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    Minstrel

    Queen of Evil
    She had hardly been in the jail of Windhelm for a day, but Astrata was already sure it was an experience not to be repeated. Next time, she thought, Stone-Fist would not be there to save her. The idea that the man had saved her was absurd, but true nonetheless. Whether or not she had a choice in being saved was another matter entirely.

    The snowfall was surprisingly light for Windhelm, and the air was unusually still. Had Astrata's head not been tilted to the ground she would likely have seen a clear blue sky, and the glare of a pale white sun. In all the time she had been in the city, never before had she seen the world so calm. If only the weather had been this favourable when I was sleeping in the streets. But it was not just the weather than was calm, it was the city itself. There was a distinct lack of voices, of footsteps, of heavy goods being carted along the rough cobblestone.

    Looking up to see if she could determine the cause for such an eerily quiet day she found something unnerving. It was them. Men, women and children alike all appeared to have ceased what they were doing in order to watch the young Nord and Breton as made their way to the Blacksmith's forge.

    "That's the one," a voice hissed from amongst the crowd. "The one who burned that poor man alive."

    "Shh," Another came shortly after. "She'll do the same to you if you're not careful.

    Only when they neared the forge did the voices finally begin to subside. The crowds of curious citizens began to disperse, and gradually the city resumed in the usual hustle and bustle. No doubt the presence of Stone-Fist was the cause of this. What would have happened if he hadn't been there? Perhaps they would have beaten her to death in the streets. Astrata wanted to run away, to find a corner and cry until she could cry no more, but now was not the time.

    "Lars here bet that you two wouldn’t show up." Stone-Fist began. That's all they were to him, a joke, a bet. She hardly paid attention to what followed.

    It was when Stone-Fist walked away that Astrata noticed the robed figure by the forge. She could sense that Serezha had noticed the man too, but neither of them knew why he was there. Perhaps he was one of the trackers who was watching them? No, that would be far too obvious. She was ready to turn to Serezha and suggest that they collect their gear when the man approached.

    "Astrata, don't be afraid." He said. "My name is Wuunferth, I am the court wizard of Windhelm." He grabbed Astrata's wrist firmly, to which she responded by attempting to back away. Before she had a chance the elderly wizard placed a hefty book under her arm and looked her in the eye with a frighteningly intense gaze. "Take this. Read it, learn all it has to offer. I heard what you did to that man, burned him alive, yes? That was unfortunate, but do not be ashamed. You have a gift, girl. You don't know it yet, but you do."

    "A gift? I..."

    "Yes, yes, a gift. You may not know what to do now, but you will. I'm sorry, but I must go now. Good luck Astrata." The mage turned sharply on one heel, ready to walk away when he stopped in his tracks. He turned back slowly, this time looking at Serezha. "You. You are weak now like Astrata, yes? You may suffer setbacks, but you will be strong. When this is all over..." His eyes widened as if he had said something that he wasn't supposed to, and after a moment of silence he disappeared into the crowd.
     

    dunklunk

    You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die.
    He wasn’t sure why, but Serezha seemed intent on following Stone-Fist’s departure with his eyes, until the big man and his guard were no longer in sight. Perhaps it was on account of the Nord symbolizing the last link to sanity as he and Astrata knew it. As far as he was concerned, insanity lay in wait for the pair once they began their quest to track and exterminate the vampire coven, right outside the seemingly safe confines of the city’s walls.

    Movement toward him and Astrata caught his attention, snapping him out of his inner thoughts of what lay ahead for them. The man wore a robe and was determined to speak to Astrata, as he made his way right for her. Serezha was standing close enough to her to have caught his name, Wuunferth, the court wizard of Windhelm. With those robes, I would hope that he’d at least be some kind of wizard, he thought.

    Although the Breton noticed the wizard made physical contact with Astrata by grabbing her wrist, he wasn’t under any impression that he meant her any harm. More than anything, Wuunferth struck Serezha as being grandfatherly, instead of a threat to his partner’s well-being. And then he noticed the book. While one hand held her wrist, the other hand deftly placed a sizable tome under her arm, belying his age. Must be a wizard thing, Serezha thought, clearly amused at this.

    He had heard all that Wuunferth had to say to her, but one word stood out bright as a beacon on a foggy night: gift. Even Astrata seemed surprised by this one word, questioning Wuunferth about it right away. However, no more instruction or information was being offered by the mysterious wizard, who seemed ready to leave the pair, one of them with a hefty book tucked under an arm.

    To Serezha’s surprise, the wizard slowly turned around, this time staring him straight in the face, and then speaking, You. You are weak now like Astrata, yes? You may suffer setbacks, but you will be strong. When this is all over. . .Just like that, Wuunferth stopped, as if he said more than he should have. The Breton now had questions of his own for the mage, who after a brief moment of silence, disappeared into the crowd. Yep, definitely a wizard thing, he mused, shaking his head, smiling.

