The Vivec Raid

"Vrale, you have the doors secured correct?" barked Horiss. Horiss was a large and heavy man, but that did not mean he was fat and slow. Quite the opposite. He was naturally large, being a Nord, and just as naturally he was extremely muscular. All his life he'd commanded respect from whomever he'd met. Until he'd met Vrale.

Vrale was a young, lean, and naive Imperial. Worst of all, he had a big mouth., which he used frequently against Horiss. Vrale knew that Horiss could not lay a finger on him, or else he would have to answer to the Captain, so he often back-talked and insulted with much relish.

"Relax you moron. We are guarding the least profitable section, of the least profitable canton of Vivec, the most powerful city in Morrowind, and it is 2:00 in the morning. You honestly think a band of pirates are going to attack us?" Vrale answered back, not looking up from the plate of food he was eating.

"I said, did you secure the doors!" Horiss thundered, taking a threatening step forwards.

"Easy buddy. You know what will happen if you touch me." Vrale said, taking a swig Flin. "And for the record, no. I did not secure the doors."

"You what! Get off you're ass and bolt it down! I can't touch you for being an ass, but I can sure as shit beat you down for not doing you're duties!" Horiss said, swiping away Vrale's food and shoving him towards the giant double doors.

Vrale grumbled loudly, picked himself up from the floor and started wiping the food off his uniform as he made his way to the doors. Horiss watched him like a hawk, intent on making sure that the job was done. In the back of his mind, Horiss smiled to himself as he imagined how easy it would be to push Vrale off the ledge someday and explain that he'd slipped out of his own ignorance. It would certainly get the Imperial out of his face. Vrale reached the doors and got to work sliding the wooden beams into there respective slots, barring the doors being opened by the outside.

"There. You happy now? Nothing's coming through-"

At that instant Vrale was distracted by an intensely bright light glowing through the tiny crack between the two doors. Vrale pressed his ear to the door to hear what was going on. Dull movements. Light voices. Someone was outside. Before Horiss could bark orders of retreat, Vrale was swallowed up by the light as the doors exploded in flame, burning him up instantly.

The blast sent bits of wood flying through the air and hot wind rushing past Horiss as he unstrapped his Warhammer from his back. The Nord cursed silently as he watched Vrale flail on the ground, his entire body encased in flames, the screaming and shrieking cutting into him like a thousand jagged knives. "That's not the way for any man to die." Horiss thought. Horiss closed his eyes and whispered a quick and silent prayer. Suddenly, the screaming stopped.

Horiss opened his eyes and saw a figured dressed in black standing over Vrale's burning body. A spear was gripped tightly in the man's hands, and Horiss knew that he'd just put an end to Vrale's misery. Surrounding that man were many more figures, all wearing the same exact garments, and all carrying the same weapons. Each had a short, but effective spear in hand, and at there sides were short swords with serrated edges. Horiss could see those details because the swords were not encased in a sheath but merely held at there sides by a thin band of steel.

"The Black Hand." Horiss muttered, reaching for an object next to his Flin.

This group was a notorious band of fanatics who resorted to murder and plunder to get there ideas about all Elves being the only dominate race, and therefore the only ones who should rule this world. The idea had been created by Dystar, a Dunmer warlord many years ago. Until now they'd remained quiet and secret. But now, almost instantly, the fanatical group had become something to fear.

The cult would always raid a town or city, killing all those who were not of Elven heritage, or even those who were that would stand in their way. As the cult grew stronger every day, there ideas were beginning to take hold. The Mer were actually turning against men and beasts alike. Any outlanders, who were merely despised by the Dunmer, were now being beaten and sometimes killed for the smallest of a mistake. The Imperial Legion have been trying desperately to put a stop to the madness, but all attempts to locate the Black Hand's base of operations have been fruitless. And now the cult had plucked enough courage to attack a powerful city such as Vivec.

A horn sounded within the invaded city, the call to arms raised. Horiss dropped the instrument and hefted his Warhammer, keeping his eyes locked on the charging mass of cultists coming his way. It was time to go to work.

----------

The city was in torment. Flames enveloped the buildings and homes while great black smoke issued forth from within them, filling the domed Canton with the smog. Women and children screamed and cried while men ran frantically to and fro, ordering people to hide somewhere, anywhere, while they themselves didn't even know where the women and children could hide. Many dead lay across the ground, staining the brown bricks a dark and grisly red. The cultists continued their onslaught with next to no opposition. All anyone could do was run and hide.

