-Here I am again, excited for the next few chapters! They really get the chance to delve into some ideas I've had rattling around in my head for a while now. I feel confident I can pull them off! Anyway, enjoy!-
"Aaargh! Finally!" Lydia didn't even bother to disguise nor hide her voice as a mix between a groan and a shout. To her side, Siffre couldn't blame her at all. In fact, she herself was equally tired, but was trying to stay quiet during her own ordeal. Climbing 7,000 icy steps up a mountainside was one thing, but going down was a whole different matter entirely. But one that was no less exhausting. Her own calves were burning within, a cruel way to stave off the ever-present cold the mountain provided. Of course, to some degree, that cold became noticeably warmer and the icy winds died down more and more.
Eventually, Siffre and Lydia found themselves walking back down the last flight of stairs. There was now no mistaking they had touched back down on solid ground. Before them lay the familiar stone bridge over the river, and of course, Ivarstead. The place hardly changed at all since the two women had seen it yesterday, with its handful of crop workers and patrolling guardsmen that could also be seen outside.
"Remind me to 'never', go back up that-"
"I know, Lydia; you said this, remember?" Siffre cut in.
"Um, oh!" Lydia half laughed, half scoffed at her own mistake in memory, "That's right, I did say that!" She looked over to the settlement across the stone-bridge, "Well anyway, is it alright if we rest for a bit first at a tavern? My legs are burning."
"Yeah, mine too..." Siffre rubbed one of her legs as well, "Let's see if there is one in this place." With that the two women made their way across the bridge. Mid-way across however, Siffre's hand brushed down to her side to feel nothing. She looked down to the side of her waist, and with a frown was reminded yet again that she was without a weapon. She looked back up towards the settlement, "Maybe I can get a new weapon too..."
"Don't worry, Siffre," Lydia said, "We'll get you a new one in no time." This was a sympathetic circumstance; Lydia herself was briefly without her treasured sword during and after the fight with the dragon. Sentimentality aside, it was not a good feeling to feel so... defenseless, regardless of if she still had her shield with her. She could only imagine what Siffre must be experiencing as well.
The two reached the other side of the stone bridge, and a Rift guardsman immediately came into view.
"Oh! Here we go," Lydia pointed out, "Excuse me, guardsman?" The armored man stopped his patrol and turned in their direction.
"Hm, yes? Need something?"
"We were wondering, does Ivarstead here have a tavern, or some place to rest at?" Lydia asked.
"And also... is there a place here where... you can get weapons?" Siffre added.
"Unfortunately no, to the weapons anyway," the man shrugged his shoulders, "Ivarstead's a small hamlet, and we're without any blacksmith or vendors. But," he pointed his finger off to the side, down the dirt road, "Vilemyr Inn is where travelers stop to get food and drink. For all else, your best bet would be in Riften itself; try their market section."
"Ah, I see..." a disappointed Siffre said, "Well, thank you anyway."
"Safe travels." The guardsman walked away and back to his patrol. Siffre and Lydia then moved back up the trail where the guard had pointed them to. The building in question was of a decently large size, across from the lumber mill. They made their way up the building, up its stairs, and through the door to inside.
Warmer air greeted them upon entry, air with slight hints of savory aromas. Upon smelling, both Siffre and Lydia smiled slightly in response. Having gone so long from no food to the little that was available at High Hrothgar, they were eager to have something fill their bellies again. Walking in they could see this inn was more spacious, as well as the small number of patrons that were already inside. A hunter dressed in light fur armor, a nearby bard, and the barkeep conversing with her.
"I know Father, and I'm sorry," the woman could be heard saying, "I won't go there again, I promise."
"Good, see to it that you don't," the barkeep said. It was then that he looked up and noticed the two women entering the inn, "Ah, welcome! You travelers? Take a seat by the fire there." Lydia politely nodded and made her way to the center of the room with Siffre. The central fireplace held three chairs surrounding it, with the male hunter occupying one of them. The two ladies took the two empty ones next to each other, deep sighs escaping their lips.
