Chapter 4
Interesting People on the Road
"The road is full of interesting folk. Some friendly, some not. Keep one hand on your knife when you aren't sure which is which "-Lucky Thlagmar, a character in the play Kolgan's Hunts, act 2 scene 3. Written by Alegia Tubali in 3E 357 and first performed 3E 359.
"Come on Hammel, be brave..."
Hammel stirred as the memory faded. Someone woke him up and he was grateful to them. He didn't like exploring his past, especially involuntarily.
It was the smell that he noticed first, warm alcohol mixed with nutmeg and ginger. His eyes snapped open and he took in the surroundings. He was still on the bench with his back against the wall at the Sleeping Giant. The inn was abandoned aside from Delphine.
She was standing directly in front of him, waving a tin cup under his nose. Based on the smell, it was full of warm, spiced wine. In Delphine's other hand was a pewter plate stacked high with a hunk of bread and wedge of goat cheese. "Eat, drink," she commanded, shoving the food at the barely conscious Hammel.
Groggily, he took the plate and cup. "Do you do anything other than give orders?" He muttered, taking a sip of the spiced wine. It was absolutely delicious.
"Yes. I also sweep the floors." There was a glimmer in Delphine''s eye, showcasing the humour she intended despite her deadpan tone.
Hammel smiled a little. It was good to know she wasn't some Dwemer automaton. The bread proved just as good as the wine, rich, flakey and freshly baked. "Where's everyone else?" Hammel asked, finishing the bread and starting on the cheese.
"Mostly still resting," Delphine answered, sitting in the chair across from him. "Gerdur went over to Alvor's to get you fitted for some armor." Delphine looked him up and down, "You'd be dead as High King Torygg if you fought in that getup. Besides, you'll scare skeevers to death and bruise vegetables with that beard. So, once you're done with breakfast, it's down to the river with you. You should have enough time to shave and clean yourself up before I have to shuffle you along to the smithy."
Stuffing cheese down his throat, Hammel said deadpan, "No peeking."
"Can't make any promises," Delphine riposted with a smirk. "Good-looking men are hard to find these days."
"I thought my beard frightened skeevers and bruised vegetables?"
"I'm betting you're not half bad without it."
Draining the rest of his wine, Hammel shrugged, "I don't know what makes a man attractive. I spend my time ogling maidens." After scraping the rest of the crumbs into his mouth, he put his dishes down and cracked his neck.
"Here," Delphine said, tossing him a bundle. "You'll find fresh clothes, a bowl, and a razor. Please put them to good use. Now come along." She stood, motioning for him to follow.
Getting shakily to his feet, Hammel shrugged, "Let's get on with it." Delphine breezed past him with remarkable grace. Hammel followed his much smaller guide out the door into the bright new day.
It was a cool Nordic morning, complete with crisp, sharp air. The town was mostly quiet, save the sounds of hammer on anvil. No doubt Alvor was the source of that sound.
Delphine took him to a slight bend in the river, just outside of Riverwood's walls. The bend was hidden from the town by a cluster of evergreens, protecting his modesty from the passing gaze of any careless villager. It almost seemed man-made, with several large rocks providing makeshift seats and low branches for hanging clothes. They were alone, aside from a few curious squirrels.
"Here we are," Delphine said, "Strip and deposit your old clothes on this rock." She put the bundle of clean clothes and utensils next to the rock she'd mentioned, giving it a little pat for clarification. "I'll be behind the pines if you need me."
Hammel nodded before removing the blood-soaked tunic. Standing bare chested in the cool morning breeze, he gazed into the river.
He saw his own face staring back at him. Haunted brown eyes, with the glassed-over look of a man who's seen too much suffering, sat over a wide nose whose crooked bridge testified to its shattered and poorly re-knitted history. Two average ears filled out a face framed with shoulder-length auburn hair. A square chin was hidden behind a shaggy beard and moustache grown far beyond his liking. It was an unspectacular face but it was his and it served him just fine.
Sitting on the riverbank, Hammel pulled off his fur boots with a groan. A quick glance at his feet proved he shouldn't have been walking. His skin was hidden beneath dried blood and dirt. A dozen tiny cuts decorated each foot, little tributes to the pain he'd endured. Dunking his feet in the river with a contented sigh, Hammel let the water wash the grime away. Reaching for the razor, he unsnapped it and took the straight blade to his face.
