The Anvil whites," Selene told him, moving over to one of the whites and starting to gently coax him out of sleep. "Gnaeus had a surprising stockpile of money that he thankfully managed to salvage from the island." A shadow passed over her face as she remembered the incident that had undoubtedly claimed the lives of almost everyone she'd ever known.
"I hate spending money," grumbled Gnaeus, appearing abruptly from around the corner, a pair of saddlebags slung over his back. "I probably won't even use this sodding animal much after I find solitude again, after we've dropped off this bloody katana." He ignored Selene's glare and started roughly attaching the saddlebags to his saddle, ignoring his horse's snort as it was rudely awakened.
Gorgoth ignored his mismatched companions and focused on checking over Vorguz. Satisfied that his steed was well-rested and ready to go, the Orc hauled himself into the saddle, adjusting his mace so that it didn't dig either him or Vorguz in the ribs. He gently heeled the stallion out of the paddock and into the road, shading his eyes from the rising sun; while there was significant cloud cover overhead, the sun had yet to reach it. The Orc turned to find Gnaeus and Selene following him out onto the road. "I do not believe in wasting time," he told them. "If you do not keep up, I will leave you behind." Gnaeus snorted something unintelligible, but Gorgoth was already getting Vorguz up to a trot.
The hard, fast pace set by Gorgoth made conversation nearly impossible, so the journey north to Bruma was mostly made in silence. As the trio progressed further north, the air grew colder, and the wind grew stronger. It turned out that while Gnaeus was well-stocked, Selene had left Whiterock Island wearing nothing but her armour and her underwear, and hadn't thought to buy any clothes, so she was forced to shiver without relief as the wind chilled her bare skin. Apparently, she'd never felt the need to warm herself using magicka on Whiterock, and Gorgoth wasn't about to stop to teach her. As they approached Bruma, frost soon became evident on the ground; soon, the snows would come, and generally they lasted deep into spring.
In Bruma, life went on as normal. The gate guards raised an eye at the oddly-garbed half-elf riding into the city, but didn't give her more than a second glance, returning to their cold, detestable gate guard duty. One hailed Gorgoth as the Hero of Kvatch before he was silenced by a glare that would have stopped a troll in its tracks.
"Hero of Kvatch?" harrumphed Gnaeus, looking Gorgoth up and down disapprovingly. "You seem to be more tyrant material than hero material. What happened at Kvatch?"
"Half the population was killed and most of the town destroyed by a raid in force by the forces of Mehrunes Dagon," replied Gorgoth, without batting an eyelid. "I appear to have picked up that blasted title as I was the most prominent warrior in the forces that closed the Oblivion Gate, retook the city, and drove the daedra back." Gorgoth snorted and shook his head. "Savlian Matius, his guardsmen, and others are not getting the credit they deserve."
"If you say so, Orc," growled Gnaeus, peering suspiciously at a passing Nord. "Back in my day, we wouldn't have rolled over so easily. Gah, the young guardsmen these days don't know a sword from a pair of nail clippers." The wizened Imperial snorted and muttered something under his breath about better days. Despite only wearing a light tunic, the cold didn't seem to be affecting him much.
"The guardsmen at Kvatch knew a lot more than what end to hold," replied Gorgoth. The ability of Savlian Matius, Ilend Vonius, and Menien Goneld, among others, to wield a blade with deadly precision had not been forgotten by the Orc. "Making judgements about a continent you have not set foot on for decades is unwise."
Gnaeus grunted. "You have a point there, Orc," he admitted. "Maybe you're not as stupid as the rest of the greenskins." He trailed off into unintelligible mutterings. Selene sighed and rolled her eyes.
"I think he's talked more in the last week than he did in thirty-five years on the island," she muttered, removing her gauntlets and covering her ears with her hands in a futile effort to keep them warm. Gorgoth finally decided to help and took a travelling cloak out of his saddlebag and wrapping it around her slender shoulders. She smiled in thanks and wrapped it around her body, pulling the hood up. The size of the cloak dwarfed her, but at least the thick material would keep her from turning into an icicle.
"That's because I'm surrounded by the bloody youth," barked Gnaeus. "They always do love to do nothing but talk. I don't understand why their tongues don't fall out."
"I could use magic to block up your ears," suggested Gorgoth. Gnaeus snorted and shook his head, instead choosing to peer intently at the gate guards as the party rode through Bruma's north gate. If the assorted Nords and Imperials were unnerved by the old hermit staring at them, they did not show it.
