A/N: Warning, mild graphic depiction of hunting and harvesting deer.
THE CHALLENGE
Hatred is a strong emotion. It's powerful. It consumes one like a wildfire quickly consumes the forest in years of drought. Fast and furious. Hot and anticipated. Garnag should have known what that kind of emotion did to him by now, but it always seemed to catch him off guard.
He was just enjoying the night in a poorly lit, backwoods bar in Falkreath when the man entered. The Dead Man's Drink never had anyone noteworthy come around. Just the dirty Nords in this region and maybe some Imperial outsiders. Good luck they had after Ulfric took over. Now all they get are dirty looks and overpriced drinks.
Garnag smirks at that. He watched from his dirty table as one man came in pleading for some mead and a room for the night. Had some pretty young thing on his arm. He was turned away promptly. Told his kind wasn't welcome here. That stung. Garnag wasn't a fan of racism. But he supposes this is different. It's enemies in the wrong territory. They aren't welcome here anymore and if they had any sense, they'd tuck tail and get their ass right back to Bravil or whatever city they scraped by.
Based on how the others revelers quieted, there was another Imperial in their midst. Some jackass decided it was time to barge in here and ask for another room, maybe that same Imperial. Garnag could only watch the spectacle in amusement. After the past years, very long years, he's taken to sitting in the back. Letting the conflict unfurl before him like a bird stretching their wings. His one rule is this: Don't intervene unless absolutely necessary.
Yet, it sounds like trouble has come to his doorstep.
He keeps his head down as the booted footsteps approach. They're heavy and cumbersome. Someone had heavy armor on. It sounds like it was well cleaned and new. At least, that was what Garnag could hear. He was forced to rely more on his hearing after losing one eye in the raid of Bravil. He felt sorrow over that loss, for a moment, and had to move on. That grief was left in the past. He could adapt.
And adapt well. But not until tonight. He hears the man stop right before him at his table. And he damn well wasn't even finished with his drink yet. "I told you." He growls, eyes still on his mug, "I'm not interested in joining the Dawnstar Brotherhood." Crumbling lot that was after the past few months. If he thought the shit in Cheydinhal was bad…the past few months made it look like a kid's birthday party.
"I'm not here for that." The voice is firm and commanding. "The time has come." The Orc has no choice but to look up. Above him, a man decked out in the most beautiful ebony armor is staring him down. Garnag knew when he woke up today, things might get weird. Some sixth sense he has. That's what the Khajiit travelers told him. He thought it was bullshit but maybe he should reconsider.
The commanding man stares him down. His voice is hollow sounding. "I have done all that can be done. There is nothing left." The voice dictates behind the shining helmet, "No quests to be undertaken. No villains to be slain. No challenges to face. Except for you. You are my last challenge. Only you can send me to Sovngarde with honor."
The room was now dead silent. The bard who sang like an ill goose was tongue tied. Not even the Stormcloak soldiers trying to flirt like drunk college kids in the back made a sound. Garnag thinks he should thank this warrior for such a reprieve, instead, he motions to the empty seat across from him.
"Haven't finished my drink yet. Sit. Let's talk this over." He leans forwards a little and spies around the room. Everyone was tense, but they seemed to be relaxing. Guess they thought the strongest man in the room had it all under control. For now.
The man decked out, gods, decked out in the most beautiful armor, sat down across from him. Garnag motions for Valga to get the man a drink. He hears the sweet nectar pouring as he starts off the tense conversation. "So, what's this all about?" He asks, his head still low. He is certain this man is staring right at his eyepatch, but he doesn't mind. He just wants everyone to get their attention off them. He never liked all the prying eyes before and even more so after the commotion in Cyrodiil.
"I am asking you something simple. To defeat me in battle." The armored man says without trouble.
Garnag hides his smirk when Valga carefully places the filled mug in front of the warrior. She has to move just so it doesn't spill on any scale of his armor. "Why don't you take that off?" The Orc nods to the man's helmet.
