Fandom The Elder Scrolls: Insurrection

[RonetheSlayer]

When Urhand wakes early the next morning, the sky was is still faintly red from the dawn. Looking out the window in his room, he watches the early risers of the town scurry about their tasks: bakers and fishermen mostly. He notices the shift switch of the guards. In the distance, a deep, crackling HAAROOM HAAROOM echoes across the town, the sound of a smith pumping his furnace up.


Urhand walks back over to his bed, and pulls his boots on. He dons his armor, and straps his sword across his back. Making sure he has all of his belongings, he makes his way down to the common room.


This early, he finds himself to be one of a handful of patrons in the inn's main room. The bartender stands behind the bar, leaning grogily against the wood. Urhand takes his seat in the corner and signals for the bartender, who in turn calls for someone named "Chaleb".


A moment later, the serving boy from last night comes running from the backroom. A second later, he is standing in front of Urhand. "You ready for breakfast, mister?"


Urhand answers, "Yes, what do you have this early?"


The boy shrugs, "Haven't cooked anything up yet, but we do have some fresh bread. We got venison, chicken, and pork. We also got some salted mammoth snout, from skyrim. Its expensive, but boy o boy, is it good. And of course eggs and some greens if you want. We also got-"


Urhand waves his hand, "Very good, lad. Some chicken, tomatoes, bread and eggs should be fine. And some juice please."


The boy looks embarrassed for a moment, then puts his customer service face back on, and leaves.


An hour later, Urhand drains the rest of his tangy juice, belches loudly, and stands to leave. He leaves an extra gold on the table for the service, and asks the bartender, a balding, beareded imperial, "Where does a sword find work in anvil?"


The bartender points toward the outside, "Follow the road down, The fighters guild is on the right, behind the statue. Be careful though, the Leader there hates elves, especially altmer."


Urhand nods, "Thank you, what will be cooking for dinner?"


The bartender smiles, "The wife was talking about making her venison and goat stew with onions, carrots, and potatoes."


Urhand feels hungry again all of a sudden, but simply replies, "That sounds excellent, see you then."


Urhand leaves the inn, and makes his way down the street, to the statue. He sees a red sign, crossed axes, hanging above the door of a two story building. Two men in leather armor sit on the steps, deep in a game of cards. They look up as Urhand approaches, and turn from their game.


Urhand ignores them, attempting to step around. The two men stand up, blocking his way, "Hang on a second, bub. What business you got with the guild?"


Urhand steps back, relaxed. "My own, of course. Thanks for your concern though, such thoughtful customer service!"


The lead man, obviously too dumb to grasp the joke, instead goes to grab his sword in a display of intimidation. Urhand pulls his greatsword out in a flash, letting the swing stop just short of the fool's skull. The man slowly let's go of his weapon, lifting his arms, eyes and mouth agape.


The other man asks, voice somewhat trembling, "Hey . . . w was just joking around bud. Go on in."


Urhand sheathes his sword, and pushes past them.

 

[PKCV2]

The world was quiet...an odd occurrence in what was once a warring country but now that the Imperials had been pushed away all seemed peaceful. Gone were the weary patrols of Imperial and Stormcloaks roaming the open land of Skyrim, their minds ready for the very real possibility of battle in the middle of nowhere for they not only had to fear each other...but the wild and weather as well, each striking with their own versions of bites and slashes.


The sun shines brightly upon the plains below, the clanking of metal and hooves meeting dirt filled the air though a quiet ensemble of sound. At that moment there was only a wagon being pulled by a pair of horses, a man and woman at the front steering and a young Freyja sitting in the back forced to share what little space there was with the trinkets the family sold. With nothing else to do the young Freyja could only occupy herself by taking in the scenery around her, the rolling waves of green grass, the occasional deer or elk, the flocks of bird and other things of the like. At the front of the wagon the hushed voices of her father and mother could be faintly heard.


"We make this trip to Whiterun then we'll finally have enough to get away from this forsaken land." Freyja's father was clearly giddy as he spoke to his wife.