Once clear of the city, Gorgoth spurred the horses back up to speed, and soon they were approaching Cloud Ruler Temple. Selene's mouth dropped open in wonder as she laid eyes on the beautiful Akaviri construction for the first time, and Gnaeus gave an appreciative nod. Gorgoth was, as ever, impressed by the design, but he'd never let such features distract him in the past, and he didn't plan to start now. As the trio reached the gates, the massive, reinforced, oak-panelled barriers swung outward; evidently, the Blades had spotted them long ago. Gorgoth dismounted and led the way to the stables, returning the salutes of fellow Blades. After making sure that all three horses were in the care of the ostlers, the Orc turned to find Jauffre, clad in full Blades armour minus the helmet, striding up to him.
"It is good to see that you responded to the summons so quickly," intoned the Breton. "There is word from Baurus. But, firstly, who are your companions?"
Gorgoth motioned for Selene to explain their presence. The half-elf stepped forward, throwing back her hood and taking her father's katana from under Gorgoth's cloak. "This was my father's," she explained to Jauffre, her voice strong and proud. "He died defending those he loved from the hordes of Mehrunes Dagon."
The Breton took the katana and bared some of the steel. He raised an eyebrow at the daedric blood staining the blade and sheathed it. "I can verify her story," Gorgoth told him. "At least, some parts of it." He ignored the inquisitive looks Selene and Gnaeus were giving him. The Orc didn't want to know what would happen if he revealed his sources.
Jauffre grunted and nodded, pushing the katana through his belt. "Who was your father?" he asked.
"Merildan. An Altmer. He left the mainland twenty-eight years ago after being released from his oath." Selene paused. "I don't know any more than that."
A flicker of recognition appeared in the Breton's eyes as he heard Merildan's name mentioned. "Ah, yes, I remember him," he said, a faraway look appearing in his normally sharp eyes as he cast his memory back over the years. "He got involved in the War of Betony," he recalled. "That scarred him for life, I think, and Uriel released him from his oath when he asked; it was a reward for twenty years of loyal service." Jauffre sighed. "I remember him as being a fine swordsman, and a powerful battlemage. We could have used more men like him in these dark times." His gauntleted hand tightened over the hilt of Merildan's katana. "Yes, this will get the place of honour it deserves. For now, you must be tired after your journey from Anvil. You can rest in the East Barracks tonight. Gorgoth, I will talk to you later. Martin is in the great hall." The aged Grandmaster saluted and turned sharply, walking out of the stables in the direction of the great hall.
Gnaeus growled and stretched, the sound of his old bones popping making Selene wince. "Right, where's this East Barracks?" he asked Gorgoth. "I got soft on that island; I need eight hours sleep a day. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Clearly," muttered Gorgoth as he nodded in the direction of the East barracks. Gnaeus walked off in that direction, working his muscles. The Orc stepped outside and looked up at the sky. It was hard to tell with the sun hidden behind the clouds, but his stomach was telling him that the time for dinner was rapidly approaching. He turned back to Selene, who was still staring in the direction that Jauffre had gone, taking the last memento of her father that she'd had. Clearly, her emotional dam was leaking; tears were trickling down her cheeks. Gorgoth waggled his fingers, his gauntlets making a grinding sound as his fingers rubbed together, requesting the return of his cloak. Selene looked round, startled, as though she'd forgotten he was there. She swiftly removed his cloak and gave it back to him. Gorgoth shoved it back into his saddlebags. "Would you like to meet the future Emperor?" he asked. She'd managed to close an Oblivion Gate; for that, she at least deserved the honour of meeting her future ruler.
Selene gave him an odd look. "I thought he and all his sons were dead," she said, her voice sounding confused.
"You passed Kvatch on your way here, did you not?" asked Gorgoth. She nodded. "That was Dagon's attempt at killing Uriel's fourth, illegitimate son. He failed. Martin Septim is a guest of the Blades here at Cloud Ruler Temple." Selene raised both eyebrows in surprise; clearly, she'd been none the wiser as to the repercussions of the bigger events in Tamriel.
Gorgoth jerked his head, telling her to follow him, and headed over to the great hall. He shoved the doors open, ignoring the cold air billowing around him into the cavernous building. A handful of Blades were warming themselves at the massive fireplace, but Gorgoth's eyes were immediately attracted to Martin, sitting alone at a table piled high with books, with an Imperial Blade, clearly his assigned bodyguard, sitting at another nearby table. The Orc shut the doors and walked over, taking a seat across from the heir, motioning for Selene to join him, which she did somewhat hesitantly.
