Mori Rielle
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~Q~Q~
Gwendal cast a fireball that shattered the window, its stained glass collapsing in on itself. Stesha took off, sprinting fast and hopping through the opening. Hadvar and Gwendal chased after him. Flowerpots falling over in their wake.
"GET THEM!" They could hear Hroct's voice echo through the chamber.
Stesha and the boys ran off down the steps as knights started hooting and hollering for their comrades to be alerted. Stesha slipped and slid between the legs of one knight while Hadvar burst through two and kept running.
"CLOSE THE GATES!" Yelled Captain Arabella Isolt as Stesha's hamstrings screamed when he sped up.
"GO GO GO!" Hadvar yelled.
Crowds of people looked on in alarm as they struck past. Stesha shoved aside Alauna Gardner and saw a printer press up ahead, stacks of newspapers laid on top. Conjuring an idea, he punched the papers, and they flew into the wind, flying back and blinding the lancers on their tail.
"Evasive maneuvers, gentlemen!" Said Captain Arabella.
They sped up when the gate began to close and just managed to slip underneath it. The trio jogged around the wall towards the green aspen forest. They raced past the grape vineyards and darted up and over the hill. Stesha's breathing increased in frequency, rising, and falling with each footfall. Beaucourt Cumberland and Sebastien Horley were debating atop a picnic table.
"GET THE HORSES!" Hroct rallied his men as they took to the stables, Stesha noticed when he glanced back.
"We can hide in the forest." Hadvar entered the fray, and they followed. They shuffled quickly past bushes and swathes of greenery, moving behind a tall rhododendron. "Come on, on the other side of this."
They pushed aside the sticks and branches, hiding on the other side of the bush, just in time as several horses raced past them. A few bunnies galloped around in confusion as birds took flight from the trees. Hroct was on one of the horses and Stesha noticed the Nord look slightly back, smiling at… him? But the brute didn't turn around or redirect his men, he instead looked ahead and kept riding.
Huh, what? Maybe he didn't see me.
The horse hooves hitting the ground could be heard resonating in the distance. Long until finally, they were out of sight.
"Alright. Let's get out of here before this stick goes up my—," Gwendal began but Stesha shoved him ahead.
"That way." Hadvar pointed towards the hills north of them. Small flowers paraded the hilltops and grass was spread everywhere. The further they went, the taller it became.
A few hunters gave them raised brows and widened eyes as the boys climbed the hill and went around the hiking trail. Stesha could feel the tempo of his breathing steady as they settled into a brisk walking pace over the bark and dirt that painted the path ahead. The lemon-lime uplands eventually transitioned into thick pine tree forests. Owls, foxes, raccoons, squirrels, and other woodland creatures inhabiting the holt.
"What should we do, where should we go? Wind Keep?" Gwendal suggested. "We grab some provisions and make for Skyrim."
"No," denied Hadvar with a sigh. "The first place Hroct will check is Wind Keep. No, we'll cross the Bjoulsae Bridge then head toward Evermore. After that we'll cross the Alik'r Desert into Cyrodiil."
Stesha's eyebrows shot upward. "The Alik'r Desert? Do you know how dangerous that is?"
"Trust me, you'd rather be there than freezing to death in Skyrim. Do you know that nearly the entirety of that province is covered in snow?" Hadvar stared back at him. "My parents, Elm and Mary left for a reason. Uncle Alvor was quite upset, but my mother was pregnant with me, and they wanted to raise me in a safer place so they chose High Rock."
"Yeah, but there's a reason it's such a good place for fugitives to hide out in." Gwendal ran a hand through his short brown curls. "Trust me, the people of Cyrodiil will figure us out. While people in Skyrim look the other way and mind their own business."
Hadvar ignored him, dirt marring his face, and walked onward. And so, the long march out of Menevia, Stormhaven began. The group pressed on through the trail which led to the lower portion of Orsinium hold. Low flood plains where they could spot outlying farms and tall windmills churning away grains. Farmers tilling the ground as lumberjacks hacked away on trees. Green flatlands that stretched on forever until finally morphing into black wastes with twisty, rotten trees and ruins of Direnni architecture. White and grey colonnades. Until at long last they came upon the Bjoulsae Bridge.