"Say, aren't you two those travelers I'd met on the path yesterday?" the man spoke up after studying them. Lydia looked up; sure enough, she recognized him as the same hunter whom she and Siffre had encountered and gave them the salted meats. He had been sitting in his chair sharpening an iron dagger against a hand-held grinding stone.
"Oh, it's you," Siffre said, "Y-yes, it is us. Um, my name is Siffre, and this is Lydia."
"Barknar, well met," the man introduced himself.
"Oh, Lydia and Siffre, is it?" the barkeep called out, "What can I get for you ladies?" Dragonborn and Housecarl looked at each other, varying expressions.
"I don't know about you, but I could do with something that's not bread or cheese for once," Lydia said.
"Me too, I think..." Siffre agreed with a nod, then looked over at the man, "Any sort of meat you have? And... just some water for me." The man may have been a few feet across the room from her, but Siffre still found she had to lower her voice in spite of that. The tiniest of vibrating ripples could be felt however. If the barkeep or anyone else had noticed it, they didn't say anything.
"I'll have the same as her," Lydia said.
"Comin' right up," the man replied, and turned to whip something up from behind his counter.
"Excuse me miss? Are there any songs can you play?" someone's voice could be heard speaking. Another patron sitting at the side wall table had turned her head and was speaking to the local bard. The woman strummed a few strings on her instrument, tuning them.
"I know more than a few! Let's see..." the woman responded.
"Ah, something about this feels... good, I guess," Lydia said, relaxing in her chair. Siffre looked over at her.
"Hm? How do you mean?" she asked.
"'This'", Lydia indicated with her hands to their setting, "Taking a deserved load off at an inn after that little adventure, about to get some real food?"
"But, what about when we were up there?" Siffre pointed in a diagonal direction where she thought the Throat of the World stood, "We had some food and got to relax."
"My th- er, Siffre, all we were given was bread, cheese, and maybe a tankard of mead," Lydia clarified, "And also, the inside of that place felt drab and dreary. Some place like here, on more solid ground? This just feels more... right, somehow."
"So then," Barknar spoke up, "How went your trip to see the Greybeards themselves?" Siffre and Lydia shared a look with each other, as well as a shrugging of their shoulders, before looking back at him.
"It went well... about what one would expect," Lydia said.
"You know, I was hunting outside of Ivarstead when I heard that great Voice thunder off of the mountain," Barknar said, "The echoes on the wind... I wonder what that was all about...?" It was about now when the barkeep had approached them with two separate plates of food, and two tankards. He held them out to Siffre and Lydia, and the two women took them eagerly.
"Your food and water," he said, "That should be... fifteen gold."
"Oh yes..." Lydia quickly reached around into her coin purse, pulled forth the desired number of coins, and gave them to the man.
"Thank you, enjoy," the man returned behind the bar.
"Ah well, I suppose it's above someone like me to understand people like the Greybeards..." Barknar said, then stood up from his seat, "Time to get going. Wherever your journey takes you next, safe travels!"
"Goodbye," Siffre said as the man made his way out of the inn. She looked back down at the food before her: cooked fish with a half of a potato, and a full tankard of water. Simply looking at this food was in fact an improvement over what she'd had yesterday at High Hrothgar. On that she could definitely agree with Lydia. The fillet was just solid enough that she was able to pick it up in her fingers and not have it fall apart. She took a bite from it, where her tongue was immediately bombarded by flavor. Delicious!
"Oh, this is... it's good!" she said aloud to Lydia before taking more bites from it. The housecarl found herself smiling at this. It was almost strange in a way, but there was something she really liked about seeing her thane eat food. She looked so... happy, at peace. Was it simply satisfying one's hunger? If it was, well that was something she herself could relate to...
"We drink to our youth, and to days come and gone, for the Age of Oppression is now nearly done."
The gentle strumming of a lute in the corner could be heard, but that wasn't what got Lydia's attention per se. Her ears perked up as she listened to the woman sing this familiar song. She'd heard this song before, but... Those weren't the right words, were they?
