Private What Lurks in the Dark

[willowwisp]

Elizabeth didn't know much about hand to hand combat, and she didn't present much of a threat, in her tan colored robes and small dagger. The guards pretty much ignored her, so she just kept close to the doors, near here fellow Imperial. The fight with the guards was over surprisingly quickly, and the Khajiit woman proceeded to interrogate the jarl. Soon, the group had a destination for where they could find their answers: Whiterun. Originally, the healer had only planned to stay with the group for a little while, but staying a little longer, to find answers about the disappearing villagers was acceptable. However, Elizabeth was way too tired to walk all the way to the city tonight. She was almost asleep on her feet, and probably would have toppled over if the leather coat wearing woman guided both her and Julius to the inn.

 

[TheShadedOne]

Shadari strolled past the others completely sated now that she'd beaten on the jarl. All she needed now was a good drink and someone to warm her bed.She glanced up once at the clouds, that looked black, now that night had fallen, and wondered when they were going to get on with it and drop the rain. She entered the inn just behind the vampire woman and her two young charges, and took a seat in her usual corner seat. Her first ale was already arriving, and Shadari tipped the serving girl for her prompt timing. Swallowing a good amount of it down she thought to herself 'mission accomplished. I'll collect my payment in the morning, and then I'm out of here'

Unfortunately, some part of her was telling her that she wasn't quite done, and she had that follow feeling of dis-satisfaction in the pit of her stomach. 'Answers...Whiterun...those corpses in the cave...damn it. I'm not done' By that time, the assassin was already on her fourth ale, and rather annoyed. She didn't particularly want to go looking for answers, but she wouldn't be able to enjoy herself unless she saw this quest for answers all the way through to the end. Growling and grumbling the Khajiit woman stood, and looked for someone to vent her frustrations on. Spotting a Nord that didn't look too drunk, and was kind of good looking, she seized him, and dragged him over to her room, slamming the door behind her.

 

[Drahkma]

Averain entered the inn in time to see the Khajiit woman dragging a half drunk Nord (who didn't seem to be complaining all that much) into her room. The knight had no doubts about what was going on inside, but he wasn't planning on speculating about it too hard. Instead, he approached the Altmer vampiress and said, in politely curious tones "What's our next move? After we arrive at Whiterun, I mean" the vampire had a fairly good idea about what the first part of the next day would bring, but it was easily a days' march from Whiterun to Falkreath. Perhaps a day and a half, considering the group, and stops that they might need to make. However, if the dark clouds finally broke and released their loads of rain, the trip would indeed be slow going.

 

[Aethalia]

After buying the pair of Imperials a hot meal and rooms, Aliah took a seat and stretched her legs, more than a little weary from the days' events. She closed her eyes briefly, attempting to regain some of her energy. It was, as it so happened, an exercise in futility. Her legs were still sore, her head hurt, and she generally felt rather tired. The sound of armoured feet drew her attention and she opened her eyes to regard the red-armoured knight. Averain, she thought his name was, and he asked about the groups next move, after they arrived in Whiterun. She thought for a little bit wondering what kind of answers they'd actually find in Whiterun. She'd only been there a few times in her life, and the court mage didn't seem all that knowledgeable, as mages went. "Honestly, Averain ,I don't know. I assume it revolves around what answers we find in Whiterun...if any."

 

[Madrar]

Salthar had enjoyed watching the beating that the lithe Khajiit woman gave the idiot that called himself the jarl of Falkreath. Personally, Salthar wouldn't have beaten the man. A little intimidation on the vampires part usually worked just fine to get unruly nobles back in line. Shortly after that, Sidgier said something concerning Whiterun, and the group left the longhouse, and headed back inside the inn. After ensuring that his room was still, in fact his, the vampire joined the rest of the group in the common room, taking a seat and ordering some wine. While he drank, the Altmer vampire reflected on what they already knew. Clearly, Sidgier had known something about those corpses in the cave, but Salthar doubted the bandits had much to do with them.

