Disclaimer: I stole a bunch of stuff from Wizards of the Coast and Bethesda. I'm not making any money off of this.
Chapter Three: Ogre
Marcus grudgingly paid out the money for his new armor. Getting a suit of steel armor was necessary, but he now had precious little money. He would have to figure out some way to get funds. There might be some ruins around that he could plunder, or something of the like. There was always a way for a warrior who wasn't afraid of a little danger to make a spare septim.
He stepped into a small room beside the stairs and put on his new armor. It was well made, that was true enough, and much stronger than his suit of iron armor, which the shopkeeper now owned.
Marcus bid the shopkeeper farewell and left, wandering aimlessly around town. He looked at the sky and noted that the sun was high. It was about time to return to the inn and wait for Zeke.
He arrived and took a seat. He looked at his meager supply of coins, and finally gave in, buying a mug of Nordic Mead. He took a swig of it, and opened up the book again. It turned out that the people of Miroban openly worshiped both the Daedra and Aedra, something practically unheard of in Cyrodiil, where, if you worshiped a Daedra, you kept it secret.
He was interrupted by the inn door opening. He looked at the door to notice Zeke saunter in. He sat down across from Marcus. "I got us a ship," he said, in a low voice. "But there's a catch."
"Which is?"
"Keep your voice down!" Zeke hissed, leaning in. "The thing is, this ship is used to transport raw moon sugar, to be refined in Vvardenfell before it's shipped back. After some negotiating, the owners of the fine vessel have decided that trying their luck in a brave new land could prove very profitable." He looked around the inn and leaned closer. "They're willing to take us aboard free of charge, as long as we work as a shiphand. We need to be at where they make port in four days. It's south of Leyawiin, so we need to move fast. Do you have the money for a few horses?"
Marcus looked longingly in his coin purse. "No," he said. "I'm pretty much broke right now."
The mer sighed. "It figures. All right, listen. There's a small inn South of here, called The Dragon's Paw. Meet me there at sunset, okay? It's only a few hour's walk, so you've got plenty of time. I'll see you then." Zeke got up, and began walking towards the door.
"Hey!" Marcus said. "Where are you going?"
Zeke winked. "To get us some horses." And with that, he left.
"God's have mercy," Marcus muttered. "What have I gotten myself in to?"
He contented himself during the walk to The Dragon's Paw Inn with casting magic, something he still wasn't used to again. The prison had a strong aura of anti-magic, so Marcus was still getting used to the feeling of mana rushing through his hands as he casted a fireball, or his entire body as he practiced a small spell of healing.
He looked at a small scar that twisted on his forearm and chuckled. He had gotten that years ago, when he was trying to learn healing spells and couldn't seem to get the knack of it. Finally, in anger, he cut deep into his own arm, trying to heal it back. He had almost passed out before finally doing it, but he had, and he showed his scar proudly to those who cared to see it. His superiors in the Blades had shaken their heads and laughed, saying that it was his stubbornness that made him so useful in the first place, and as long as he didn't kill himself, he would only grow more useful. Still, he never could pull off a spell from the school of Restoration as well as one from the school of Destruction. Healing spells seemed to drain him more, to take more out of him, and the result was never as impressive.
He could see a building in the distance, and he picked up his pace a bit. He was at the gate when he heard the roar.
He spun around to see a giant. The creature must have been ten feet tall, with a filthy loincloth, pale skin the color of a fish's stomach, and large, knotted muscles covering it's body.
Oh, thought Marcus. An ogre. I was wondering what that smell was.
A calm had come over him. Few warriors could stand against the strength and simplistic rage of an ogre, not without a ranged weapon and a large amount of space between them and the beast. But Marcus was more than the average warrior. He was one of the Emperor's Elite's, in another life. He had trained, retrained, and trained again, until battle was ingrained in every fiber of his being.
He was at peace, now, in the certainty of battle. In mere seconds, his entire mentality had changed into one forged in strife. As the ogre rushed at him, bringing it's giant hands together over it's head, Marcus smiled.
In a flash, his katana appeared in his hand, and as the creature brought down it's arms to strike a leveling blow to the former Blades' head, Marcus stepped to the side. The hands whistled past him, as Marcus thrust his blade towards the beast's neck.
He felt a healthy strike, his weapon slashing through flesh and muscle, but the beast gave no recognition to the wound, already throwing a punch from a massive hand at Marcus' face.