Martin looked up, his eyes darting from the Orc to the half-elf, lingering for a few seconds before refocusing on Gorgoth. A smile brightened his face, but his deep-set eyes still spoke of fatigue. Apparently, the Blades were pushing him hard. "It is good to see you again, Gorgoth," he said in greeting, his rich voice full of warmth. His eyes once again darted to Selene before moving back, his curiosity – and possibly admiration for the half-elf's looks - evident.
"And you, Martin," replied Gorgoth. "I trust that you are training well?" The sullen look flitting across the heir's face was the only answer he needed. According to Jauffre, the Blades drill instructor was very good at what he did. "It is worth it, Martin," he continued. "In a desperate battle, on the back foot, I would fully expect the Emperor to lead a charge on the field of battle. To do otherwise would be to shirk your duty."
Martin sighed. "One more thing I have to worry about," he groaned, pressing his hands to his eyes. "Hopefully, that will never happen; when you get the Amulet back, Dagon cannot trouble us again."
Gorgoth could sense Selene prickling with both curiosity and impatience, and so finally decided to introduce her. "Martin, this is Selene, a battlemage who has closed an Oblivion Gate," he rumbled. "Selene, this is Martin, ex-priest of Akatosh and heir-apparent to the Sundered Throne of Tamriel."
"Closed an Oblivion Gate?" repeated Martin, eyebrows rising in admiration as he extended a hand. Selene hastily removed a gauntlet and shook his proffered hand. Both had calluses, Selene from intensive training with her glaive, and Martin from intensive training with a variety of swords, axes, polearms, and blunt weapons. "That is not a claim many people can make. I can sense considerable magical power in you."
Selene blushed slightly. "I did have a lot of help," she muttered, lowering her eyes and her voice as she recalled the inhabitants of Whiterock Island who'd fallen in Oblivion, her brother Hannibal being the most prominent in her memory. "I just happened to be the only one to make it out."
Martin's gaze softened, not that it had been hard to begin with, and he somewhat awkwardly patted her bare hand. "I know something of what you went through," he mumbled. "I saw friends, people I'd known for years, cut down without mercy. Dagon's minions do not know pity. I did all I could, but..." he sighed. "It still doesn't change the fact that I survived and they didn't."
"If you had died, and they had lived, we would all be doomed," growled Gorgoth. "At this moment, you are the most important living man in Tamriel, Martin. Remember that." The warrior-shaman stood. Selene moved to follow him, but he waved her back down. "I have business to discuss with Jauffre. We can talk later." He nodded to both of them and walked over to the Blades warming themselves by the fire. On the way, he paused to look at the katanas mounted in their places of honour on the wall, and recognised Merildan's katana, above a blank plaque. He assumed Jauffre would get the engraving done as soon as he could. The Blades by the fireplace told him that Jauffre was carrying out his normal patrols of the battlements before dinner.
Gorgoth found the Grandmaster leaning on the outer wall of the fortress, looking down towards Bruma, ignoring the strong wind chilling and beating at him. Gorgoth joined him, and for a few minutes they each leaned on the wall in silence, looking out across Cyrodiil, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Finally, the Orc and the Breton stepped back from the wall and started making their way back to the great hall.
"Baurus and Glenroy have made a breakthrough," started Jauffre. "They have been investigating the cult that was behind the death of Uriel and his sons, and they've uncovered vital information that has to be acted on quickly."
"Where do I need to go, and what do I need to go?" As always when talking about operations, Gorgoth was blunt and to the point.
"Baurus and Glenroy are staying at Luther Broad's Boarding House in the Elven Garden district," explained Jauffre. "You'll find at least one of them there; I sent the courier back with a message to expect you."
Gorgoth nodded. "I'll wait for the others to get here first," he replied. "It would be best if we went in strength; it's best to have considerable forces at your disposal. You never know when they might be needed."
"Well, I'd rather get the Amulet back sooner than later, but it's your choice, and you are right." Jauffre clapped Gorgoth on the shoulder. "I trust you, Gorgoth. Many wouldn't. Do not fail me."
