18+ Stalking Shadows

The Empire is falling apart. The blind and the proud might not see it, but for those who watch from the shadows, it's all too clear. The Emperor himself has seen it, though he hopes to delay, if not stop it. With most of the Empires soldiers guarding against threats from outside, the heartland of the Empire, Cyrodiil, is ripe for the picking. Dissident groups have popped up all over Cyrodiil, rebelling for the sake of it, or some obscure cause or another. To bring an end to this, the Empire has begun hiring mercenaries of all kinds, though some enemies may be too much of a challenge, even for these stalkers of shadows.

The lithe, armoured Khajiit woman made her way through the streets of the city, keeping a cautious eye on the guards. Though she knew they were keeping an equally close eye on her as well. She was a stranger around the city, and they knew it. And she was hunting. More or less.

Skingrad had once been a great city. The second largest, since the Daedra had shown up and wrecked that other city that she couldn't remember the name of all those years ago. Ever since the start of the war though, its grandeur had gradually faded, until it was just liked the dozens of other cities she'd been in over the past two years.

The mans she was hunting had some information for her. If what her contact had told her was true, her target knew Blackthorns exact location. Something she needed. She made her way to the designated meeting point to find...nothing. Well, not nothing, exactly. On one of the buildings was a notice, informing available mercenaries that the local authorities were seeking assistance.

Shadaris ears flattened. If he'd decided to skip out on her, he'd have more to fear than a few guards. Then something dark at the border. Ink. Scribbled on the notice was one word: Leads? Apparently, her contact had shown up, and he thought the bounty might have something to do with Blackthorn. She shrugged, and tore the posting off the wall. Any other mercs in the area could find their own.

A pair of men entered the city of Skingrad. Neither of them looked much like mercenaries, at first glance. In fact, they didn't look like warriors of any kind. From a distance. Or to the spectacularly unobservant. However, if someone a little more attentive observed the pair, they would notice a few things that marked them as dangerous characters. The man, walking on the right, wore a sabre on his left side, and a dagger on the right side. The casual confidence he walked with indicated he knew how to use them. That, and the cold glint in his eyes. The look of a man that was trained in one art. Killing. His name was Veridas Ashheart, a Breton. His lips were set in a grim line as he took in the city of Skingrad. "What a hellhole" he muttered to the dark elf at his side. "Remind me why we're here again?"

His companion, Jeth La'ralle, chuckled softly. The Dunmer looked even less like a fighter than his travelling companion. His cloak, leggings, and tunic were made of a fine material, and he looked more the part of a merchant than warrior. Save for the pair of scimitars with well worn hilts. And the wands, of course. "Oh come now, my friend. Skingrad is a place for adventure!" He glanced slyly at Veridas. "Plus, there's not likely to be any of your former...employers here."

Veridas snorted, remembering well the vampires of the Bloodlet Throne. He'd been on the run from them for months. Jeth had found him hiding out in a hovel near Rorikstead. As much as he disliked relying on anyone, Jeth had saved his life, and taken him to Cyrodiil. The Dunmer was the closest thing to a friend he'd had in years. "Maybe." He replied. "Only problem is, we won't last long here if we're broke."

Jeth gave him an admonishing look. "Please." He patted the bulging coin purse at his side. "This'll hold both of us, until we find some mercenary work."

Veridas raised an eyebrow "are you sure there will be work here? The Empire isn't exactly fond of mercenaries running around there cities."

The dark elf shrugged. "There's always work. The Empire is at war. They can't afford to turn down our help." He pointed to an inn across the street. "I'll get us a room. Wait here,and for my sake, try not to make any new enemies?" Veridas snorted again, and Jeth chuckled, and headed across the street to the building. The assassin sighed, and leaned against one of the buildings, crossing his arms. Movement caught his eye. A Khajiit woman, wearing dark grey armour that almost matched her fur colour, stood reading a piece of paper. Something about the way she stood, clued him in that she was not a simple mercenary. Now, he was interested. Maybe their stay in Skingrad wouldn't be as dull as he'd originally thought.