"We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own, with our blood and our steel, we will take back our home."
Her food temporarily forgotten; a frown began to sport on Lydia's lips. 'Drive out the Empire'? When was that ever a part of this song? This was supposed to be a rallying song 'against' the Stormcloaks, not for them!
"Lydia? Are you... alright?" Siffre stopped her eating for a moment when she noticed her friend's face. The housecarl broke her stare from the bard with a shaking of her head, then looked back at Siffre.
"Yeah I'm fine, it's just..." she said, "I've never heard this song done this way before..."
"This song?" Siffre looked over her shoulder in the direction of the bard.
"All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King! In your great honor, we drink and we sing." the woman sang.
"Ulfric... Ulfric..." Siffre mulled the name silently as she returned her head forward, "That name again..." Lydia looked over at the Dragonborn, an eyebrow raised.
"Yes Ulfric, the one said to have murdered the High King of Skyrim..." Lydia explained. She trailed off however as Siffre looked up at her. Her face held confusion upon it rather than understanding. This in turned caused Lydia to tilt her head in confusion of her own. She understood this, didn't she?
"You... know of Ulfric Stormcloak, right?" she questioned.
"Um... I don't know if... I do," Siffre said. Her eyes glanced up at Lydia's, looks exchanging, and she sighed, "I... I'm actually not... 'from' Skyrim. I didn't grow up here, so I don't know of such stuff that's going on."
"No?" Lydia said, "Well... where are you from?"
"Cyrodiil," Siffre answered, "But you see... I'd only arrived in Skyrim recently, through..." She hesitated, but nearly stopped her train of thought, all from a painful memory that had re-entered her mind, "... Helgen." Lydia this time sharply drew in breath. News of the massacre at Helgen, by a dragon, had reached her and Jarl Balgruuf all the way in Whiterun. Yet another reminder to her that her very thane was indeed a survivor of that catastrophe. It could not have been easy for her, even when such time has passed.
She reached over and placed her hand on her shoulder, patting it. The gesture served its purpose, and Siffre drew in a calm breath this time.
"So yes... I'm not native to Skyrim... As I lived... near Bruma."
"I see... Bruma, that's just south of the Jerall mountains, isn't it?" Lydia said, to which Siffre nodded. Bard was still singing her song in the background, but by now was going unnoticed by the two women. They didn't pay attention to what she was singing, but the sounds of her lute still carried its gentle melody to their ears. Lydia took a quick sip from her tankard of water, "Well then, I've been hearing people say that Ulfric in fact used the Voice to murder High King Torygg!" Siffre's eyes narrowed at this.
"The Voice?" she said, "That's right... Arngeir did mention this; how this Ulfric... studied with them? How he can use the Voice? But... he can't be another Dragonborn, can he?"
"Gods I hope not," Lydia said, taking a longer sip from her tankard. The two sat in relative silence for a minute, silently eating the food before them. This was hefty information to consider, in addition to when they were first informed of it at High Hrothgar. Ulfric Stormcloak was in a high position of power as Jarl of Windhelm, but at the moment was his current reach. One definitely couldn't put past the fact that his further rise to power could be assisted with the Thu'um itself.
"Maybe..." Siffre spoke up, "Maybe I should.. speak to him." Lydia spun her head at her in surprise.
"What?"
"I mean, he knows the Thu'um, right?" Siffre explained, "Maybe... he'd know something I don't about it..."
"I..." Lydia hesitated. It wasn't that bad of a suggestion, especially in regards to the Thu'um, however, "Well... my thane, there is a delicate political situation here." Siffre's eyes narrowed in question, "You see, Ulfric is currently making a bid to become High King of Skyrim by ousting the Imperial legion already here. That's what this whole civil war's been about: his Stormcloaks against the Imperials. The thing is, Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun has never actually... er, 'supported' Ulfric's claim to the throne himself... at least, not yet I don't think."
"What does that have to do with me and the Thu'um?" Siffre softly questioned.
