Skyrim: Legend of the Dovahkiin
Instruction 2
Elona hadn't planned on spending her day inside an ancient tomb crawling with the undead, but the events of the previous day had changed that. When she heard the Greybeard's call, she almost couldn't believe her ears. It had been countless years since the old monks uttered a single word, and now... now they were summoning a Dragonborn. Those events as well as a few others had spurred her into action. Action that had pulled her out of her investigations and sent her to the Nordic ruin of Ustengrav. That she got there in the time she did was a miracle in itself. But then again, traveling without stopping to rest was something she'd grown used to long ago, almost second nature.
As with all the ancient ruins that dotted Skyrim's landscape, caution was to be taking when venturing inside. It frustrated Elona to no end that the dead of the Nords had trouble staying that way, it made her job a lot more difficult than it should have been. She mentally reprimanded herself. If she could not deal with a few dusty bonewalkers, she may as well kill herself. While she had been prepared to deal with draugr that dwelled within the deeper recesses of the ruin, she was not expecting to be caught in a small war between bandits, necromancers and draugrs. War or not, she had a mission to complete, and they were standing in her way.
Drawing her sword Elona dashed out of the shadows and made her move. Leaping in the air, the leather clad warrior cut down two necromancers closest to her, decorating the ancient walls with their blood. Even before their bodies went limp and hit the floor, Elona was already moving for her next target. The individual in question, an Argonian bandit, never had time to even scream before cold steel removed his head from his shoulders. Shockingly enough, Elona noticed that none of the other bandits or necromancers seemed to be paying any attention to her, instead focusing their full efforts on the draugr before them.
That was just fine with her, the less they knew the better. She continued her assault, quickly dispatching another two necromancers and another bandit. Amid the carnage of the battle, one of the undead warriors finally took notice of her and moved in to put her down. Elona watched as the long dead Nord 'ran' at her with a large greatsword that, despite it's ancient appearance, still looked like it could cleave someone in half. The draugr swung a mighty, though sloppy and incredibly slow downward blow at her, intending to cleave to woman in two. Elona however easily dodged the attack and riposted with a lightening fast upward slash, catching the undead warrior right in his decaying face and splitting it in two.
The undead flipped once and hit the floor with a loud clatter. Spinning on her heels, Elona ducked the blow of a bandit that had tried to flank her from behind and countered with a quick slash across his stomach, disemboweling him. Blood and innards spilled onto the floor and the man fell to his knees in a futile attempt to recover his lost inner organs before he slumped over and ceased to move. As she turned back to the battle, Elona only just managed to duck out of the way of an oncoming fireball that one of the necromages hurled at her. It seemed that at last they had finally decided that she needed to be dealt with. Sheathing her sword, Elona darted off towards the group of fighting bandits and draugrs, intending to use the flames being thrown at her to her advantage.
She weaved in and out of the multitude of live and undead enemies, dodging not only their attacks, but also those of the two Altmer mages who were trying to roast her. Their arcane fire only served to shift the tide of battle in her favor as their attacks slammed into the bandits and draugr she ran past, thinning out the number of enemies she had to contend with. Frustrated by the woman's evasive tactics, one of the mages decided to try a more powerful spell. Gathering as much Magicka as he could muster, the mage hurled a larger blast of fire at the leather clad woman.
Knowing full well what kind of damage such an enormous fire spell caused, Elona dived behind one of the large pillars in the room, scooping up one of the war axes dropped by the draugrs in the process. The flaming death ball slammed against the stone pillar harmlessly, and Elona made her move. Breaking her cover, she flung the ancient weapon at the now drained necromancer. Her aim true, the axe sailed across the chamber and sank into the mage's throat with a wet thunk. The Elf clutched at the weapon lodged in his neck as he fell to the floor in a heap, gurgling and gasping as his life's blood formed a small puddle around him.
Elona was a blur of evasive motions as she surged towards the second mage, hand tightly gripping the hilt of her sword. The necromancer hurled two more fire spells at the woman before he went for the dagger on his hip. The Elf had barley raised the weapon over his head before his hand was separated from his arm and he let out a terrible scream of pain. His howling lasted for but a single moment before Elona drover her steel through the Elf's mouth, twisted the blade, and yanked it free. The Altmer's top portion of his head was parted from his lower jaw, sending a magnificent splatter of crimson across the walls and floor.