"I still don't like this. Skyrim has been good to us. She's provided us with so many customers..."


"Those customers were military! Imperial and Stormcloak! But now that the war is over those Nords have no reason not to kill us. We're elves!" Father was now taking on a harsher tone, hissing through grit teeth and it was obvious the man was set on his plan.


"Yes b-"


"Elves!" Suddenly a thick Nordic accent boomed to their sides, the commanding voice setting dread in the family. The husband and wife brought the horses to a stop and held their hands outwards in an effort to show their harmlessness. Inside the wagon Freyja gripped her dagger, her bow stashed elsewhere and would attract attention if she started to find it. While she lay in wait four Stormcloaks advanced upon the stopped wagon, their weapons in hand, smirks and snarls behind the helmets that covered their faces. With only sound to interpret what was happening Freyja sat inside the wagon as still as the dead, her knuckles whitening from her grip on her dagger as insults and commands were hurled at her parents. One remark caught the ear of Freyja who began to seethe as a result. That ignorant Nord had just called her family a bunch of Altmer! Altmer!?


They were nothing like the pompous Altmer! Her family worked for their lives! They killed the wild for food. Skinned the hides to keep warm at night. Their home was the wagon. There was no house waiting for the family and they were just fine with that fact. Having heard enough Freyja leaped out of the wagon and caused every Nord to look at the small elf with a small dagger in hand, her icy eyes flashing rage at the offenders. And without a word she charged recklessly towards the nearest Stormcloak. She never spilled blood that day. She didn't get the opportunity. She never saw the mace racing to meet her left leg.


Freyja jerked upright from her bed gasping, a sheet of sweat already covering her body. Shaky fingers ran through her blond hair in an attempt to brush the wild mass from her eyes and after the third unsuccessful time she allowed the hair to dangle in front of her face.


Stumbling down the stairs Freyja was immediately stopped by the barkeep she had purchased her room from last night. After his message was relayed the elf took a seat at the counter and settled her head onto the counter, trying to fall back asleep with certain thoughts in mind.


I'm about to make some friends for once.

 

[RedEarthRoamer]

Saljeelus had been lingering in the shadows of the guest wing since the sounds of stirring guests had first roused him from his sleep. He leaned casually against a wall on the second floor, pretending to be distracted by a painting, or something he spied through a nearby window, but in reality watching each guest carefully—in particular the elven ones. He saw Urhand come and go, but he let him pass without a word. If the barkeep was worth the coin he would stop him. If not, he wasn't leaving town in a hurry: he was still owed money and no man seeking freedom would pass up a promise of coin.


Eventually a little blond woman walked by, limping slightly. This caught the Argonian's eye as the Listener's words echoed in his mind: the Bosmer with the broken gait. As the listened to the off-tempo thump-thump, thump-thump of the elf woman heading down the stairs a cold certainty filled his heart and he knew this was his Father in the Void telling him that this was the one. He waited a few moments and then followed her, his footsteps utterly silent as he headed down to the common room without so much as the creak of a floorboard.


“Hold on there, miss.” The barkeep was saying. “One of my regulars here asked me to have you wait for 'im. He's an early riser. Should be along shortly.” The middle-aged man, a Nord by his accent and mannerisms, though Saljeelus had never asked, spoke through a thick mass of unkempt facial hair and then turned to attend to some business. That was when he noticed the Argonian, and just about jumped out of his skin. “Shor's beard! You should wear a bell or something, lizard! I never hear you coming.”


Saljeelus said nothing, but surveyed the common area with his cold blue eyes, black scales glistening he turned his head deliberately back and forth. He exhaled, letting the breath hiss slowly and audibly through his nostrils. “My companion from the previous night is not here.” He said in even tones, and the barkeep winced.


“Bah, sorry. I plain forgot about 'im. But he'll be back later. And if you can't wait, he said he wanted work and I sent him toward the fighter's guild.” The man paused and polished a mug, pretending to be unconcerned. After a few moments of awkward silence, during which Saljeelus had stared without expression at the bald patch on the back of the man's head, he looked up and said, plaintively “That alright?”