"Don't you see? If we were to appear before him, there's that chance Jarl Ulfric would recognize someone like me, who served... serves, Jarl Balgruuf as housecarl..." Lydia trailed off, hoping she didn't need to explain further. In fact, with her hand she lightly gestured to her sword, and Whiterun's symbol etched on the scabbard.
"He'd know you as... a servant of Balgruuf, right away?" Siffre asked, "So then... Are Jarls Balgruuf and Ulfric enemies...?"
"No- er, well I mean... they're not exactly 'friends' or..." the housecarl groaned. This was a subject that wasn't easy to both explain, nor really understand herself clearly, "It's... it's really complicated; politics and all that..."
"Oh..." Siffre looked down and away from Lydia. Her gaze fell back to her plate, and she was reminded that she still had some unfinished food still laying upon it, "I'm sorry... I hadn't realized... th-that this was all so..."
"Don't worry about it, Siffre," Lydia shook her own head, "It was like you said: you clearly weren't native to here, so you couldn't have known." The Dragonborn looked back up at her and nodded once. She appeared to discover her hunger again, as she picked her unfinished fish fillet back in her fingers and munched on it again. Following her example, she took her tankard and quickly downed its remaining contents down her throat. Her refreshed throat refreshed her head as well, as an idea came to mind,
"Besides, you still have that 'Power Word', or something, that the Greybeards directed you to remember?" Siffre quickly swallowed the last of the fish in her mouth, her eyes widening at the same time at the realization.
"Oh, that's right!" she said, "The Word of Power. Arngeir said I'd find it at... um, where did he say it could be found at?"
"Well let's see..." Lydia placed her tankard down and fished her hand into her side pouch. Her map was a simple, carefully folded piece of parchment, which Siffre could now see in clearer detail. Each unfold revealed parts of the map where its edges were slightly singed, and different parts of it were bleached different shades. Finally, the parchment was completely unfolded, the province of Skyrim literally laid out before them, "Alright, he said it was... here." Her tracing finger came to rest on the marked spot. The two inspected the spot closer to see where exactly it was. There was no denying it; the location was directly south of Windhelm, in a bare section of land.
"So... where is this exactly?" Siffre asked.
"This right here? That's Windhelm," Lydia explained as she pointed to the major city above it, "And this entire hold itself is called Eastmarch."
"So then..." Siffre looked closer at the map, "It looks like... we'd need to go... off to the left here, if we were going to... Windhelm..." she traced her finger along the barely visible road-lines that connected the cities.
"Yes, but... I'd recommend us going to Riften first," Lydia pointed out herself, "It's closer to where we are now, and more likely to have supplies for the journey ahead. Maybe even a store or smith to get a new weapon from?" Siffre's eyes flashed briefly as she was reminded of this.
"Oh yeah, that's right... I guess I do need a new weapon first, don't I?" With a smile, Lydia took the map and began to refold it by its creases.
"I may be your sword and your shield, but you yourself are the Dragonborn," she said, "Little reason we both shouldn't be able to fight for each other." Siffre returned Lydia's smile with one of her own and a nod. The two then returned to finishing their almost neglected, half-completed meal before them. Thankfully the fish and potatoes on both their plates held a little warmth in them still. They ate in relative silence, making idle small talk here and there. For every word she heard her speak, Lydia could hear less and less obvious vibrations exit Siffre's mouth in addition. Was she making a concentrated effort on this, or was it just coming naturally?
Eventually, the two rested women finally got up from their chairs. They returned their plates and tankards to the barkeep and made their way to leave the inn. There was still a considerable way's walk between Ivarstead and Riften, and there was healthy light above them in the form of a midday sun. They reoriented themselves in regards of where to go, and finally set off. Off to their right side, a separate ridgeline of mountains could be seen, a border between this province and the one beneath it. Yet these mountains paled in size compared to the Throat of the World's height even without the two being next to each other for reference.
With Lydia slightly leading the way, the two women began their walk. They may have a long walk before them, but at least this time it was on solid ground and had better scenery to look at this time.
