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dnd_drow

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 "Well then." I said, as the last beams of sunlight disappeared and the glowing orb of the sun finally slid behind the towering peaks. "Guess we should be on our way then."

 Smiling in what I hoped was a confident way to her, I pulled the straps of my pack tight and placing the unslung bow over my shoulder as though it was an axe. "I’m Kaius by the way."

 I turned and began to walk across the sloping ground, feeling the dry grasses crackle under my feet as I did so. She sniffed disdainfully, looking out over the bleak landscape of northern Cyrodiil before following after me.

 "Viconia," she said, her accent strangely melodic. "Viconia DeVir."

We made surprisingly good time, travelling quickly and I soon found myself surprised at how easily Viconia kept up with the pace I set. Most people would’ve struggled to match the marching pace of any member of the legion, especially over the broken ground as we made our way south west and purposely shied away from the main roads and tracks. But she strode ever onwards, her long legs effortlessly lengthening in stride until she was almost outpacing me. Moving with a liquid grace I found myself distracted on several occasions as I watched her move through the thickening vegetation. It reminded me all too well how long I had been away from civilisation, women and overall general companionship.

 Not that Viconia was a pleasant travelling companion. The rare times that she chose to speak were acidically sarcastic, overflowing with disdain or outright hostile. Most of the time she simply marched alongside me, keeping a respectable distance between the two of us and ensuring that her back was never turned to me. There was obviously no trust between us, which at that time suited me perfectly but for the most part we both seemed to be content travelling together.

 We made camp that night several hours travel from Bruma, the light of Masser lighting our way across the darkened landscape until midnight was upon us. Making camp in a tiny cleft in some hills we settled down for the night, not even lighting a fire to ward off the chill in the air. We slept lightly until dawn, both wary of the others presence and figuratively and almost literally sleeping with one eye open.

 Rising with the first rays of light from the dawn sun, we briefly ate, and drank from the waterskins before once again making our way further towards Chorrol. For the first day we barely even spoke to each other, Viconia especially treating my presence with a mild contempt, choosing to outright ignore me for most of the waking hours but never complaining or showing any form of weakness. She was tough, and extremely fit and for however long she had been stuck inside of Bruma’s dungeon it had obviously not unduly affected her.

 The rolling hills soon shifted into wooded forests, punctuated by clearings both natural and made at the hands of men and mer. County Chorrol, containing almost the entirety of the Great Forest was sparsely populated, containing little to no villages of substantial size but was still home to several scattered tracts of farmland and numerous logging and foresting hamlets barely large enough to qualify as such. Keeping mostly away from the Orange road and the merchant caravans and Legion patrols, we instead made our way cross-country, weaving through the gradually increasing Redwoods and Aspen trees and the knee deep ferns and bushes.

 Hunting was plentiful, and before long I had managed to strike down a pair of healthy rabbits in the late afternoon, hanging them from my belt as we travelled for the evening meal. Between them and the small collection of summer bolete mushrooms we had more than enough for a proper meal.

 As dusk approached, and several dozen kilometres of travel behind us we found ourselves a quiet portion of forest to make camp for the night. Deadwood was piled inside a circle of stones, both my new hatchet and collect of flints proving themselves invaluable as time savers and at the sun set low amongst the towering redwoods the crackle of an open fire broke the silence between us.

 I sat close to the fire, using my skinning dagger to turn over the sizzling corpses of the rabbits. Their entrails carefully buried a short distance away to stop any opportunistic scavengers from getting too close to us while we made camp. Viconia sat on the opposite side of the fire, still fully dressed and cloak and hood covering as much of her features as possible. A handful of strands of hair hung down but I could see little of her face other than the glint of her eyes under the darkness of her cowl.

 Stabbing the first of the rabbits I pulled it from the fire, stepping up and around it and holding the dagger to her hilt first. She barely seemed to register my presence to begin with, before finally reaching up with a fine, almost delicate hand to take the dagger and the hot meal from me.

 There were no words of thanks or gratitude that I was to receive, barely even a nod so I turned back, unclasping the buckles of my gambeson and pulling it and my tunic underneath off to leave me completely barechested. Viconia for her part didn’t even seem to notice, not that I was doing it for her benefit and while I too began to pull strips of hot rabbit flesh off its bones with my teeth I idly turned my shortsword over, twisting it deeper into the burning coals.

 I had several concerns, most of all was the nature of my new travelling companion, who I only trusted when she was in front of me and with a healthy distance between us. But of all my concerns the one that was consistently playing on my mind other than my concerning desire for blood was the markings on my right arm. One of the first things that my original captors did upon my imprisonment at Balmora was to press a burning brand across the mark of the Imperial Dragon that all legionaries received upon joining. While crude, the simple X mark showed enough of the Dragon to be instantly recognisable and while it was still recognisable there was the considerable danger that I could find myself back inside the Imperial Prison. This time however there would be no Emperor and his bodyguards to inadvertently provide me a means of escape.