It's slow but steady. The harsh metal clinks together with this unlatching. When the contraption is finally off Garnag isn't surprised about what he sees underneath. A Redguard with a fairly unremarkable face, nothing that stops you dead in the streets. But his features were proportionate, his beard trimmed nicely, and his eyes felt like they were boring holes into the Orc. But he supposes that might be from this intensity. The man was a warrior alright. They never liked to lose, and this guy wasn't having no for an answer.
"I need to be sent to Sovngarde. It is my time." He says, sternly. Mechanically. Almost like he was just raised from the dead.
"Take a damn drink first," Garnag brings his own to his lips and motions for the man to do the same. "What's your name?"
"I don't have one." He says, still not touching his mug.
"Why not? Never had parents?" Garnag jokes but pauses when he catches himself. There were people who never knew their parents, never had anyone as a caretaker, and it was a sore spot. He didn't want to poke this bear so hard he'd fight here. There would be too many casualties.
The bar slowly revives itself back to life. The sound of people milling about and asking for food or drink or a good night fills large room. Garnag keeps his gaze on the man across from him. He hasn't moved an inch. "I don't. I don't want to talk about me. I want to talk about you. I need to know if you're worthy." The Warrior says.
Garnag wishes to throw the drink in his face. That's the last thing he wants to talk about. He doesn't want to crack open that tightly locked box. He prefers it stays that way and collects dust like it has been over the years. "No. I want to know why you walk in here, strut around and intimidate others, all to come fuck with me? It doesn't make sense."
The man blinks. He leans forwards, Garnag watches his hands, but like any good warrior, the man kept them above the table. Showing he had no weapons on him. "I've had enough."
"You're suicidal? I don't want to help you with that."
"You were in the business." The Warrior pokes at him.
Garnag has to control himself. Keep himself from breaking this mug, he didn't have enough septims to pay for a replacement. He sets it down. "How do you know that?" He asks lowly. He doesn't want to let on that there might be a fight. He wants to lure the man outside first.
"I have my ways. I've heard about you. Former Dark Brotherhood member in Cheydinhal. Walked away when the leader and most of the members were killed." The Warrior coolly replies.
Garnag wishes to snap at him, to make him hurt for those words. He doesn't even get the chance to ask how he knew that information. The Ebony Warrior only reaches down and pulls out a hat. A red jester hat.
Garnag's heart nearly stops. His drink now forgotten, he stares at the contents in the Redguards' hand with such intensity. "Did you kill him?"
"Not when I got this. I met him. Up by Dawnstar. We talked for a while, he seemed lonely." The Warrior muses.
Garnag nods. He remembers that well, Cicero was always a lonely man. It didn't help that he became obsessed with the Night Mother, or that he was shunned by the other members after killing a jester and replicating his look and mannerisms. He used to have all his marbles in place. The Imperial used to be a man Garnag could verbally spar with for hours. But his state now… "Is he dead?" He asks again.
"I'll tell you if you agree to this." The Warrior stares him down.
Those memories come leaking back in. From the moment Garnag met Cicero, he respected him. The man was younger than Garnag but had enough experience and prowess to beat him in their contract streaks. He was fairly reserved until that jester kill. Once he became Keeper, he was isolated. Crazed. Someone as bright as he was never did well with loneliness.
Garnag is close to cutting it. Setting down all the septims for the drink and leaving. But that hat keeps him rooted in place. He remembers the day he left the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. It was in pieces. So broken that not even he could make something of it. He turned his back on the assassin lifestyle, but not after giving Cicero a chance. He told him the Keeper could follow him. Garnag hoped he could bring Cicero back from the brink of madness. He still wonders that these nights, especially after all that happened in the past few months. He wonders if he could have saved him. He needs to know what's happened.
That box he kept hidden away was breaking. And if he agreed to this, there's no way he'd be able to close it again. He has a choice, but brave warrior he was, instead of taking the cowards way out, he faces the problem head on. He lays his calloused hand on the jester hat. "Where do we do this?"
It sure as Oblivion wasn't going to happen in Garnag's current home of Falkreath. No, it was going to happen somewhere far away and isolated. It turns out the Ebony Warrior had just the place, he requested a last vigil out in the mountains bordering Riften. It was going to be cold there.