Using the river as a makeshift mirror, Hammel started cutting, removing the moustache and trimming his sideburns down to a more reasonable size. Hammel shaved off the majority of the rough beard, leaving his chin covered with a goatee. Glancing at himself in the river again he saw a very different face. He was still a man with his fair share of old scars, but now he was clean and ready for the future.
Stripping out of what remained of his pants, Hammel dived naked into the river. The water was crisper than he expected, striking him with a deep chill. He remained submerged, feeling all the blood, grime, and dirt wash away, savouring the feeling of revival given by the cold Nordic waters. The water cleaned his left shoulder revealing his unusual tattoo, the star of Azura combined with the mighty sword of Talos, signifying strange religious views. The right shoulder's tattoo was the Imperial Dragon that signified the Legion, stamped in simple black lines. A few other marks decorated the man's flesh, each with little meanings, each a little part of his soul.
All good things come to an end.
Hammel clambered onto the beach, drying himself as quickly as possible with a blanket Delphine left for him. The clothes fit well enough, the linen shirt was a bit loose but hardly worth complaining about. "That looks better," Delphine said approvingly, emerging from the treeline as Hammel pulled his boots back on. "The shaving I mean. Nice little beard." Her tone was almost serious.
"Glad you think so," he riposted dryly, giving the boots one final tug. "I was thinking of you when I chose it." He held his arms out with a "can we get on with it?" gesture.
"Come with me," Delphine said. "Alvor's finishing up your thank-you package now." He followed her, eager to get his hands on any form of protection.
Anything that can keep me alive another day is worth having.
More people were stirring as Delphine led him to Alvor's. The old woman from the previous night was back, tanning her leather silently. Hod was out by the mill, loading logs for the day's shipment, while an Imperial with a trim beard was opening up the general store, and Frodnar played in the street with his dog. A Bosmer with a bow slung across his shoulders carried a pile of firewood towards the mill, gazing longingly at the general store.
Alvor was sitting at the grindstone, sharpening one of the two swords Hammel had acquired during his flight from Helgen. Gerdur stood next to the smith with arms crossed. As they arrived, Alvor looked up from the grindstone. "Try on the armor, it's on the table. Thanks for bringing him, Delphine."
"Happy to," she responded casually, "I'm going to clean up." With a polite nod she departed, no doubt planning to occupy herself with menial tasks.
"Your armor's made from boiled leather," Alvor explained as Hammel approached the table. "It can take a few hits and deflect lighter blows. It won't hamper your movement or make too much noise. From what I've been told, you prefer the lighter armor."
The armor was magnificent. It was a dull brown color and made a satisfying rapping sound when Hammel tapped his knuckles against it. It had been studded with steel bolts for extra protection throughout the chestpiece and shoulderguards. The gauntlets and boots were of compatible quality to the armor, though appearing closer in design to standard Legionary equipment than the rest. Even as Hammel put it on, he knew it would serve him well.
The armor fits, thank Zenithar for that. Now for the helmet.
Unlike the rest of the armor, the helmet was made from iron. It was simple enough, a skullcap moving down into the nose and cheek guards. What made it stand out from other iron helmets he'd seen were the two curved horns. They emerged from either side of the brow and looked suitably intimidating.
He put the helmet on and was buckling the chinstrap into place as Gerdur approached him. "I took most of your loot down to the trader's for you. You'll find the coin he gave for it far easier to carry, and more useful besides," she explained while passing him a coin pouch.
Taking it, Hammel asked, "Do I get to keep the wine?" Gerdur nodded. "Good." Slipping the bag into a belt pouch Alvor had built into the armor Hammel said, "I guess I'm ready."
Alvor returned Hammel's swords, their blades hidden within new scabbards, and attached them to his belt. "I've also put a loop on the back for a bow, just in case you wind up purchasing one." Hammel cursed himself for abandoning Ralof's bow after leaving the cave. He'd have to find another. Adjusting a gauntlet ever so slightly, Alvor said, "Gerdur told me what you're doing for us, making the journey to Whiterun for people you don't know. I wanted to say...thanks for that."
Despite the blacksmith's gruff tone, Hammel could tell he was touched. He never knew what to do with praise or thanks so he brushed it off. "I had nothing better to do. Besides, I'll probably get killed."