“It will do.” Saljeelus said calmly. He would, of course, be more irritated at this blunder but the barkeep here had been a reliable source of information for many years. So he blinked once and turned his head mechanically toward the little blond Bosmer from earlier. Her head had been down when he had first been noticed, but now she was up and watching the two men with interest. Saljeelus headed toward the back of the inn's common area and beckoned her to follow, which she did after a brief hesitation. He took a seat in the corner, well away from the windows and the few other patrons who had gathered that morning.


When she sat down across from him he said “I have a job to do.” and paused. She hardly seemed taken aback by his abruptness. “Yes, rather an important one. I usually work alone, but my superiors told me that I would be working with others this time. A 'Bosmer with a shattered gait.' You appear to fit that description. I can see in your eyes that you have questions, Bosmer. I will answer what I can for you, but I suspect I only know half the story.”

 

[RonetheSlayer]

As Urhand crosses the threshold of the Fighters Guild, he notices the sparse conversations get a little quieter. Standing in the open atrium, he pauses briefly to look over the interior. Thirty feet directly in front of him, a wide stairway leads to the second story.


To his right, the atrium opens into the Guild Hall, a spacious room with a few tables and two doors on the far end. Three men in armor stand around a table, backs toward you, talking in hushed tones. An older guildsman, Orc, stares through his one good eye at Urhand, occasionally taking a drink from his bottle.


To Urhand's left, the atrium opens into a room roughly half the size of the other. Three practice dummies stand sentry in the center of the room. Chests, dressers and equipment racks line the far wall. A lone warrior is training on one of the dummies, his waraxes spinning and slashing and hacking at the withering leathers.


Urhand walks casually left, towards the old orc, whose expressionless stare doesn't falter as the halfbreed approaches.


"Are you the captain of this guild?" Urhand asks brusquely.


The old orc's eyes squint. "And why exactly would you think that?"


Urhand's takes a serious tone, "You are old. AND an orc. You must be a mighty warrior."


The old greenskin cracks a glimpse of a smile and replies, "Well said" The orc stands, eyes a few inches lower than Urhand's. "My name is Bogrimmar Wheelflinger. I am, for the time being, the leader of this chapter" The two shake hands, and Bogrimmar continues, "What might I do for you, Mr . . .?"


Urhand nods, "Phaeos, will do fine I think. I am in town for a week, and looking to make some gold. Any jobs?"


The orc rubs his chin ponderously, squinting at Urhand, "Depends, how capable are you?"


Urhand leads the Orc over to the training room. The lone warrior is resting in the corner, drinking water from a tankard. Urhand stands, left arm exposed to the dummy. And in one swift motion, reaches up, grabs his sword handle, pulls the blade out of the sheathe, and brings the blade down in a mighty vertical slash. The sword slices straight through the dummy, armor and all. The upper half of the dummy slides off, crumbling to the floor.


Bogrimmar laughs, "So your freakishly strong, big deal! I got meaner things than an old practice dummies to kill! Tell you what . . . check back with me over the next few days."


Urhand thanks the old orc, and exits the Guild. He notices the two men from earlier have slipped off. He heads back toward the tavern.

 

[Dark Elfling]

Ales's eyes widened in horror as the bodies around her started rising. Well, she definitely needed all of her magic for this.


Sighing, she applied the equilibrium spell, grimacing as she felt her health weaken. She stopped when her health was about half way, and quickly snapped out her favorite spell, a lightning chain spell.


As the reanimated thalmor around her were temporarily paralyzed by the spell, she darted to Amalus, a small lightening bolt flying from her fingertips as a distracter and a larger one arcing behind the thalmor to strike her from behind.


@RedEarthRoamer

 

[PKCV2]

Drifting between the states of deep sleep and consciousness, the very loud voice of the barkeep suddenly assaulted Freyja's eardrums yet she still kept her head lowered. Even in Cyrodiil the Nordic people had no regard for other's comfort level and to that the frustrated elf sighed inwardly. Soon after the irritating Nord had spoken up another voice joined, it's rough tone immediately sending shivers down Freyja's spine. An Argonian. Just dandy...