Behind her, the fight between the bandits and draugr had all but ended. Most of them had been taken out by the fire spells the mage had thrown, while the rest slaughtered one another. Elona took a moment to catch the breath she'd last during the battle before turning her attentions to the bodies the bandits and necromancers. It was common for some bandit groups to make old burial crypts their base of operations, more so the necromages, as the abundant supply of bodies gave them plenty to experiment with. Brushing the thoughts aside, Elona sheathed her blade and headed for the tunnel leading deeper into the tomb.
Come bandit, necromancer or draugr, none of them would stand in the way of completing her mission.
Ria sat in the training yard of Jorrvaskr, staring out into Skyrim's clear sky, enjoying the crisp air of the morning. She felt energized and very well rested, despite the everything that had occurred the previous night. From the party, to the fistfight between Njada and a noble's bodyguard, to her induction into the Circle... and her first transformation. After the celebration, the members of the circle had taken her to the underground chamber beneath the Skyforge. There, the Harbinger revealed to her the secret of the The Circle. One that struck the very core of her being.
The Circle were werewolves.
The Silver Hand despised werewolves.
Everything made sense. Kodlak's death, Vilkas and Spartacus' assault on Driftshade Refuge, the raids lead by Skjor. The Circle were at war with the Silver Hand. And now, she was being offered the chance to join the ranks of the The Circle and commit to the war with her body and soul. She at first hesitated. She knew that all who were of the beast blood were taken to the Hunting Grounds by Hircine when they died, but was that what she wanted? She had dreamed of being a Companion ever since her father had told her their stories of honor and bravery as a child. She longed to become a part of their history, to fight by their side on the field of battle, to be part of their brotherhood.
And she'd done it. After years of rigorous training in her homeland of Cyrodiil, her dream of becoming a Companion had finally been realized. Since then she had become one of the most, if not the most loyal follower of the group of warriors. Something their new Harbinger, Spartacus, had seen. But was she willing to give up any hope of an afterlife on the grounds of her loyalty? Even more, did she really have a choice? They had already revealed their secrets to her. Would they let walk out of the chamber alive if she denied their gift? It almost seemed unlikely.
But as ever, her Harbinger, despite his hardened appearance, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and reassured her that if she chose not to accept their gift, he would cast a spell that would not only put her to sleep, but also wipe her memory of the her time in the Underforge leaving only the memory of drunken revelry within Balgruuf's palace. He also told her of the four severed heads of the Glenmoril Coven Witches that he had stored within a barrel full of salt in his quarters that he could use to cure her of her beast should she ever tire of the spirit.
If not for his encouraging words, she more than likely would have rejected their offer. But she now stood as one of them, as a hunter of the night, and Spartacus himself her forbear.
She had to admit, despite the sinister and terrifying things she'd heard about Lycanthropes, the perks it came with were amazing. Heightened senses, incredible strength and durability, increased speed and stamina, inhuman reflexes, it was amazing. She was now twice as strong as ten of the strongest Nords combined, and her strength would only increase the more she called upon her blood. Though beneficial, the Harbinger warned her about the dangers she would face as well. The bloodlust, the desire to slaughter the enemies who faced her, and, most importantly, the Silver Hand.
While most of their order were comprised of common thugs and criminals with little to no real skill, there were a some that stood above the rest. These members were usually in positions of power such as lieutenants or captains of large forces, and were said to be very dangerous, so caution was to be taken when facing them. Skjor's near death experience attested to that.
Ria sighed as she contemplated the situation she now found herself in. Even with her new found strength, would it be enough to stand against the band of hunters?
"How do you feel?" The voice of Spartacus asked, pulling the Imperial out of her thoughts.
"Harbinger, I didn't hear you come out," She said, turning to face the Nord. "I feel normal enough, nothing out of the ordinary from what I can tell."
Spartacus slowly nodded his head as he looked out into the sky. "That's good to hear. I have to say, you gave us more trouble than we expected when you turned last night. I don't think I've heard Vilkas swear so much in a single night."
"Apologies," Ria chuckled as she shifted in her seat. "I didn't mean to cause him such distress. I take it you and the others fared better?"
Spartacus crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "Farkas was just as frustrated as his brother, though he wasn't as vocal about it. Aela, as her namesake suggests, enjoyed ever minute of the hunt. From your transformation and escape into the tundra, right down to when we found you passed out near Secunda's Kiss."