So, Garnag bundled up. He hadn't worn these hides in years, it never snowed much in Falkreath so there was no need. When the sun was just rising behind the rain drenched clouds, he saddled up his horse, Mara, as she was named. A worthy steed. She was large enough to carry Garnag and all his weight but furthermore, she was fast.
He nods down to the guards when they begin the slow trek out of the city. He figured there wasn't any hurry to get there now, and he wanted to save Mara's speed for the open roads. When the vibrant rain drenched trees parted and gave way to the plains, Garnag caught himself.
He hasn't been outside of Falkreath in nearly a decade. Not since he first stepped foot in there. Once he did after fleeing the doomed cities of Cyrodiil, he built his own cottage. It was quiet and out in the forest so not many people came by. Only a few bandits when they were brash enough. They never made it far.
Mara clomps on, Garnag pulls the reins tighter. It was strange, being in the open like this. He felt like a large eagle might fall from the sky all to snatch him up by the shoulders. He glances over them now. Nothing to see but the clouds being chased away by the sun.
No, his last time being out of the city was when he fled Cheydinhal which had erupted into violence and chaos. It was like a plague in Cyrodiil. Garnag never knew what caused it, only that it never stopped once it reached that cursed city.
That day, he was laying in his bed, with his feet and calves dangling off the end since they didn't have enough money to buy a larger bed. His massive frame was nestled in what little scrap of mattress they found when he heard the fighting erupt again. This wasn't the normal sounds, though. It was blades, magic, axes, the people above had formidable weapons. They would soon want shelter and the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary held that for them. Garnag just laid there, staring at the ceiling and waiting for it to cave in. That's all he was doing anyways to pass the time. He wasn't lively since he killed Rasha.
The Dark Brotherhood leader was incompetent at best and no better than a flailing chicken at his worst. Even without Cicero's words of encouragement, Garnag was going to kill him. He did it quickly, he figured that was the best way to handle it. A knife to the neck when the Khajiit wasn't looking. He could feel the man pawing for his own dagger when the blade plunged in. It was too late then.
Afterwards, Garnag tried to convince Cicero. Tried to pull him out of his madness and back to him so they could escape together but it was no use. The jester was rolling about the floor, licking whatever gods forsaken excuse for food he could find. It was when the riddles started, and the eyes hollowed out that Garnag knew it was no use. Nothing short of brunt force would part that man from the Night Mother.
He rode on. Night soon came, setting the stars glimmering in the sky like precious jewels. He originally decided on getting to this vigil before stopping but Mara's exhaustion wasn't having it. A small clearing not far from the road would do. Her reins are pulled tightly to a nearby tree, some hay provided to her. Garnag now only had to tend to a small fire. He has a makeshift tent with him, food for a week, knives, swords, his new axe, whatever weapon he'd need. He just forgot to bring enough water.
In the plains of Skyrim, they get snowfall most of the year, especially in the great peaks. There was enough water to go around, always a river or stream to come by. Garnag slowly stumbled over the one he could hear. It was small but enough to fill his bottle.
"Shh. You think he's asleep?"
"Maybe. Maybe he's still around. Did you see all that armor?"
"It's the size I'm worried about! Did you see how big he was? He'd snap our heads in!"
Voices floated over to him. Garnag tilts his head to get their location. They were closing in on his camp. He knew these were bandits, but new ones, based on how sloppy they were. He sighs and rises, pulling out his short sword as he does.
There were three of them. Two men and a woman in scraggly hides. Their hair and dirt caked faces showed that they hadn't bathed in well, forever. The way their hungry eyes fell on Garnag's food implied that they found what they were looking for.
"Stop." Garnag says when he approaches the campsite.
The woman, just tearing into a chicken breast with her teeth, snaps her brown eyes to him. "Oh, shit."
The other men freeze, one even has his hand in the pouch filled with apples left tied to the tree. Garnag clutches his sword tighter. "I won't kill you, if you leave now." He promises.