Elith's baby was crying, adding to the confusion and panic that pressed down upon her. She looked out the window to see the Black Hand were coming closer and closer. It would not belong before they were upon own home. She wrapped her baby in a blanket and cradled her with her left arm. In her right was a crossbow, and at her side a long and serrated knife. She was not a master at combat, but her husband had taught her enough to survive one or two encounters.

Danger. Run away. Fight if cornered. Keep running. If it weren't for these basic instincts, her mind would be completely shut down. She would be one of those women screaming with grief and madness, screaming for the massacre to stop. The mother knew how useless that was however. Selena had tried that. Now she was strung up from her own home and set on fire. Wishes and prayer were of no use here.

The woman pounded down the staircase, but the sound of a crashing door ground them to a halt. The Black Hand were in her home! She finished the descent and hid inside the kitchen. She listened for the sound of footsteps and voices. There was only one, no, two intruders! They did not know where she was, or if anyone was home at all. Her babe had grown blessedly quietly. Praying for the strength to carry on, Elith turned the corner and fired her bolt. The bolt sailed through the air and struck the man in the throat. His face was one of shock as he hit the floor.

"Elith. What have you done?"

"Valence... He. I-I didn't k-know who or what..." Elith stammered. The man Elith had shot had been an Ordinator. His blood continued to flow and seep into the plush carpet, staining it a dark and foreboding red. An explosion shook the building, giving testament to the fact that the wave of cultists were getting ever closer.

"Though a tragedy, it was not murder. It was confusion, panic, desperation. It's understandable, and you won't be punished when it's over. And besides, the time for politics is long gone. We must get the flee before we are added to this tragedy." Answered Valence.

Valance was a young, handsome Imperial, and an apprentice of Elith's husband. He held a Long Sword in his hands, and was quite the swordsman with it as well. However, he rarely used it, preferring peace over violence. But in this world, violence is inevitable. The raid on Vivec is proof of that.

The two exited the building and fled as quickly as they could. They hadn't made it passed the neighboring home when they stopped abruptly. A pair of cultists stood before them, weapons raised and sneers set upon their faces. Their intentions were clear.

"This way!" Valance shouted, lightly pulling Elith down a side alley before the two were sprinting away. The cultists followed. They howled and roared with delight as they chased their quarry down the alley. The path turned a sharp right, and straight into a dead end. Elith and Valance were trapped.

"All ours." one of the cultists grinned.

"Remember the rules. That child is untouchable." said the other.

"...but we may do what we will with the others. If I've heard it once, I've heard it a hundred times." grumbled the first, brandishing his scimitar.

Valance stepped forward, sword raised. A fire had been lit in his eyes, undoubtedly caused by the mention of kidnapping the baby. The first man stepped forward carelessly, slashing his scimitar violently and powerfully. Too powerfully. Valance stopped short of the attack, and the man was put off balance by the force of his own attack. In a flash Valance struck. He struck the man hard in the chest, gashing the leather armor underneath his tunic and breaking ribs. The Valance followed up by swinging heavily at the man's head, landing a blow to his temple straight and true. The man crumpled to the ground, blood pooling.

"Do you dare to contend me now?" Valance hissed.

"Derim was a fool of a fighter to begin with. You will not find me so simple." came the answer.

"I gave you the chance to live." Valance replied, getting ready for another fight.

The conversation ended. The two stared each other down, looking for a weakness they could exploit. There was none to be found. The cultist charged forward, scimitar pointed straightforward. Valance kicked a nearby crate at him, forcing him t leap over it. With this advantage Valance shot forwards and dove into a roll underneath the man, his Longsword whipping out to give a good sized cut to his ankle. The man landed heavily on the injured limb and he fell to one knee.

Valance picked himself up and turned on his heels, using the momentum to swing his Longsword heavily in attempt to behead the man. Elith watched as the injured man put one hand on the flat of his blade while the other remained firm on the handle. With this method he blocked Valance's powerful attack dead. Both blades shattered on impact. Valance jumped backwards, shaking off the numbing feeling in his arm. He had the time. The shards of steel had imbedded themselves in the cultist's face and eyes. He rolled around on the floor, pulling them out and swearing vengeance upon Valance.

The numbing pain in Valance's arm lessened, giving him the ability to actually use it. He picked up his fallen weapon and looked at the pitiful man before him. He contemplated killing the man. Killing him was mercy, but did this man deserve it?

"Valance. We must go." Elith said, listening to the sounds of battle as it grew steadily louder. Valance took his sword in both hands, and stood over the man.

"Every man is deserving of mercy."