Ria nodded her head but said nothing more. There was a momentary silence between the two Companions before the Harbinger finally gave voice.
"Do you regret it, the beast blood?" he asked.
Ria's stared at the ground beneath her before looking back to the Harbinger. "There are many things I've done over the course of my life that I regret, Harbinger. But your blood, your gift, is not one of them."
Spartacus nodded but remained silent. Another moment of silence passed between them before Ria finally spoke.
"Harbinger, do you regret it?"
"I was fully aware of what I was getting into when I took the beast blood." the young Nord answered, still staring out at the sky.
Ria shook her head. "I wasn't referring to the blood, but of you being Dragonborn."
That Harbinger shut his eyes in contemplation. That was a question no one, not even Vilkas, had bothered to ask him throughout his entire ordeal. Though he now accepted the fact that he was the Dragonborn, he still hadn't fully come to terms with the destiny he was to fulfill. He wondered, if he had never left Cyrodiil and come to Skyrim, would he have still been chosen to follow this path? For that matter, would someone else have taken his place? These questions and more muddled the young warrior's thoughts, so much so that he barley heard the soft voice of Ria call out to him.
"Harbinger?"
Snapping out of his thoughts, the young warrior ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm not entirely sure what I think or feel about all this, but no, I don't regret it. I'm only wasting time and energy by regretting something I have no control over. I don't know what dangers I'll face as Dragonborn, but whatever they may be, I stand ready to face them."
Ria couldn't help but smile at her Harbinger's words. His resolve coupled with his clear mind and sense of duty made it easy for anyone with half a mind to see why Kodlak chose him to be his successor. Her proud thought was interrupted as Brill opened the door behind them and made his way towards them.
Spartacus turned to face the older Nord. "What is it, Brill?"
"There's a woman here to see you."
Striding into Jorrvaskr, Spartacus immediately took notice of the steel clad Whiterun Elite, Lydia. The other Companions sat in various spots around the hall either conversing with one another or staying to themselves. Lydia's arrival hadn't so much as stirred them. Her presence within their halls came as a bit of a surprise, as Balgruuf would typically send either Irileth or one of the guards to fetch him if he was needed in the court. Why she was there, he could only guess.
"Hail, Dragonborn." She greeted him.
"What does the Jarl want this time?" Spartacus said flatly, ignoring her use of the title.
Lydia pulled a piece of folded parchment from one of the pouches attached to her belt and handed it to the Nord. Spartacus stared at the paper in confusion before locking eyes with the elite again.
"What's this?"
"A deed." Lydia answered.
"A deed to what?" he asked, this time more specifically.
"For saving Whiterun from a dragon attack, the Jarl has seen fit to reward you with the deed to Breezehome, located In the Plains District," the elite explained. "The Jarl has hired carpenters to fix and furnish your property while you are away in Iverstead. Everything should be completed by the time you return to the city."
Spartacus could only stare at the woman in utter shock. Of all the rewards the Jarl could have offered, a house was the last thing he had expected.
"The Jarl is giving me a house?" he asked, confused.
"Indeed. Also, along with your new title as Thane, the Jarl has assigned me to be your personal Housecarl."
"Housecarl?" he repeated.
"Correct. As your Housecarl I am sworn to protect you, your family and everything you own with my life."
Spartacus sighed, this was something he really didn't need or want. He wasn't an amateur fresh out of some training academy, contrary to what most people believed when they saw him. He was warrior, trained in the ways of battle since he was a child. The very act of giving him a Housecarl, whether a reward or other otherwise, was an insult to his skills.
"As honored as I am, I have no use for a Housecarl," he told the elite. "Your services are not needed.
Lydia crossed her arms over her chest, her face looking as if she were about to laugh. "He said you might object. Unfortunately, I cannot go against the orders of the Jarl."
"Look," Spartacus began, as calmly as he could. "I'm a grown man. I don't need some bodyguard following me around everywhere I go. Go back to Dragonsreach, you'd be much more useful there as a Whiterun Elite."
Lydia shot the Nord a pointed glare and her jaw clenched as if she were angry, but her words were calm when she spoke. "A Housecarl is far from a simple bodyguard, my Thane. We are only given out to the most important citizens in the hold and only the best among us is chosen for the duty."
Spartacus inwardly rolled his eyes. No matter how much she tried to sugar coat it, to him, it was just a fancy word for lap dog.
"Be that as it may, I have no need for you," he told the elite. "I don't need protection. I can take care of myself."