He sees the blonde Nord move for his sword. The others hesitate, they want to take the bait. "If you don't leave, I have no choice but to kill you." Garnag reminds them.
The woman is shaking. The other man is frightened. The last just gives the Orc a look of defiance. "So? We outnumber you. We can take you on and win."
Garnag's expression is grim. "Not with my experience. I guess you don't know who I am, and that's good. I was getting tired of people recognizing me."
"Who are you?" The woman stands, dropping the precious meat to the ground.
Garnag keeps his eye on that. He was going to eat that tonight along with all the apples he had. Orc's have a high requirement for food, and he was already low on it. "I was in the Dark Brotherhood." He admits. He doesn't tell many people of this. He prefers to keep it a secret. Once it's out people just look at him differently.
"Oh shit, Lor, let's just go, this isn't worth it." The woman begins to back away with her palms raised.
The confident man just stares the Orc down, "You heard it: was. He's not in it anymore. It means he got kicked out probably because he was a shit assassin." His lips curl into a sly smile. Then, he advances towards Garnag.
It wasn't him that made the former assassin snap, it was the other man. He was shifty eyed. Kept looking for an exit. Instead of participating in the group discussion, he clasped his thin hands around the pouch of apples and ran for it.
Garnag just watched him with his jaw set. He didn't want this. Never did, not after Cheydinhal, but the bandits didn't know when to stop.
The apple is sweet and ripe. Some taste to savor with his last bite. Garnag swallows the rest of it whole. He had just put out the fire this morning and was pulling Mara's reins. She was nice and saddled up now, her white and tan hair shone shiny and new. Garnag kept humming to himself. Bags were packed, weapons sheathed, all he had to do now was race off to the east. Then this ordeal will all be over.
He steps over the body of the woman. Her skin was cooling, her brown eyes staring at nothing in the sky now that it was a cloudless day. The arrogant man was feet from her, his back impaled with the nearby log. And they said Garnag wasn't creative.
The final man had probably floated downstream by now. Garnag went for him first to save those apples. He lost a few in the scuffle, but still has five for the road. He decides to keep them on his armor now instead of on the back saddle. He never knew when he'd come across craftier bandits and he didn't want another fight until the vigil.
Rain pounds down on a person and when it's hard enough, it can feel like mother nature wishes to stab them in. But the snow is different. It's relentless at times, catches on armor and sits there to melt, soaking the man further.
That's how Garnag was now. He is crouched near the frozen peaks, Mara is covered and kept off to the side. He doesn't want to keep her in the elements for long. This was going to be quick. The vigil is still far off, maybe a day away, but Garnag had already run out of food.
The apples were quick to be consumed. The meat, he was more conservative with, but the vegetables and pastries went fast. Garnag had forgotten how hungry he got on the jobs. As an assassin, waiting for that kill, he would sometimes indulge. People thought being a murderer for hire meant the kills were quick and efficient. Most of the time he was left waiting around. And it grew boring. Especially for one of Garnag's size, he could never fit in those smaller hiding spaces that others could.
He watches the deer now. It's braving the storm with a weakening will. Garnag just has to steady his bow right to get him. The tip of the arrow was hovering over the target, just as the deer turned his head. Those innocent black eyes, full of life and desperation for shelter, bored into Garnag but he had no choice. He couldn't stop the arrow's path.
It landed right in the eye. For a second, the clearing was void of sound aside from the reletneless snow. Then the distinct thud followed when the deer fell dead, smacked right into the snow and would soon be covered. Garnag had to move quickly. He drives himself through the deepening flurries to snatch it.
"Fuck." He grumbles. He didn't know how small this thing was. It was a babe looking for it's mother. He knew it, he looks away from the bleeding animal to stare out at the white expanse. Why did it have to be this creature?
He was hungry. That is how Garnag justifies this kill. It barely calms the ache in his heart when he picks her up and throws her small body over his shoulder. He just has to brave the weather now.
It doesn't help much with the memories, being alone like this. He could be anywhere right now, bringing a fresh kill home. The white scenery faded, and he was transported back to his old Sanctuary. He had just brought in dinner for the night. Roasted lamb and a newly hunted deer.
