Private {18+} Ascension

Elrasur walked in silence, keeping an eye, as well as an ear, out for trouble. They had already suffered one ambush since arriving in Skyrim, and he wasn't eager to fall prey to another. Travelers and merchants along the road grew ever more scarce, as they headed towards the Reach. The former assassin had never been to any part of Skyrim, but he had heard stories and the conversation from earlier was still at the back of his mind, so he was cautious. They arrived at a crossroads, where a ruined tower dominated the landscape, but a smaller boulder, about the size of a man, was also placed in an odd way. Words had been carved into the stone, clearly older than the crude slogans that had been scratched into its' surface. Thalien, their leader, wondered whether the phrase was a warning or a benediction to those taking the Reachward road. "Why not both?" Elrasur suggested, "where these forsworn are involved, that seems likely."

 

Lilliana shook her head in answer to the dunmer womans' question. "I'm not a sell-sword at all, actually. I'm a scribe." Realizing the word might not translate, she mimed writing with her quill. "I lived in the Imperial City for some time, yes. Before..." she shuddered as she remembered the night she'd fled from the archives, and the desperate, day to day survival she'd gone through while living in the under-empire. "Before I joined these people. Adalia-" she pointed to the redguard woman, "saved my life. I don't have anywhere else to go, so I travel with her now." She explained. The imperial got the impression that the dunmer wasn't sharing everything, but decided not to pry. She had secrets of her own to keep. "My name's Lilliana. What's yours, if I may ask?"

Ahead, Adalia glanced over her shoulder at hearing someone speak her name. She saw the girl she'd taken as her ward speaking with the dunmer who had joined them less than a day prior. The storm mage was less than pleased about that. The dunmer hadn't spoken so much as a word to the others, and her one armed friend had left with the soldiers headed to some imperial outpost. She made a note to keep a close eye on the dark elf, but didn't stare. Instead, she called out to Orien "these forsworn- you've fought them often?"

 

Iornath paused at the marker, all his senses on high alert. The boulder, if not the writing upon it clearly marked the beginning of Forsworn territory. Yet...Skyrim was under the control of the empire, they would never let such a blatant sign of resistance stand. Yes, it seemed various groups that had passed through had taken the time to scratch their own slogans or sigils into the rock face, but none had defiled the stone itself. Realization struck him as he pondered it. "This is a lure. Any imperials that attempt to move or destroy this marker are doubtless ambushed by Forsworn lurking in the hills. I would recommend not tampering with it."


Rajeem felt somewhat out of his depth, even as he stepped off the ships' gangplank. The dark castle loomed ahead, sinister and domineering. The group, accompanied by imperial soldiers and their captain, made their way inside, the one-horned argonians' hand never far from his falchion. He stuck to the center of the circle of soldiers, aware that the illumination from their torches made him a good target for anything lurking in the dark. They came to a halt as the captain realized they were one short; a soldier had gone missing. After a short search, one of the imperials returned, with a bloody scrap of uniform. Rajeem cursed and drew his falchion "I think it's safe to say we're not alone in here anymore."

 

Cyrius stared at crude warning etched into the boulder along the road. It had obviously been placed there, rather than falling naturally. Thalien read the inscription, and wondered whether it was a warning or a blessing. The white-handed dunmer, Elrasur, suggested it might be both, and Cyrius found that he agreed with the elf. He didn't know much about the forsworn, other than that they liked ambushes and were fierciely territorial, but he had heard that they were obsessed with their 'old gods'. The imperial seriously doubted the etching referred to the old pantheon of aedra. "I suppose that confirms their presence" Cyrius drawled, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. He swept his eyes over the craggy foothills and cliffs around them, but saw very little. If they were being watched by anything besides the old gods, he couldn't see them.


Elwyn drew her sword as one of the imperials walked over with a torn, bloodied scrap of cloth. Cloth that had once been part of an imperial uniform. Judging by the reactions of the other soldiers, none were overly pleased by the discovery. The former justiciar was more disturbed that she hadn't noticed the soldiers' death. She had the keenest hearing by far, besides maybe Athara, and she hadn't seen the other woman react one way or the other. The one horned argonian, Rajeem, drew his own blade, commenting that they were no longer alone. "And whatever is in here, it isn't friendly" she added, before brushing her fingers against Atharas' wrist "can you see anything?" She whispered.

 

Adalia asked him if he had fought the forsworn before, and he nodded "not often, but yes. As I said earlier, they are skilled trackers and prefer ambush tactics." He pointed ahead, where the road narrowed, then gestured to the ominous totem. "We should be on our guard. I heard that the Reachmen have been claiming this land as theirs for centuries. Before the emperor came to power. They won't take kindly to us trespassing." Though he doubted the forsworn would strike so close to such an obvious indicator of their presence, he rested his hand on the hilt of his gladius. His other hand tingled with unspent magic as he eyed the rocky hills.

He noted the young imperial speaking with one of their newest companions, the quiet dunmer with the headband. He turned away, hiding the distrust in his eyes. He wasn't sure what, but something about her rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps it was just him being more paranoid than was healthy. He was a wanted man, after all. "Lilliana, stay close. You haven't any armour, and in my experience, they prefer softening their targets with javelin and arrows before they move in for the kill." He found himself wishing that he had a column of heavily armed and armoured, and more importantly shielded legionnaires with them. The battlemage sighed, knowing they would have to make do, before continuing along the road.

 

Adalia grimaced, catching the former soldiers meaning. If the forsworn truly believed the Reach belonged to them, they would fight tooth and nail to defend it. If they were really going to travel through the Reach to get to High Rock, she predicted a lot of trouble. Worse than the bandits that had ambushed them when they had first come through the pass into Skyrim several days ago. "Well, at least we have your experience to call upon, if they do come looking for a fight." What she didn't mention was that she wasn't sure they would be as fortunate as they had been with the bandits. Despite having a day to rest in Falkreath, they had split their group and those headed towards Markarth would have a harder time fighting off any attackers, forsworn or not. Lilliana frowned, surprised by the concern in Oriens' voice. She glanced at the elf woman, but she wasn't sure why their was a sudden unease in his voice. Did they know one another? Or was the battlemage being honest when he mentioned concern for her wellbeing? She managed an apologetic shrug, before joining the redguard and imperial.

 

Vintor eyed the blood soaked uniform with trepidation. He hadn't thought the job would be as simple as it had sounded but he had been hoping that whatever had killed the garrison would have moved on by now. Unless, of course, whatever had killed the garrison had been there long before the imperials had moved in. An old castle like this, the former paladin wouldn't be surprised if it hosted all kinds of unpleasantness. Tightening his grip on the mace in his right hand, he swung the torch in a slow arc in front of him, eyes on the ground. The dripping noise was still present, grating on nerves and only adding to the sense of uneasiness that hung in the air. Now, though, there was a new, more visceral sound; the wet tear of flesh along with distinct...eating noises. They came from the rear of the chamber they had entered, and together, the group edged forwards.

As they moved closer, a hunched figure could be seen over a body in imperial armour. Fresh blood spread around the corpse and the...thing feasting on it. The creature wore torn robes, but was emaciated to the point that they merely hung off it's body. The light and the curses of the soldiers drew it's attention. It turned a gaunt, bloody face towards the party, gobbets of flesh splatting to the floor as it opened it's may to reveal needlelike fangs. It unleashed a snarling shriek, then dashed into the darker shadow, hauling it's prey with a strength Vintor would not have expected for such a thin creature. "That- that thing...I think it used to be the overseer" the captain gasped. "Whatever it was," Vintor said, "that thing has no loyalty to your empire any more."