"Look," Lydia sighed. "Whether or not you need me is not important at this point. The Jarl has assigned me to protect you, and I intend to follow that duty. Besides, there's no way to void this. Once the Jarl issues the order, that's the end of it."
God damn it, Spartacus thought bitterly.
"Very well," he sighed, finally resigning from the argument. "It doesn't look as if I'll be able to convince you to leave, so you may as well make yourself at home. Fall to any of the empty beds down in the common area of the living quarters. You'll be staying there until the renovations on Breezehome are completed."
Lydia's brow knitted together in confusion. "I'm sorry my Thane, I do not understand. I was under the impression that we were traveling to Ivarstead together."
"I had planned on traveling alone," Spartacus told her. "I'll be drawing enough attention as it is going alone, bringing you along would only make things more difficult."
"And what if you're attacked on the way there?" the elite queried, arms crossed over her chest. "The road to Ivarstead is laden with many dangers, my Thane. As your Housecarl, your safety is my chief concern. That being said, I strongly advise you allow me to accompany you on your journey."
Spartacus sighed as he ran a weary hand through his hair. "Lydia, the fact that you imply I am in need of protection insults my prowess as a warrior. But... if I leave you here, I would inflict equal wound. Very well, you may accompany me to Ivearstead, but no further."
Lydia bowed. "Gratitude, my Thane."
Spartacus eyed the knapsack that lay at the elite's feet. "I take it you have all that you need for this trip prepared?"
She nodded. "Yes, my Thane."
"Good, because we're leaving in an hour."
Uneventful. That was the word Saadia had used to describe her day. But then again, that was the way she liked it. Dull, boring and uneventful. The uproar about the Dragonborn the previous day had her on edge. So much so that she could barley concentrate on her duties. Distracted as she was, her main concern was the strange Nord who was renting their room downstairs. Fenrir he called himself. Through the very rare conversations they had, she'd learned only two things. One, the man was a mercenary and two, he was very interested in the Harbinger of the Companions. Why he was so interested she could not gather, but that suited her just fine. Attention was the last thing she needed.
Hearing a noise, Saadia turned to see the Fenrir striding out of his room, weapons strapped to his back and a large knapsack slung over his shoulder. She tensed as the man drew nearer, resisting the urge to reach for her dagger. As usual, he was wearing his black and red mage robes with the mask that covered all of his face save for his eyes. No matter how many times Saadia saw him, she couldn't help but fell a slight shiver of fear run down her spine.
"Seems you're finally able stand near me without going for your weapon." the Nord said. Saadia could feel the smile under his mask.
"Going off somewhere?" the Redguard asked, ignoring the man's quip.
"Though you and Hulda have been such gracious hosts, I have have business in Riften that I must attend to. You know how it is for us mercenaries, never stay in one place for too long."
With a final nod, Fenrir made his way out of the Inn and into the bustle of the city. Saadia would have been lying if she said she'd miss the man himself, but the uneasiness and fear he could put into even the most hardened of men with no effort would be unfortunate. That was fine though, she would get over it. Hulda, on the other hand, would be sure to miss the gold he'd brought with him.
Lydia huffed out a quick sigh of relief as she finished loading the carriage that would be taking her and her Thane to Ivarstead. Though the trip would take no more than a few hours at most, Spartacus had informed her that he did not know how long his training with the Greybeards would last. So, as a precaution, she had made sure to pack enough essentials to last her for a few weeks. Hopefully, that would not be the case. While her Thane was high in the mountains honing his abilities, she would be stuck down below in Ivarstead doing god knows what. The idea of sitting around inside some Inn all day for weeks was not something that excited her.
Lydia didn't consider herself a thrill seeker, nor was she the type to go looking for danger, but was a warrior, the idea of sitting around doing nothing made her cringe. Even on the most uneventful days the Jarl had her and the other elites doing something. Whether that it was killing a group of bandits or overseeing the hold patrols, it was still something. Lydia was jolted from her thoughts when a masculine hand suddenly wrapped itself around her mouth and a sword was placed against her throat. She reached up an attempted to pry the appendage off, but the attacker's grip only tightened and his sword pressed even harder against her neck. Her shield was in the carriage with her other belongings and reaching for her sword would probably get her sent to the afterlife.
Whoever her attacker was, he had her dead to rights.