Echoes of water dripping in drops could be heard in the air. The faint, dreary echoes seemed to ring on longer than they should. Perhaps living in a place like this one's entire life made them used to it. Or perhaps feelings of dread were somehow amplifying such small, meaningless noises to a nauseating degree.
For Illia, dripping water was the least of her worries.
In fact, the worries currently at the forefront of her mind only seemed to pile onto her already massive anxiety. This was really happening, wasn't it? She was really going to go through with this? She would actually try to escape? She mulled her plan over in her head with very step she took down the tower's steps and closer to the ground floor. It would be simple: just run away. Go outside into the open, out of earshot of her witch-sisters, and get as far away as she could. It could work, it had to work! All she had to do was just get outside-
"Illia."
No no NO! She'd hoped not to run into anyone along the way! And judging from the voice, it was obvious who had spotted her. She slowed her movement, turned her head, and her fears increased as her worry was confirmed.
"Movera..." Her witch-sister could be seen next to the opposite wall, arms crossed. Out of all of them, she was the one she could stand the least! Her face had smug and condescending written all over it. Illia always hated when she gave that look, to her especially. Always looking down on her, belittling her, thinking her worth less than the very ground she walked on. Sometimes it was as if she could read her more easily than she could read herself. But that couldn't be true, and definitely not now; there was no way she knew of her plan. She could talk her way out of this, "I was just... on my way... to carry out Mother's will..."
"To bring her a sacrifice, so she may ascend...?" Movera's face did not change, yet Illia managed to nod in response all the same, "Well then, all the best to you in your duty..."
Illia took a breath of relief but forced herself to restrain it as to not make it so obvious. It seemed to convince her, and she could actually be gone, "Th-thank you, Movera, I appreciate that-"
"Is what I would've said." The Imperial's heart stopped for half a beat. Relief in one second followed by absolute dread the very next! What did she mean? Didn't she believe her?
"H-huh? What do you mean...?" she asked.
"I mean..." Movera casually stepped to the side, revealing that she was actually standing in between something; a mage's staff, red shaft with a small crystal adorned at the top. One look at it, and Illia's eyes widened, "How exactly do you plan on luring in a sacrifice 'without' your charming staff?"
Illia struggled to maintain her outward composure, but inside her heart began racing. Why hadn't she remembered her staff?! It was common practice for her coven to use an illusion staff on the unsuspecting person to make them more susceptible to... suggestions. If she'd had it on her, it would've made her cover story more convincing! She was so dead set on abandoning this place she'd forgotten about it completely! What would she do now? Could she explain this?
"Of-of course not..." Illia softly spoke, "Did you really think... that I would forget it-?"
"I think?" Movera took a single step forward, "You want to know what I think? I think... that you were planning on running away." In turn, Illia took a single step back and away.
"What?"
"I also think it's time we stop playing innocent here..." Movera continued, "You, Illia, are weak, both in the Arcane, but more importantly you are weak-willed. It's a wonder why Mother ever continued to keep you around, much less groom you into something even resembling what she herself is." She slowly advanced closer to her with every word she spoke. Her tone was unrelenting in its biting edge as well as her face maintaining its perpetual smugness, "Of course, that in itself was never a bad thing, as there will always be last places in races to the top. No, that you plan to leave the very coven that took you in, raised you, and molded you into what you should be striving to be is an insult!"
"We sacrifice innocent lives!" Illia suddenly found herself exclaiming, "There is nothing good about this place, about us! I... I don't want anything more to do with it!"
"And you really think you can survive out there on your own?" Movera asked, "Please Illia, you wouldn't last a day. The Nords of this land greatly mistrust mages as well as Imperials. They will look upon you and know what you really are. At best you will be ignored, and at worst, you will be struck down..." Movera then crossed her arms and smirked, "On the other hand, a weak witch like you being removed from this world probably won't be too bad a thing."
At the beginning Illia's being was filled with terror that she had been found out. But now, with every word her witch-sister leveled at her, that fear slowly turned into anger. She was not weak! She wasn't! Her ice spells were definitely powerful, Mother had told her so! Just who was Movera here to tell her that she wasn't worth anything!?
