Prologue
4E 190
The steel tipped arrow flew though the night, striking the unwary beast in its heart. Its knees buckled, and the forest stood still.
The gentle sound of twigs snapping and leaves rustling broke the silence, and a large, burly figure appeared over the elk and withdrew the arrow from the lifeless corpse of his prey.
As the moonlight timidly crept across the night sky, it revealed the sunken face of a despairing male Nord. His large jaw was masked by a dark beard, tied off at the chin, and his eyes alone told the tale of a man just struggling to survive. The Nord bore strong, broad shoulders, capable of hauling many hides across long, rough, Skyrim roads. He wasn't the largest Nord, but he had an athletic build, and was capable of holding his own in a fight, especially after his gut was full of a hearty Nord Mead. This Nord huntsman was Torvald.
He then dug an engraved Imperial Legion blade beneath the hide of the elk and began to slice away anything that could fetch a coin at the Whiterun market. He looked at the blade and pondered whether his father had used this knife for the same purpose, or if it was only used to spill the blood of the elves that took his life in the Battle of Red Ring. Torvald sliced off one last piece of venison for his own dinner, and then stowed his haul into the bag on his back.
Raised the only son of a Legionnaire, Torvald's mother walked out on the family after his birth. His father was a fine soldier and one of the best leaders in the Imperial Legion until his untimely death, just weeks after Torvald's fifth birthday. He now carries his father's steel blade as a reminder where he came from, and a reminder that loyalty and the bonds of family are as strong in death as they are in life. After his father's death, he lived on his own, fending for himself and avoiding the orphanages until he became of age to enlist in the Imperial Legion in Skyrim.
Torvald served honorably for many years in the Imperial Legion, he was an excellent fighter, as the years of living on his own had hardened him. He was planning on following the tradition of "once a legionnaire, always a legionnaire", until he was discharged after his hot headed tendencies lead him to instigate a brawl with another officer, Captain Aldis. Incidentally, Aldis now bears Torvald's old job of training his fellow Legionnaires in fighting, specifically archery. Since his discharge, Torvald has been traveling across the tundra of Skyrim, pursuing the trade taught to him by his father; hunting. These harsh past years of nothing but the hunt have taken their toll on Torvald. Working day to day and living for the Septim is a harsh life, though nothing seems to relax him and calm his nerves at the end of the day like some mead.
As Torvald trudged exhaustingly into The Bannered Mare, the large head of another young Nord appeared from behind an almost empty tankard of mead.
The man boomed out in a deep, raspy voice, “Torvald! Old friend! Ahah, how did I know I’d find the best huntsman in Tamriel in a tavern? Come! Have a drink! This mead is much better than what we used to sneak out of the Vilenmir Inn as lads!"
Bjorn and Torvald grew up together, and had been close friends ever since. They were nearly brothers, and Bjorn's family practically raised Torvald when times got tough.
Bjorn was large and stocky, even for a Nord. His long, scraggly, blonde hair and think beard made him appear to be the physical embodiment of the Nord culture.
“Ah… Bjorn,” Torvald said with a roll of his eyes and a smirk, “Times are getting hard and the Septim is getting weaker, what else is a man to do but spend it on some strong drink?”
"Even for you? I thought you were the Thane of this city!"
"Used to be" sighed Torvald. "I even owned the home down the street: Breezehome, till about a month after my discharge from the Legion when I got a knock on the door from Commander Caius saying I've lost my title and I've been evicted!"
"Evicted?!" urged Bjorn, "I didn't even know they did that in Skyrim."
"Well now you know. Damned house has been deserted for months now and the bastards won't let me have it back. The steward said since the Cloud District is all filled up, they'd like to save Breezehome for
'someone a bit more noble'," exclaimed Torvald with a sarcastic tone. "Can you believe that?!
More noble?! As if a hard working huntsman isn't a noble enough profession! It's like they're waiting on the next
Dragonborn or something!" he scoffed.
The both chuckled, then Torvald continued "Ah, but enough about me, how are you and Danica?"
"Ah, my lady is fine as ever. We're planning on getting married here soon! Sealing the deal! She's visiting her family in Eastmarch right now though."
"Congratulations! That's great news!" exclaimed Torvald.