Unfortunately for them, a Breton guard was posted there. He wore a cap and had an Imperial mustache, all over some chainmail and silver boots. The bridge itself was massive and spanned over the river of the same name. Stesha could see fish swimming beneath it in the waters. Tight ropes fastened over it and tied down into the bay connector points.
"Alright, listen, we can take him," Hadvar began. "That's if he starts asking questions."
"We won't kill him though, right?" Stesha gulped; he'd never killed anyone before, and he didn't ever want to.
Hadvar shook his head. "No." The Nord scratched his stubble.
The three strolled out onto the path, carefully and quietly trailing over to the bridge. The guard eyed them as they passed, taking note of their scuffed-up clothes. They passed him by with no problem as the sun began its descent back into the ocean. Orange clouds erupted over the skyline as the shadows of Masser and Secunda became visible.
"Hey, wait a second." The guard turned around and so did Stesha and his friends.
None of them moved.
"You're that famous Skyrim poet." The Breton guard approached Hadvar, sizing him up and down. "What was your name again, uhm, Ulrich Thjournson, right? I swear you Nords, where do you come up with such ridiculous names."
"Why uhm." Hadvar's face went pale. "Yes, that would indeed be I, the famous Ulrich! The river withers when you come hither."
"Aah, you see, I'm smart like that." The guardsmen crossed his arms. "I knew it was you from the moment I laid eyes on you. Old Frele Gericault never forgets a face. Well, you see Mister Ulrich, I know you're a master poet and all, but I was hoping you'd give me some advice on my poetry."
"We really need to be going," Stesha intervened, tapping his foot against the paved stones.
"No please!" The guard pleaded. "It'll only take a second, I promise."
Hadvar did a circular motion with his hand. "Very well."
"Art thou my fiend in thy sheets my lord," Frele sung horribly, "the fair maiden's name was Carat, and Carat was quite like a parrot. Loud and mean. But she did there take my rod in her spleen."
Stesha and Gwendal turned around and covered their mouths, hiding the laughter that was struggling to get through. Stesha choked on his laugh while Gwendal's face turned red. His throat pained as he forced the laughter to subside.
"Uhm yes, very good, very good indeed." Hadvar clapped. "Now I must really be going."
Frele beckoned once more, "do you think I have a future as a poet, good sir?"
"Yes, a very profitable career. In fact, you should quit being a guard and pursue that instead." Hadvar began walking off.
"It's high time I pursued my dreams. I'm done being a guard." Frele threw off his helmet and marched away.
A few hours later they arrived in Evermore of the Western Reach, dumping themselves outside the city in a barn with a bunch of hay. Some farm animals such as a lamb and cow were frolicking about. The region of Mournoth, Bangkorai where the city resided was thickly forested by the Viridian Woods, with flowing rivers and dangerous crags. Halcyon Lake lie in the center as the jewel of it all far off upland. Contrasting horribly with the ugly town of Evermore which lay within a crude oval-circular wall, the head-monarch's castle in the middle, elevated above the rest, peering over the town and nearby graze-lands and river-port. A cove Stesha knew thanks to his geography books called Jackdaw was at the other side of the lake, near some Ayleid ruins. Even from here he could see the congregation of nereids, halflings, and horsemen. A few jackals snapped past him, returning his attention to the foreboding city above. Aquatic fauna dotted the gravelly coastline, and the air smelled pungent.
"We'll spend a few days here then progress to the Hammerfell border. Come on Stesha, you and I will go into town and buy some hair bleach and clippers. We need to disguise ourselves," Hadvar explained calmly.
"Do whatever you want but you guys aren't laying a finger on my hair," Stesha warned. "I like it long and I like it dark."
"Don't worry Stesha, we'll find you a handsome Redguard man." Gwendal smiled.
"SHUT UP GWENDAL!" Stesha hissed like a viper.
The Armure Gate was open across a short bridge that covered a mote. Wooden, old, and clearly rotten. The inside of the mote made of asphalt. The one silver-armored knight on post barely spared them a glance as they strode past into the city greater. Evermore was comprised mainly of dirt roads, shabby, stilted hovels, and piles of hay here and there where the beggars and lowlifes congregated, outside The Stalls and Evermore Cemetery. Wash troughs were situated in odd spots as well.