"You... you stop talking now..." she tried to threaten. However, Movera merely heard the light stutter and her condescending smirk flashed.
"Maybe you and Mother should have a little chat. Here, I think I'll escort you to her-"
"NO!" Illia's body practically moved of its own accord. Her hand building potent frost from her fingertips, she built up the power and projected it forward into a sharpened ice spike. Her hand thrust forward and propelled the projectile out at her witch-sister. In a split second, she realized the full weight of what she had just done.
Movera on the other hand casually side-stepped the magicka projectile, allowing it to crash and shatter into the wall behind her. The two witches looked at each other, exchanging different faces. Illia's face had returned to terror, while Movera's was now holding excitement upon it.
"And you have attacked first, sister; you've sealed your fate!" her voice exclaimed.
"No no! I didn't mean to-!" Illia waved her hands in front of her to try and reason. But her witch-sister would hear no more, as her own hand began to build up magicka energy of her own. It coalesced into a small, smoking ball of fire, which she promptly launched at her. Illia quickly followed Movera's previous example and jumped out of the way, albeit gracelessly than she did. She hit the ground on her front, hard, while the fireball continued to sail past her to its new target. The fireball impacted against the wooden door directly behind Illia, striking it at its handle, and blew the door straight open. Light from the outside world instantly poured in to illuminate the darkness.
During Illia's eyes taking their time to adjust to the change in light, she glanced back over at her new assailant. Her own eyes had widened in their own surprise. Perhaps that was not intended on her part, but she had indirectly helped her. The way was now open to her, and she needed to capitalize on it! She scrambled to her feet as best she could, once or twice stumbling on the slickness of the wet rock floor. Her quick jostling movements managed to loosen the hood from her head, exposing it to the world around her. Behind her Movera's voice could be heard,
"Stop! Come back here!"
But Illia was already moving, running towards the light's embrace. It was immediately almost blinding, plus with no hood on to shield her only meant the light was even brighter than usual. There were still the broken, decrepit stone walls of the fort that she inhabited surrounding her. They stretched out like a father's broken arms trying in vain to shield his children from the outside world. But they couldn't hide the distant imagery of the world beyond. Skyrim was teeming with vibrantly colored trees, some of them rich green, but most of them were warmer colored. What a beautiful place, how could one say this place could ever be inhospitable?
The sound of fire magicka charging up behind her broke Illia from her temporary land gaze. She looked back and reacted just in time to dodge another fire ball hurled at her. Movera advanced closer to her, her face hardened with frustration.
"Give it up, sister, you're going nowhere!"
"Just leave me be!" Illia exclaimed, "If you think so little of me, why would you want me around?! I don't want to be here anymore anyway, so just let me go!"
"Don't you see? You may be weak, but you're still part of us," Movera shook her head, "Plus it's better to have someone like you around; weak and pathetic to remind us of our superiority!" Despite light frost emanating from Illia's fingertips, she clenched them into hard fists.
"I see..." she said, "If you really won't leave me alone... then I'll just have to stop you from saying anything!"
"You think it's just me you'll have to worry about?" Movera taunted, "You also think the others wouldn't have heard such loud commotion we've made? They'll know, and they'll be down here, for you. You really need to learn when you're outdone-"
"SHUT UP!" Illia charged both of her hands with potent ice this time. Her focus felt more one point this time as opposed to before. One right after the other, she launched sharpened icicles at her Movera. To her credit, the other witch was not simply able to side-step either attacks this time. Instead, as she remained stationary, she was forced to use one hand to project a spell ward in front of her. The clear shield slowly formed before her, well before either projectile could strike her own body. They made contact with the ward, and appeared to instantly melt, with the ward flickering briefly as they did.
This should have been enough for Illia to see that her simple magic attacks might not be enough, but her blood within was boiling with anger. Movera had pushed her one too many times simply with her being who she is, and now it seemed that she had finally gone too far. She could have very well let her be, but was instead threatening to make Sylvia herself aware of her intentions? No, she had to be dealt with. Which meant she wouldn't be giving up on single usage of her spells.