Alvor looked down, the response taking him by surprise. After a moment, he asked, "I know you probably didn't look, seeing the company you came into town with, but my nephew, Hadvar, was a clerk with the Legion at Helgen. He's a tall, strapping man with long brown hair, clean-cut, looks a bit like me. Did you see him? Do you know if he survived?"
Despite everything, the pain in the blacksmith's voice affected Hammel. Sure Hadvar had sent him to the block without trial on the Captain's orders, but he hadn't put a blade in his back when he'd had the chance. Besides, Alvor had done him a favour and there was no point in cruelty.
Hammel looked over at Alvor and told the truth. "I don't know. All I can tell you is that I did run into him and the last time I saw him he was alive. I left him that way."
Alvor's gaze softened. "We'll continue our prayers to Kynareth and Mara for his safe return." While it was clear that he was hoping for more, it was still a relief to hear Hadvar had been seen alive.
Gerdur interrupted their moment, ignoring their back and forth. "Follow the road out of town, simply stay on it and you'll find Whiterun. The journey shouldn't take long." Her voice dropped, "Be careful. Wolves and worse prowl the roads. Keep your wits and blades about you and you'll be fine."
Hammel tapped the brow of his helmet. "I've got that locked away. I suppose I should get going."
"I suppose you should."
Hammel exited the smithy with a "Thanks for the kit, Alvor," before returning to the little dirt road. The village was bustling with chickens squawking and people milling about. The odd villager would nod and thank him for what he was doing. Hammel responded as politely as he could, ignoring the awkwardness he felt for their gratitude.
He was looking forward to being alone again; this was a quest which required no company. So he was unpleasantly surprised by the sight awaiting him.
Lianna and Clob stood in the middle of the road leading out of Riverwood. Clob with a hand wrapped around a simple wooden staff and Lianna with arms folded across an armoured chest. "Why haven't you and your husband headed back to wherever in Oblivion you came from?" Hammel asked dryly, utterly ignoring the Orc.
"Ralof returned to Windhelm to report our survival to Jarl Ulfric and await further instructions."
"Why aren't you with him?"
Lianna's eyes flashed with a pained and furious expression. "Because he wanted me to keep an eye on you." The words were ground out with the bitterness of shattered glass.
"I didn't ask for that."
"We don't care." The Altmer responded witheringly, "A Stormcloak should be present when you approach Jarl Balgruuf, it shows we have Whiterun's best interests at heart."
"How politically savvy." Hammel turned his gaze over to Clob. "And what about you, mage? Why are you here?"
The Orc ground his staff against the road nervously, "I've come to Skyrim for reasons of a personal nature. I believe Whitrun is a good place to begin my search."
"Why not?" Hammel walked past them, heading down the road. "You can both come! But I'm not slowing down for either of you." He didn't look back as he set a blistering pace down the road.
Swearing furiously, Lianna followed.
Lianna cursed all the foul luck that left with a man she knew almost nothing about and an Orc she knew even less. It didn't matter to her that Hammel was a Nord, or had sided with her husband, or even volunteered to go on this mission. She didn't trust him.
It wasn't because he was pessimistic and sarcastic that led to her dislike, it was simply because he wasn't Ralof. Her husband had his duty and she had hers, but after coming so close to death, separation from him was sickening.
She was afraid for him. While he had some others with him, like Thangar and Natala, it was a long way to Windhelm and anything could happen.
"Let me ask you something, Mer," the blasted Greymist probed.
Couldn't he just leave me alone? Why's he always bothering me?
"No, you may not," Lianna snapped.
"How long did it take for you to learn to Shout?" He pointedly ignored her refusal.
"Five years," she ground out. "Five years of almost constant work and all I learned was one word of one Shout. Let me tell you something, Shouting isn't worth that kind of commitment."
"Seemed useful enough during the cave skirmish," he continued, "Why keep it secret?"
"It's none of your concern!" She snapped bitterly, "Why don't you bother Clob? Leave me be."
"Touched a nerve," he riposted quietly. Finally, to Lianna's relief, he turned his attention elsewhere.
What gave him the right to probe into her past like that? She didn't ask questions about him. She didn't want to think about the man she'd bothered spending those years learning to Shout for. He visited her enough when she was dreaming, must she be reminded of him during the day?