They'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fatally so. The Thalmor robed vampires thoughts circled back to the strange markings on the elders' chest. They, above all else, worried him to no end. If it was magic, which he personally suspected it was, then it was no magic he'd encountered before. If it was something...else, that meant some strange, dark power had come to Skyrim.While Salthar didn't particularly give a damn about most of the Nords in the kingdom, he didn't particularly want someone, or something else fighting his coven for power.That brought his thoughts to the forest...the lack of animals, the oppressive darkness...this lead the vampire to believe that whatever had massacred those villagers was something sentient.And sinister.

 

[Brigantes]

A guard tramped through into the tavern with one or two friends; similarly clad in their purple garbs of law so they appeared as clones until they removed the metal helms that obscured their face throughout shifts.
One, plopped down onto a bench and swung his legs around so he was seated at the table with his muddy (and thus unsightly) boots hidden from view. He propped his shield against the table and stretched the knots out of his muscles; yawning as he did so.
Another checked the flagons on their table which had yet to be cleared, to see if any nectar had been left beyond and was there for the free taking.
He was disappointed, as per usual.
The largest, and last of the trio of guardsmen, had slouched his way over to the bar (back weary from the steel greatsword which had rested there, undisturbed, all day) and slumped against the bar; waving his arm idly as he engaged in rudimentary paralinguistics to summon the barmaid and accompany his verbal orders of a round of ale. He removed his helm and ruffled his flattened ginger curls into their naturally wild state, and forgot about the armour shell when he returned to his companions with his arms full of iron cups and sloshing liquid.
The barmaid didn't call him back for it, she simply brushed it aside to clear the counter for other patrons, and cleaned where the dirtied helmet had stood.

The flagons were set down and tongues quickly started to wag as if they were old fishwives having a good old natter and a gossip. Raucous laughter was exchanged, as well as childish barbs and playful banter, but eventually, the big topic was reached, and the mood took a more serious turn.
"Can't believe he set foot in this hold again..."
"Well, ya gotta admit..." the guard took a swig and then wiped his mouth, "the man has balls..."
"Nevermind if he has balls, he won't have a head by the end of the week; people are baying for blood already, wanting his head on a pike there and then..."

Silence ensued, only to be broken by the first guard who had settled on the table and had stretched before;
"Here's us, thinking we'd caught another bandit or thief...but instead we snagged a war criminal..."
"Yeah, and a local one an' all..."

Silence reigned again...
"Confiscated that belt of his before we threw 'im in lock-up...did n' half throw a flegger over it...
One of them laughed as he recalled the experience that had, at the time, terrified every one of them;
"Yeah, what was it? You dare touch the property of the Wild-Bloods, you dare confiscate what is mine! What a joke is what I say..."
"'Aye, well, we'll see who's laughing when his head hits the mud tommorow..."

 

[Baneloth]

Donath entered the inn, and rubbed the back of his head. He was wondering what had happened to that one Nord that he'd spoken to the night before the group set out. As far as Donath had known, the man, a sturdy looking warrior, had been planning on travelling with the group to wipe out the bandits. He'd never shown up, the short warrior remembered, and he couldn't see the man anywhere inside. Then he heard the three guards talking about some 'war criminal' they'd captured. That was curious enough, and got the bald warriors attention. Not because he cared about the capture, but because the ones talking about it were Hold guards. 'It might be that they're knowing something about my missing friend.'

Approaching their table slowly, and being sure to show no ill intent he said "Hello, lads! I've got a bit of a problem. A friend of mine has gone missing, big lad, kinda handsome, had this broody look about him" then he recalled what the man had first said to the bartender..."Said something about an Angvald fella? Just wondering if ye'd seen my friend around" the warrior shrugged, standing at the table with the haft of his ax sticking up well past his shoulder.

 

[Brigantes]

Conversation ground to a complete and unnerving halt with the guards turning to Donath with a look that was somewhere between shock, disgust and fear - as if a daedra had just wandered in and asked where the freshest babies were to be found in Falkreath.
Then, the movement ensued...

The one closest to the door pushed himself back so he could be stood, blocking the exit with his sword and shield braced in a stance. Another had the flank of the leader, who reached for his great sword and the ropes of arrest.
"A friend? So, you consort with a murderer of men, women and children, a thief, and a daedra worshipper?" The leader had thrown that last bit in to make Angvald seem even more gruesome and sickening as an individual, "give me one reason not to arrest you right now, were you one of the battery at Half-Moon?"