"For an elite you were very easy to overcome," came the voice of Spartacus. "If I had been an assassin, you would be for the afterlife."
Spartacus released the elite, who flew into a momentary coughing fit. After her spell had subsided, she turned to glare at the young Companion.
"That was uncalled for, my Thane," she practically shouted. "You nearly choked me to death!"
Spartacus merely sheathed his sword and shrugged. "If you're going to be my Housecarl, then you need to be prepared for anything. As a warrior you need to be aware of everything around you at all times."
"My Thane, I don't think anyone would be foolish enough to attack someone in broad daylight with armed guards posted at all points." she argued, absently rubbing her neck.
"I beg to differ." Spartacus pointed towards the guards stationed along the outer walls of the city.
What Lydia saw next not only angered her, but shamed her to no end. Most, if not all of the guards assigned to the watch were busy talking to one another, playing cards, or sleeping. If Whiterun was to be attacked, the gates could very well be breached under the careless eyes of those fools. Lydia's jaw gaped at the guards lack of care for their duties. Then her anger boiled over. Spartacus leaned against the carriage and watched as Lydia stormed up the walls and reprimanded the guards for their careless behavior.
After about ten minutes of threatening to make sure their pay was lowered after the Jarl had heard about their lack of attention during watch, Lydia made her way back to the wagon. Her Thane was casually leaning against the cart inspecting one of his swords when he saw her approach.
"So, still believe it was uncalled for?" he asked, sheathing his blade.
Lydia sighed. "While I see and understand your reasoning, you didn't have to squeeze my neck so hard."
"I'll try to remember that next time," the young Nord said dryly. Lydia felt s small sliver of dread crawl down her spine at his mention of 'next time'. "Let's be off, I want to be in Ivarstead before nightfall."
"Is everything in Jorrvaskr taken care of my Thane?" Lydia queried as she climbed inside the wagon.
Spartacus nodded. "Everything is taken care of. Vilkas and Aela will act as my proxies while I'm away. I don't expect to receive many correspondence, so everything will be sent to the hall until I return."
Lydia nodded before a thought crossed her mind. "What of the Jarls of the other holds?"
"What about them?"
"There is a good chance they will send you some form of letter while you're away training. Wouldn't it be a good idea to have them sent to the Inn in Ivarstead where I could keep them for you?"
"I care little for the Jarls and other nobility of Skyrim, Balgruuf and his family excluded," Spartacus deadpanned. "If they do send me something, they'll have to wait for a reply."
Lydia frowned. "Is that smart? I doubt they'll be happy about not receiving a reply in a timely fashion."
"It is of no concern to me. Now, this discussion is over."
Lydia nodded. "Yes, my Thane."
The trip to Ivarstead was an uneventful one. Over the course of the hours they spent on their coach, little to nothing had happened. The carriage driver was a polite man who would strike up a conversation every now and then. Mostly, it was Lydia who held on to the conversation, while Spartacus sat in silence. The elite took notice of her Thane's alertness as they made their way towards the small town. His sapphire eyes forever scanning and taking in every detail of their surroundings, while his ears would make small movements at even the smallest sounds.
Lydia wondered why her Thane would even bother concentrating on their surroundings the way he did. The bandits in this area were not the smartest, as their idea of a plan involved them just running at anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. If they ran into any trouble, they would not be caught unaware. Lydia was tempted to try and strike up a conversation with the Nord, but quickly decided against it. She didn't really feel like starting a conversation with a borderline mute.
Finally after a few hours on the road, the two Nords arrived in Ivarstead. Lydia was surprised to see the normally quiet town swarming with people, most of them pilgrims. While it was common knowledge that they would often make trips to the Throat of the World to either meditate or study the ancient tablets dotted throughout the mountain's trial, it was rare to see so many in one area. As Lydia and Spartacus made their way towards the Inn, they noticed a particularly large group of people gathered around the base of the mountain. Most if not all of them looked to be in the middle of prayer.
"What are those people doing?" Lydia queried to a nearby guard.
"It's been like this since the Greybeards' call," the man explained. "People from all over Skyrim have flocked to here to pray and try to catch a glimpse of the Dragonborn."
"A fruitless endeavor. The Dragonborn could have already gone up the mountain for all they know." the elite stated, shooting the Nord next to her a quick look.
The guard shrugged. "Regardless, they're still flooding the city in droves. We'll have to send an order to Riften to send more men to the town if this keeps up."