The area was, as far as anyone could tell, void of any living creatures, save for a single, short, heavily armoured warrior. The man stood with his hands on his hips, looking more like an admonishing parent than a ferocious warrior. He was facing the mouth of a cave, the interior of it was blocked by a flimsy wooden door. A group of bandits had taken up residence, and the count was paying a lot of coin to have them dealt with. Permanently. Callig Stonesplitter sighed, and brought his hands up to cup around his lips. "Alright. Ye can come on out all peaceful like, or I can come inside an' introduce meself"

Silence. And not the kind of silence that indicated nobody was home. The kind of silence Callig had learned to associate with men getting ready to fight. The warrior shrugged and started walking towards the 'door'. A single kick from his heavy steel plated boot knocked it cleanly into the cave. The first thug that came at him was a human male, of average height. The sword in his hand wasn't anything special. Neither was the skill he used it with. Callig swung his mace, crushing the mans ribs and sending him to the floor. An Orc was next, bellowing and swinging an axe. Callig growled as the weapon clanged off his armour, and replied by crushing his opponents skull. The bandits fell quickly after that, overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of the sturdy Nordic warrior.

He entered the city a few hours later, grinning, a large bag containing the bandit leaders head. A squad of guards met him at the gates, one holding a large sack of coin. Callig hefted the head. "Here's yer troublemaker, lads. He won't be botherin' yer patrols anymore" the guard nodded, and handed the coin pouch over. "The count thanks you. If you're interested, there's more work for you.Maybe try asking a few inn keepers, or look for postings nearby." The Nord nodded his thanks, and headed into the city. It wasn't pretty, but he'd been in worst places during his life as a mercenary. And...he chuckled and shook the coin purse, listening to the sweet music of coin jingling. Skingrad still had plenty of inns and taverns where he could lighten the load of his recent acquisitions.

On his way to the tavern, he noticed one of the previously mentioned postings near a tavern door. Grabbing it, he headed inside, and looked for a seat. Movement caught his attention, an elf, Dunmer by the look of him, was making his way into the inn. He was dressed fancily, but he looked like he knew how to use the scimitars at his sides. 'Don't see many dark elves around here. Maybe he's heard of available mercenary jobs.' Not terribly bothered by the elfs appearance, he ordered a large mug of ale, and sat down to enjoy it.

Skingrad, Cyrodiil

Aragorn entered the city through the main gate. Skingrad had always been his most favorite city to visit. Something was always bound to happen. Of course, recently, most of those things that happen are bad. Still, no body wants to mess with a Ranger. His outfit and weapons gave him away. Pulling the hood down a little more over his head, he began walking towards the West Weald Inn. When he reached the courtyard out in front of the Inn, some of the crowd that had gathered parted to let him pass through, with the occasional googly eyed person making a sighing noise. He saw a Khajiit looking over a piece of paper, and a man with a sabre on his left side. 'Interesting.' He thought to himself, but was pulled out of his little trance when he heard a young kid begging for some gold. Aragorn turned, and walked over towards him, stopped in front of him, and crouched. He pulled down the mask that covers up his face. The child look at Aragorn with a sort of wonder. There was a ranger, standing right in front of him. Aragorn opened up his pouch on his left, side, and pulled out a small coin purse, that had twenty gold in it. "Here, kid, take it." He said, handing it to the young one. The kid was more surprised then anything, and when he looked up to say thanks, the Ranger had left. Aragorn took one last glance at the Khajiit woman in armor, and the man with the sabre as he pulled the mask back up over his face, and then turned, opening the door to the Inn, and walking inside.
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As he got inside, he was greeted almost immediately with a wave by the current Bartender, and owner of the Inn, Serana Jeranus. He pulled down the mask over his face, and grinned, calling out to her. "Serana! How have you been? No more thugs messing with you, I hope." He said with a chuckle. The woman behind the bar counter motioned to her assistant to take over, and she walked over to him, and gave him a big hug, which he returned. "Well, I haven't been gone that long." He said, grinning at her. The woman pulled back from him, a smile on her face. "It has been long enough. I have been good, by the way. How are you?" She asked him. Aragorn took a step back. "I've been good myself. That business with the Forsworn in Skyrim was nasty, though. Anyways, I heard we were having trouble back home, so I came back to take a quick look. So far I haven't seen much of anything, except a well armed man outside, and a Khajiit in armor. Anyways, I am famished. You wouldn't happen to have my special, would you?" He asked her. Serana grinned, and motioned for him to take a seat at a table. Aragorn took a mock bow, and then walked over, taking a seat, while Serana disappeared into the back room. Looking around the Inn, he noticed a male Dunmer, who he made awkward eye contact with. Aragorn broke it almost instantly, and then continued looking around. He noticed a short, but broad man in plate armor, but looked away when he heard noise coming from his right. Serana was back with his food, and a cold Ale. She set it down in front of him. "On the house." She said to him as he began to pull out some gold. Aragorn smiled, and said thanks, putting the bag of gold back in his pouch on his side. Then he began digging into the food, for as he said, he was famished.

