[A/N: Amativ means "Onward" in Dragon tongue. Thought that was appropriate for the beginning of their journeys.]
People know exactly who he is as he passes. They stare in the wake of a red cape that passes quickly, catching in the air. He has the eyes that match that same red, piercing and vivid, always unfaltering, always looking forward. Completely impenetrable. People make a point of avoiding that stare.
He strides with purpose through the town; firm, strong strides that carry him with the necessary haste to his destination. His brown leather boots with the hard soles click on cobble-stone ground, warn people that he's on his way, and already they're whispering, swept away to the sides of the walkway, steering clear of the man and hoping his appearance in the street has nothing to do with their own recent shady activities or unauthorised sales...
Kurogane Suwa: Captain of the Penitus Oculatus, most trusted soldier of the Emperor's personal guard. A true-bred Imperial through and through: easily distinguishable by the olive skin, his ebony-black hair and the sharp cut of his features. He resides in Solitude, keeping a trained and watchful eye over the people, and most importantly over their ruler. A force to be reckoned with, whether that be in spirit or in combat, either way he's a poster-figure for authority, and intimidation, and fear.
Reaching into the pocket of his leather armour, Kurogane checked the note yet again, scrawled letters on rough parchment affirming his mission in deep blue ink. Sure enough, he was being sent to Riften to speak with the Jarl. It wasn't usual that he was the one sent for any affairs of a more... social nature, and for good reason. Hell, all it would take is one look down this city street to see that his very presence struck everyone with terror just at the look of him.
He'd be lying if he said that didn't please him just a little bit.
He supposed this meeting required a more intimidating approach, or even that he was the only one to be trusted with making the trip all the way across from one end of Skyrim to the other in one piece. Two guards nodded low when he reached the gates, hiding their surprise at his departure from the city beneath their helmets and showing their respect simultaneously, even opening the towering, wooden doors for him. (Funny what a reputation could do for a man, what both literal and figurative 'doors' it could open.) Already waiting for him outside at the stables was his horse - the sturdy, majestic-looking young thing flicking its glossy white mane around and making a point of showing off. Its appearances were certainly deceiving.
One (of the many, many) things in this world that pissed the soldier off was this horse. Also was when people called her "a beautiful grey", which was surprisingly often. He didn't give a shit about all the horse-jargon for a start, or how she acted around people: his horse was a cheeky little white shit, and she'd been that way since he was "awarded" her for good deeds or something like that. He wholly testified that this horse was the bane of his existence, despite the undying loyalty, handiness in battle and uncanny efficiency for travelling she showed on a daily basis. All that barely made up for the complete dismissal of his guidance on recurring occasion (even if they did end up where they were supposed to be, maybe even a little quicker, in the end) or pit-stops to eat the foliage despite his own very vocal protests, or the general tricky personality the damned horse had. One time she'd bucked him into a pond, and he swore her neighing was laughter.
Pulling her from her display for the other, comparatively dull looking horses, he shoved a cube of sugar in her muzzle and in one motion, hauled himself onto the expensive, oak-coloured saddle that glinted streaks of white in the light of the sun. With the reins gripped in his hand and his sword hanging sure at his side, he gave a sharp kick to the horse's sides. Giving a loud whinny and a shake of her mane, the mare started off, great legs lurching and hooves pounding against the soft ground at a sudden speed, leaving Kurogane to almost fall back and growl as he pulled himself forward again.
This fucking horse.
After some time, when she'd grown bored of her gallop and receded to a reasonable pace, the Imperial had some time to look around the rural sprawl of land around him and let his thoughts wander rather than focus on staying on the speeding horse. They weren't too far from the city, just having past its boundaries and the river that bordered it, into free land. He couldn't be bothered hassling with the sailors back at the East Empire Company and intimidating them into lending him a boat for a short trip, or travelling from Solitude all the way to Dragon Bridge (there were other, far more personal reasons he avoided that place as often as possible…) so on horseback his steed and himself had braved the water and swam across the river. Now with damp legs, the two travelled onwards, passing by Morthal and keeping on South-East through the full day, sun heating the air and aiding their travels.
By the time that the day had dissolved to night, sun handing jurisdiction of the sky over to the two moons, Masser and Secunda, the soldier and his horse were beginning to grow weary. There'd been a few run ins along the way, including an ambush from a small wolf pack and a fight with a most unfortunate necromancer wizard who thought he'd try his luck against Kurogane, facing a swift decapitation once he'd gotten close enough and re-killed a newly animated corpse.
The sword cuts through the air with a whisper of speed, swinging and slicing a hollowed gash in the side of her greyed, rotting body. As she falls back into the arms of the death she'd been so rudely up-heaved from, she utters a thank you, and collapses - body scattering into fluttering ash as it meets the ground. Something cold spreads in Kurogane's chest at the sight, the distasteful magic making his skin crawl and shiver. With a feral growl, he lunges towards the cloaked mage. He can't be more than twenty, yet is so foolish as to dapple in arcane arts way past his calibre and even apply his misplaced confidence by attacking strangers? The raven haired warrior grins, red eyes glinting the very colour of the blood that pours from a newly severed neck, the end of his sword painted with streaks of wet crimson. With a thud, the disconnected head falls to the ground, rolling through rustling grass and stilling, a look of ultimate horror forever etched onto the pale face of the wizard.
Other than that, his journey had been fairly clear of issues. A bear avoided here and travellers passing there, nothing strenuous. Which is why Kurogane elected to continue on through the night and to rest once his mission was complete, only allowing his horse and himself a small couple hour's rest at a stream to drink and eat over a fire he'd made with his own hands - spell running familiarly from his fingers and into his flaming palm, catching onto the dry wood he'd collected. After the bout of recuperation (also contributed to by a bottle of mead - half drank by the Oculatus agent and the other half by his horse, that had a surprising taste for booze) they were straight off again, to travel across land under the watchful eyes of the moons, and the blue blanket of a clear night sky.
If only he'd had an inkling of what lay ahead tomorrow, maybe he'd have considered resting the night. But of course, fate doesn't quite work that way.
[A/N: Apologies for yet another action-less situation-and-characterisation-establishing-introductory chapter of ramble. Man, I didn't even give you any back story or anything juicy- I'm just terrible. If you're still with me, then stuff actually HAPPENS next chapter (!?1!). Like, proper STUFF. Also, anyone have an idea what character that we all know and love our horse might parallel?]