A/N: I like writing on short bits like this, since I don't get tired as I do when I write in blocks. Another, mostly social chapter, before we go into some heavy action as our battlemage burns a down a few vampires.
Anyways, answering to the reviews.
Sdarkness05: the Dremora was cooler than I planned, which was good lol. Thanks for reading and reviewing man.
Chapter 3
"Welcome to Bits and Pieces. Beirand said you got here just before the execution." The Reguard woman comments sardonically, resting her elbows on the pawnshop's counter. "Must have been a lovely first sight."
"I've seen worse." Mithras replies with a shrug. If the man truly was a traitor, then a beheading was far from the worst fate that could have befallen him. "Do you sell armor?"
"I'm afraid not, friend." The woman states with a sigh. "We used to sell them, but Beirand's overwhelmed with all the equipment he has to make for the Legion. I'm sorry."
"Hmm…" that was the third blacksmith in town that had given him the same excuse. It was starting to get annoying.
Though certain spells such as Ironflesh, from the Alteration school, could indeed provide a mage with far more protection than he'd have with their robes, none of those offered the practicality of good old armor. Especially when an angry orc with a warhammer was coming for your head.
After a few more minutes haggling with the woman, he managed to sell her most of the troll pelts, as well as any valuable loot he'd found at the bandit camps he'd raided during the last few days.
"Talking about it…" That just reminded him, he still had a few bounties to collect. Walking outside, he saw the red-skinned Dremora casually leaning against the doorway arc, holding a large bag over his shoulder. He also noticed the hushed comments of the locals as they passed by, trying their best to stay away from the wizard and his Daedric 'pet'. "Come, let's go."
The Daedra grins, showing a row of sharp teeth, before following behind him.
To be honest, Mithras had no idea what sort of madness had befallen him when he'd decided to keep the servant of Boethia around him all the time- though the Dremora certainly provided for decent company, certainly better than the damn Nords, who seemed wary of his every move.
Besides, the look on their faces as he walked the city streets towards the Blue Palace with a conjured Daedra- of all things- by his side was priceless.
"Halt!" he hears a call behind him, and turns to see one of the hold's guards- which he recognized by the wolf sigil on their uniforms. "Your magic is making the people nervous. I'm going to have to ask you to stop."
"What am I doing wrong?" the Altmer replies with a quirked eyebrow.
"This…thing, we can't have it walking around the city like this. What if it's dangerous?"
"Quiet." He commands, before the Dremora can say anything on the lines of 'You dare challenge me, mortal?'. He then turns to the guard, and calmly says. "As you can see, perfectly under control. Is that all?"
When the man seems to have no answer, Mithras continues on his way.
"You have some nerve, mortal. Ordering me around like a dog." The Dremora comments with a grunt. "You're lucky to have me bound, for I would…"
"Feast on my heart and steal my soul."
The pit fighter grins. "Ah, I see do have some intelligence as well! Perhaps you are not so inferior after all, mortal."
Unfortunately for him, though, the Blue Palace's guard were far more insistent that he dispels his summon before he enters the castle. By insistent, he of course meant they had their swords on his neck before he took the first step inside.
Holding the heavy bag over his shoulder, the Altmer wizard makes his way to the Jarl's audience chamber at a lax pace- taking in the sights as he passes through gardens and stone arcs. As he passes by a garden of Deathbells, a feeling of sudden, sheer dread makes him halt on his steps.
"Hm." Still keeping his face neutral, the Altmer's eyes travel to a door at the southeast corner of the Palace. Perhaps it was his attunement to the Planes of Oblivion, or maybe it was his instincts, sharpened by endless hours of training with his father, but there was something waiting behind the door.
Something powerful and twisted beyond comprehension.
His brain did not even register the moment he dropped to his knees, an expression of pure panic taking over his features as memories suppressed in the darkest depths of his subconscious surface all at once.
Piles of mutilated bodies - men, women and children alike littering the streets of the formerly glorious Imperial City, as howling hordes of blood-thirsty Daedra pour forth from the jaws of Oblivion. An acrid stench of smoke and blood fills in his nostrils, the screams of humans as they are slaughtered like cattle by Thalmor soldiers…
A firm hand on his shoulder shakes him off his trance.
Reacting entirely on reflex, much like a cornered animal, the Altmer battlemage grabs the Nord man by the arm, throwing him off balance and forcing him to the ground. In the blink of an eye, he straddling the man's chest, holding a conjured dagger to his throat.
That's when Mithras finally snaps back to reality. That's also the moment he notices the dozen guards surrounding them in a circle, with their spears pointing at him.
"Fuck." Cursing under his breath, the Altmer dispels the dagger, before helping the man up. By his garbs, a noble- one from the Jarl's court, most probably- which only made his situation worse. "Sorry about that."
"What in Talos' name was that?" the Nord seemed just about as shocked as he was. The guards rushed in, grabbing Mithras by the arms and forcing him down.
"What should we do, Steward? This man attempted to murder you. Should we send him to jail or to the chopping block?" one of them asks.
"I believe there was a misunderstanding here." The Altmer speaks up, only to have one of the guards punch him to the face. Gritting his teeth at the pain and suppressed anger, he locks gazes with the steward, and continues. "If I wanted you dead, would I drop the dagger?"
Another punch- this time, he made sure to turn his glare to the guard, making sure to mark the man's face. The Nord's response was another backhand, this time leaving a gash at the Altmer's cheek.