Shaking her dark mane furiously, Lianna cleared her thoughts. Admittedly, part of her bitter mood came from the new sword sitting on her belt. It was of Imperial make and far inferior to Vengeance. Her old sword had been Orcish steel and enchanted with a freezing touch and was now probably sitting forgotten in some Legion stockpile. She sighed at the thought and patted the new sword casually. Once they reached Whiterun she'd trade in for a better weapon. Once they reached Whiterun she could take a carriage back to Windhelm and from be reunited with her husband and Jarl. Once they reached Whiterun a lot of things would change for the better.
"The Nords have a richer culture than I expected," Clob rumbled as he flipped through the book he'd been reading the past few miles.
Hammel snorted, "That's rich, coming from an Orc." Lianna had to admit, it was a good comeback.
"Admittedly." Clobnak gro-Grogork responded without malice or bitterness. "This volume on your afterlife is quite interesting. Sovngarde sounds like a very pleasant place."
"It's the final home of great warrior Nords, and a select few of Nordic quality," Hammel said softly.
His sudden change in tone surprised Lianna, it seemed sacred, haunted. He certainly seemed to have more respect for the afterlife than anything else she'd heard him mention.
"It's everything a Nord could want," Hammel continued solemnly, "Plenty of good food and drink, comely women, and friends long gone." His gaze fell. "I hope I'm worthy enough in the sight of Ysgramor to go."
"I'm sorry, Ysgramor?" Clob inquired, "I'm unaware of him."
"The first human king," Lianna explained, "He led the original five hundred human settlers who drove the Falmer out of Skyrim."
"The ancient Snow Elves," Clob breathed, clearly recognizing the historic significance of that name..
"Ysgramor made Skyrim Free," Lianna said. "And it shall be again," she added under her breath. It would have to be, she owed it too far to many people.
"Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!" Hammel sang, horribly off cue. The trio had been walking for a good while longer, the tedium of travel broken only by an encounter with a small pack of wolves they'd easily dispatched. The rooftop of Dragon's Reach, Whiterun's hall, had become barely visible in the distance. They currently stood near several farms and a meadery on the outskirts of Whiterun. Another hour of walking and they'd be at the city's gates.
"If you sing one more line, I swear to the Nine, I'll cut your windpipe" Lianna hissed, her fingers wrapping around the handle of her sword viciously.
"Quiet!" Clob interrupted, pounding his staff on the ground for silence. "Can you hear that?"
Hammel strained his ears against the wind. The sound of several windmills, the whinnies of horses, and the mooing of cows reached his ears. But it was the sounds of shouting which drew his attention.
"Trouble!" Hammel cried, drawing both swords as he sprinted ahead. The trees on both sides of the road disappeared from his vision. All that was visible was the road. The world didn't matter, not the lightly falling snow, nor the towering pines. All that mattered was the path ahead of him, past the meadery, and reaching the battle.
His feet hammered as he ran. To the right, were empty fields and roads, to the left were farms and windmills. It was in the middle of a cabbage patch, at one of those farms, where the battle was joined.
On one side was a giant, roaring furiously and bleeding from several wounds. The club clutched tightly in his hand was made from mammoth bone and looked well used. His opponents were several warriors of different sizes and genders. Hammel didn't get a good look at most because one held all his attention. She was young, with a skin tone suggesting Imperial ancestry. She stood frozen in fear gazing up at the angry giant, her sword fallen to her feet. The giant seemed more than happy to take the opportunity to squash her flat, raising his foot over her.
"Move!" Hammel roared, throwing his swords down so he could run faster. The Imperial girl started stammering and staggered back a few steps, looking up at the descending foot in horror. The giant paused for a moment, ignoring the arrow one of the other warriors fired into his shoulder, before moving in for the kill.
Hammel put his entire body into the sprint, dashing with every ounce of strength he had. Time crawled as the massive creature lowered his foot, intent on pulping the girl like an orange.
Squashing cabbage underfoot, Hammel arrived, flinging himself at the girl.
Momentum and strength were on his side. He slammed into the girl, tackling them both out of harm's way. The giant's foot utterly destroyed a few cabbage instead of human flesh. Hammel held the girl beneath him, shielding her with his body.
Then it was over. The warriors dashed around, arrows flying and swords flashing. One of them jabbed a halberd under the beast's rib cage while another took to the giant's legs with a greatsword. The giant let out one final roar then toppled, shaking the ground as it did. The dust settled and silence fell.