 

[Baneloth]

Taken aback by their hostile reaction, Donath took a cautious step away from the table, noticing that already, one guard had moved to block the exit. "Easy now lads. It would be shame for me to have to bash your foolish heads in before ye tell me what I want to know. Have ye seen my friend or haven't ye?" The veteran warrior already suspected what the answer was, and judging by the guards response, he'd guessed right. Clearly, Kurnag, (if that really was his name) had gotten himself mixed up with the wrong crowd...or Donath was a poorer judge of character than he used to be.

 

[Drahkma]

Averain stared into the red depths of his wine. He'd taken his leave of Aliah, and was now sitting at a table, minding his own business. Some part of him was urging him to close his eyes and get some rest, but the arrival of a trio of guards got his attention. He wasn't worried; the vampire had committed no crimes in any of the holds, and unless the guards from the jarls' longhouse had regained consciousness already, these three were simply off duty, and looking for a place to put their feet up. His curiosity sated, the knight turned back to contemplating the depths of his drink.

Then he heard the short, bald warrior approach the three guards, and ask them about a friend of his that had apparently gone missing. Wondering who the man was talking about, the vampire once again turned in his chair to watch the proceedings. The guards reaction was quite curious: First they stared at the man, as if not sure whether to attack him or run from him. Then they leapt up, one guarding the leaders flank, the other moving to block the door. The leader, presumably, reached for his weapon, and Averain decided it was time to step in.
" Hold, guardsmen. I'm sure that if there is a problem, we can work it out...without bloodshed" he placed a gauntleted hand on the bald Nord warriors' shoulder, cautioning and supporting the man.

 

[Brigantes]

"Your friend," the lead guard sneered, curling his lip and gritting his teeth, "was responsible for one of the worst civillian massacres in this Holds history, probably, in the whole of Skyrim actually...so, forgive me," he added sarcastically, turning his sneer on both men that were now present, "if I appear a little 'touchy' about the subject of being friends with this psychopath..."

None of the guards reliquished a hold on their weaponry and, in fact, their grasps tightened upon grips and hilts of shield and sword. The one flanking the leader spoke next, holding his twin blades in a position where the deadly points faced backwards instead of forewards - his whole stance showed his was one of the more reasonable of the three.
"Yes, he's become quite the attraction, I think Old man Sven had completely gotten rid of his rotten tomatoe problem; they've all been thrown through the bars of the murderers cell - was quite a sight, we should have charged and made our fortunes."

The one nearest the door had been decidedly quiet to this point and then decided to throw in his two cents;
"You can go and see him I suppose, whilst there are still lights in his eyes - you'll be able to see his head on a pike tommorow if that's more your...thing..."
This guard then returned to his silence after a shrug of the shoulders. He was definately the most 'timid' of the three, and perhaps the youngest - he certainly didn't seem as sharp in his tongue or his insults as the others.

 

[Baneloth]

Donath snorted, and shoved past the guards, and out the door. He was mad, not just at the younger man for lying to him...they didn't know each other, really, but he was angrier with himself for not seeing through the lies straight away. Back in his days as a Stormcloak captain, he'd been able to tell if a captor or traitor was being truthful in seconds. "Damned fool...Ye should have seen it...no one asks those kind of questions unless they knew the damned man they're askin' about" he grumbled to himself. He made his way to the jail, grumbling and cursing to himself the entire way.

He opened the door to the prison, ignoring the surprised guards, and searched until he found the man he was looking for. Removing his weapon from his back, he rapped the wooden haft of the ax against the steel bars to get his attention. "Get off your arse!" He barked, fully into his captain mode. "Now, you're gonna tell me the truth about yourself, if ye really want to live. If I think yer lying, I'm gonna walk away, and you'll be dead come dawn" he gave the man a withering glare, which was only made more sinister as the torchlight flickered off his bald head.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar looked up in time to see the confrontation between the three guards, and the steel armoured Nord come to an end, with the short warrior storming out the door. The vampire wasn't overly worried about the man, nor did he care to follow. If the man wanted to go out and kill his fellow Nords, Salthar wasn't about to stop him. He leaned back in his seat, and glanced at the half Breton. Then he summoned him over with an idle wave, determined to have what little curiosity he had about the issue sated. "Our Nord friend...is he planning on starting a fight with the guards of Falkreath hold?"