Moments later the two were discussing something of apparent importance once the conversation steered into the whereabouts of what sounded like a potential client/partner of the Argonian. Remembering the finely-written letter Freyja lifted her head from the counter and proceeded to stare, without shame, at the talking pair. If the dark-scaled lizard was one of the agents mentioned in the letter then paying attention would be the best course of action. As if able to read the thoughts of the elf, the Argonian turned his head to look at Freyja, his reptilian eyes doing well to unsettle the woman. Without a word he only turned and walked away, executing a quick motion to follow him. Freyja silently obeyed, turning in her seat and swinging her legs the elf jumped off the seat and began following the mystery lizard in a smooth motion.


Seeing the lizard make his way towards a dark corner Freyja involuntarily wrapped a hand around the handle of her dagger, her mind almost instantly clearing as the possibility of danger flared. Immediately upon taking a seat across from the Argonian he spoke in a no-nonsense tone to which she barely recoiled from.


Rubbing her hands together Freyja spoke in a hushed tone.


"Alright...well first of all I'd like to know who I'm working for. And what exactly is this job you spoke of...oh and...who are you exactly?"

 

[RedEarthRoamer]

Saljeelus blinked once. This little woman had very little experience with Argonians, or at least had never gotten to know any terribly well. That much, but nothing more, was he willing to assume, and if it were true this suited him just fine. Still, she was quick and clever and there was a hardness in her eyes. Inexperienced in some ways, then, but surely not stupid. Best to play it straight with her. . .


“You may call me Makes-His-Way.” He fixed her with his ice-blue eyes and spoke in an even, businesslike tone. “I work for a private force of mercenaries and I was contacted rather more mysteriously than I normally like.” Here he feigned distaste. In truth, in the Brotherhood one was rarely told more than was necessary, even if one was the personal silencer of a Speaker. “I'm being sent to a small island that contains a set of Ayleid ruins called Ulas Alatar. There are pirates there, and I am to clear them out and retrieve a treasure from the ruins.” He paused and shifted a little. A customer came in and he shot a sidelong glance to the door but it wasn't the one called Urhand. Damn. “There is another that I am to take with me to this island. Besides yourself I mean. The idiot barkeep was supposed to stop him, but he went on to the Fighter's Guild. We'll need to retrieve him when we're done here.”


There was a pause that stretched on just long enough for it to feel strained. Then Saljeelus spoke again. “Now I believe it's your turn.”


- - -


Andrana shrieked as a small arc of electrical energy slashed across her eyes and, fractions of a second later, a much more powerful blast caught her square between the shoulders, searing through her robes and leaving a patch of sizzling flesh behind. The Altmer sorceress' doll-like face flashed hideous, snarling rage for a moment and the undead soldiers formed an arc around the interloping woman. At a gesture from their mistress, each of the zombies burst into flames and pressed the attack and, at the same time, Andrana hurled a small ball of fire at her foe's eyes to return the favor.


The flaming thralls spell, she knew, would eventually destroy her puppets but in all probability this fight would be over by then. Still. . .just in case. . . Andrana sprang backwards and began preparing one of her favorite spells: Firestorm. She felt the might of the Inferno building within her, flowing through and around her. If only the flame thralls could hold the other woman off for just a few seconds. . .


@Dark Elfling

 

[PKCV2]

Continuing to rub the palms of her hands together, a small smile tugged at the lips of the elf as she listened quietly to Makes-His-Way. At first the smile resulted from the revelation of the lizard's name but once the word about his quest for treasure tucked away in some always exciting ruins gave way to a more genuine smile. In her excitement the elf had overlooked the subtle hint of the Argonian's twisted words.


After a pause in the conversation, Makes-His-Way turned his head ever so slightly towards the entrance of the inn, causing Freyja's own head to swivel, following his gaze until it landed in the door as well. Seeing nothing of interest she turned back realizing that he was most likely waiting for the others mentioned in the letter given to her. Moments afterwards, the lizard spoke, giving permission to the elf to speak.