"Oh, no! I don't want to eat that, why?" The young woman cries from her seat at the table. Her hands were covering her mouth, auburn eyes peeking out over them in horror. Rasha looks up in boredom. The other assassins didn't know it was supper time yet.
Garnag smirks, "You kill a man without a second thought, but a deer brings you to your knees?"
Alisanne, the new member, nearly pouts, "The deer didn't do anything to you, or to anyone else. Why did it have to die?"
"Things happen, Rasha can't explain why, but they do." The Khajiit ponders, picking at a nail between his teeth. He then goes back to writing. Garnag had wondered at the time what it was for. He was hoping they'd get a better Sanctuary, but he'd take what they could get.
Garnag decided he would be nice. Instead of gutting the deer right in front of their new Listener, he took it to one of the back rooms. He was just getting ready to slice the belly when he heard him.
"Rasha said you might need help?" Cicero asked from the doorway.
Garnag peered over his shoulder, the smaller Imperial was still in his black armor, and it hadn't been washed in weeks. That might have to change. But his eyes were alight in excitement. "Have you been hunting before?" He asked the new assassin.
"Sometimes, sometimes I just buy my meat." The Imperial moved into the room, Garnag chuckled.
"Then you haven't done this before, watch."
Cicero never winced when the blood began to run. Not even when Garnag had to pull out the organs. He only watched with curiosity. It turns out the man was a fast learner, and Garnag would have a lot to teach him.
He harvests the small deer now, in his poorly concealed shelter among the mountain pass, thinking back to that day. Alisanne was reluctant to eat the meat, but once she did, she enjoyed it. She just told him to never skin it or gut it in front of her. Cicero was more appreciative. He savored each bite and remarked on how tender it was when cooked. A knowing look shared with Garnag told him that Cicero felt a kinship. It is something when you harvest and cook a meal together.
Garnag's hand slides into the stomach, this was what he showed Cicero first. The organs, it was best to get them out before anything. He grunts when he pulls. He's not sure what he has ahold of but he makes a mistake. He looks to the beady black eyes peering up at him.
"Gods." He breathes and pulls away from it. The snow is still falling in droves, enough to keep him from running from the memories. How had the Sanctuary fallen so? He should have killed Rasha earlier.
Although, it wouldn't have saved Alisanne. The night he lost his eye was the night he fought for her. She was fighting for the Night Mother, that gods forsaken woman, when it happened. The bandits overwhelmed him. One flung his dagger right into the eye. Never to be seen of again.
The next day he heard of the Listener's demise. She was burned alive deep below the city. Had nothing left but the coffin down below and Garnag was tasked with bringing it back to Cheydinhal. That was a long journey. Losing an eye and fighting all the corruption and violence did that.
Garnag pants. He can't stay here without food for longer, the memories are threatening to cave in. He has no choice but to throw himself into his work. At what he does best.
Finally, the man was here. Up on the slope, Garnag could see the Ebony Warrior waiting for him. He trudges up the path, his armor felt heavier than it did before. Each footstep was weary, every beat against the earth pled him to leave. To go home and never come out of that forest again. Then he wouldn't have to make others suffer.
But his curiosity keeps him on this mountain. It is the very thing that led him out of those cloud covered forests. Garnag stops ten feet from the Warrior.
"Are you going to tell me now?" He growls.
The Ebony Warrior repositions his blade. "Not yet. I want a good fight first. Then I'll tell you."
Fine. But he'd regret it. Garnag races across the way and lunges. The Ebony Warrior comes to meet him with his powerful blade, clashing with Garnag's new axe.
He grunts, he didn't know his blocking would be so effective, but then again, he had the higher ground. The Ebony Warrior shoves him, sending Garnag sailing down the mountain slope. The Orc groans when he slides over the dirt. His body aches. He's tired. Famished. Not ready for this at all. He thought this warrior would be nothing more than a wannabe adventurer. Would break like a toothpick, just like those bandits did. He was wrong. The man was stronger than he thought.