Hammel turned the girl over, gazing into her face. She was definitely young, no older than twenty-five. Her eyes were a calming sea green, though currently boiling with fear. She had the Imperial skin tone, and short dark hair. Most noticeably was the warpaint she'd smeared on her face, a simple arrow on her chin, and eye black. Shaking uncontrollably, she gazed up at her saviour with a combination of awe and shame.
Feeling awkward, Hammel shuffled to his feet. "Move faster next time," he grumbled, "I barely reached you."
"Halt traveller!" A strong Nordic voice, female, called out from behind him. "Turn around slowly and tell me who you are!" Holding both hands before him in a neutral stance, Hammel turned slowly as per the instructions. The woman he saw took his breath away.
If Dibella herself appeared at that moment, he wouldn't have noticed her. The woman standing before him, glaring his way, held an ebony bow with a notched arrow pointed directly at his heart. Despite the weapon he saw the woman clearly.
Her hair was flaming red, cascading over her face like a waterfall. She had piercing green eyes, staring at him intensely. Three slashes of blue-green warpaint were drawn across her face like claw marks and her armor was nearly identical to that worn by ancient Nords. She was almost as tall as he was, easily passing six feet, with a body that was a collection of muscles and curves.
She was strikingly intimidating and hauntingly beautiful. He'd heard the bards describe some of the feelings he felt, but even the best poems weren't enough to describe how she made him feel.
"Athis, see to Ria," the woman ordered, not looking away from Hammel. The Dunmer warrior beside her lowered his bloody halberd, moved past Hammel to check on the shaking woman. Hammel looked at the warrior woman, who seemed to be in charge, answering her question as best he could.
"Greymist..." he breathed after a moment. "Hammel Greymist. Traveller and warrior." Nodding over his shoulder at Clob and Lianna, who were moving to join him as quickly as possible, "My travelling companions, Lianna of Riverwood and Clobnak gro-Grogork. We come to Whiterun with information for the Jarl."
"Travellers you say..." the woman mused, sniffing the air casually as if smelling Hammel's words could prove their intent. "I believe you."
She shook her hair away from her face, her scowl shifting towards a more neutral expression. "I am Aela the Huntress, a member of The Companions of Skyrim."
"Hold on..." Hammel paused, "You mean...THE Companions? The warriors of Ysgramor?" His eyes widened, "The warriors of fortune and glory?"
"So you've heard of us," Aela answered with a rueful smile. "Yes, we are The Companions, the warriors of Jorrvaskr. The shield siblings who fight for those who can't help themselves, and for fortune." Aela paused, glancing at the shaking Imperial girl. "You risked your life to save Ria, that makes you a friend in my eyes."
She looked back towards the city, "The feud between the Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes has intensified because of the war and the Jarl is doing his best to maintain his city's neutrality. Hardly the most stable time for a traveller to arrive. Whatever your information is, it must be important."
"Trust me," Hammel said with a smile, "It is." He looked to the city on the hilltop, mentally seeing himself there. "When I'm inside the city, perhaps I'll pay The Companions a visit."
"Perhaps you should," Aela replied with a smirk. "The Companions might have use for you." She waved to her fellow warriors, "Come! We return to Kodlak! The job is done!" The Companions dashed off in the direction of Whiterun, as quickly as they'd come.
"Friends of yours?" Clob asked, returning Hammel's swords.
"Him?" Lianna stated scathingly, "A Companion? Not likely." The Altmer read his expression and assumed correctly, "Though he wishes..."
"The Companions are great warriors of fortune and glory," Hammel explained to Clob, mostly as an excuse to cut Lianna off. "They solve problems for honour and in exchange for coin. It's a noble group, tracing their lineage all the way back to Ysgramor and his original five hundred."
"You seem to have great respect for them," Clob observed, stroking his beard with one hand.
"I spent most of my childhood hearing stories about their deeds. At one time I believed I'd grow up and become one..." Hammel's voice trailed off as he stared into space after The Companions. "That was a long time ago. We should keep moving."
His companions were silent as Hammel approached Whiterun. "What a magnificent city," Clob breathed, gazing at the ancient stone walls surrounding Whiterun.
"You don't get out much do you?" Lianna stated coldly, "Whiterun is a haven of cowards, led by a Jarl too frightened to throw his support behind the true High King of Skyrim."