Suddenly the smile disappeared, replaced by a thin line drawn taut across her face. Freyja leaned forward, the wooden chair groaning under the shift in movement and she placed her jagged dagger onto the table, blade pointed at Makes-His-Way.


"Mysterious employers are not usually the most trustworthy...and your...choice of attire does not do well to rid you of any suspicions. While we may be friendly now that can easily change at the end of the retrieval. What you're describing sounds like it could bring us a large deal of fortune. And I won't...settle for anything less than equal."

 

[RonetheSlayer]

As Urhand steps through the front doors of the inn, he pauses once again to take in the scene. Though the common room isnt yet packed as it was last night, it had certainly picked up business since he had left that morning.


Half of tables were filled, patrons of varying styles mingling and eating and drinking, still groggy eyed from their early morning.


Urhand sees the two men from earlier, the ones who tried to stop him outside the guild. They are already well into their drinks, and seem to have gathered a few of their buddies. Fortunately, for them anyway, their backs were to him.


Urhand walks towards his usual table in the shadowy corner, snuffing out the candles around his table, before sitting down, and letting the darkness envelop him. He had always liked the darkness, even as a child. He would sit in his windowless room, candles out, and stare wide eyed into the utter blackness. He had started to sneak out during night, wandering the labrynthian tunnels and dungeons of the deep slave pits. He never used a light source, and was able to remain undetected. He learned to be comfortable in darkness, because it is like a cloak. It is like armor.

 

[RedEarthRoamer]

The Silencer blinked calmly at the implied threat. If only she knew as much about him as she wanted to. “Employer? Interesting choice of words. I'm not entirely sure who your employer is. It's certainly not me. Truth be told, Bosmer, I'm not sure what they pay is for this job. I'm sure it will come eventually, but it was not discussed when I was given the job.” At this the woman pulled a face and snatched up her dagger, making to get up and leave. “But,” he continued slowly. She stopped and looked at him from the corner of her eye.


“But?”


“But it is my understanding that you have a problem with, let's call it, the political situation in Alinor.” That got her attention. She finished standing up, but turned to face him and fixed him with her gaze. “Based on my orders, it is my understanding that this task will be the first in a series of decidedly political acts. And before you ask, no I'm not sure what this scroll we're looking for has to do with anything. My superiors rarely give me more detail than I need, but they have never mislead me.”


The Bosmer opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment Saljeelus perceived his hulking companion from the day before, lurking in a corner not far away. “Ah!” he interrupted. “There is our other compatriot. Let's go see him before we negotiate any further.” The Elf pursed her lips as he walked towards the colossal figure sitting in the shadows, but followed suspiciously.


“Friend.” Saljeelus said, approaching and leaning casually on the table. “Makes-His-Way has kept his promise. Here, for the work you helped me with last night.” He reached into his cloak and withdrew one of the fat coin purses he had been given on the previous night. It landed on the table with a heavy thud and a satisfying clink and the big man smiled. “This is another associate of mine” Saljeelus said, indicating Freyja with a toss of his head. “She hasn't said her name yet. We were just discussing a job the three of us have been offered. I don't know how much this one is paying, but. . .” He reached into his cloak a second time and produced another coin purse, giving this one to the elf. “Here. Take this, if it eases your mind. I'm sure we'll strike it rich for this eventually, but I have enough to manage if the payoff is delayed.”

 

[RonetheSlayer]

(Sry, I totally failed to realize I needed to post lol)


Urhand grabs the purse, trying to guess the contents. The Fighters Guild can trek across oblivion for all he cares, THIS is how he wants to make his money. "Thank you . . . friend (the word tastes strange, he has never had any "friends") . . . I'll gladly earn more of that, should the opportunity arise." Pocketing the purse, he looks at the elf. "Greetings, associate. My name is Phaeos, for now."


Urhand leans toward, looking into the argonian's eyes. "Tell me about this job offer, if you will. Unless you think we should go somewhere more private?"