Gorgoth slammed a fist into his chest in a rigid salute. "I will not, Grandmaster," he rumbled. Jauffre nodded and headed over to the armoury. Gorgoth, attracted by the aroma of roasting meat wafting over from the kitchens, headed to the canteen. Entering the warm atmosphere of the communal eating place, Gorgoth was reminded of the last time he'd eaten here. He mentally berated himself for showing such weaknesses and hoped it would never happen again. Martin and Selene were sitting at a table, apparently engrossed in a conversation regarding the book Martin was holding. Gorgoth ignored them and walked over to get something to blunt his hunger.
Within minutes, the warrior-shaman was sharing a table with several Redguards, shovelling down massive forkfuls of food while participating in an animated discussion about whether a dai-katana wielded in both hands was superior to a standard katana used with a shield. Apparently, it was an argument that cropped up often in Cloud Ruler Temple, and it was never really solved. The Redguards were impressed that Gorgoth used his dai-katana like a standard katana, but pointed out that this was a rare feat and could not be applied to the mainstream argument.
In seemingly no time, the sun had gone down, the darkness of night had descended across Cyrodiil, several barrels of beer had been consumed and most of the Redguards were heading to either shifts or to the West Barracks. Gorgoth pushed back his chair and rose. Most of the canteen was now empty; Martin and Selene had apparently taken their conversation back to the great hall. Gorgoth guessed that the half-elf was well-learned from having been stuck on an island since her birth, with few people but many books for company. Not feeling tired, the Orc decided to take a walk over the battlements.
He was pleasantly surprised to see a man, a mer, and an Argonian emerge from the stables. Given that they'd had to travel from Skingrad, he hadn't expected Ilend and Aerin until tomorrow at the earliest. However, he was unsure what Saliith was doing there; when he'd last seen the Argonian, he'd been an up-and-coming starlet of the Arena. Now, he seemed more mature, but a lot more downcast and a lot less cocky. They spotted Gorgoth and walked over to join him as he leant on the outer wall.
"Good to see ya, big guy," greeted Aerin, shivering in the gusts of wind despite her thick cloak. The cold weather didn't seem to have dampened her perpetually high spirits.
Before Gorgoth could respond, Saliith was at his other side, leaning on the outer wall. The Argonian seemed to be able to tell that Gorgoth wanted an explanation for his presence, and he was willing to give one. "Gorgoth, I needed to... stay away from the Arena for a bit," he told the Orc. "Personal issues. These two took me along for the ride. Something about serving the future Emperor of Tamriel."
Gorgoth tapped his canine. While having a warrior as good as Saliith with them would be useful, he preferred to know the full story. "Personal issues?" he asked. The Argonian visibly winced.
"I made Hero rank," he rasped, his voice unsteady. "I killed Branwen to get there." The Argonian growled something under his breath and shook his head, his eyes falling to the stone beneath his feet.
Gorgoth grunted. "You had no choice. She knows that. She will not blame you. You are still alive. Take comfort in that." He gripped the Argonian's shoulder firmly, bringing the lizard's eyes up. "Do not let this shadow plague you until your dying day," he rumbled. "Move on. She died well, at least. Better you than an honourless dog who would desecrate her corpse."
Saliith slumped, a shaky sigh rattling out of his chest. "You're right, Gorgoth, I'll... I just need a bit of time." Gorgoth nodded, and the Argonian started off to the great hall, presumably in an attempt to find warmth; for the cold-blooded Argonians, the chill of northern Cyrodiil could be fatal.
"The messenger didn't mention much," observed Ilend, leaning on the outer wall. "Care to fill us in, Gorgoth? I'd rather not walk ahead blind." The Imperial was wearing a thick cloak, but with the hood thrown back, and the wind had unfurled his hair, whipping it about like a very short banner.
"Baurus and Glenroy have found a lead worth pursuing in the Imperial City," explained Gorgoth. "The cult that assassinated the Emperor and his sons, the cult that raped Kvatch, the cult that took the Amulet of Kings... they are within reach."
Ilend turned and stared hard at Gorgoth. His hand found the hilt of his longsword and he gripped it, hard. "Good," he growled through gritted teeth. "The sooner I find those bastards and start handing out some righteous justice for Kvatch, the better." The Imperial's lip had curled into a snarl. Gorgoth nodded to himself; the memories of Kvatch were still raw, it seemed. The ex-guardsman did a good job of keeping them dormant.