"Enough!" the red-haired Steward speaks up "What brings you to the Blue Palace then, High Elf? If murder wasn't your intent…"
Mithras' response was to simply nod in the direction of the bag, which he'd dropped a few feet away. "I came here to collect the bounties you posted."
One of the guards not holding him down opens the bag to take a peek into what's inside, and instantly closes it back once the smell of the contents start to leak out. "Shor's balls!"
"Those are the heads of the leaders. You can have your men check their camps out, if you don't believe me." The Altmer states nonchalantly, his voice and mannerisms back to the usual cold, indifferent tone. "Now that you know what I'm here for, can you tell your men to get off?"
"Of course…" the Steward nod, clearly still struggling to understand what happened, before turning to the men. "Let him go, soldiers. This was all a misunderstanding."
"Yes, sir!" the guards reply with a salute, before returning to their posts. Mithras made sure to mark the face of the one who punched him, though.
"My apologies for tha-"
"Taken. Now, will you pay me?" Trouble seemed to follow him wherever he went in Skyrim, so there was nothing Mithras wanted more than to get back to the tavern and drink himself to a stupor.
"Of course, I believe I owe you a bounty." The Steward nods, before beckoning the elf to follow him to his studio. "You have done Skyrim a great service, and for that, you shall be generously rewarded."
"How much?" that was what mattered in the end of the day. Coin was coin- whether it was earned in blood or not made little difference.
"Five hundred Septims for each camp you've cleared, which if the reports hold true surmount to… three thousand five hundred gold coins."
"Hm…" a decent amount, probably enough to buy a small cottage in the countryside, where he could live the rest of his days in peace and solitude. For a seasoned mage such as him, though, that was barely enough for a tome. "Fair enough."
"I'll be issuing a letter of credit for the Bleak Vault, if you don't mind."
After discussing a few minor details regarding the payment, the Steward sent him off with a handshake and a letter to the local bank. He'd also kindly asked him to talk to the Court Wizard about some problems that needed solving- in his words 'given how competent you've proven yourself to be, I believe she'll trust you'.
With that in mind, the Altmer made his way to the Court Wizard's chambers, asking the guards for directions until he finally stood before the woman herself.
"Please, be quick. I have little patience for mundane concerns." Sybille Stentor states from her seat by the fireplace, not even bothering to look up from the tome she was studying.
"Firebeard sent me." Mithras calmly replies, his tone as indifferent as hers. "Said you need a job done."
"Indeed. Though, are you fit for the task at hand? That big sword on your back might impress the courtiers, but I'm not so easily swayed."
"I might have to agree with you in that, considering they let a vampire stay as Court Wizard." Mithras rebukes sardonically. "But then again, Nords aren't the sharpest bunch. You might stay as Court Wizard for centuries at an end, and they wouldn't even notice."
"I like to think that I've aged well. I'm certainly wiser than I once was." She looks up from her tome to meet his gaze, her eyes glowing ponds of gold in the darkness of the room. "And I know when one should speak... And when one should hold their tongue."
"Hmm…" While most of Tamriel saw vampires as vile and despicable parasites, those born in the Summerset Isle learned to see these undead, as well as liches and wraiths, in a different angle.
Courtesy taught that, in order to learn from the undead, an Altmer must maintain certain appearances. They must show humility to the undead and speak to them like they are their elders. They must also show intelligence, to make their undead host know they are not to be trifled with. The third and last appearance that the Altmer must show is discipline. If the undead host is willing to enter in conversation, the Altmer must carefully pick his or her questions, as an undead will only provide knowledge willingly, or not at all.
Though that's what courtesy demanded, it did not suppress the battlemage's natural instinct to fireball any vampire he met out of the face of Nirn.
"Ah yes, much better now, no?" the vampire asks with quirked brows. "The task I have for you is highly dangerous, but simple at its core. We have something of a vampire problem."
"You don't tell." The Altmer jabs, earning a fanged grin from Sybille.
"A coven has established itself at Pinemoon Cave. They've been harassing the farmers and trade caravans, and since our forces are tied up with the war- I need someone with skill to deal with the problem."
"Then I believe you have the right man for the job." No one better than a battlemage to clear out a vampire coven.
Vampires might talk and behave like they're superior to all mortals, until one of them comes and burns them during the day while they sleep.
"I suppose you'll require some form of compensation then. What will it be? Coin? An item? A favor?"
"Hmmm…" Taking a look around the studio, he could see the walls overtaken by bookshelves- no doubt containing centuries worth of magical knowledge. For a mage such as himself, it was like a goldmine waiting to be explored. "I'd like access to your library. See if you have any interesting tomes I can buy?"
"Hmm…that could be arranged. Though I have no patience for a student."
"Neither do I for a teacher." He shrugs. "Yes or no?"
"Fair enough. I'll sort through a selection of books you can have, for a price, or course." She then seems to remember something, by the way her face shifts. "By the way, if you somehow stumble upon a stupid girl by the name of Jordis, I want you to do something for me."
"And what would that favor be?" Mithras inquires, sensing the mischief in her tone.
"Just smack that thick head of hers for going alone against a vampire coven."
"That will be done."
Chapter End.
A/N: Next chapter we'll have fire, explosions and, most importantly, Jordis!
Love her as a housecarl, I just keep spamming elemental blasts from the Throne of Nirn and the girl tanks them like a fucking Atronach. Anyways, will be updating soon, so give me your feedback on reviews.
Wildfurion