 

[RedEarthRoamer]

Saljeelus took a seat and leaned back, smoothing out his feather crest with one hand and resting the other on the table. "Well, as I told our friend here, it's simple. We go to an island with an old Ayleid ruin on it--I was told there'd be pirates or something--and clear it out. My employer is interested in a scroll said to be hidden within the ruins." He paused for dramatic effect. Was this how a Speaker felt, taking charge and laying out the scenario for someone else? Pleasant. He savored the feeling of independence and realized for the first time that he had only ever possessed limited autonomy within the Brotherhood before now. It is good to be a Silencer.


"My orders say there'll be a boatman waiting for us down by the docks. Don't expect much--it's just a little schooner. He will take us where we need to go, and wait while we finish the mission. We can leave any time we're ready, but I think it might be best to set off after dark. It's only an hour or so to the island, so we can take these buffoons by surprise under the cover of night. The pay is five hundred gold each, just for finding the scroll." He straightened himself, switching from the casual mercenary to the steely businessman in a flash. "Well? What say you, friends?"

 

[RonetheSlayer]

Urhand barely tries to mask his shock. Five hundred gold! Who the hell are these people?





Still not wanting to believe his instincts, Urhand nods to the darkscale, "I'm definitely in."

 

[Dark Elfling]

Ales let out a blood thirsty grin when her attack was successful and quickly moved out of the way from the fireball at her eyes...only to run straight into one of the thrall. Hissing, she quickly shook off the sting slammed a bolt of electricity at it, just enough to kick it away from her.


Seeing that she was close to being surrounded completely by them, Ales quickly determined that she needed to move away. Close range fighting was a big weakness for her, something she was sure Andrana had picked up on.


She immediately enveloped herself in a lightning cloak and sqyirmed her way out of the hoard, sprinting to a wall and climbing up to a small ledge. Smiling in victory, Ales stuck her tongue out in a childish gesture and immediately regretted it she felt a stinging pain that informed her that despite her cloak, one of the thralls burned her cheek pretty bad, and she probably ripped the burn open on a sharp rock when she was climbing, considering the fact that it was now bleeding profusely.


Ales knew she wouldn't last much longer in the fight before she passed out, the wound was pretty severe. Determined to win this fight, she gave herself a quick healing spell to slow the bleeding and decided to focus on pooling her energy into a large spell that would take Andrana out. If she was out of the game, the thralls would be too.


***///***


"Enough is enough!" Andrana cried triumphantly, the blazing power stored in her lithe frame almost too much to bare. Flames swirled around her like a second garment, power surged in her palms and thin wisps of smoke curled up from the wooden table on which she stood. She uttered a word in an ancient tongue, raised both her hands above her head, and with a furious screech threw a massive sphere of fire at the ground. There was a deafening roar as a violent explosion of flame and force raced out from her in all directions.


The thralls were incinerated immediately, or battered to death by debris tossed about as if in a storm. She heard a cry of surprise, presumable the impetuous sorceress, and sneered. "You've never seen Firestorm cast like that before, have you witch?" She shouted above the din, and then concentrated her power and released a second blast, weaker than the first but still mighty. The chamber's floor practically rocked and anything that wasn't already on fire burst into ravenous flame. After a few moments the spell's effects calmed somewhat, and Andrana used a weak Dispel effect to douse the remaining flames. Her father's little hideout was in ruins, but that was just as well: if even one person had been able to find it, clearly it had been compromised.


Andrana stepped gingerly through the ash and over the charred bodies, books, and furniture toward where the strange Elf hybrid had been perched. To her annoyance and surprise she saw with a Sense Life spell that Ales was still alive, albeit hidden under a heap of light debris. There was a vague magical aura around her too, it seemed. "Well I'm impressed." She said haughtily. "Not only did you survive, but you've managed to keep a spell active after all that. If my father were here, he'd offer you a job no doubt. But he's not and I'm, well. . .absolutely furious with you. So I hope you've made your peace."