"Uh, Gorgoth?" Aerin was looking anywhere but at Gorgoth, awkwardly scuffing the stones with her boot. "I – we – have something ta ask ya." She risked a glance up at him from under her long eyelashes; his face could have been carved from stone. As usual. Ilend forced the snarl from his face and nodded.
"Speak."
"Ya recall that Orc we met outside my shack in the Imperial City, before we left for Weynon Priory?" Her quavering voice betrayed her nerves. Gorgoth nodded. "Well, we – me, Ilend, and Saliith – ran into him again." Gorgoth said nothing, his face unmoving, his yellow eyes fixated on Aerin's blue. "He tried ta kill us, but we persuaded him otherwise, and he's got at least twenty bandits following him." The last sentence left her in a rush, and she shifted closer to Ilend, as though seeking protection from any anger emanating from the warrior-shaman. She need not have worried.
"Tell me everything he said." It was a simple statement, but both Aerin and Ilend could sense the intensity in both the tone of his voice and the force of the Orc's gaze. They hastily informed him of every detail of their meeting with Burzukh. Gorgoth's face remained unmoving throughout; his only movement was the steady rise and fall of his chest and the occasional blink. Once they had finished, he turned away and stared out across Cyrodiil, as though trying to see where Burzukh was. The Orc remained silent for several minutes, until Ilend cleared his throat.
"Gorgoth... what is your history with him?" asked the Imperial. His voice contained none of Aerin's nervousness.
The warrior-shaman turned to face them, and for a brief, fleeting moment, man and mer thought they saw some kind of emotion flicker across the Orc's face, but it was gone so quickly that it could just have been a trick of the light. "After I... ended my father's dominion over me, I started work as a freelance spellsword," he explained, his tone reminiscent. "Boring work, and unfulfilling, but it got me enough to survive, and more. Often, I did not work alone; I worked with many fellow mercenaries over the years, and grew close to several of them; I called them comrades. Burzukh was one of them." Gorgoth paused. The breath of all three of them shimmered and condensed in the cold night air, but none of them made any move to warm themselves.
"We worked together several times, but then he disappeared, about two and a half years ago." Gorgoth's face grew even harder, if that was possible. "He later resurfaced as the leader of a highly-trained, deadly force of bandits, preying on merchant wagons all over the Orsinium area." Gorgoth turned his head to look north-west, in the direction of the Wrothgarian Mountains. "Normally, King Gortwog allows certain levels of banditry; if the merchants are too idiotic to protect themselves enough, then they show weakness, and Malacath has always hated weakness." Ilend and Aerin exchanged glances, wondering over the Orcish concept of 'civilisation', before returning their gazes to Gorgoth.
"But Burzukh and his warriors were too effective. They burnt and pillaged so much that they were starting to adversely affect trade and commerce in Orsinium." The warrior-shaman shook his head. "My father asked me to hunt down him and his followers. I did not have to obey him, but it was for the good of Orsinium, so I agreed." Gorgoth's right hand was gripping his mace head. "I tracked down the band; there were seven of them following him, but they were all fine warriors in their own right. I fell upon them when Burzukh was away, and killed all but two of them. Burzukh fled to the higher mountains with his remaining companions, in the depths of winter."
"I finally caught up with them, high up in the mountains, where snow lies all year round." Gorgoth's thick eyebrows drew down momentarily, before he returned to his normal stoic expression. "I remember it well. In the midst of a blizzard, I killed Burzukh's two companions and took Burzukh's eye, but he was, and still is, a warrior of great skill; he wounded me badly, and had the good sense to coat his battleaxe with a potent poison of Silencing. Until I could heal my wounds, I could not follow him, and by then he was on his way out of Orsinium." Gorgoth stepped back from the outer wall and regarded his companions, his eyes devoid of any emotion. "You should feel honoured. That is not a part of my past that I share with many."
"Uh... yeah... much obliged, big guy," stammered Aerin, abruptly noticing that it was hours past sunset and drawing her cloak tighter around her, shivering. "At least we now know what we're up against if we come across him again." She hesitated. "Thanks."
Gorgoth snorted and waved them away. "Go and get some rest. You will need it. I require time to think." He returned to the outer wall and leaned both arms on it, his back to them, a clear sign of dismissal.
"Sleep sounds good," said Ilend, realising how tired he was for the first time. They'd ridden hard from Skingrad, without much rest. He yawned and stretched. "Come on, Aerin, let's do as the wise old Orc suggests, unless you feel hungry?"