Ardus Carn entered the city of Skingrad shortly after noon. He hadn't been in the city for years, and was surprised by how much it had changed. He'd been rather fond of Skingrad when he'd worked in the province. In the short time he'd been away, the whole place had fallen apart. People sat slumped in the gutters, and others slouched their way through the streets, doing their best to ignore them. The guards looked like people Ardus usually hunted, and by the way they were looking at him, they knew exactly who he was. 'Some things never change, I guess' he thought. But then, someone didn't kill an Imperial lord and be forgotten. Ardus wasn't particularly worried about being arrested though. People still paid handsomely for his services.

He made his way down the street, and noticed that the guards and atmosphere weren't the only things that had changed. He had a shadow. A lanky kid, with long greasy hair, and a ragged tunic. The boy was trying to get close to him, and the bounty hunter could imagine why. His coinpurse was in clear view on his hip. Any thief worth the title would have spotted it, and despite the foolishness of it, would be tempted to try his luck. The boy was no different. Ardus turned away, playing oblivious. The kid may have been a thief, but he was a far cry from being good at it.

He heard the boys rasping gasps of anticipation, and turned just as the boys hand was extending to grab the tempting prize. The bounty hunter turned to face the thief."Stupid, kid. But at least you tried. This is going to hurt. A lot. Next time, try harder" He twisted the boys hand, and was rewarded by the sound of his wrist snapping. He wouldn't be picking anymore pockets for a while. Satisfied that he was still sharp enough to catch a pickpocket, and that he'd had a small bout of violence, he turned back to surveying the street.

A Khajiit woman stood examining a sheet of paper, and across the street was a Breton, and judging by his dark attire and the sabre at his side, a mercenary of some kind. If forced to guess, Ardus would bet assassin. The man looked like he was dressed more for stealth than all out combat. And if there were assassins standing on street corners, it was most likely that job postings had gone up. It was just as well, as he was running a little low on coin. He entered the nearest inn, and took a seat at the bar. "Whiskey, bar keep. And a little information on the jobs available"

Despite the sun being just passed its peak in the sky, Amy still couldn't help but feel that the city she had just entered seem rather dark. Perhaps it was the shadows of the dusty buildings or perhaps it was because the moment she walked in happened to be the same moment a tall, cruel looking man was breaking a frail boy's wrist. Great. Straight from one hellhole to another Amy thought. At this rate, she found it hard to find the the difference between the terrible stories of Oblivion and the terrible stories of life on Nirn. As the wrist-breaker made his way into the tavern, Amy scanned the rest of the streets.

Their was a shady-looking Khajiit woman with a piece of paper (something you wouldn't see back in Skyrim), a shady-looking Breton with a sabre, lots of shady-looking "guards," and even more shady-looking beggars lining the street. Ah, the city. What a marvelous place.

The boy with the broken wrist was still whimpering in pain. Amy turned away, trying to drown similar memories of her own childhood. A few stray signs were posted on the walls, telling of how the authorities were in desperate need of mercenaries. Sighing, Amy grabbed one and headed into the inn.

Inside, Amy sat one seat away from the wrist-breaker at the bar. She ordered mead and chicken, all the while listening to the bartender tell the wrist-breaker of available jobs around the city. As she waited for her mead, she surveyed her surroundings. A short but sturdy Nord with heavy armor was enjoying a drink, a Dunmer with scimitars was also hanging about, and a Ranger began gorging himself as a pretty woman smiled at him.

Amy was glad when her food arrived. It was no surprise, considering she hadn't eaten in nearly two days. She tore into the meat fiercely, and drank her mead quickly. After all, you never know when someone might come along and try to take it.