 It didn’t make the coming level of pain any easier to bear.

 My thoughts of imprisonment and impending self-mutilation were broken when Viconia properly spoke for the first time since we left Bruma.

 "So am I to be your ssindossa then?" She asked, her eyes glowing strangely red in the darkness as she stared at me unceasingly.

 I looked up, ceasing my fidgeting with my sword buried in the coals and returning her gaze. "Ssindossa?"

 With an audible sigh she leaded back slightly, muttering under her breath. "Whore," she eventually replied. "or slave if you prefer to quibble over words."

 The moment of silence stretched between us and I struggled to come up with something to say. "Is that what Burd told you were to be when we left Bruma?"

 She shrugged. "No, but for what other reason would he pass me off onto you unless I was to be a plaything? That appears to be the only thing you surface dwellers wish of me."

 "Surface dwellers?" I replied, feeling more and more confused as the conversation continued.

 "Ugh, how can you all be so stupid?" She looked away briefly to flick the remains of her meal into the darkness beyond the light’s edge. "I am not of this roofless existence. I am Drow, born in the darkness in the depths of the world. Now, cursed it seems to be stuck with the likes of you."

 She shook her head angrily. "Shar guide me..."

 "I am not your master, and you are certainly not my whore." I retorted, glancing down at the metal as it steadily began to glow a dull red. "In fact, you are free to continue on your way if you so desire. I’ll go halves with everything I have and bid you good luck without even a backwards glance."

 This seemed to confuse her even more, but her gaze hardened. "I doubt that you have no desire for me. It is the one thing that all jaluk desire, especially here in this hell."

 I snorted, loudly enough that her face darkened with anger and her scowl grew deeper. "It may have been long time since I have experienced a woman, but I would prefer to keep everything where it’s supposed to be."

 With a scrape of metal, I pulled the sword from the coals, seeing the tip glowing a bright red-orange and grimacing at the heat and the future pain that it represented. Viconia’s sudden flash of apprehension didn’t go unnoticed, and I smiled grimly at her.

 "I’m not a threat to you." I said simply, placing the sword back into the coals temporarily while I quickly began unbuckling one of the leather straps around my gambeson.

 "Then what is that for?" she snapped, pointing to the glowing sword.

 Folding the strap over itself I turned it into a somewhat thick gag, feeling my chest tighten and heart start to race faster.

 "It’s for me." She looked shocked for a moment as I pointed to the legion brand. "I need to cover this so I’m not going to be recognisable as a deserter. I’m not keen on finding myself in a prison again, especially if that path leads to the gallows or a beating."

 Her look of astonishment seemed to be more about the purpose of the dragon brand rather than the fact I was preparing to stick myself with a red-hot piece of metal. She didn’t even cringe or change expression as she saw me jam the folded belt between my teeth, pull the glowing sword from the flames and go to press it to my flesh with a great deal of trepidation.

 "Stop." The word snapped through my concentration and I glanced at her as she rose to her feet. "I’ll be surprised if you don’t manage to cut your own throat."

 With careful steps she moved over to me, holding out her hand for the sword. I hesitated for a moment, suddenly more concerned with giving her a weapon than her offer to burn away the marks of desertion. After a few moments I relented, handing her the blade hilt first as I had done with the knife and feeling my heart hammering into my throat with the expectation.

 "You’ll need this more than once if you don’t just want to look as though you are hiding that mark." Her words were cold and her voice never wavered, holding the sword steady with one hand on the hilt and the other flat on the lower part of the blade.

 My entire universe erupted into waves of pain and I smelt the strangely familiar pork-stench of burning flesh. Screaming through the makeshift gag I struggled not to writhe and twist from the agony as Viconia impassively pressed it diagonally across the brand, obscuring the mark almost entirely and making it look as though I had a slashing sword cut cauterised.

 Two more times she pressed the blade against my flesh, heating the tip between each time as I sat involuntarily weeping between each self-inflicted torment. By the time she was finished my entire right arm was numb from the pain, my heart threatening to burst in my chest and three fresh burns across my bicep and forearm weeping burnt blood and fluids. The gag falling from between my nerveless lips, I stared down at the ruin of my arm, seeing the burns etched deep into my arm, but if treated properly and promptly the likelihood of permanent muscle damage was low. As she had suggested however it no longer looked as though I was purposely hiding my Legion mark but rather having to perform field aid to overcome injuries sustained in a fight instead.

 "Thank you." I said once I had regained some semblance of control over my body. She had returned to her spot and had watched with an impassive mask for a face while I had writhed in pain.

 "You are a strange individual." There was no hint of emotion on her features, seemingly regarding me with as much interest as a spider would an insect caught in her web.

