And Darkness Consumes
Chapter Two: Rude Awakenings
The merchant trader Warriv and his small caravan were drawn up into a wagon circle upon the plains many miles west of the Rogue Monastery. They had another full day and a half of riding before they would arrive at the gates guarding the only pass east. The Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye had guarded those very gates for many generations, and would continue to do so for many generations more.
Sitting in front of a bonfire, his pipe filled with fine tobacco, Warriv was content to just sit and stare at the fire, puffing on his corn root pipe until it was time to move on again at first light. The night sky overhead was littered with a sea of twinkling stars. Sounds and shouts suddenly tore his attention away from his smoke.
"Hmm? What is it?" As head of the caravan, Warriv was more or less in charge, and he alone could decide the fate of any wanderers they may happen upon during their travels. A pair of Paladins wearing chain mail escorted a man dressed in odd dark orange armor the likes of which he has never seen before into the camp, bringing him before Warriv.
"As we scouted the way ahead, we discovered this man just wandering about." One of the paladins explained.
"He claims memory loss, saying he awoke on a beach and doesn't remember who he is, or how he got there." The other continued. The man remained silent, his face hidden by a helmet, dark orange in color, flat on one side with odd, finger like protrusions jutting out from the side. It was rather... Creepy looking.
"Do you sense anything... Evil about him?" Warriv asked the Paladins. Both shook their heads no. Well, it was official, whoever this Wanderer is, he isn't evil or malicious. "Well, I suppose we could always use an extra hand around the caravan. What skills do you posses?" Warriv finally asked of the Wanderer.
"I am not sure... When I woke up, I had this dagger on me, and I guess I may have once been a warrior, judging by this Bonemold armor I'm wearing." The Wanderer replied, showing Warriv the Daedric dagger he had in his possession.
Warriv raised an eyebrow. "Bone... Mold?"
The man tilted his helmeted head to the side, as if he were a dog studying Warriv curiously, "Yes... "
"Take your helmet off!" Warriv demanded suddenly, quite upset at his lack of manners. Nodding, the Wanderer did as instructed, removing his helmet and holding it in the crook of his arm. He had short blond hair, and a clean shaven, almost boyish face. He was quite handsome, not that Warriv was into guys, mind you. He couldn't be very old, no more then twenty-five, Warriv would guess. "So... You say you're a warrior? Very well. We can always use another caravan guard. I'll hire your services at the standard rate. Come, sit and eat..." Warriv offered the Wanderer a leg of piping hot mutton, which he gladly accepted and tore into voraciously. It was like nothing he had ever tasted before, and before long, he had stripped it to the bone. "Do you remember your name?" Warriv had asked as the Wanderer set aside the stripped bone.
The Wanderer shook his head, "No, I do not..."
"Well, unless you want us to keep calling you Wanderer, you might wanna think up a name for yourself..."
The Wanderer sat silent for a moment, then said the first name that came to mind, "Erik... I would liked to be called Erik from now on."
Warriv shook Erich's hand. "Welcome aboard Erik. We're heading east, to Lut Gholen. You're welcome to come along as far as you want up to Lut Gholen. Rico?"
One of the Paladins who had found Erich wandering in
the plains stepped forward. "Yes?"
"I would appreciate it if you stuck by our newest recruit's side. He doesn't remember his name yet, but wants to be called 'Erik' until he does. If we get accosted by bandits or the like, stick by his side to make sure he isn't overwhelmed."
"Of course." He nodded. Rico was your average Paladin, a crusader of all that is good and just in the world. He introduced himself to Erich, and the two started to bond a bit.
Night went on, and the Caravan would leave at first light...