    With the two now left to themselves amid the hustle and bustle of city life, he was aware that weapons and equipment needed to be claimed in the blacksmith’s. Speaking to Astrata, however, was more of a priority. He turned toward her and inquired, Do you know him? He sure seemed to know a lot about you. For now, he chose to leave the part about himself out of it. And if you don’t mind my asking, what’s the book?
     

    Minstrel

    Queen of Evil
    "I've never seen him before in my life," Astrata mumbled, her eyes inspecting the aged cover of the book she had been given. She traced her fingers across its surface, noting the five symbols that adorned it. Her gaze fell upon one particular symbol. That of a golden bird with outstretched wings. It took her a moment to place the origin of the symbol - the symbol for restoration.

    "This must be a spell tome. Only this is a tome for more than one spell. Look, I think these are the symbols for the different branches of magic." She turned the book so that Serezha could admire its cover. "It's beautiful, don't you think?"

    Lost in the intricate patterns and symbols, Astrata almost forgot their reason for standing in the cold. She withdrew her gaze and looked to her counterpart, nodding towards the Blacksmith's quaters. "I suppose we should... Go inside?" She said, hugging the book against her chest and shuffling inside.

    Even before Astrata and Serezha had fully crossed the threshold they were met by the voice of yet another bellowing Nord. "Ah, there you are, Stone-Fist told me to expect you. Or at least I assume he meant you two when he described a scrawny young girl and a skooma addict." Astrata looked up at the man, who wore a dirty red apron and leather shoes that had seen better days. His face was weathered - but friendly enough - and he had only a sparse scattering of hair on the sides of his head. "I'm Oengul War-Anvil, the Blacksmith, as I'm sure you're already aware. Perhaps you've tried to steal from me before, eh?" War-Anvil said, winking and patting the two of them roughly on the shoulder. "Have a look around, tell me what you like, and after I have my coin I'll send you on your way. Best be quick though, I should really be getting back to the forge."

    Astrata moved around the Nord, still clutching the book she'd been given tightly to her chest. She looked up and saw the walls of the room were covered in weapons and shields, and mannequins beneath them were all clad in different styles of armour. Some pieces looked as if they weighed more than her, and Astrata wondered if she would be able to lift even the lightest of the weapons.

    First she approached a silver great-sword and placed her book on a nearby table. She inspected the handle, and then the blade; concluding that it surely couldn't weigh too much. After all, it was such a slender blade, it almost looked delicate. She looked around to see if anyone was watching. Serezha and War-Anvil appeared to be talking across the room, and so she grabbed the handle of the blade and attempted to lift it from the wall. Ok... perhaps it isn't as light as I thought. The blade didn't budge. Readjusting her grip she tried again, and this time it began to slide loose. Here we go, just a bit more...

    The blade came loose, but Astrata was instantly hit by the realisation that she did not possess the strength to lift it. In less than a second the blade swung down from the wall - narrowly missing the girl's head - and sliced through the table her book had been lying on. She let out an involuntary scream and allowed the blade to clatter to the ground amidst the broken table and the food that had been sitting on top of it.

    War-Anvil ran across the room, grabbing Astrata by the shoulders. She expected him to shout at her, and then to hit her as her father would have done - but he didn't. "By the Gods! Are you hurt?" Astrata hastily shook her head. "I'm so sorry." The Nord looked down at the two halves of his table and shook his head. "It's alright, I didn't like the damn thing anyway, it always wobbled." He let go of her shoulders and Astrata let out a sigh of relief. "I think we better find you something lighter. Try..."

    "What about those?" She cut in, reaching down the collect her book and moving to a corner of the room under which she could see the heads of staves poking out from underneath a sheet.

    "Oh, you won't be interested in those." War-Anvil said, attempting to catch up with the girl. "Occasionally I get merchants selling them for low prices and I'm able to sell them off for a profit. I don't usually get involved with magic."

    Astrata stopped in her tracks, sensing that she had stumbled upon something she shouldn't have. She bowed her head. "Sorry, they're just... beautiful, like symbols on this book. The court wizard gave it to me, he thinks I have a gift."

    Unbeknownst to her, War-Anvil's eyes widened for a moment as he realised that he was speaking to the girl who had burned one of city merchants alive. He wasn't disgusted, or angry, or scared - simply astonished that such an unassuming girl had the power to do such a thing. After a moments though he knew what to do.

    "Well then, take a look at this. She's made out of silver as it so happens."

    War-Anvil pulled a staff from underneath the sheet and held it before Astrata. It was magnificent. The craftsmanship was expertly done so that it looked as if silver vines wrapped around each other, all the way to the top of the staff where they curled around a strange blue crystal that radiated a dull blue light.

    "What do you think?"
     

    dunklunk

    You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die.
    After agreeing with Astrata that the book was indeed beautiful, Serezha nodded in agreement yet again with the immediate task facing them. He hunched his shoulders and followed her into the blacksmith’s.

