Chapter 3
In a land far, far away lies the kingdom of Fiore, a small, peaceful nation of seventeen million, and a place filled with magic. Found in every home, bought and sold in every marketplace, for most, magic is merely a tool, a mundane part of everyday life.
Last time, Ysmir walked into a dark guild hall belonging to the Charging Bulls. Inside, one of the guild members picked a fight with Ysmir. After the fight finished, Khasi, Ysmir's little feline friend, was being held captive by the guilds Barkeep.
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"N-now now," stuttered the barkeep, Horace Hobbs, his frayed nerves betraying him. "I-if you don't put down your sword... I-I will do it!"
As if to emphasize his point, he placed the thin blade closer to Khasi. His knuckles white on the grip of the knife and heart beating fast, Horace stares fearfully into Ysmir's eyes. This man killed many of his friends. Still determined to save his own life, the man tightens his grip on Khasi's frail body.
The cry of pain that came from Khasi made Ysmir's heart skip a beat. As his only friend and as her protector, he was supposed to keep her safe. And seeing her in the hands of this pig threatening her filled him with rage. The knife is the only thing stopping him from charging the man to save her. Not wanting the knife getting any closer to Khasi, Ysmir lowered his sword.
"Now drop it!" The Barkeep shouted with his confidence growing. "Drop it or else!"
With a growl, Ysmir reversed his grip on the hilt and stabbed the blade in the floor. The scarred wood planks began to blacken from the heat. The man smiled through the sweat dripping down his baldhead.
"Now back away!" Horace shouted victoriously. Shaking Khasi and putting the knife closer to her eye. Small, terrified whimpers escaped Khasi's trembling lips as the knife came closer. Tears started to form in her eyes as the man shook her again.
Complying with the man's wishes for now, Ysmir took several steps back away from the sword. Ysmir stared at the man with rage burning in his eyes. Clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white, Ysmir waited to see what the balding man was going to do next.
Thinking Ysmir was subdued, Horace decided it was high time to make his getaway. Horace started moving down the length of the bar toward the exit, his boots kicking broken glass and splintered wood. Reaching the end of the counter, he cast a spell and let go of the knife. From his hand attached to the knife was a green rope of energy that left it hovering in the air, still pointed at Khasi.
Horace then bent down and started grabbing something from under the counter. Ysmir could hear the sound of cups and plates clinking together. When Horace straightened back up Ysmir could see large bulges in his pockets. With a triumphant smirk, Horace started making his way out from behind the bar.
"Now don't you move!" He shouts menacingly as he moves around Ysmir towards the entrance. With his hand back on the handle of the knife, he made one last threat. "Or she gets it!"
Understanding that he intends to escape with Khasi, Ysmir's fury skyrockets. A growl escapes from his mouth, powered by his Thu'um it causes the air to vibrate. His knuckles start to pop, and his eyes drill holes into the eyes of the cowardly Barkeep. If the Barkeep was startled by the anger or force of his stare, Ysmir's growl, sure as Oblivion, made him sweat anew.
While Horace was staring at Ysmir with unease, he tripped over one of his downed comrades who moaned in pain. Looking down in surprise, he lost his concentration and that's when Ysmir decided to act.
"Tiid Klo Ul!" Time bent to his will and slowed down. While the world seemed to be moving at a fraction of its normal pace, Ysmir was still able to move, slower than normal but well able to get to Khasi.
From Khasi's view, still locked in the hands of her captor, she watched Ysmir open his mouth and shout. Next, a Ysmir sized blur ran across the room towards her. In the blink of an eye, Ysmir reached Khasi and Horace. Before the Barkeep could react, whether by using the knife still in his hands or to squeeze his little captive, Ysmir was on him with his own dagger drawn.
With his free left hand, Ysmir grabbed the blade of the kitchen knife and brought it away from Khasi. With his right hand, he plunged his enchanted dagger into the other man's wrist. With a twist, Ysmir forced the tendons and muscles in the Barkeep's arm to release Khasi, who flew away as fast as she could into the rafters above.
The power of the shout wore off and time flowed back to its normal pace. With a cry of anguish, Horace dropped his puny kitchen knife and clutched at his bloodied right arm. Still impaled on Ysmir's dagger the Barkeep fell to his knees. Letting go of the dagger's hilt, Ysmir grabbed the other man's apron and brought their faces closer together.
"Vir krilon hi!" How dare you! "Shouted Ysmir in Dragon-tongue right into the man's face, his voice powered by his Thu'um. "Vir krilon hi verut dii fahdon!" How dare you threaten my friend!