Suddenly, as if he’d seen a ghost, reality settled in and Bjorn looked upon Torvald with a sense of utter desperation. "What is it brother?" asked Torvald. Bjorn's tone grew serious; “I've got to be honest… I’ve come seeking your help. You said it yourself, times
are toughand I’ve been in need of some Septims myself lately, and I've got a bit of a problem I may need some help with. I think Danica and I are both be in danger.”
“By the nine, what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“I'm sorry brother… I’ve been pulling some security jobs here and there, and lately, I’ve been running shipments for some Khajiit caravans. “
Torvald nodded, silently pressing Bjorn to continue with his tale.
"You see, these caravans are much more serious than I'd ever imagined. They're having me run shipments of their products, which happens to be barrels full of Skooma and Moon Sugar, across Providence lines. They don't hire their own to do it because of the distrust and harassment that the guards have toward Khajiit. I was shipping a load of fur for them one day when they offered an incredible amount of septims, just to deliver some packages---"
Torvald interjected in a hushed tone; "Do you know what kind of trouble with law you could get into for trafficking that much Skooma into somewhere like Cyrodill?"
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I had no idea it was Skooma at first, I swear! The money was just so good…” He paused, staring at the tavern floor, he seemed to have gotten lost in his dreams of wealth until he snapped out of it and continued. “You see, the problem is that I was robbed by a couple of bandits on the road heading south just a few days ago. They knocked me unconscious, and when I came to, all I could hear was the bandits talking about Skooma, and how much there was. They made off with as much as they could carry, and left the rest in my carriage, and left me for dead."
"So they robbed you of the Caravan's product?"
"Yes," Bjorn said with a sigh. "I have the rest of it hidden back at home in Ivarstead." He paused his sentence nervously as the light flickered and a dark elf, clearly armed, passed behind them at the bar. "I'm honestly terrified. I've seen the sick, gruesome things these Khajiits will do to people who cross them. Now, if I return to them with the truth, they'll kill me on the spot for losing their product, and if I don't return to them, it appears as if I've stolen their Skooma for myself. Sitting around these Inns and walking within the city walls where the cats aren't allowed, I hear rumors of people seeing wandering Khajiit assassins lurking around the city gates, not speaking to anyone, clearly on a mission. Did you see any as you came into town tonight?!"
"I didn't think much of it at the time, but earlier today while I was hunting, I couldn't help but notice a slow moving caravan in the tundra behind the city. I thought it strange because the Khajiit usually stick to the roads and move swiftly. I figured they were looking for shelter from a storm or something, but now it makes sense. They're... they're waiting for you. They must know you're here."
"Oh Talos have mercy. I'm going to be confined to the walls of Whiterun my entire life. That is, until they hire an assassin that isn't a Khajiit to come and kill me. Ah, brother, I might as well end it all now. Leap off the porch of Dragonsreach to my doom. It'll be less messy than if those cats get a hold of me."
"Dammit Bjorn, don't be so rash. We can make this happen. We can work this out. Maybe I can negotiate with the Caravans
for you?"
"Oh you mean die in my place, do ya?"
"No, no. Fine. What if we just relocate, and throw off the caravan on your tail? We'll hide you in plain sight and I'll smuggle you out? I have some friends who trade within the city that are on good terms with the Caravans and their shipments out wouldn't be bothered. We could hide you in a shipment, then run by Ivarstead and grab all the Skooma."
"Seriously? I'm all for my freedom, but why bother with the Skooma? It's the whole reason I'm in this mess in the first place? Might as well just leave it in my house until the Caravans find out where I live and raid my home until they find it."
Torvald smiled at the animated and incredulous expressions that Bjorn was making. He laughed a little bit, and replied. "Hah, I
did say it earlier, didn't I? Times are getting tough and the market is weak for fur. The prices of Skooma right now are through the roof! We could make a killing!"
"Fine, you better be right, and if I make it out of this alive, I'll be forever in you debt. You know that, right brother?"
"Don't sweat it old friend. You'll make it out of this alive, and better yet, we'll make off as rich men."
"Well in that case," Bjorn said, getting louder now, and looking at the bartender, "two more rounds of mead over here, deary!"
The young, attractive barkeep slid two tankards down the wooden bar to the Nord men. They grabbed them and proceeded to pound down the mead as if it was the last drink they'd ever take.
And it very well could be.
The men each rented rooms for themselves, and agreed to meet at the Drunken Huntsman at sunrise the next morning.