"Troublesome." Spartacus muttered as he continued towards the Inn.
The Tavern was nearly fit to bursting. Every seat and table had already been taken, and it looked as if the establishment's mead reserves were waning. Across the way Spartacus spotted the barmaid Lynly going back and fourth from table to table, tending to the needs of the rambunctious crowd. It seemed with all the excitement in town she had no time to mesmerize the patrons with her tunes.
"I'll go see if there are any rooms left my Thane," Lydia started. "But I cant make any promises."
"We need only a single room for you, Lydia," the young Nord reminded her. "If there are no more rooms available, then return to Whiterun."
"And what of you?"
"I'm heading up to the monastery. The sooner I get this over with, the better."
Lydia looked to the young Companion leader as if she were going to argue, but quickly decided against the action. The look her gave her brokered no room for negotiation.
Lydia nodded. "Of course, my Thane."
Spartacus tightened the knapsack he carried with him and turned towards the door before glancing back at Lydia.
"I don't know how long I'll be up on that mountain." he told her.
"Don't take too long, or I'll come up there and fetch you myself." the elite retorted, her tone slightly playful.
The Nord allowed a brief smirk before turning forward and walking out the door, leaving Lydia to her orders.
Getting past the mob of citizens that crowded the path leading to High Hrothgar had been a bit more difficult than Spartacus suspected. They hounded him with a constant barrage of questions and demanded to know why he was making the journey to Hrothgar. It was almost funny. To have the very person they searched for right in front of them without even knowing.
Spartacus had only just made it a little past the first of the ancient tablets when he saw a flash of movement. He let his eyes trail over to the thick foliage of trees but made sure not to turn his head, lest his stalkers realize he had caught onto them. Spartacus caught site of two more figures. The thick mist that had fallen upon the mountain made it all but impossible for the young Nord to make out any details on his followers despite his heightened eyesight and the strong smell emanating from the trees made it difficult to pick up their scent.
He could however pick up the tell tale sound of weapons lightly tapping against armor. Whoever these people were, they weren't there for a spiritual purpose. Spartacus continued forward as if nothing was amiss, hoping that his maintained sense of ignorance to his stalker's presence would lure them into a false sense of security. As he continued forward, he began to wonder who it was exactly that was tailing him.
Silver Hand agents made the most sense. Despite the Companions continued efforts to flush the bastards out the Silver Hand continued to deploy spies all over the city. But the more he thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed. Before the previous night's celebration had ended, Balgruuf made it clear to all who attended that the knowledge of the Harbinger being Dragonborn was not to be made public. The nobles and lords seemed a bit let down by the agreement. No doubt they wished to boast to the Lords and Ladies of the other cities about how they had meet the Nord Hero of legend in the flesh.
To bad for them.
Spartacus thought back to everyone he had met since he came to Skyrim. To his frustration he could think of no other group or faction other than the Silver Hand that wanted him dead. Despite Balgruuf's stern warning about sharing the knowledge of the Dragonborn's identity, there was always a chance that one of the more chatty nobles let the information slip in some drunken conversation. That or they deliberately shared the information to spite the Jarl's order, as the nobles of Skyrim were infamous for not being able to take orders, even from a Jarl. If that was the case, then it was probable that the band of werewolf hunters had discovered who he was and thus where he was heading.
As Spartacus ascended further up the mountain, he began to wonder if his stalkers would actually attack. So far they seemed content with simply shadowing him, never once having drawn their weapons. As he began to approach the end of the foliage he thanked his luck that he would be spared a fight. It seemed that this followers were simply there to observe him.
As if to prove him wrong, one of them suddenly darted towards him at an alarming speed, sword ringing as it was brought to bear. Spartacus uttered a swear. His assailant had closed the already small gap of space between them. Even with his superior reflexes he wouldn't be able to draw even one of his swords in time to parry the blow. He'd have to take the bastards on unarmed.
With a shout, the first would be assassin, a woman clad in full leather armor, swung a mighty downward blow upon the Nord, intending to cleave his head in two. Quick as a Sabre Cat the Harbinger lashed out with his left hand and caught her by the wrist. The young Nord twisted the appendage until he heard a satisfying crack. The woman's cries of agony lasted for only a second before the Harbinger straight punched her in the chest, caving her ribs in and sending her flying. She landed in a heap... eight meters away.