"I remember Whiterun fondly," Hammel said, continuing up the path leading towards the city. "The people were kind."
The stone walls gazed down at the visitors while guards patrolled its lengths. Outside the walls, across from Whiterun's stables, was a collection of hide tents. The tents surrounded a roaring fire, while people wrapped in exotic furs bustled about them. "A Khajiit caravan. Never thought I'd see one of those again." Hammel moved towards the Khajiit, his hand covering his purse. "I'm going to take a look. Head into the city if you want, or tag along, I don't care."
"I'm going to get a drink," Lianna said casually, "The Orc can come with me if he wants."
"I'd very much like to see the city," Clob admitted, gazing longingly at the walls of Whiterun.
"Have fun," Hammel said laconically, "See you later." Without looking back, Hammel marched towards the Khajiit, planning on hearing some news and possibly buying a few provisions. He certainly wasn't planning on meeting an old friend.
The leader of the caravan sat crossed-legged on a carpet before the largest tent, sipping absently on a tin mug full of tea. His fur was slate grey, with dark stripes. Hammel had seen him before. "Ri'saad?" He asked, taken aback.
Can it really be him?
The Khajiit looked up sharply. He squinted his eyes, then shouted, "Greymist?" The Khajiit dropped his tea, "Ri'saad thought he would never see you again!"
Hammel laughed, "Skyrim is a long way from Elsweyr." He paused, memories coming to the front, "A very long way..."
"I can't breathe in this damn bucket!" Hammel growled, yanking off his helmet with a snarl, "I'm sweating like an Ice Wraith in the kitchen!"
"Save it, corporal," Captain Naveev ordered, stroking his dark beard, "This heat is nothing special, and put your helmet back on!"
"For you maybe." Hammel adjusted the bowstring on his Legion-issued longbow, "I'm a Nord, we don't like the heat." The scorching desert sun beat down on the small detachment of Imperial soldiers, boiling them like the cream treats. Sweat worked its way down Hammel's face and through his goatee.
Enemies could come from anywhere in the desert, and as the detachment's scout, it was his job to see them first. Growling at his orders, Hammel did put his helmet back on. The heat emanating from it reminded him of the forge in Solitude, hot and unpleasant.
The other six men with Him were of various races including a burly Orc, a slim Altmer, and a sullen Imperial. They were all exhausted and overheated, but dealt with their discomfort with the stoicism of Legionaries.
Hammel reached into his backpack, retrieving his waterskin. Draining what precious water remained, he gazed into the desert. He may have been only two winters past twenty, but the soldier had seen plenty of action during both the Bandit Wars and his tour of Skyrim.
"Captain Naveev?" He asked, "That caravan ahead is moving awfully slow." The caravan he mentioned was indeed moving slow. Several Khajiit were around it, one rode on a donkey and the others pushed the wagon from behind.
"Go see what's wrong with them," Naveev ordered, waving the scout forward. "Get there now. We'll catch up."
Hammel slammed a fist against his chest in salute, then followed his orders. He ran as quickly as his studded armor would allow. Leaving his small unit far behind, Hammel moved towards the caravan at a hustle, determined to catch them before they were out of sight. Running was what he did, and he was good at it. Soon, his unit had fallen far behind.
It wasn't actually that difficult to catch the caravan, considering the speed of the cart and its Khajiit occupants. As Hammel drew closer, he could see that several of the Khajiit were nursing wounds, and the wagon was badly damaged. "Hail!" Hammel shouted, putting both hands beside his mouth, "Hammel Greymist, Imperial Legion scout. What's the trouble?"
One of the Khajiit turned around, his fur slate-grey. "Greetings Legionnaire. I am Ri'saad and this one owns the caravan. Bandits attacked us, killing two of this ones fellows and damaging the cart. We fought them off, but they'll return. Ri'saad hopes to make it to the safety of the city, but fears the worst."
"Well Ri'saad, a unit of Legionaries is on the way," Hammel said in his calmest voice, approaching the cart. "Help will be here soon..."
"Ri'saad!" A female shouted, "They return! By the Gods, they return!" Hammel spun towards the sound, drawing his bow from his back in one smooth motion. Sure enough, a mob of horses was galloping towards them, throwing sand in all directions. Hammel looked over his shoulder; his company was closing the gap but the bandits would reach him first. He was alone.