The Wood Elf shook her head, shooting a distracted glance at Gorgoth's back as she followed Ilend over to the East Barracks. "I'm more tired than hungry," she mumbled. In her time at Skingrad, her body had grown accustomed to the amount of sleep it had been getting; now that she was back under Gorgoth's command, she supposed that she'd better get used to being tired again.
The door to the East Barrack banged shut behind them. A few more beds were occupied than the last time they'd been here; apparently, Saliith had decided that rest was preferable to being awake and was slumped on a bedroll located in the middle of the barracks, his scaled armour laid out neatly on the next bedroll, looking ready to climb into. A handful of Blades were sleeping in the area furthest from the door to the courtyard, presumably for warmth. Two bedrolls, fairly close to each other, were occupied by two people, an old, wizened Imperial with skin like a walnut, and a good-looking woman who didn't appear to belong to a single race, who didn't look like Blades material, though it was hard to tell, as most of their bodies were covered by blankets.
Ilend removed his cloak and dumped it onto a bedroll near the courtyard door. Aerin imitated him and threw her cloak over a bedroll two along from the Imperial. Quirking an eyebrow at their proximity, Ilend started to strip off his chainmail, muting his exertions somewhat in order not to wake the sleepers. Aerin squeezed out of her own 'armour' and reached up to release her hair from its high ponytail, letting it flow freely to her waist. Ilend, about to tug off his boots, did a sudden double-take as she started to peel off her clothes, stripping to her underwear before somewhat sheepishly sliding under her blanket. "More comfortable," she explained when she saw him staring. The Imperial smirked, shook himself, and finished piling his armour in a haphazard pile at the foot of his bedroll.
"You still haven't let me massage you yet," he observed, keeping his face straight as he removed his shirt, which was stained with the sweat accumulated from being worn under heavy armour in times of exertion. He slid under his blankets and propped himself up on his elbow, facing Aerin.
"That's because I know you'd make a bloody mess of it, ya clumsy guardsman," she sighed, rolling her eyes, and slumping down into the bedroll, staring up at the ceiling. "What do ya think's gonna happen in the City?" The Bosmer shifted around until she found a position that was comfortable and not to exposed to draughts.
Ilend shook his head and lowered himself the rest of the way down. "I don't know, Aerin," he replied, his voice grim. "But I know I'm going to make those daedra-sucking cultist bastards pay for what they did to Kvatch." The Imperial sighed and forced the heat from his voice. "Get some rest; we all need it. What's that thing that Gorgoth says? 'May you live to see the morning'?" Ilend smirked. "I think I'll leave it at a 'good night, Aerin', myself."
"'Night, Ilend."
Gorgoth had stayed on the battlements until well after midnight, thinking about events ranging from Burzukh to the Amulet of Kings to Baurus and Glenroy to his companions. Eventually, he retired to bed, but was still the first to rise, casting a modified Silence spell over himself as he donned his armour to avoid waking the others. The canteen was mostly deserted when he entered, but as he sat eating breakfast, a few Blades from the night shift entered, and gradually Cloud Ruler Temple started to wake up. The first person to appear from the East Barracks was Selene; casting an impressed eye at Gorgoth's plate piled high with food, she took a seat next to him. She was already in full armour; presumably, she still didn't have anything else to wear.
"Martin seems to be very knowledgeable," she told him, ignoring the normal exchanging of greetings and launching straight into conversation. "If he's going to be Emperor, then they can do a lot worse than him."
"So living in isolation on an island for your entire life makes you an expert on politics?" asked Gorgoth levelly, his tone unchanging despite the obvious sarcasm of his words.
"Hey, I did read a lot," defended Selene. "Besides, he seems like a good man, at least. He'll do what is right."
"Politics, Selene, politics," rumbled Gorgoth. "In Cyrodiil, it's a cutthroat business; only the Bretons can outdo the Imperials. Being nice won't get Martin far with the Elder Council." The Orc snorted. "In Orsinium, politics are so much simpler."
"I'm just trying to put things in a good light," pouted Selene, folding her arms and fixing him with a critical expression. Gorgoth snorted as he shovelled two rashers of bacon into his mouth at once.
"You're an optimist, I'm a realist," he told her. "There happens to be a significant difference." The Orc changed the subject to more pressing matters. "What will you do now?" he asked her, wiping a stray trail of grease from his chin.
The half-elf grimaced slightly at the Orc's complete lack of basic table manners, but left it at that. "I honestly don't know," she sighed. "Until Gnaeus wakes up, I have no idea what we're going to do; I can hardly make a decision without him."