Stesha then saw the burned down Chapel of Saint Pelin Bendix. Thank the gods I don't live here. Archbishop Sherine Von-Weiss was hosting a sermon among the silts of the church. Stesha knew her because she had once come to Wind Keep and preached a message on Saint Charlamagne Guice.
He noticed a sign hanging above one of the buildings that had a hair logo imprinted on it. Stesha and Hadvar stepped in, pushing aside the door. A grungy woman with brown hair up in a bun resided at the counter, examining her appearance in a hand-held mirror. – The salon reminded him of the buildings of Bravil that he'd seen in paintings. Treen everywhere, a rug, and that was about the most curious thing he could find.
"I'm Loire Faye, how can I be of service?" She asked mechanically in her bretic accent, still studying herself in the small reflective glass.
"We need some hair bleach and a pair of clippers." Hadvar approached her, making sure not to get too close.
"You want it blond, leave it on for one hour," she replied, still not sparing him so much as a glance.
"Alright then." Stesha pulled out his coin-purse from his small cross-shouldered satchel. "How much?"
The nasally sounding Breton pulled out a book from beneath the counter and ran her fingers over her tongue to help her turn the page. She scrolled through, filing a few folios before saying, "thirty guice."
Stesha handed over the exact amount, thankful that he left Wayrest Chateau with some gold. She opened a different book that was already on the counter and dipped a quill-pen in some ink. "Your name and age please?"
"Uhh," Stesha murmured, thinking quick, "Matthew Motre. Nineteen."
"Motre, eh?" Drawled the woman, penning down the name. "Of the nomadic Motre clan up north?" She reconnoitered him for the first time since his arrival. "You don't exactly look like a nomad though."
"Err... sure?" He lied. "You've never seen me before though."
"You know, they say the Motre clan has links to nobility in Northpoint and ties to the Motierre family," Loire went on, rifling through her supplies. "Oh, that Amaund Motierre and his son, Merard, aren't they something? Amaund is in the Elder Council, did you know!?"
Ugh, politicians.
"Oh, that's cool," Stesha yawned, covering his mouth with his left hand.
"Don't tell me you haven't heard of the Motierre's! Very prestigious Breton family down in Cyrodill." She closed her book, yellow eyes bouncing animatedly.
"What's the hair bleach made of?" Stesha queried, trying to change the subject.
"Lye soap, flower petals, and ash," she said.
"We should go," Hadvar intoned, clearly wanting to go. The Nord's light imperial armor was torn and raggedy in a few places.
She reached under her desk once again and pulled out a pair of hair clippers, handing them to Hadvar, along with the bleach. "Remember, one hour for blond."
"Thanks," Stesha offered urgently, making a hastened getaway before the annoying lady could pester them further. As he was getting out, he kicked something over and a box broke open, several things falling out including a stuffed doll of a Nord vampire woman, fully dressed with black hair.
Stesha didn't know why but he couldn't keep himself from looking away. He bent down to grab it, turning around with a question on his face.
"It's my niece Avery's stuffed doll. Course she doesn't play with it anymore." Loire flicked her hands. "What, do you want it?"
Stesha nodded. An attached tag on the toy's arm read; I love you.
"Alright weirdo." Loire shook her head.
Stesha, gripping the doll in one hand, rushed back up to the gate but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who was pacing up the dirt road.
"Hroct," said Hadvar.
Stesha pulled his hood over his likeness and spun on his heels to walk a few steps down an alleyway with a water well towards the end of it. Hroct zoomed right past them. Stesha took a shufti round, hastily trailing the six-feet tall Nord. The royal advisor had marched right up to the Argonian bailiff of Evermore, who was loitering near the Anchor's Point Pub, entertaining a few knights.
"Kantora," Hroct began, "I'm looking for Stesha Jade, Hadvar Liox, and Gwendal Opal. You seen them?"
"Oh, well hello, how are you?" The bailiff said, rotating on the balls of her feet to regard the bald son of Skyrim.
"I'm in no mood for pleasantries, Rathe-Scales. Just tell me if you've seen them or not." Hroct squared his boulder shoulders.
"Why don't you," she hiccuped, "describe them and maybe I'll tell you if I've seen them," the Saxhleel coughed again, "or not."
This is going to be a long conversation. Stesha cupped his forehead.
Hroct rolled his gold, his other eye blinded with a scar through it. He dusted off his broad armor-pads. "Three boys; two Bretons and a Nord."