 

[Blackwhite1223]

Torin lifted a mug of ale to his lips and drank gratefully. He didn't tend to usually spend too much time in cities, except maybe to turn in wolf hides, or for a place to rest when the weather was particularly foul. It seemed like this stay would be no longer than his usual ones, perhaps even shorter. It seemed none of the people in the group, the Thalmor vampire included, were planning on leaving the group. That struck the ranger as strange, as it seemed at first that the group was only in it for gold. Now it seemed they were more interested in answers than gold. It spoke volumes of the character of those in the group, and for the most part, Torin liked what he saw. Deciding he'd had enough to drink, he bought a room, collected his gear, and headed into his room. Undressing, the ranger placed his gear, minus the boots on a bedside chair, and pulled the furs up to his chest. Then he closed his eyes and decided to get as much rest as he could before they set out.

 

[Brigantes]

Gone were his heroic vestements and now, the once proud nord was clad in the ragged linen scraps of a convict and a prisoner. He still cast a formidable figure, but for a completely different reason. No longer did he look a fearsome warrior and defender of the vulnerable and weak; that man was replaced by a brute with a hulking frame and murderous eyes that were as cold and merciless as the Northern Sea.

The upper layer of clothing had been removed and was being wringed in two callous hands - red and white liquid mingling as it ran to the floor after being squeezed free from the absorbent fabric. The red wasn't blood...at least not all of it...it was mainly the putrid essence of rotten tomatoes that had been hurled at him, and it had made the tunic stink something foul. The white was all sorts of liquids - water, sweat, spittle, curled milk...
When he had been dragged through the streets like an animal he had been subjugated to all kinds of abuse; verbal, physical, mental.

So much for true justice, but to the people of this hold, that had been justice....true justice for them would have been the ability to hang, draw and quarter him right there in the middle of the muddy lane and then stick each individual part upon a sharpened stick or pike.

They would probably get their satisfaction tommorow. The penalty was a beheading...but, he had seen the look in the Jarls eyes once he heard the people baying for the severe punishment that was barked by the unruly mob. If he gave the people what they wanted, maybe he would get some prestige within the small hold. Besides, he may feel he had to have a different punishment for a war criminal...couldn't have just a beheading - that would be too easy of a let-off from the mortal coil.

Yet still...Angvald knew not what awaited him tommorow, and he was lost in thought - mindlessly wringing the sodden shirt - looking up through the small, sqaure window (no more than a brick in length and height) that let in a small beam of light.

His back was to the elevated door of his cell, so if any passing guards felt the need throw anything more at him, all they would hit would be the broad expanse of his scar riddled back.
And it was scar-riddled; there was barely a centimetre gap between scar and the next - long and short, wide gashes and thin slivers. The otherwise slightly tan body, was marred and marked to a copious degree.

He was surprised when he heard that authoritarian voice, and he stopped the 'cleaning' his tunic shirt and threw it into some darkened corner; discarding it carelessly.
If the man meant him harm, then the thin, ragged linen would provide little protection over his mortal flesh.

He turned, and recognized the man from the night before he had been arrested, and was going to step forward but rethought his movements when he noticed the withering look on the older mans face.
This was the sign of a military man, and this was territory that Angvald knew full well. His features hardened, his posture was straight and his stance, strong. He was neither intimidated, nor frightened by this shorter man; but treated him as equal:
"I'll probably be dead either way once you know what I have done..." then his eyes downcast and he sat upon the floor, regardless of the abhorrent conditions, "but perhaps you already have an inkling...would you mind telling me what that is exactly...?"

 

[Drahkma]

Pleased that the situation hadn't gone from words to bloodshed, Averain turned to see the robed Altmer vampire motioning him over. "Our Nord friend...is he planning on starting a fight with the guards of Falkreath hold?" He asked, when the knight arrived at his table. Looking back at the slightly bemused guards, and the door that the man had just used, he shrugged. "I doubt it. He's simply looking to find his friend from earlier. The guards know he's with us ..I doubt they'll start any real trouble." With that the half Breton rose from his table and bought himself his room. He would need his strength for the walk to Whiterun.