One by one, one right after the other, hand launched an ice spike, and another created one. Each one launched into the ward dissipated, with the ward slowly regaining its strength in between impacts. Its caster held a sturdy face, but inside, Movera was slowly being gripped with uncertainty.
'Blast it! She keeps launching these pesky attacks at my ward! Is she doing this intentionally?!' she thought with gritted teeth, 'At this rate, my magicka will be depleted purely from defense before I can counterattack! I've got to do something...' She held her unused had out to the side and let the magicka build up another fireball within it. It was now or never...
Everything before her suddenly flashed, and she felt her very magicka within her snap. In the wake of her surprise, she realized what had just happened- her ward had imploded upon too many of Illia's ice spikes colliding with it too frequently. She stumbled backward a few steps, and realized neither of her hands were projecting the spells she'd had before! Impossible! How had she managed to-?
Illia on the other hand was equally surprised. She'd been so focused on wailing Movera down constantly with her ice spikes she'd barely even registered that this was a possible outcome! And now, Movera was most likely defenseless, no immediate magicka available to save her. This next move would have to be quick and decisive. She brought her hands together, ice building up and merging together. She could feel it growing thicker in between her hands, almost threatening to break free from herself. Finally, she thrust both of hands forward, and a larger, more massive ice spike sailed through the air. Movera's eyes steadily grew more and more panicked as the realization set in.
"Grgh-!" The massive ice spike embedded itself through her midsection, throwing her to the ground and on her back. She coughed up blood, red droplets staining the front of her black robe. Illia's haze of anger quickly dissipated, and she looked upon what had just happened with clearer eyes. Her witch-sister Movera had just been mortally impaled, by her own attack!
"Wha-?" she uttered. She slowly advanced towards her body, moving quicker until she full on dashed over. The sight of her witch-sister's body nearly caused her to dry-heave right there. The ice spike that penetrated her midsection had almost melted to smoothness in the back. Dark red blood stained the base of it where it embedded itself in the front. The result was the ice took on a mix of a light blue and dark red glow all at once.
"Lu-... lucky hit..." Movera uttered, then proceeded to cough blood straight out her mouth, "I-I admit... I didn't think you'd... you'd be capable of this...!"
"Movera..." Illia softly said, "I didn't mean to... Here, I'll give you a-" Her words were cut short when the dying witch suddenly grasped the front of her robes with her fist. Despite being gravely injured, Illia could feel great strength in the pull alone. She was pulled in closer so that by now she had a clearer view of Movera's pained, yet hardened face.
"Don't you dare-" she started, then stopped when a bout of coughing interrupted her. Illia tried to recoil her head as best she could to avoid stray blood droplets being sprayed on her, "Don't you dare ... pity me! After all, a REAL witch of the... the coven of Darklight Tower... would never do that..." Slowly, Illia could feel Movera's grip on her robe growing looser and looser, "This will not be... forgotten, 'sister'... Fight? Run? What will... you..." The gripping hand slipped from off of her robe, and her head slumped to the side.
Illia frantically pulled herself back up to her feet. This wasn't right, she hadn't meant to 'kill' her! All she'd wanted was to just escape from this place! To get as far away from it as she could! But she had to be there and... and now this!
"What, what do I do?" she said. Her head darted back towards the tower, and its blown open door. Had the others heard her, like Movera had said? Were they really on their way? If they were, what should she do? Fight them off? Run from them? Of course, what about... Mother?
One of the most powerful mages she'd ever known. Her knowledge and execution of arcane spells definitely far exceeded her own. Combined with her intention to ascend, and become a hagraven? If that were to happen, there was that chance that she could track her down somehow if she were to run... What if she herself would be used as a sacrifice for that very ritual?
Memories flashed to the front of her mind, of innocent travelers who had been brought into the tower by her witch-sisters. People of many races, genders, sizes, and classes, all completely unaware of their future fates. There had been many more witches that had resided in this tower before, and then had gone as a result of the ritual. The special ritual known to her witch coven to convert a witch into a hagraven; an amalgam of human and beast not unlike a werewolf. Illia found herself remembering the travelers' faces right before they would meet their end, just how unassuming, yet content they looked. Was that really such a fair fate to befall them?
