Start Dale
I got 99 problems but a Deadra ain't one.
Before he had reached the butchers he watched a commotion develop, it appeared the Imperial forces were lining the children up to be taken to one of the training camps. He saw the child swiftly grad the axe from the Elf and stab the guard, then the Elf with Martial training that surpassed the Imperials restrained him. The child made off like a fox, yet even before the guards started he knew the child was done for. When the young boy was captured and dragged back mentally he redressed himself, young man now, more so than most others here Donmjark included. He knew from the guard’s eyes it would have been more merciful to use an arrow to stop him in the escape dead. The young Nord’s dead body slumped to the ground in front of his peers, another lesson for a Nord’s new place in the world. To the other children’s credit they didn’t cry out, he wanted to tell them that their fellow would be in Sovvngarde by night fall, maybe they already knew, like true Nords in there very bones.
He watched the Elf be dragged away, a Breton old, yet firm hobbled back to the butcher’s hood drawn up. He watched the step and meaning in the stride, the two must know the Elves fate on the gallows already, it looks like an escape attempt already.
Donmjark hadn’t moved while he watched all of this, he had remembered the Briarheart’s words “Forsworn don’t interact with others bar basic trade, we may have our freedom now and the Reach may once again be ours, but we know who to trust; Forsworn, it is in our very flesh” So Donmjark had stood still head bowed Deer meat weighing down on his back, he hadn’t even met the eyes of those involved.
Inwardly he muttered “You could try being a Nord again”. Resolved he walked straight over to the Imperial encampment, he knew the offal and blood of the Deer plus the dirt of the Forsworn life had disguised his Nordic skin, the helmet masking his features. He dropped the Deer at the feet of the Quartermaster “Tithe for the troops the Briarheart sends his regards” without once looking at the quartermaster he walked off. The Imperials had obviously been briefed on the customs of the Madmen of the Reach, he didn’t even respond till Donmjark was far away, grabbing the Deer and dragging it to the roasting spit.
Donmjark walked out of the village and waited till he was a good distance out before he doubled back. It was dusk by the time he had made his way stealthily back to near the gallows. He has yet did not know what he would do, he just knew he had to be here or he would die old and in the dirt at that encampment.
Secluded in the undergrowth a short distance from the gallows he watched the crowd build in the dawn light. The guards guided the Elf in chains towards the rope; slipping the noose over his head they pronounced him guilty. Without ceremony or words of passing they released the trapdoor, the rope didn’t snap the neck like it was meant to. The Elf dangled there suffocating, Donmjark moved to a crouch and again as if he was back in the wilderness he found himself stringing an arrow, he had been almost unconscious of the act, now it was happening he smiled.
In the crowd a large brute of a creature or man it was hard to tell for the size and sudden rage, started throwing guards round like rag dolls.
Donmjark calmed his breathing and sighting one last time closed his eyes and turned his head and released the arrow. Before he turned round he uttered a prayer the first for years “Talos guide it”. Turning his head round he saw the arrow had done its work; the elf was on the ground on his knees gasping for breath noose dangling off of his neck.
He strung another arrow from his hidden vantage point and aimed for the nearest of the Imperial guards.
He watched the Elf be dragged away, a Breton old, yet firm hobbled back to the butcher’s hood drawn up. He watched the step and meaning in the stride, the two must know the Elves fate on the gallows already, it looks like an escape attempt already.
Donmjark hadn’t moved while he watched all of this, he had remembered the Briarheart’s words “Forsworn don’t interact with others bar basic trade, we may have our freedom now and the Reach may once again be ours, but we know who to trust; Forsworn, it is in our very flesh” So Donmjark had stood still head bowed Deer meat weighing down on his back, he hadn’t even met the eyes of those involved.
Inwardly he muttered “You could try being a Nord again”. Resolved he walked straight over to the Imperial encampment, he knew the offal and blood of the Deer plus the dirt of the Forsworn life had disguised his Nordic skin, the helmet masking his features. He dropped the Deer at the feet of the Quartermaster “Tithe for the troops the Briarheart sends his regards” without once looking at the quartermaster he walked off. The Imperials had obviously been briefed on the customs of the Madmen of the Reach, he didn’t even respond till Donmjark was far away, grabbing the Deer and dragging it to the roasting spit.
Donmjark walked out of the village and waited till he was a good distance out before he doubled back. It was dusk by the time he had made his way stealthily back to near the gallows. He has yet did not know what he would do, he just knew he had to be here or he would die old and in the dirt at that encampment.
Secluded in the undergrowth a short distance from the gallows he watched the crowd build in the dawn light. The guards guided the Elf in chains towards the rope; slipping the noose over his head they pronounced him guilty. Without ceremony or words of passing they released the trapdoor, the rope didn’t snap the neck like it was meant to. The Elf dangled there suffocating, Donmjark moved to a crouch and again as if he was back in the wilderness he found himself stringing an arrow, he had been almost unconscious of the act, now it was happening he smiled.
In the crowd a large brute of a creature or man it was hard to tell for the size and sudden rage, started throwing guards round like rag dolls.
Donmjark calmed his breathing and sighting one last time closed his eyes and turned his head and released the arrow. Before he turned round he uttered a prayer the first for years “Talos guide it”. Turning his head round he saw the arrow had done its work; the elf was on the ground on his knees gasping for breath noose dangling off of his neck.
He strung another arrow from his hidden vantage point and aimed for the nearest of the Imperial guards.