 

[Baneloth]

Donath sighed. He'd hoped that the guards were perhaps wrong, but the man made no attempt to defend himself. Either he was resigned to his fate, or he was proud of his deeds, neither option helping the prisoner. "I heard a bit from the guards. Ye were involved in some massacre down at Half-Moon...If what they say is true, I used to hunt men like you. Traitors and war criminals, mostly" then the man sighed. "Look lad. I'm tryin' to help you. You tell mw yer story, and maybe if I believe ye, I can pull a few strings with a couple of friends that owe me a favor or two, get ye outta here with yer head still on yer body, eh?"

 

[Brigantes]

No smile was mustered, not even a small one of self-depreciation. The large nord just looked down, as if absorbed deep in his own mind, before he broke his reverie and looked up at Donath.
"I won't bore you with details...I'm a noble-man, the true heir to this Hold and all within...when I came of age I fought for the Imperials...the Stormcloaks were using Half-Moon as a base for their assault against the capital and if they had been allowed to operate, they would have taken the Hold..."
He knitted his brows and his fingers together, holding the latter between his knees;
"I couldn't allow them to take over my home, so...I rode into town, with a small battery of men, and slaughtered everyone within...they were all guilty as far as I was concerned in my mindless youth..."

He held his head between his hands, and pressed his fingers into the back of his neck;
"Men and women alike...but I never killed children...but I suppose that depends on your definition of child...anyone of a sword-weilding age was a threat, and I couldn't chance that..."
Angvald shook his head and lifted it a little, bringing one large paw around to rub his tired, frustrated face;
"Do you remember when Half-Moon was an actually town?" He cast his intense but oddly sorrowful gaze up towards his current judge before looking back down at the floor, "No? Neither does anyone else..."

"We reduced it to nothing, those who survived the battle were barricaded within their houses and their workplaces and the buildings were burnt..." A deep breath was taken, "My father was diposed and I was exiled under pain of death...I am the one who blackened our family name with the blood of innocents...My true name is Angvald Wild-Blood...not Kurnag Crowseer, and I apologise for my deception."

 

[Baneloth]

Donath listened in silence to the mans story, and nodded solemnly at the end of his tale. He wondered briefly if he'd lost his mind, because the person he was about to go bother would certainly think so. The younger, taller Nord hadn't attempted to say he was guided by blind glory or bloodlust, bit he'd basically confessed his crimes to Donath. That was both good and bad, in a way. Bad because if there did happen to be a trial, that might come up, if he wasn't gone already. Good because Donath now knew how to work it in his favor. Blowing out a sigh, the man nodded once more before standing up. "Ok lad. Just sit tight. I've got an idea on how to fix this" Donath stood, and walked out of the prison.

The thought:'Why am I helping this kid?' Popped into his head more than once. The answer: 'Because once upon a time, we weren't that different' mind you, the former Stormcloak hadn't destroyed any villages, but he'd ruined more than his fair share of lives in his day. Not everyone he'd killed had deserved it, but when you lead a company of men that are Ulfric's 'fixers' you killed when told. A fortunate perk, was that, in that business, you made a lot of friends in high places, as well. Climbing the stairs into the guard barracks, he went to the captains quarters. Judging by the guard standing outside the door, guard captain Arbrann was still awake. Goran Arbrann had been the guard captain for the past sixteen years in Falkreath, and was a good friend of Donath's

The guard, either older or smarter than those three in the tavern. "Captain Stonesplitter...what brings you here?"Donath waved away the title. "Is Goran in? I need to speak with him" the guard nodded, and pointed at the door. Nodding his thanks, the former captain entered. Goran was a little taller, and maybe ten years older than Donath himself. "Donath? When'd you get here?" Then the grey haired man shook his head, grinning. "Never mind. What do you need, my friend?" Donath grimaced, almost regretting what he was about to say. "The prisoner downstairs...Wild-blood. I need him freed" The warrior was sure that Goran's jaw almost hit the ground, it dropped so quickly.