"Get up. I'm not leaving until you kill me. But you must earn it." The voice says above him. He can hear his boots sinking into the fresh snow.
Garnag rolls to his knees to face the man. "Are you sure you want this?"
The Redguard decked in Ebony Armor pauses, "Are you sure you want the truth about your friend?"
Damn. Garnag knew there might be something like that. There's no talking this man out of this. "Why not throw yourself over the mountain and be done with it? A fall that far will be enough to do the trick."
The man briefly looks pained, before his dark eyes fill with rage. "No, if you are not worthy then I will kill you and find someone who is."
The sword comes down again. Garnag was quicker this time. He throws a firebolt that was simmering in his hand. The Ebony Warrior isn't quick enough to dodge it and is soon consumed by flames. Garnag takes advantage of this time, he climbs the mountain and swings his axe, aiming right for the man's neck.
But the Warrior was clever, he ducks and throws his own spell, an ice spike right at the Orc. It slams right into his chest, sending him sailing down the mountain again. The axe slides away from his grasp.
Fine. He'll just have to use his swords. Garnag rises slowly, he watches the Ebony Warrior, how his feet are positioned. Then he looks up into his eyes behind that helmet.
Gods. They're pained. They're insane. They're just like the man he used to know.
That day Garnag left, he gave Cicero an option. He remembers when he entered the room and found Cicero, now dressed in jester clothing, rolling about on the floor. He looked up when Garnag called him.
"You okay? Things are bad." Garnag knelt down to get to the jester's level.
Cicero's mad eyes searched for his, he crawled on all fours over to the assassin. He was not what he used to be. The old Cicero would never have made himself look so foolish. He had more integrity than the man before him.
"But how bad? How bad is it now?" He crows. His brown eyes are hollow. But there's some sort of excitement lighting them. Something that Garnag could never understand.
He cleared his throat before giving the bad news, "Pontius is dead. Beggars killed him in the streets."
Cicero's eyes had widened. Garnag thought this was it, the man would finally lose his senses and break into sobs. Instead, he laughed. "AHAHA what a fool! What a laugh! Oh, oh, don't tell me, the beggars were starving and nearly falling over from disease when they got him! Cicero knew he was a fool but this? AHAHA."
Garnag's heart was frozen. He was gone. The Cicero he knew was gone. But maybe he could help him. "Cicero." He lays a hand on the man's leg to get his attention. He was just falling into another fit of laughter. "I'm leaving. There's nothing here for us. You can come with me. I say we just leave the Night Mother. No one would want to come down into this shit hole of a home anyways. We can go to another province…"
Cicero paused. "Leave? Leave Mother? Why, why?" He cried. This was when Garnag saw he would never leave. Not if he wished to take that coffin with them. He glanced at it, after losing his eye and dragging it all the way here…there was no way in Oblivion he would do that again.
So, he left. His friend stayed behind, and he never knew of what happened to him since.
Garnag watches the Ebony Warrior prepare for another blow. He raises his sword. He remembers how quick Cicero was, how fast. There's no way he would have perished against this man.
Just like all those years past, Garnag digs deep. He grasps onto that anger, that boiling hatred for the adversary in front of him, the man who has given up on life, who won't give him answers. He charges. He raises his sword, blocks the blow, then settles in for the kill.
It was minutes but it felt longer. It always does. The fighting ensued for so long, Garnag was tiring. But he knew the Ebony Warrior would take advantage of that fatigue. So, he tripped him up. He slashed him in the leg before kicking the man down to the ground. This was his chance.
The former assassin lands on the Warrior and puts his dagger next to his neck. "I'll kill you soon. I'll give you what you want. But first, you tell me." Garnag commands. He shifts his weight when he feels the warrior moving beneath him.
"A worth opponent." The Warrior breathes. His frantic eyes find Garnag. "Fine. The jester is alive, taking care his mother's coffin. Last I saw of them, they were getting on a ship."
That ice in Garnag's chest was melting. He didn't know how much he needed to hear that until now. Cicero was alive. "Was he alright?"