The Barkeep's face was as white as paper. Forced to stare into Ysmir's eyes and to take the full force of his unknown shouting, the man was scared out of his mind! Ysmir's rage continued.
"Hi meyus firok! Kras krii hi aax dii fahdon!" You foolish bastard! I'll kill you for harming my friend! Ysmir ripped the dagger from the man's arm held it up to his throat. With yet another cry of pain the Barkeep looked down at the now bloodied blade with terror. "Nuz hi dreh ni qaariv nel dinok!" But you don't deserve a quick death! Ysmir sneered into the terrified man's face.
Taking the dagger away from the man's neck, Ysmir slid the blade back into its sheath. A very small spark of hope flowed through Horace. Not knowing what it was that Ysmir said, he thought that he was going to live or be set free. That spark was squashed when Ysmir took in a huge breath and started shouting, his voice rising in power, causing the entire building to shake.
"Hi thieving nikriin! Sinon krif hi kuz goraan ulfah grunzah! Sinon krif voth hin comrades hi iliis ahrk motaas ko kahtu! Hi los ni bahlaan do laaintos!" You thieving coward! Instead of fighting you take a young creature hostage! Instead of fighting with your comrades you hide and cower in a corner! You are not worthy of life!
Before Ysmir could enact his full retribution on the man, Horace Hobbes, the Barkeep, a wizard, and a member of the dark guild the Charging Bulls died on the floor surrounded by his unconscious, or dead, companions. Face frozen with horror and eyes wide he stared lifelessly into Ysmir's. His heart giving out from the shock of the Thu'um's power, he went limp in Ysmir's arms. With a look of disgust Ysmir rose from his kneeling position.
Letting the dead man fall back to the dirty wooden floor with a puff of dust and ash, Ysmir closed his eyes and raised his face to the ceiling. Taking in a large, deep, slow breath, letting the rage and adrenaline calm down inside of him after a moment his breathing turned back to normal.
Opening his eyes to the ceiling Ysmir saw a quivering Khasi staring down at him. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as they stared at each other.
Realization dawned on Ysmir, had he frightened her too?
"Khasi... "He starts to say slowly, and with a heavy heart. "Did I fright-"
Not being able to finish due to her tiny body crashing into his chest, weeping. Stepping back from the force of her landing on him, he looks down at her unsure what to do but glad that he did not scare her away. Bringing his arms up, he gently comforts her. For several minutes, Ysmir stands there, softly cradling her in his arms. A funny thought crosses his mind.
What would Vilkas and Farkas say if they saw him, the Dragonborn and Harbinger of the Companions, comforting a young, red, flying kitten? They'd probably say he's gone soft! Ha-ha!
His thoughts are interrupted by Khasi's stomach rumbling. Smiling sadly Ysmir remembers that he never got her that meal he promised her. Looking around the room Ysmir sees that the majority of, well, everything is broken, burning or both.
Spotting something in the corner of the room, with Khasi still clinging to his chest whimpering quietly, Ysmir walks over to a part of the bar that is relatively untouched. Lying on top of the counter is a small bowl holding three bright red apples. Grabbing one Ysmir takes out a regular steel dagger from his belt and starts to cut it in slices. Once finished, Ysmir clears away some debris with a swipe of his hand. Gently prying Khasi off his chest he sets her down on the countertop and holds out a small apple slice in front of her. Still sniffling, she looks at what Ysmir is holding out to her.
With a small smile, she grabs the tasty morsel and devours it. Her mood instantly improving, much to Ysmir's joy, she grabs another and eats that too, getting sticky juices all over her paws, face and dress. With a contented smile on his face, Ysmir cuts up another. Pushing the remaining apple slices in front of Khasi to keep her busy, Ysmir looks away and walks to the nearest guild member lying on the floor.
The nearest one is the man with the staff. Checking for a pulse by grabbing his limp wrist, Ysmir finds that he is still alive. The thought of ending him now crossed his mind, it would be easy and it would stop him from seeking revenge, but he decided against it. Instead, he just stripped anything of value the man had on him, which was just a few rings, strips of printed paper that might be currency, and a few other strange objects. He did the same with the rest of the unconscious, or dead, guild members. Pausing only at the body of Horace, Ysmir spits on the dead man's face with a look of disgust. Grabbing the two large clips of paper that the man stuffed in his pockets Ysmir continued his looting.
After checking the other rooms and floors of the building, which were all empty of people, Ysmir found several pairs of clothes his size and put them in his pack. Once all was said and done, Ysmir had quite the haul of money and jewelry that he could sell if he ever comes across an actual village.