With the first threat neutralized, Spartacus whipped around to face the second, and much larger assassin. This assassin, a large, burly Redguard wearing full steel armor and wielding a deadly looking steel battleaxe, charged him at full speed and attempted to bowl him over. Spartacus easily sidestepped the attempt. The Redguard lifted his massive axe and went on a total offensive, hounding the young Nord with a relentless barrage of swings. Despite being clad in heavy steel armor of his own the Harbinger easily outmaneuvered large Redguard, expertly weaving in and out of each strike.
Frustrated, the dark skinned warrior hefted his weapon over his head and, with a fierce battle-cry, brought it down upon his opponent. Again Spartacus sidestepped the blow and, placing his left foot on the weapon's shaft for leverage, delivered a brutal rising knee to the man's face, lifting him off the ground and sending a spray of blood in the air. Before the Redguard had even hit the floor Spartacus drew his twin blades and twirled around to meet the final assassin head on. This man, a Nord by his appearance, was clad is mismatched pieces of different armor, ranging from steel to iron to leathers.
The man lunged at Spartacus' exposed throat with the edge of his shield, intent on crushing his windpipe. The younger Nord easily avoided the death blow before spinning around to his opponent's unprotected back and unleashed a swift counted attack. To his credit the assassin threw his sword behind himself and blocked the attack before again swinging his heavy shield at the young warrior, forcing him to step back. Pressing his advantage, the assassin went on the attack.
Spartacus had no real trouble fending off the man's attacks, despite the obvious power and skill behind them. The killer's blows were powerful and bold, an excellent tactic to overpower weaker, far less skilled opponents. Then he tried something smarter. The assassin feinted with his shield and attempted to run the younger Nord through. Seeing the deception, Spartacus stepped off to the side and swatted the blow to the ground, the force of his parry so powerful the killer staggered forward. He then sliced the man across the back before booting him to the floor and interlocking his swords at the back of the man's neck. The wound he had given him wasn't fatal, but the bastard also wouldn't have the strength to continue fighting, unless he wanted to bleed out faster than he already was. But the young Nord wasn't taking any chances with him
If he so much as flinched, Spartacus would not hesitate to separate his head from his body. Conceding to his loss, the assassin got to his knees, threw his sword and shield off to the side and raised his hands.
"I have to say, I'm impressed with what I saw," the killer admitted, voice surprisingly cheery despite the obvious pain he was in "It seems stories of your skills in battle prove true."
the Harbinger narrowed his eyes as he heard the man's familiar voice. "Pericles?"
The older Nord slowly turned to face the young leader, a large grin spread across his lips. "Been awhile, Harbinger."
Spartacus glared at the mercenary, never removing his interlocked blades from the man's throat. Pericles noticed this as well, and the smug grin he wore vanished, and was quickly replaced by a look of unease.
"Why in Oblivion did you attack me?" the Harbinger queried.
"We didn't intend to harm you," the man answered, hands still raised. "We just wanted to see if the stories about your skills with a sword wasn't some exaggeration, and, of course, you prove the stories true."
"You were there when Ria and I where tasked with clearing Riverwood of Hajvaar and his lot of criminals. You had more than enough time to 'gauge' my skills during the battle."
"My attentions during that battle were occupied," the mercenary ground out. "I was not able to see you in action as I wanted. Now, would you be so kind as to remove you swords from my throat? I'd very much like to tend to my comrade's wounds as well as my own."
The Harbinger held the man's gaze a moment longer before finally taking his swords away from his neck. Pericles released the breath he'd been holding and strode over to where Livia lay sprawled on the ground, clutching at her chest. Sheathing his weapons, Spartacus turned on his heels and continued up the mountain path.
"Don't you want to know why we attacked you?" Pericles called out as he fed Livia a healing potion.
"It does not concern me." the young Nord said flatly, not bothering to look behind him. "Know that if you make such attempt again, I wont leave you with just simple scratches and broken bones."
Pericles watched as the young Companion leader vanished up the mountain. He suppressed a slight shudder. The boy had nearly killed the lot of them, mostly unarmed, yet he spoke as if he had gone easy on them. He dared not think of what the boy was capable of if he was taking an attempt on his life seriously.
"After all that we just let him go?" Avik questioned as he approached his comrades.
"I've seen what I needed to," Pericles told the Redguard, cradling a now unconscious Livia. "He's exactly what I expected him to be... and more."
Avik snorted. "You never once brokered subject of our offer to him."