The Warrior laughs beneath him. "Yes. He gave me this hat, he had a spare one, told me to find some of his old friends. He told me he was bound to someone, some vampire. He seemed excited that they finally let him on the ship."
Garnag sags in relief. The man had friends, he was taken care of, and most importantly, he was alive. "Thank you for telling me." He readies the knife.
"Wait." The Warrior gasps. "Take my armor. You earned it."
The slice is efficient. Effective. There was little blood spilled in this kill. But instead of rummaging through his things and taking the armor, Garnag rolled off the man to stare at the falling sun. Sunset would be soon. But he needed a few minutes of peace before anything.
The sky was alight in orange and yellow streaks. It was almost time to leave. The armor was now settling over Garnag like a second skin. He sits in the snow, next to the corpse of the Ebony Warrior and ponders over his next move.
The letters were numerous last week. So many that they were positively begging him to join. After this journey, Garnag thinks there is little to keep him in Falkreath. He had friends and a nice house. A place to recede from the world. But it wasn't much compared to this feeling of victory.
He rises, grabs Mara's reigns before mounting her. Then looks to the dead Redguard. He wanted to give him a good burial, but the ground is too cold for that. Maybe in the spring. "Thanks. You gave me more than I thought you would." He nods to the man, "A purpose."
A few weeks later, longer than it should have taken, Dawnstar was in view. Garnag waded through the throng of people in the city, ignoring their whispers of amazement at his armor. Even the beggars took pause from their daily activities. Garnag looked at one through his new helmet, still perched up on Mara. He nodded a greeting. He has one destination and would not deviate from it.
Luckily, they're right outside when he settles Mara. The Orc dismounts and walks over the frozen land to meet his new colleagues. The two figures were sheltered by the cave rock, the shadows covered their bodies. He doesn't recognize them and doesn't get a good picture of what he's dealing with until he's right before them.
"Welcome to the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. I'm sure you got our letters and have found the accommodations included…enticing." The little vampire girls starts with. She stares the Orc down with nothing but the intelligence of someone older than her years.
Garnag watches her then slides his eyes to the Redguard next to her. "Enticing, talk about that enticing armor." He laughs in way of greeting. "I'm Nazir and this is Babette, it sounds like you got the message."
Garnag nods. "Sounds like you need an extra hand here."
Nazir laughs again, a little nervously, "Trust me, we need all the help we can get. What made you change your mind? Last I heard you were staunchly opposed to joining our ranks."
The Orc shrugs, preferring to leave the past few weeks behind him. "I met someone who convinced me otherwise, rest assured, they're dead."
The two people in front of him look nothing short of amazed as they glance appreciatively at Garnag's new armor. "He will be good." Babette murmurs.
Nazir nods, "Garnag, are you opposed to killing lowlifes? It's all the contracts we're getting at the moment."
Garnag knew this, he knew the past few months were not kind at all to the Dark Brotherhood of Skyrim. It was best to stay low. He looks to his surroundings. A costal village littered with snow and ice. Not much to stare at besides the sea. This certainly wasn't the calming mists and rainfalls of Falkreath. The trees don't cave in here to conceal someone. But Garnag supposes he has had enough of his solitude. He wants to be noticed.
He gives his new colleagues a charming grin. "Give me your best, and we'll go from there."
A/N: When I was writing the chapter "Truths Unraveling" in Storm of Skyrim: Dragonborn, I found Garnag's character to be so interesting. I wanted to know more about the man who was Cicero's only friend. I decided to start with where he was now and where he's going. I wrote this right after that chapter, so I might do more with him! I originally was going to add the Ebony Warrior in Storm of Skyrim for Eve to fight, but it didn't make much sense for the story. So, I'm happy to have both of those ideas here!
As always, thank you for reading and leave a like or comment if you enjoyed it! I'm thinking about writing more oneshots in between stories if the inspiration strikes!
As for the art associated, I wanted to do something abstract. There isn't much of a deeper meaning to it. I just wanted to add the colors of this story: blood red, white, and ebony.