Chapter 21:
Beras breathed in deeply, taking in the familiar scent of Cyrodiil's Northern air. Their journey through the Colovian Highlands was coming to an end, and he could see the walls of Bruma in the distance. Alix had decided that they would be spending the night there, and he was not one to complain; the bitter wind was a sure sign that a snowstorm was approaching.
After the storm parted, they would head North towards Skyrim, passing Cloud Ruler Temple on the had been so long since Beras had stepped in the halls he had grown to know as home. He sighed as he thought of the warm, crackling fire, and the view from the top of the walls that let him see forever.
"Remember," Sabona said suddenly, snapping Beras back to reality. "Once we're in the city, we need to make sure we don't draw attention to ourselves. We're three pilgrims traveling Cyrodiil to pray at the Wayshrines of the Divines, not Daedra worshipers on their way to a temple in Skyrim."
Beras nodded, and looked up at the sky. Clouds were rolling in on the horizon, and fast. It could be a blizzard.
"Sabona!" Alix exclaimed, slapping herself on her forehead. "We're such fools!"
"What!?" Sabona shouted, looking around in search of danger. "What's wrong!?"
"Our robes!" Alix cried. "We're wearing the robes of Meridia's Acolytes, all three of us! So much for avoiding attention!"
Sabona groaned. "You're right. As unlikely as it is that someone would recognize them, we can't take any risks." He swung a sack that he was carrying over his shoulder, and started rummaging in it. After a minute or so, he had extracted three pairs of plain brown robes. "I meant to have us change earlier, but evidently it slipped my mind."
He tossed one of the robes to Beras, who failed to catch it. After picking it up, he stood there for a moment looking down at the clothes.
"What's wrong?" Alix asked.
Beras looked up. "There's nowhere to change," he said dumbly, feeling his face turning red.
Sabona rolled his eyes. "We won't look. Now hurry up and put those robes on before we're noticed."
It was not long before the three of them arrived at the gates to the city. Beras stared up at Bruma's emblem, a bird in a yellow oval. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Beras turned to see several paint horses taking shelter from the wind underneath a small shed-like structure. He could not help but smile at the sight of something that reminded him so much of home.
The guards hardly seemed to notice them as they entered the gates, only glancing at them briefly as they walked by. Beras could not decide if he thought this was a good or bad thing; if they were stopped, they could draw the attention they so desired to avoid, but if they were not, it would imply that most people weren't. Security within the cities had clearly gone down since the start of the war.
All the houses in Bruma looked similar, with pointed roofs and wide windows, and wood used for almost all of the foundations. Beras liked them. They looked welcoming and warm compared to the cold outside.
"We'll be staying in Olav's Tap and Tack," Sabona said. "It's the cheapest inn in Bruma." He turned left to face the place, and wrinkled his face up in disgust. "And for a good reason."
Upon entering the building, Beras nearly passed out from the strong scent of alcohol. The few inns he had encountered in his life had always possessed a slight odor of the stuff, but the level of it here was outrageous.
He quickly spotted the source of the smell; three nordic men were sitting at a table, apparently in the middle of a heated drinking contest. The first had long, blonde hair, and was short for a nord, but still much taller than Beras. The man next to him, who was laughing drunkenly into his mug, was very tall, and had an odd build that was a combination of muscle and fat. The last was bald, but Beras could not make out much more of him, as he had either fallen asleep or passed out.
Beras had never really liked the idea of alcohol. Why would you drink something that tasted bad, smelled bad, and made you do reckless, impulsive, and destructive things? This sight only strengthened his opinion.
The first nord, the one with the blonde hair, belched loudly and looked up at Beras and his comrades. He smiled, his eyes bloodshot and half closed. "Hey you!" he called, his words slurred and slow.
Beras looked around at Sabona and Alix, who were both looking at him with blank expressions. He was obviously the one being spoken to. Suddenly, he felt light in the head, but he turned towards the man regardless. While trying to respond, his voice got caught in his throat, and only a small squeak came out.
The man threw back his head and laughed. "Think you can hold your drink against a nord?" he challenged.
Beras blinked. "Uh, no," he mumbled. "I, uh, I don't actually drink, and I'm not one for competition."
The second nord looked up from his mug. "What's the matter?" he sneered. "Are you a milk drinker or something?" He stood up, knocking his chair over in the process.
Beras cringed as the man made his way over to him and wrapped his arm around him. Passively trying to resist, he felt himself being forced across the room and, in moments, found that he was sitting in a chair with a mug of ale thrusted into his hands.
"Uh," he stammered. "I, uh, no. Just, no, I don't-"
"Aw, shut up!" the first nord shouted. He grabbed the mug, and started pushing to towards Beras' face.
Beras did not know what was wrong with these people. On a second thought, he did; they were drunk. He tried to resist, but he was being overpowered. Suddenly, he realized.
He had seen this before, a hundred times over. The strong overpowering the weak. The Thalmor attacking Anvil. Inyen torturing her prisoners. The necromancer using people as puppets. Even the horses he so loved were domesticated and taken away from their natural state because something stronger than them desired it.
Was this the way the world worked? It seemed so cruel, so ruthless and unfeeling. But there was no denying the evidence. Too many times had he seen something beautiful end because something more powerful than it willed it to die on a whim. And he was done with it.
Glancing at Sabona, he felt his own eyes burn with a new fire. The argonian nodded his approval, clearly aware of his thought process. Gritting his teeth, Beras pushed against the nord with strength he never knew existed within himself. The ale splashed over his face, dripping off of his nose.
The nord stood still for a moment, clearly surprised that Beras had actually fought back, then proceeded to punch him in the face.
Beras toppled over backwards, blood oozing from his freshly cut lip. Backing up a bit, held out his hand. A golden light appeared, and his cut vanished. He knew he could not win this, as he had absolutely no combat experience, but he did not think he could lose either. He had the advantage of restoration magic.
Just as the nord was about to throw another punch, his arm froze in place. Sabona had caught it in mid swing, stopping it with no evident effort. "Leave," he snarled, menacingly. "I've had enough of this."
Though he was not even the one being threatened, Beras felt chills run down his spine. Sabona was scary. There was no other way to put it. The nords seemed to think so as well, as they got up without another word and left, dragging their unconscious friend behind them.
"Well," Sabona said, turning his gaze to Beras. "I hope you're pleased."
Beras furrowed his eyebrows. He was not sure he understood, as he was not the one who started any of this. He just got dragged into it.
Suddenly, Beras was pinned to the wall, Sabona's forearm pressed against his neck. It happened so quickly, he did not even register what had happened.
"You did the one thing we weren't supposed to do; draw attention to ourselves," Sabona growled. "And I know what you're going to say, that it wasn't your fault, that they started it. Well I don't care."
Beras blinked, outraged. "What are you even saying?" he cried. "You gave me the look! The look that means 'you should do what you think you should do'!"
Sabona released him and took a few steps back, smiling. "Well done."
Dumbfounded, Beras did not move and stared blankly at the argonian. "What?" he said flatly.
"You were right," Sabona explained. "That the weak give way to the strong. By standing up to me, you have proven that you've grown stronger." He paused, breathing in heavily. "But I gather that, quite like Alix and I, you have no desire to use that strength for personal gain."
Beras shook his head.
"Good," the argonian said. "Then gain power so you can stop those who would."