"All in due time, my friend. Right now the boy is... distracted. There is much clouding his thoughts. I would extend our offer when his mind is as clear as a Skyrim river."
"He's not that distracted," Avik groaned as he rubbed his forehead. "That kid is crazy strong. I swear it felt like someone went upside my head with a mace when he struck me."
Pericles smiled at the Redguard. "All the more reason for us to bring him into our fold."
Avik grunted. "Whatever. You just better be sure you know what you're doing, Pericles."
The Nord's smile only grew wider. Manipulation was the greatest ability Pericles possessed. He prided himself on being able to sway even the most moral and strong willed individuals. The Harbinger was a warrior of discipline and principle, but he was still a man. And Pericles knew better than anyone that all men could be tempted.
Spartacus spent almost half the day making the trip up to the ancient home of the Greybeards. Had he not been ambushed by Pericles and his band of fools he would have arrived a lot earlier. The Nord dismissed it. All that mattered was that he was there. The Harbinger strode up to large double doors and made his way inside.
Like before, the ancient monastery filled him with a strange sense of belonging. Knowledge and power seemed to radiate off each and every stone that made High Hrothgar what it was. Unlike his previous visits however, he did not feel tense or on edge. He felt... at home, as if this was where he truly belonged. As he took in the sheer magnificence of the old halls, a voice spoke behind him.
"So, a Dragonborn appears at this moment in the turning of the age."
Spartacus turned and met the eyes of the leader of the Greybeards, Arngeir. The young Nord held the man's gaze for a minute before he finally spoke.
"You know why I'm here." the young warrior said. His words were not hostile, but rather spoken as fact.
"Of course. But first, let us see if you truly have the gift." the monk said as three more Greybeards morphed in from the darkness. "Show us, let us taste your voice."
Spartacus could only stare into the gray eyes of the monk before him, slightly shocked. He worried that could seriously injure the elderly men.
Arngeir saw his hesitation. "Do not fear, we are trained to handle anything the Voice throws at us."
Spartacus looked at each of the old men in disbelief before finally deciding to relent. Taking three steps back, the young Nord took a deep breath. He focused on the word, letting it reverberate through every part of his being. Then, he let loose the power of his Thu'um, sending the elderly men stumbling a few feet back. After a few moments, the Greybeards righted themselves and looked upon the young Nord with expressions of delight.
"Dragonborn, it is you," Arngeir said with a smile on his lips. "Welcome to High Hrothgar, young Spartacus."
The Nord's eyes widened in shock. "How did you-!"
"A person's Thu'um is their identity, their very soul, and it is easy to read." the monk laughed softly. "One of the many reasons we do not use it. It is a difficult power to trust."
Arngeir's expression returned to its solemn state. "You have come seeking answers and, though you may not know it yet, guidance on the proper use of your power. We will be your teachers on how to use your voice, and guide you down the path to fulfilling your destiny, if you are ready to learn."
Spartacus's answer was immediate, and filled with a confidence and resolve the Greybeards rarely saw in one as young as him. "I'm ready."
Arngeir nodded. "Very well, let us begin."
A/N: How's everyone been doing lately? I myself have been pretty good, cant really complain. Anyway, I apologize for the lateness of chapter 15, but things on my end have been EXTREMLY hectic at times. Now to clear some things up, the cities, buildings, population and towns of Skyrim will be MUCH larger than their in game counterparts to better suit the story, as i've said before. As you've seen with Jarl Balgruuf already, some of the characters of Skyrim will have families that they dont have in the game as a way to make it a little more realistic as well as add to the drama of the overall story, so know you guys will be seeing more OC's in the future.
I've also gotten a few questions about Spartacus and his Skills in battle. It is true that as far as we see, Spartacus is one of the most, of not the most skilled swordsman in the story. People are wondering why he's so good for no reason, but trust me, there's a BIG reason behind it. As you've seen, I've touched down a bit on his past with little teases here and there, but I haven't revealed anything big yet. More about how Spartacus came to be the warrior he is today will be told later in the story, and you guys can finally have your curiosity sated.
The last thing I wanna go over is the Spartacus/Aela pairing I keep hearing about. To that, all I'm gonna say is dont worry, it'll happen when it happens, but like real relationships, it takes time.
Anyway, hope that satisfies your questions you may have, but if it doesn't, feel free to hit me with a PM. Well, until the next chapter.
~Bang