"I'm awake, and you shouldn't rely on a grouchy old git all the time," barked Gnaeus from behind them, causing Selene to jump in astonishment. Gorgoth ignored the old Imperial completely, spearing a sausage and staring at it critically. Gnaeus dropped into a seat across from the half-elf and started to attack his food, which looked exactly like Gorgoth was eating, the only difference being that there was a lot less of it. "What were you thinking of doing?" he asked Selene. "You must have had some idea; don't bore me with that inexperience drivel."
Before Selene could respond, Gorgoth butted in. "I could use a battlemage when I go to the Imperial City," he told them. "None of my companions have much aptitude with magic, and it would be helpful if all the magical work wasn't done by me." Gorgoth leaned closer to Selene, his eyes locked with hers. "You could avenge your family," he told her, his voice a low growl.
Selene jerked upright, eyes burning. "Revenge won't bring them back," she said, but her words sounded hollow; it was evident that she and Ilend both shared an intense hatred of Mehrunes Dagon and his daedra, the invaders that had taken so much from them. After a few seconds, the half-elf nodded. "I suppose it might help ease the pain," she sighed, rising. "When do we leave?"
"Soon. We assemble in the stables in about half an hour." Gorgoth turned to Gnaeus. "What about you, Magnus?"
The old Imperial harrumphed. "I've seen more than enough fighting in my day, Orc," he replied. "As soon as I'm done eating, I'm off to find somewhere that these young whippersnappers and their problems won't trouble me." He snorted again and returned to his plate.
"No, you don't, Gnaeus," whispered Selene emphatically. "I need at least someone I know nearby, or... I'm lost." She gestured around her, somewhat helplessly. "Besides, we could use your blade."
"Fine! Take it!" Gnaeus actually drew his broadsword – Gorgoth noted that it was fashioned from high quality ebony – and laid it on the table, but Selene shot him a withering look.
"You know what I mean, Gnaeus," she said, her tone frosty. "You'll meet us in the stables in half an hour, or I'll follow you to wherever you start to set up your hermitage and torment you until the end of your days." She turned on her heel and stalked off.
"She seems forceful," observed Gorgoth, looking down at his now-empty plate and pushing it away from him.
Gnaeus sighed and shook his head, his brows drawn down in a thunderous frown. "You have no idea," he muttered. Gorgoth grunted and stood, leaving the Imperial to pick at his breakfast while he wandered over to the East Barracks. On the way, he found Jauffre and told him to get someone to prepare their horses. The Breton seemed pleased to hear that they were leaving as soon as possible and approached several Blades lounging around in the great hall, presumably to press-gang them into being ostlers.
Ilend, Saliith, and Aerin were still asleep, so Gorgoth moving among them, gently kicking them awake. Within minutes, partly in response to his forceful urges and exhortations, they were all pulling on their armour, looking bleary-eyed and still tired. Gorgoth hoped that they could get some proper sleep soon; they'd undoubtedly need it for hunting the cult of assassins. He growled for them to eat breakfast quickly and walked out of the barracks, heading to the battlements.
It was raining, a light drizzle that Gorgoth barely felt on his thick skin, but within minutes it was running down his armour in trickles. The grey skies overhead stretched from horizon to horizon, and morning fog covered the peaks of the Jeralls. A handful of Blades were keeping a brazier going with ease; Gorgoth idly wondered whether they were magically enchanted. He joined Captain Steffan in leaning on the battlements, attempting to make out the spire of the Chapel of Talos rising from the gloom. "Nice morning for the forces of shadow," remarked the Knight Captain, somewhat cryptically. "Be wary of ambushes." The Imperial was completely ignoring the rain dripping from the noseguard of his helmet.
"I've survived, and set up enough, in my time to know how to thwart one," Gorgoth grunted. "Besides, there is no doubt that Aerin will want a magical shield put up to keep the rain off her." The warrior-shaman snorted. "Should the snows be coming soon?"
"Should be starting within a few weeks," observed Steffan. "If it gets a bit colder, we could even have em tomorrow. You'll want to miss them for sure."
Gorgoth nodded and tapped a canine, casting his mind back and remembering blood soaking the snow, turning it the darkest of crimsons, on a battlefield somewhere in High Rock. When the thaws came, the streams had run red. The Orc hadn't seen true, proper battle for a while – his participation in the Battle of Kvatch being a mere skirmish by his standards – and while he would not actively seek it out, he'd willingly throw himself into any battle, even one with long odds, if the cause was worth fighting for. He left Steffan alone on the battlements and returned to the great hall.