A leap back put Marcus well out of the range of the ogre's attack. In the next few moments, there was a dizzying spectacle of man and monster in what appeared to be a graceful dance, one of them unable to hit the other, the other not flinching when it was hit. Then the ogre launched another punch at Marcus. Marcus dodged back again, but this time there was no ground to support him. In a flash, he remembered where he was.
Oh...at the end of the field there was that incline...a five foot drop or so. Damn, we're already that close? How much have we been-
He landed on his side, and rolled to the side to dodge another attack from the beast.
This is bad. I really need to get up.
He heard the ogre roaring in pain, and noticed a small hilt sticking out of one of the monster's eyes. A second later, accompanied by another, louder roar, another seemed to blossom out of the ogre's other eye. Then one in it's neck. Then two, almost simultaneously, in it's chest. The beast gave a shuddering moan, and finally fell, almost landing atop Marcus.
Footsteps hurriedly approached. "You okay, mate?" a familiar voice asked. "I would have stepped in sooner, but I couldn't get a clear shot while the two of you were playing. He didn't get you, did he?"
"No," Marcus said, taking the offered hand. "You're not a bad shot with those things."
"I try," Zeke said. "Where'd you learn to move like that? "
"Around. Part of my training."
"You sure you don't have any Bosmer blood in ya?"
"Positive."
"You say that like having Bosmer blood is a bad thing."
"Did I?"
"Yeah."
"Well, there you are."
Zeke shook his head. "You aren't a very nice person, you know that?"
"I try not to be. What are you doing here so early? Sunset's still a few hours off."
"I finished my business in town early, and rode down here."
"Rode? So you got us horses?"
"That I did."
"Did you steal them?"
Zeke opened his eyes wide, in mock innocence. "Me? Perish the thought! I borrowed them, without a promise to return them and without the owner's knowledge. I would never steal."
"Of course," Marcus said, shaking his head. They began walking to the inn. "So where'd you learn to throw like that?"
"Around. Maybe I have some Imperial blood in me."
"Dear Gods, I hope not."
"You're being not nice again."
"I know."
Marcus smiled. "So how good is the ship that we'll be on?"
"Oh, it's a great ship. It looks great. It feels great. You'll hardly even know you're on water."
Marcus nodded. "You've never seen the thing in your life, have you?"
"Not a once."
"Never even been on a ship, have you?"
"I once borrowed my cousin's rowboat to go fishing in. Couldn't figure out how to make the damned oars work right, though. had to swim back to shore."
"Big lake?"
"Little pond."
They entered the inn, and Zeke led the way to a small room with two beds in it. He threw his cloak on one of the beds, revealing a black leather vest with multiple throwing knives attached, and a small dagger and short sword at his hip. "How about you? You know anything about ships?"
"A thing or two," Marcus replied, taking out his katana and wiping it down with a soft rag. He sniffed the metal.
Ogre blood stank. A lot. Even after it had been wiped off.
"Let me guess: part of your training?"
"Yeah, something like that. I once served on a ship traveling prisoners to Vvardenfell."
"No joke? What, did you used to be a guard?"
"Something like that."
Zeke sighed. "Listen, I'm not trying to be a jerk. I'm not even trying particularly hard to be nosy. But all I know about you is that you just got out of prison, you've been in there for a while, and you're looking for some lady in the middle of a place no one's been to for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. I've gotten us horses. I've found us a ship. I even got us a bit of extra gold from the card game gone wrong, which I'm sure helped fund your shiny new armor. I've been a fairly decent guy, I think, and thrown more than a little friendship your way. Would it kill you to at least let me know something?"
"I didn't ask for your help, if you recall," Marcus said.
"All right, how about this. If I can guess something I should have no business knowing, will you at least fill in some blind spots?"
"Why should I?"
"Why shouldn't you? Come on, it's not like I'm going to go blab your secrets to the world, Mister Ex-Blade."
A/N: Why is it so hard for me to put updates up in a timely manner? Well, here is Chapter 3. I honestly wanted to make it a bit longer, but I wanted to save what happens next for the next chapter, so I decided to cut it off a bit short. Shrug. It happens.
So we learn a few things about Zeke, those being that he's fairly skilled with a throwing blade, and that he's really perceptive...or...something. Next chapter will probably show how he figured out that Marcus used to be a Blade (if you didn't notice, Marcus had never let it slip). Next chapter will also show a bit of Marcus' past...though I'm still not quite sure how much. Might have to save some secrets for later, after all ;).
Until next time, reviews make me happy (as always) and you can feel free to contact me at strykemanson yahoo . com (minus the spaces, of course). Peace outside.