Somewhere in the Reach
The Reach was a large place. After the civil war, villages had sprung up among the mountainous lands. Now, many of these small villages are empty, walls unguarded, doors to houses open. Those villages that remain populated have barred their gates, and set a constant,vigilant watch. Search parties from the capital of the Reach, Markarth, have been to these villages, both bereft of villagers and filled with them. Though, they did not look nearly far enough to find their missing people. Contrary to popular belief, it was not the mist that caused the disappearances. Or at least, not the mist on its own. To the south of the capital in the mountains that separated Skyrim from Highrock, where no villages were, was the beginnings of a fortress. Of course, it didn't look like one. At least not yet.
Milling about outside the mountains were creatures. Nothing the world had yet seen, with pale grey-green skin, large, yellow eyes, with mouths packed full of teeth clearly designed for rending and tearing flesh.They stood no taller than a man, and many walked hunched over, as if the sunlight hurt them. They wore little clothing, with scraps of leather, or random pieces of scavenged iron and steel armour strapped to themselves to provide some protection. Their long arms ended in five fingered hands with inch long claws, that looked wickedly sharp. Some had weapons, curving swords, axes, some spears. Though most of the weapons looked either scavenged, or crudely made. For example, swords were curving or straight chunks of metal, with leather wrapped around one end to serve as a hilt. Spears were long branches, with jagged metal tied securely to them. Axes, hammers and maces, much the same.
They spoke, if that's what it could be called, among themselves with snarls, barks, and shrieks, with the badly mangled word.
All of this was observed by a figure that stood upon an outcropping. The figure was male in appearance, though his face was hidden by a black steel great helm. The only openings were a pair of rectangular slits, where the eyes should be. Instead, what peered out, were a pair of glowing, red orbs, that seemed to radiate a cold fury. Black chainmail covered the figures neck, revealing no flesh. Below that, he wore plated black steel armour, with more chainmail covering the open areas such as the underarms, elbows, knees, and other areas needed for proper manoeuvring. Over all of this, was a long, dark cloak, with a hood, that was currently up, covering the top of the greathelm.
The figure lifted an arm, examining a gauntleted fore arm and hand. The armour was impressive, certainly. But that was nothing compared to what was beneath it. The figure had once been a man, before he'd accepted the Masters gift. Underneath the armour, his skin was pale white, almost transparent. He wasn't dead, however, but neither was he alive. Rather, something in between, and more powerful than both. His armour was freezing to the touch, and if his bare skin even brushed against something living, it withered and died. The sword at his side, was the most mundane of his weapons. In his past life, he'd been a protector, a guardian, but he'd always wanted more. Now, he was the Dark Seneschal. One of the Masters' many lieutenants. Created to serve his will. The lesser creatures, milling about below him served him. They were on the ones that carried out the raids in the night, capturing villagers to serve the growing army that would, one day, take the fight to Markarth, and then the rest of the Reach.
The current group of creatures, had just returned from yet another successful raid, and the human villagers wept or cowered as they were shoved along. Many of these people would be put to work on the fortress. Others would serve as fodder for the beasts that had captured them. As the Seneschal surveyed the area, he picked out a few men that were not chained, or working, or cowering. These men had betrayed their own people, throwing open gates, or leading members of their village to 'safety'. Many of them served a spies or saboteurs, bringing the Seneschal news of events from the lands of the Reach. Which why he knew about the call for mercenaries, and was pleased by it. The less defences Markarth had, the happier he was.