Martin was already immersed in a book, the number of volumes on his table having decreased somewhat. Not wanting to interrupt his studies, Gorgoth merely grunted a greeting and moved on, sparing a glance for the wall of Akaviri katanas. Merildan's name had been engraved on the plaque under his katana. The Orc eased himself into a chair by the fire, ignoring his fellow Blades, and dug his ring out of his wallet. He turned the thick gold band over in his hands, the dark red of the ruby seeming to flicker in the light of the fire. The armoured fist that clenched the mace was all too reminiscent of Gorgoth's own gauntlet in days gone by. The Orc grimaced. He hated what the ring stood for, yet he continued to keep it; it might one day be useful, and he wasn't the type to dispose of useful assets wastefully. Shaking his head, Gorgoth shoved it back into his wallet, which he managed to squeeze under his armour into his pocket after undoing one of his cuirass straps.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned his head fractionally. "You learnt anything more about me, Renault?" he asked. The Orc was interested as to how good the Blades' spying networks were.
"I know about the death of your mother," she told him, her voice soft, sympathy evident on her face. "I can't believe-" She stopped and recoiled as she realised that Gorgoth had swung out of his seat and was towering over her, his face a thundercloud.
"Do not go there, Renault," he growled, his voice deep and threatening. "That memory is one of my most painful." The Orc leaned forward, bringing his eyes closer to the Breton's. "I do not need reminding of it. Let's just say that I punished those responsible accordingly."
Surprisingly, the Blade Captain shook her head in disagreement. "No, Gorgoth, you didn't deal with the one who ordered her killed," she told him, not sounding shaken in the slightest. "He bears the ultimate responsibility-" She was cut off again by Gorgoth's growl, a deep, bass rumble that started deep down in his chest, the sound of an avalanche smashing down the mountainside. The great hall grew quiet as just about everyone turned to look at the Orc.
"He was not responsible for the way they did it," he whispered savagely. Looking up, he moved his gaze over the hall, glanced back at Renault, then grunted and stomped off quickly towards the East Barracks. It took a few seconds for conversations to begin again. Renault stayed still for a minute, swaying slightly, then shook herself and went off to find Lathar to consult him about usage of the training area.
By the time Gorgoth reached the East Barracks, he was back to his normal, calm, stoic self. While he refused to regret anything in life, he'd certainly preferred it if that incident hadn't happened. He'd come far too close to losing all sense and giving in to his rage, but that memory always threatened to break his emotional suppression. The Orc sighed and leaned against the wall, surveying the empty barracks. "You were right, Renault," he whispered. "One man still needs to pay." Gorgoth shook his head and left the building.
The Blades pressed into service as ostlers by Jauffre had done their work, and all the horses were ready, as were all of Gorgoth's companions. Conversation dried up as he entered, but all he did was walk over to Vorguz and check the stallion over. Satisfied, he turned to observe those who would most likely be fighting by his side; a flirtatious Bosmeri hunter, an ex-guardsman out for revenge, a depressed Argonian gladiator, an inexperienced half-elf battlemage, and an irritable old Imperial hermit. Without a shadow of a doubt, these were definitely the most diverse men and women he'd ever had under his command.
A jerk of his head had them leading their horses down the steps, following him. The gates swung open as they descended, and the sentries saluted. Finally, having assembled in the shadow of the fortress, Gorgoth hauled himself into Vorguz's saddle, motioning for his companions to do the same. "Short stops each night for rest," he told them. Aerin rolled her eyes and muttered something about the Orc being predictable. "Every hour the enemy has the Amulet is an hour that the magical barriers weaken. We ride hard." Gorgoth dug his heels into Vorguz's flanks, leading the party down the mountainside path, water spraying from under the hooves of the horses.
A/N: Right, now that the plot continuation chapter is over, something can actually happen next chapter. Something like the Mythic Dawn having a very bad day. In any case, now that you've taken the time to read this, you can dedicate a few more minutes of your time to writing a review. It's not hard; it doesn't even have to be very long. I wrote this bloody thing, the least you can do is put some effort in to help make it better. Now click that link below this Author's Note, the one that says 'Review this Chapter'. Thanks in advance for your review.