She took a few steps back and gathered energy for a Fireball, aiming at the heap of shelves, books, and overturned chairs that currently obscured her target.


***////***


Ales grimaced at the thalmor that was screaming at her.


"Well, this has been fun but I'm afraid I must end this now. I have to admit, you put up more of a fight than I thought you would." She said, pulling mass amounts of energy from her magic to form a fire wall as she spoke.


Normally, magic isn't meant to be drained so quickly, it has the risk of causing physical damage, but Ales was left with no choice.


Instead of a large wall, Ales changed it slightly and made it so there was a concentrated burst forward so there was no chance of the bitch surviving this if it hit her.


As her muscles trembled from fatigue, she let the wall slam out in a burst, the power of it actually knocking some of the debris off her.


Ales groaned in relief when the fire wall made contact with the bitch and all that was left was a pile of ash. She climbed down from the ledge she'd been on and limped towards the pile of ashes. She was running on her last ounce of energy but she needed to make sure her job was done before she she passed out.


Gingerly crouching to the ash, Ales sorted through the pile, setting aside the things she thought could have some worth.


She didn't find much, just a map, a pendant with what looked like an emerald in it and a simple gold ring that had a glow indicating there was an enchantment on it. Unsure of the value of any of them, Ales tucked everything away in her backpack and limped away to find a hotel in Solitude and take a very long nap.

 

[RedEarthRoamer]

They departed that night, their terms agreed upon. Saljeelus led the grim procession, cloaked against the moist chill of the night. His orders made no mention of which ship would be used or where it would be docked, but then there was no need for this. It was always the same ship, always in the same spot. The city guard, willfully ignorant of the Brotherhood's operations, nevertheless had their superstitions about the schooner with the black sail and the silent men and women who were seen working, silent, wraith-like, in the light of the moon. A few of the guards made to intercept Freyja, Urhand, and their Argonian guide on the docks, but when they saw where they were headed they conspicuously backed off.


The trio boarded the little schooner, just big enough to haul simple cargo and often used for that very purpose as a front. Saljeelus recognized the boatswain, a grim and grizzled old man who had survived having his throat torn by a bear thanks to a timely dose of restorative magic, and who somehow managed to run an entire vessel with a voice that could only barely rise above a hoarse whisper. He leaned in close to the Argonian and greeted him as Silencer, then informed him that the voyage would take two hours and that they would arrive shortly after midnight. Saljeelus relayed this information to the others then looked up appreciatively as a thin drizzle began to fall from a moonless, misty sky.


“Good.” He mumbled. “The darkness will bless our efforts.”


Something about the ship always seemed to forbid speaking. A few hours of silence passed as Brothers and Sisters went about their business, and eventually the schooner came to a halt. Saljeelus and the others were gathered on the deck, and the Silencer was given a looking glass. He peered through it in the direction indicated by the silent boatswain and saw, about half a mile off, a small island—barely more than a hill in the middle of the ocean, with a crumbling structure of white stone more or less immediately at its center. There was a fire burning near the shore and several figures were milling about. A few of them appeared to be dragging heavy parcels across the sand, and dumping them into a small boat near the fire.


“Thalmor” the Boatswain mouthed, and Saljeelus nodded silent affirmation as a golden glint of moonstone armor meandered past the fire.


“Friends, an update for you.” Saljeelus said, lowering the looking glass. “There are Thalmor on the island. It seems as if they have taken care of the pirates for us.”


“Thalmor?” Urhand asked, taking the looking glass when it was offered to him and checking for himself. “Why?”


“I can't say for sure.” Saljeelus said, as some of the crew set about lowering a small boat from the side of the schooner. “I imagine they are searching for Ayleid artifacts. Since that's what we're doing, that makes them our competition. I trust no one present is troubled by this fact, or its. . .implications?” The other two said nothing, but both smiled wickedly. “Good. Into the boat then. We'll try to row around behind them. I wouldn't say there are more than six outside the ruin. No one has seen any ships lingering around so we can't even guess how many might be inside.”