After making his way back down into the bar area, Ysmir heard the groans of the guild members that were waking up. Thinking that it is a good time to leave, Ysmir finds a sleeping Khasi in the same spot he left her, having just finished off the last of the apples.
Grabbing her and the last apple for himself, Ysmir makes his way outside. Once outside, Ysmir is not at all surprised to see that the sun is high in the sky. Looking around Ysmir saw the unconscious forms of the men and women that he shouted out of the building, and the carriage that came in earlier. The boar-like creature still strapped to the front seemed to be sleeping… but that's not what caught Ysmir's attention.
Standing by driver's seat were two bickering women shouting into each other's faces. One was a gray skinned, black haired, woman with bright silver eyes. Dressed in dark grey, almost black, armor on her shoulders, arms, breasts, hips, and shins. A short, dark green cloth covers her hips. Hanging at her hip was a wicked looking mace made of the same dark-grey metal as her armor.
The other woman was almost the polar opposite, with her bright golden skin and eyes, with white hair. She was also wearing ornate golden plates covering her shoulders, breasts, arms, and legs. Attached to her breast armor and belt were small golden plates that formed a scale like appearance. Hanging from her hip was an ornate golden sword.
Wincing, Ysmir debates on turning around. He knows what the two women are. The dark skinned woman is a Dark-Seducer, while the woman with golden skin was known as a Golden-Saint. Both serve as guards and warriors of Sheogorath in the Shivering Isles in Oblivion. With an internal sigh Ysmir gently deposits Khasi's sleeping form into one of his pockets and starts making his way to the two women. Not noticing his approach, they continue their arguing. One thing that Ysmir remembers about the two Daedra was that both races despised each other and always fought for their "Lord" Sheogorath's favor. Being the embodiment of madness, Ysmir would bet that Sheogorath loves it. As he got closer to the women, he caught the last few snippets of their argument.
"- You pompous little heathen! Our Lord prefers the Mazken to you dim-witted fools!" Shouted the Dark-Seducer. "Which is why our Lord trusts us to protect New Sheoth!"
The Golden skinned woman's face seemed to grow brighter with rage. "At least the Aureals can fight, unlike you weaklings!" Shouted the Golden-Saint, voice higher pitched than her counterpart. "You couldn't protect Lord Sheogorath from a damned Skeever!" Ysmir couldn't help but notice that her hand was reaching ever closer to the hilt of her sword.
With a look of fury, the dark-skinned woman drew her mace from her hip. "You care to test that theory?" She yells with a sneer. In an instant both women were singing their weapons doing their best to cut and crush the other, completely unaware of Ysmir standing not ten feet away.
Drawing her sword the gold clad woman swings at the gray-skinned woman. Dodging the golden blade easily the gray woman retaliates by swinging her mace at the other woman's head. The fight continued on like this, both Daedra parrying or dodging the others attack and neither woman gaining the advantage over the other.
Ysmir rolled his eyes. Last time he visited the Shivering Isles the biggest thing he could remember, besides the Madgod's "cheese-fountain" that he loved so much, was the legendary rivalry between his servants. These two seemed to be a bit more docile by comparison. At least they weren't fighting at the mere sight of each other like others of their kind.
Knowing that they won't stop fighting without him interfering, Ysmir rolled his eyes again and took in a deep breath. "Zun Haal Viik!" A wave of blue energy rolled through the air towards the fighting women. Passing over them harmlessly, the wave ripped their weapons from their hands, sending them flying to the ground some distance away.
With a matching look of surprise, the two women stare at their empty hands before directing their gaze to Ysmir. Dumbfounded, they watch him warily while they straighten up and face him.
The dark skinned Daedra puts her right fist over her heart. "Apologies. Madgod's blessing to you Dovahkiin." She says with a serious voice, doing a little bow. "My name is… Well, you can call me Nlaea."
Pausing, Nlaea turns her head and looks at the Golden-Saint who has her arms crossed over her chest looking away from both her and Ysmir. With a sigh Nlaea continues. "And she," gesturing to the Golden-Saint, "is called Eloen. We are servants of Lord Sheogorath."
With her nose in the air, Eloen gave Nlaea and a disgusted look. "Whatever." Dropping her arms to her side she makes a huffing sound and walks away, picking up her sword as she walks into the woods.
Giving the retreating woman an exasperated look as she walks away Nlaea sighs, lowering her arm to her side. Turning back to Ysmir she looks him up and down, then looks behind him. Raising an eyebrow she asks, "Rough morning?"
"You could say that." Says Ysmir in a neutral tone, keeping his face blank. While he was on good terms with Sheogorath, he would be a fool to openly trust a servant of his. "Care to explain how you got here... Nlaea was it?"