"That-that...murderer? Why?" The older man asked, eyes wide in horrified surprise. Donath didn't blame him. The people of Falkreath would be very happy with captain Arbrann if he managed to serve justice to the war criminal. "Ye must have heard about those disappearances...I need him for a group that's going' to Whiterun...just a feeling of mine" The man nodded, but still seemed unconvinced. "I'll cut him down myself if he starts' any trouble, and bring his head back as proof" the captain still looked dubious, but finally nodded.
"I'll sign custody over to you then...if he doesn't die on this 'quest' you're going on, you'll need to return him to Falkreath" Donath nodded, wondering if he'd actually be able to stop the man if he tried to escape.

The pair went down the stairs, back into the prison, Goran grumbling to himself and shorting through the keys on an iron ring at his belt, Donath wondering if he was really doing the right thing. Reaching the cell, the guard captain barked "Wildblood! Get up, you're going with my friend here. Seems you're getting a stay of execution, for now" turning to Donath, he asked, almost pleading with his friend "are you sure you want to do this? You know what'll happen if this get's mucked up" Donath knew. If Angvald Wild-Blood escaped while in his custody, Donath would be held accountable at best, seen as an accomplice at worst. "I'm sure. I was the lad, a long time ago" nodding miserably, Goran unlocked the cell door.

"Get out of here, Wildblood. You can collect your gear from the chest upstairs" the captain walked away, shaking his head at the strangeness of it all. Donath looked at the younger Nord, wondering if he'd made the right choice. "Ye realize what just happened, don't ye lad? I'll have yer word o' honour now that you won't try to escape while in my custody, or any other foolishness" he paused. "Tell me if yer not willing to go with me, and I'll leave ye to yer fate. Come with me and the others at the inn, maybe ye can redeem yerself" he said gruffly, stepping aside to let the man exit his cell.

 

[Brigantes]

Angvald was surprised, but the emotion of shock didn't show itself upon his permanently stern features. The sorrows were still there, but they were deeply ingrained within the depths of his eyes; locked away in those prisons of cold, glacial blue. Those cages held all emotion, and squabbles did break out between the warring cousins of wrath and grief from time to time - at the expense of his mentality.
This was one Nord who was haunted by a grande assembly of ghosts, and they plagued every hour, both asleep and awake - there was no escape from them.

When the captain allowed Angvald up the crude and slippery hewn steps to the barred door, he met him halfway so he could cut the convicts bonds. He took the knife to the woven hair and leather with some great display of conviction and ferocity; his irritation and reluctance of the decision manifesting itself as he sliced at the loops and tight straps that held his wrists together and had already succeeded in rubbing them raw just below the palm.
When the ropes fell away and he could peel his wrists away from each other for the first time in 24 hours, his first instinct was to rub the reddened, aching lines left by the biting material and he suddenly was brought back to reality and the world around him by an impatient cough from the Captain who was releasing him. He looked behind the man in Falkreath Hold garb and saw the man from before, Donath, the one who had listened to his tale without voicing any sort of judgement.
He afforded the older Nord a small, acknowledging nod of respect and went to leave his cell, before his shoulder was pushed on by Goran;
"One minute 'ere son," he almost snarled through his teeth, and he produced a noose from his belt - already tied and ready for use. However, it was cut short, obviously not a run of the mill collar that was to be put on the scaffold. Garon motioned for Angvald to hold out his hands, and once those calloused paws were offered, the shortened noose was slapped into his hands whilst the steely captain maintained his withering glare;
"You'll wear that, as a reminder of what you did, and what you have to return to if you succeed in your little venture..."
As Angvald looked down at the noose he held in his hands he felt his sanity break momentarily and the weight of the rope was by far increased by the amount of emotions he felt as he held it. It felt as if it would drag him down to the ground.
"Either way..." the captain stood aside to let Angvald past the barred door, and started walking off, "you're a dead man walking."
And, with a little nod of respect to Donath, he left the two.

"Ye realize what just happened, don't ye lad? I'll have yer word o' honour now that you won't try to escape while in my custody, or any other foolishness" Donath started and then gave a little pause to allow for serious thought and contemplation. "Tell me if yer not willing to go with me, and I'll leave ye to yer fate. Come with me and the others at the inn, maybe ye can redeem yerself"

Angvald nodded his assent and walked over to the chest containing his armour, his weaponry and every other article that belonged to him; placing the noose, solemnly around his neck with the knot hanging heavily down the front of his throat.
"I'm not seeking redemption...just the hope of doing something good for this world before I am cut short..."