"Talos and Azura preserve me," he whispered under his breath, voice shaking with fear as he notched his first arrow. "Unless you have a bow, stand behind me," he ordered. No one did, the Khajiit rushing behind him.
What am I doing? I'm not some hero!
Shutting down his self-doubt and pulling the bowstring back against his ear, Hammel squinted. The leading bandit was a massive Orc, a huge ebony spear clutched in his right hand, murder in his eyes. The bandits drew closer. Still Hammel waited, and waited. He wanted to make his first arrow count and sell his life dearly before he entered Sovngarde.
The Orc snarled as Hammel took his shot. Even as the arrow soared through the air, he was drawing a second. The arrow punched through the hide armor the Orc wore, knocking him clean off his horse. The animal scampered away as its master breathed his last and stained the sands with his blood.
Hammel's second arrow tore the ear of a Breton, missing the kill by mere inches. Then the bandits were among them.
One of the Khajiit was impaled clean through with a spear. Others began crossing blades with the bandits. An angry looking Nord charged Hammel from horseback, swinging a mace over his head. Hammel threw himself aside, barely avoiding the swing. Pivoting, he smashed his bow into the bandit's side as he passed, knocking him off his horse. With a yelp of surprise, Hammel's foe hit the sand. Rushing him, he stamped his foot on the enemy Nord's neck. The Imperial-issue boot met bone with a snap, leaving the bandit gasping and dying.
Discarding his bow, Hammel drew his sword. Several bandits had dismounted, while others remained on horseback. Over the din of battle, Hammel vaguely heard Captain Naveev shouting at his men to hurry. Help was on the way, he just had to last a few moments more...
A Dunmer bandit swung his handaxe right for Hammel's head, screaming war-cries and spitting everywhere. Hammel threw himself backwards, the steel axe head just barely scratching his breastplate. Punching out with a free hand, Hammel's surprise blow caught the bandit right in the nose, breaking it.
He grabbed the bandit's shoulder and drove his sword through the Dark Elf's stomach. Blood gushed, as the bandit fell gurgling into the sand.
Hammel spun at the last possible second, sword tearing free from the Dunmer bandit in a shower of gore. A scimitar cut the air where he'd been moments earlier. A turban wearing Redguard was bearing down on him. The bandit' eyes were filled with hatred, as the sun glinted off the scimitar held in one hand and the straight steel dagger in the other.
"I will bury you in the sand, Nord!" The bandit hissed, dashing forward. His sword and dagger sang, crafting a masterpiece of deadly fury. Hammel parried, clutching his sword in both hands. Sparks flew as blades clashed, ringing above the sounds of battle. The Legionnaire fought the bandit as best he could. Hammel wasn't sure if he could beat this foe, but he intended to go down fighting, like a true Nord should.
The bandit slashed with his dagger, leering with triumph. The skin on Hammel's right forearm burned as the blade bit deep. His blood poured into the sands. The bandit pressed his advantage. So focused was he on killing the scout, he failed to notice Hammel's reinforcements, particularly the Orc with the steel handaxe.
"For the Empire!" Ghorbash roared, bashing the Redguard's skull in with one fierce strike. Cloth and bone flew in multiple directions, leaving Hammel's opponent crumpled in a heap. The soldiers of the Legion fell among the bandits, turning the tide of battle.
"Friend Greymist! Help this one!" A cry rose from near the cart. Hammel spun, sword in hand, to see Ri'saad, clothes torn, bleeding badly, leaning against the cart. Standing over him was a vicious looking Orc bandit with a steel greataxe.
"I'm going to get me a nice fur cloak!" He howled, raising the axe over his head. Dashing across the field, Hammel grabbed the axe handle, holding the strike back. With a free hand, he drove his sword clean through the Orc's stomach, staining Ri'saad's fancy clothes with bandit blood and intestines. Shoving the Orc aside, Hammel turned, standing tall over the fallen merchant.
The battle blurred around him. He hacked and slashed anyone who came near, beating the enemy away from the merchant until the remaining bandits fled.
"A lot has happened since then," Hammel admitted, looking at the face from his past. "An awful lot."
"Come," the Khajiit beckoned, waving him his tent. "We have much to discuss." With that, Ri'saad picked up his tea and entered the tent. Yanking his helmet free, Hammel followed.