The trio boarded the little ship and Saljeelus and Urhand each took up a set of oars. Rowing silently around toward the back of the island, the missing ship came into view—a medium troop transport. Maybe with a capacity of a few dozen. Not bad. He scanned the boat carefully for signs of motion as they drew near and noted two figures prowling about the deck, likely left behind to watch for interlopers or any pirates who may have been out on patrol. They would need to be dealt with.


“Freyja.” He whispered. “It's dark, and the targets are distant, but it is time to show me what you can do with that bow.”

 

[PKCV2]

Walking with her new partners in the night stirred more feelings of discomfort and suspicion rather than reassuring emotions. First of all her new companions included a shifty and mysterious Argonian who he himself seemed to be unsure of their employer, she also noted that the Argonian was basically the leader of the trio, and his lack of knowledge did little to assure the woman. The other one, the bulging half-breed was something else and she was quite wary of the man. Usually men that big had tempers...and Freyja preferred her spine inside her body. But as they ventured to their destination, looks from city guards began to drift their way causing Freyja to pull the wolf's head over hers as if to keep her face hidden. Eventually when guards worked the courage to try and intervene in the voyage of the three, severely mismatched adventurers, they then backed away as they came close, something to do with the mysterious lizard Freyja guessed.


Eventually the trio found themselves on a boat of some sort, the darkness rendering Freyja unable to determine the kind of boat. While the passengers went this way and that, dutifully going about the ship as if one entire well-oiled machine, Freyja suddenly felt more alone in the world than ever. Huffing, the elf retreated to some corner of the ship where nobody would bother her, and she to her own task of readying her bow and arrows. First she lay her bow across her lap, running a slender hand across the smooth wood, looking for any protrusions worthy of being clipped to keep up it's smooth appearance. With the bow done she set on her arrows, picking out the sharpest steel arrowheads and throwing out the duller tips, wanting maximum damage. Her weapons would be used soon enough.


As the ship drew close to their destination, Freyja then found herself on a smaller ship with her two companions, rowing silently for an advantage on Thalmor who had taken up residence. Eventually they came upon another ship carrying only two Thalmor men upon it in the open. Soon she heard the Argonian giving her permission to fire, and she grinned. First blood.


Standing upon their own small boat, Freyja unslung the bow from her shoulders and nicked an arrow, drawing it taut, and carefully took aim trying to compensate for her vision in the night. Feelinging only a slight breeze Freyja slightly brought her weapon to the left just a slight adjustment, away from the Thalmor. With the breeze and the distance, the arrow would easily cut through the air and hopefully pierce something from the heart and above. Waiting for the men to hold still, Freyja finally released her first arrow and just as quickly as it was released another took it's place. A moment later one of the figures dropped, a thin, long protrusion sticking from the man's neck illuminated by the moonlight. Before the other could react an arrow found his torso, staggering the man. Quickly another arrow found his torso again, and dropped him.


Lowering her bow with a sigh, she sat herself back onto the boat.


"Well...there we go."

 

[RonetheSlayer]

While Freyja had been taking aim, Urhand maneuvered himself to the front of the vessel, crouched behind the tip. He waited for the elf girl's shots . . . damn! She IS a good shot!


Concentrating, Urhand feels around, checking his straps and gear one last time.


He was traveling light, well, light for him anyway. His chest and abdomen were exposed; he prefers to feel unrestrained. His gaunlets are a combination of inch steel plates with reinforced leather gloving. His thighs and legs are his heaviest armor, double layered leather, no fluff, with heavy Orguun plating throughout. His boots are Orguun as well, but he had long since removed the heavier plating on those.


His greatsword fits snug against his back. Wrapped in worn dark blue cloth within black leather, with a thick, dark leather strap going around the front, buckling at his chest, the greatsword was securely in place. Two iron handaxes on his sides, both tightly tied in place.


The ship keeps to the inside of the enemy ship, but the captain seems unsure of where to land. Urhand turns back towards the argonian. "How shall we approach this?"

 

[Dark Elfling]

((Is this dead already? ))