    Like his partner, he too was awestruck by the volume of weapons and armor gracing the walls and mannequins. To his somewhat limited knowledge, this was the first time he had ever stepped into a blacksmith’s. And why in all of Skyrim would you? he thought to himself. I’m not that stupid to try to steal from someone who crafts weapons, weapons that could kill, or at the very least, cause serious pain. The thought seemed to amuse him, as there really was no reason for him to have visited one previously. Until now.

    The proprietor of the shop and forge promptly introduced himself as Oengul War-Anvil. The name suits him perfectly, mused the Breton, still gazing at all the armaments. Clearly, this man is a master of his trade. Although obviously a Nord, War-Anvil struck Serezha as being the total opposite of Stone-Fist. He seemed genuinely friendly to two down-on-their-luck strangers.

    He wandered around the room, trying out various weapons, mostly to see if he could even lift them. While he knew how to use most of what he was looking at, actual skills at putting any of the blades, axes, or maces to its proper potential was definitely lacking. Engaged in conversation with War-Anvil, the pair was jolted to attention by the loud crash of a blade.

    Turning, they looked upon an ashen-faced Astrata, with a great-sword laying near her feet and a table cut in half, amongst food and bowls. War-Anvil was on top of her before Serezha could think his next thought. He could hear their conversation, and yet again, he was amazed at the Nord’s kindly demeanor toward someone who had just dropped what appeared to be a rather valuable weapon.

    He soon joined them and decided to tag along wherever War-Anvil decided to guide her. Serezha was in no way prepared for what the blacksmith was about to pull from under the sheet right before them. But the second he lay eyes on the silver staff, he knew he was looking upon craftsmanship like no other. If she truly has a gift, he thought, as the wizard hinted at only moments ago, I wonder what she could do with that.
     

    Minstrel

    Queen of Evil
    "Its... Stunning." Astrata said, reaching out to touch its surface. The metal was cold, and she flinched at first before running her fingers down the stave and taking it in her hand. War-Anvil released his grasp and to the girl's surprise it didn't clatter to the floor as the great-sword had done. "It's not as heavy as I thought it would be."

    "I suppose wizards aren't known for their strength, eh?" War-Anvil said with a shrug. "I'd love to tell you how she was made but I haven't got a clue where the damn thing is from. Tell you what though, this silver is exactly what you need to fight vampires, the nasty things they are. Talos have mercy on whoever strays into..." The man stopped, as if suddenly recalling why Astrata and Serezha were there. He let out and awkward grunt, before quickly changing the subject. "Anyway, I'd be happy for you to have her."

    Astrata thanked the blacksmith. She took the staff in both hands and peered into the blue crystal that adorned it. She'd never seen anything like it, but then again she'd never seen anything much related to magic before.


    "I've got some light armour that will suit-you just fine on that table near the door too."

    "Armour?" Astrata began, not sure she was the type of person to need armour. "I don't think-"


    "Trust me, where you're going you'll need armour. Now, Serezha, let's get you equiped."


     

    dunklunk

    You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die.
    Now, Serezha, let’s get you equipped, said War-Anvil. Hearing his name mentioned shook the Breton out of his fascination with Astrata’s recently acquired magical staff. Truly, it was a sight to behold. He was equal parts fascinated and afraid of the staff's potential, never mind Astrata's potential in wielding such a powerful weapon. Or not.

    At that moment, Serezha gazed upon Astrata with a mixture of wonder and awe and trepidation as to what she was capable of. She could get us through this, he thought. And what of you, Breton?! he scolded himself. Will you, as always, be the weak link in this journey? Just like all the others? He hung his head in shame until War-Anvil's booming voice rocked him back to the here-and-now.

    Serezha! Over here!

    It was really happening. As he shuffled over to War-Anvil to see about his wares, Serezha experienced a high sense of dread, wondering if he was witnessing his last days (hours? minutes? seconds?) among the living.

    Will you look at this? inquired War-Anvil. Have you ever seen anything like it? Noticing how Serezha was just staring at the set of armor, the large Nord went on, It's supposedly Dragon Scale. He stood there, scratching his head, then continued, Crafted from the scales of dead dragons, I would assume. He snorted, then snorted again in derision. War-Anvil glanced at Serezha, and was about to say. . . .

    It's beautiful, the Breton stated. Though I wonder if it should be used in battle or just admired, like we're doing right now.

    War-Anvil paused for a moment, then released a laugh so loud, his ancestors would be proud of. Well, the Nord began, stroking his chin, you're about to find out, my friend. See, no one seems interested in buying this set. Whether it's because of price or its questionable capability in the heat of battle, I don't know.

    The Nord lifted the set of armor from the table to present to Serezha, then said, May this protect you in the darkest moments of your battle with this evil. He shrugged, then continued, Wish I had something better to say.

    No matter, replied Serezha. I appreciate what you did say. As he was collecting his gear, War-Anvil said to the Breton, I noticed your friend stepped outside. Probably already in tune with that staff and Talos knows what she's doing with it! He winked.

    Smiling and winking back, Serezha again thanked War-Anvil for his assistance and generosity and headed outside. He immediately caught sight of Astrata, and made his way toward her.





     

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