The lizard stared at him with vacant pupils, playing with one of the fins on her head. "Like that's going to narrow the search."
"Do you have any idea where they might've gone? Is it possible any of them have been here?" Hroct was speaking so loudly a flock of birds flew off from the pub's roof.
Stesha cast another sneak around the settlement. Mud puddles, small stalks of grass, and ruined buildings with no sewage or drainage since people were bathing in the streets inside of big wooden buckets. A few War Knights were jousting on one end of town while two scantily clad women sashayed up the incline towards Castle Evermore. The fat Lord of Evermore named Sigmayne Herne was between the women, he had an ugly mutton-chop beard, the chin area shaved off. Lord Sigmayne was smoking a pipe with his hands dangerously close to the women's derrières.
"You're no help," grunted Hroct, facing away from the drunken Kantora.
"Alright, alright, I'll tell you where I think they went," she fessed up, clearing her throat. Stesha listened in, cupping his ear. "It just so happens I've been informed about these little boys of yours."
Stesha crept a little nearer, ducking behind a barrage of barrels. The musty smell of alcohol gave him the urge to retch.
"They're not my! They're wanted for selling skooma!" Yelled Hroct, attracting the attention of nearby passerby.
Something fishy about all this.
"Whatever. There's a secret skooma operation going on in Skyrim's underworld. Don't tell anyone I told you, but maybe they're there," exclaimed the Argonia native.
"Finally, a lead." Hroct peered up at the sky in supposed triumph. "Thanks, Kantora. Take care." Then the nordic advisor left, heading out of the city, muttering to himself, "maybe he's here. He'll know where I need to go."
That woman must have deep connections. I've never even heard Skyrim and skooma in the same sentence before. Always thought it was a Morrowind and Elsweyr thing?
Stesha and Hadvar trailed behind him a ways, giving Evermore another pitied glance. A few chickens ran amuck, a boy sat in a mud puddle with his passed-out father next to him, craft beer bottles lying around.
But something wasn't right. How was Hroct this incompetent? It almost felt like he was trying to chase them out of High Rock? But that wasn't possible, it didn't make any sense. Why would anyone want three random boys chased out of High Rock? We haven't done anything to make ourselves a target. No, Stesha was dreaming up fantasies again.
"Well, I think it's safe to say that Evermore is the darkened beauty that High Rock has to offer," Hadvar laughed a little.
Stesha and Hadvar exited the rundown hellhole of a town and headed out back to the barn. The lake glowed as night descended upon the region, the moons shining brightly. Stesha grabbed the hair bleach and started pasting it over Gwendal's brown strands whilst Hadvar gave himself a haircut, matching Gwendal's short, messy style. Whereas previously, Hadvar's semi-long hair looked closer to Stesha's.
Hadvar stood up, cupping his face. "Gonna let my stubble grow out a bit to disguise me further." Hadvar now had short hair, the same style as Gwendal.
Gwendal however, his hair now all pasty, sat in the corner, patiently waiting for his new blond hairdo.
Stesha sat down and leaned against the farmhouse wall. It was dark and full of hay. Wooden poles holding up the raised roof. "I wonder where the farmer who owns this building went."
"Beats me." Shrugged Hadvar.
Stesha pet a lamb as it reared its head at him, curling up in his lap. "Man, can we just talk about this though."
Gwendal clenched his jaw. "What I wanna know is what Hroct is planning to do with the skooma, and if he will really pursue us in Skyrim."
I need some skooma.
"It's a farce to throw suspicion off himself, he had a reason to set us up. He won't go to Skyrim. But just to be safe we'll make for Hammerfell in a few days. We'll go through the Dragontail mountains and rob some clothes on our way, so we don't freeze to death," Hadvar explained. "Selling skooma is a province-wide offence. We have to leave."
"I wanna go to Skyrim to be honest." Gwendal crossed his arms.
"I get the feeling this whole charade is a setup. Someone wants us out of High Rock. I just don't know who or why." Stesha put his face in his hands as the lamb tried to comfort him. "I knew something was wrong with Hroct."
"Imagine what they would've done had we not escaped." Hadvar pet Stesha's head.
Stesha closed his eyes, seeing the crow-masked man behind the eye of his mind.
~Q~Q~
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