__________
Dawn breaks, and the Nord men meet behind the shop where it's owner, Elrindir, awaited.
Torvald addressed the wood elf; "Thanks for this Elrindir, you don't know how much I appreciate this favor, I really do owe you."
"Oh please, you've provided me with near half my furs for this entire first year I've been in business. The pleasure is mine, and you owe me nothing; as a matter of fact, I'd probably be out of business if it weren't for you."
"Hah, well thank you regardless, El!" said Torvald with a pat on the back before turning to Bjorn.
"Well Bjorn, it's probably best you get in the carriage now. I won't be going with you, Elrindir here can be trusted, and he'll take good care of you. He's a big supplier of fur and arrows to the Caravans, so you should make it through their security with no worries. Meet me in the Inn in Winterhold after you've picked up the Skooma; the Khajiit won't be found there, they haven't stopped to sell their goods there ever since half the town fell into the sea. I'll immediately ride to get Danica, and she'll be safe with me. May Nocturnal's blessing be upon you brother, and shadow you from those who seek to harm you. God speed."
Without further ado, Bjorn and Torvald embraced in a quick, brotherly hug, and Bjorn proceeded to climb into the carriage.
__________
Two days passed as Torvald sat in The Frozen Hearth after retrieving Danica from Eastmarch. A beautiful Imperial girl, Torvald always wondered how Bjorn got so lucky as to meet her. Torvald peeked into her room in the Frozen Hearth to make sure she was okay. He noticed she was finally asleep after being restless the past few nights out of sheer worry for her lover.
Torvald went back out into the main hall of the inn, and sat down at the table in the corner, shivering from the chilled breeze seeping through the cracks in the window panes. He sat gazing out the window, surveying the College of Winterhold. From all he had heard, it was those College mages that had caused the Great Collapse in the first place, but times had passed and arch-mages have come and gone. This didn't stop the locals from forgetting about it though, judging from the number of mage versus local brawls that have occurred in the inn in the short time Torvald had been staying. A hooded figure entered the inn, and Torvald became suspicious of the character. He could tell this was not one of the mages from the college. The cloaked figured removes his hood revealing the broad and reluctant smile of Bjorn.
He made it.
"Bjorn. I never thought I'd be so happy to see you. No problems I take it?"
"No, it was incredible. The Khajiit approached once, asked Elrindir if they'd seen me, and that was it. Aside from being rather cramped in that tiny carriage full of crates, it was a pleasant ride. Thank you. I can't say it enough.... thank you. "
"Anything for an old friend. Your soon-to-be wife is sleeping in that room over there. She's been worried about you," said Torvald, pointing.
"Thank you for getting her and keeping her safe. I don't know what I'd do if I lost her."
"No worries, no worries at all. You're a lucky man! ...Now... have you got the Skooma?"
"Aha, always on the next move eh? Yes, I've got it buried in some snow outside the town."
"Good, there's a mage in the college that I've overheard talking about Skooma and other black market products. I think he could be interested in taking this off our hands. Wait, what's that mark on your neck?"
"Huh?" looking down, Bjorn notices some black, vein-like lines on his neck, probably something that had been knocked out of the barrels in the carriage. "Oh, it must be some charcoal or something."
"It almost looks like you have...
black blood. Tough... I like it. Sounds fitting for a serious Skooma dealer doesn't it?"
"I s'pose you're right!" Bjorn said with a chuckle. "You're really thinking about doing this aren't you?"
"Bjorn. We just evaded and ripped off the Caravans, some of the most vicious Skooma dealers in Tamriel, and now we're reselling their product. We already
are doing this."
The look that crossed Bjorn's face was a guilty smirk, as if a sack of septims was just dropped in his lap.
"Where are we going to work out of though? We need somewhere to safe to store all the product, and maybe even make more ourselves." inquired Bjorn.
"I passed a place on the way into town, high in the mountains. It's an abandoned military base from the Great War; Fort Kastav. It'll be perfect. But for now, let's get rid of this Skooma and start this out right."
The two Nords sold the Skooma they had taken from the Khajiit Caravans, and made a hefty profit. They took up residence in Fort Kastav, and began life anew, dealing with some of the most unsavory characters in Skyrim, trading for profit and maybe even cutting a few throats here and there. They soon became notorious in dealing in Skooma and blood, and thus, the Blackblood Marauders were born.