She looked down at her hands, still bearing tiny blood droplets of Movera's blood on them. She shook them hard, then rubbed them on her robes, desperate to clean them. Perhaps this was to be a symbolic gesture as well. Just as she wiped her hands clean of the blood on them, she would cleanse herself of this blemish from her life. No more would travelers fall victim to Mother-no, to Sylvia's ritual! It would end now! In her heart she still knew it was more or less a suicide endeavor, attempting to kill those whom she once called family. One more look at the face of Movera, somehow still bearing its smug grin, was enough to steel her resolve. There would be no turning back-
A sound of crunching leaves behind her, and Illia practically spun around. She instinctively held up her hands, ready to launch her magicka at a possibly new assailant. Her heart beating fast, her vision leveled, and she gazed upon who stood before her.
"Who-who are you?!"
"So, Siffre? I was wondering something," Lydia casually said. The two women calmly walked along the unbeaten path, in a Hold unfamiliar to the both of them.
"Hm? What is it?" Siffre asked.
"We're going to Riften right now, to hopefully get you a new weapon," Lydia said, "But I was wondering... what weapons are you proficient with? I mean, when we first met you were wielding a single-handed sword..."
"I do like using blades," Siffre softly replied, "But... not just ones for one hand. I actually prefer... the kind used with two hands. "
"Great-swords?" Lydia asked, to which Siffre nodded, "Those do tend to be more expensive..." She drifted her hand down to her side pouch filled with coins to get a rough feel of it, "It feels like we've got..." She looked back up at her thane, "Maybe we'll just see our options when we get there. I would suggest for now, stick to what you are most proficient with. You wouldn't want to run afoul as a result of what you're not the best with."
"I-I know..." Siffre replied, "I'm just saying that I am proficient with blades... both for one hand and for two..." Siffre trailed off again, but from looking at her face, Lydia saw that she was no longer immediately focused on her at the moment.
"Siffre?" she asked. Her thane's walking speed had slowed as well, forcing her to slow down as well, "What is it?"
"Look over there," Siffre pointed out. Lydia followed her pointed finger towards a distant figure: a stone structure, broken, weathered, and decaying. It definitely looked to be the ruined remains of an old fort, with shells of walls stretching out and away from a larger tower. Bits of moss and algae could be seen growing on some of the stones which helped it to blend in with the color of the Rift's eternal autumn color.
However, there was another thing that stuck out about this fort: sets of scorch and burn marks at the very edges of the walls reach. From the smoldering embers and dying flames, they were fairly recent.
"It's an old fort of some kind," Lydia noted, "Maybe we shouldn't-"
"No wait... I want to look closer..." Siffre cut in, slowly advancing towards the fort's outer walls.
"Siffre, wait-!" Lydia said. In this brief moment, Siffre had managed to slip forward so that she was now leading the way. With a light sigh, Lydia picked up the rear. There was no harm in the immediate moment, she was still here with her, had an adequate means of defending her from any assailant, and from what she could feel her senses were sharpened and alert. Whatever would mean them harm, she'd be ready!
They reached the edge of the fort's walls and slowly rounded its corner. The area within turned out to be a massive courtyard. In a way, these walls that stretched out and opposite each other felt like arms, shielding all in its center from something.
But this courtyard was not empty: something could be seen there. Or rather, someone.
"What-?" Siffre said, while at the same time her food stepped down and crunched a set of sticks beneath her boot. That single noise was enough, as a figure jumped to attention in response. The black-robed figure raised hands out and at her sides, fingers dripping with some sort of misty substance.
"Who-who are you?!"
-And there we have it! As a side note, anyone else notice how criminally Illia is underused in fanfiction? Here's hoping I can help with that a little (as one of my personal favorites!). Share your thoughts in the reviews and I'll get back to you all with the next chapter!