 I didn’t reply, concentrating fiercely as I hovered my left hand over the first of the fresh burns and felt the cold tingling of magicka flow through my palm. Slowly, carefully I ran my hand over the burns, using nothing more than my pain-focussed willpower to control the restoration magicka long enough to stop the bleeding, and advance the healing by a couple of days at least.

 "So you are a student of the arcane as well as an archer?"

 With a grimace I turned slightly and looked over the burns. They were sealed and had stopped weeping blood, congealing into solid scabs that would tear and split with every motion of my arm. I had a couple of restless nights of sleep ahead of me. "I only know enough restoration Magicka to keep myself out of trouble. Healing bruises, sealing minor cuts and abrasions. That sort of thing."

 "Maybe you aren’t as simple-minded as you appear. But it is doubtful."

 "You don’t do humour at all, do you?"

 Her scowl returned with shocking force. "Drow do not joke. We kill."

 Looking at her I didn’t doubt it in the slightest and we didn’t speak any further that evening, instead choosing to retire for the night in our own ways. She simply rugged up further under her hood and cloak, wrapping it around her clothes and leather armour and leaning against a tree. I similarly followed suit, but due to the agony of the fresh burns chose instead to rest with little more than a cloak to shield me from the elements, leaving my arm exposed to the cool night air and allowing the magicka a chance to assist speeding the healing process.

 I slept uneasily, dreaming of the intensity of her eyes and the growing urge and desire that was building from deep within my soul. It was no lust or anything of the sort, but a thirst far more foul and unquenchable. The fire had stared to dim by the time I finally fell into a light slumber, finding myself dreaming of rivers of blood.

 Once more we rose with the sun, eating and drinking lightly as I dressed myself back into my tattered gambeson after making a few crucial adjustments. Using another modicum of restoration magicka I managed to heal the burns enough to be able to slide my arm within the sleeve, choosing to ignore the sensation of the wounds splitting and adhering to the inside as I picked up my pack.

 Moving further into the Great Forest and out of County Bruma we were able to travel on the roads once again, making good progress for the entirety of the day and camping through the evening. Our conversations were just as stilted as before, spending most of our journey in silence. As we made camp and now that it was obvious that she had consciously chosen to tag along with me I told her of my goal to reach Weynon Priory and delivery the Amulet of Kings. The most emotion that she had shown the entire time we had been together was when I had withdrawn the Amulet from the depths of my pack and showed it to her. Her eyes glowed with an unusual golden intensity as she carefully held the gleaming jewelled amulet and golden chain, staring at it intently for several minutes before handing it back.

 "There is a powerful magic with that." She had said simply, pointing to the amulet. "An old magic, but still potent."

 "You seem experienced in these things." I had replied, and as usual her distain for me was almost a physical force.

 "I have some." She failed to elaborate any further.

 On the morning of the third day since leaving Bruma we continued along the Gold Road, finding the travel easier as the road became more greatly maintained and the forest hemming the road beginning to spread out and thin. Isolated farms appeared amongst the greenery, fighting a constant battle against the encroachment of the forest and competing for the lush soil. Several times we had to walk off the road as heavy ox-carts loaded with logs trundled their way to the handful of sawmills scattered throughout the County. It was generally peaceful, a sensation not dispelled as we came across the tiny priory within sight of the walls of Chorrol.

 It was a simple affair; a tiny stable with a handful of horses standing idly, a double story chapel and a larger building with a tiled roof well worn by the weight of the years since it’s construction. A solid appearing stone fence, waist height and who’s purpose was more for marking out the Priory’s grounds than stock control ringed the buildings, broken only by a single wooden gate that creaked in the slight breeze.

 A middle aged Breton man, standing waist deep amongst one of the dozens of gardens scattered over the priory grounds straightened up as I pushed through the gate and warily cast his gaze over Viconia and I. Having the city guard called on us, while not a situation I wished to find ourselves in would not have been surprising. My appearance alone; rough tattered leather and cloth padded armour, right sleeve missing where I had hacked it away not only to free my bow arm but to fortify the appearance of me being wounded in some fight, face covered with a light brown stubble and festooned with weapons was enough to make anyone think twice about my intentions. Viconia, while at first glance incredibly stunning to the point of outright distraction had a quiet intensity that seemed to threaten everyone with grievous harm or a painful death if their eyes lingered for too long. She too was dressed in rough leather and spun cloth, a sword clasped behind her shoulder out of the way and hilt sticking out from under the dark brown cloak and hood that she habitually kept covering as much of her features at all times.

 I raised my hand in greetings, keeping my other hand well away from all my weapons and smiling as best I could as though no to alarm the man.

 "Good morning." I called out, seeing him stiffen slightly as I moved closer by a handful of paces. "My name’s is Kaius, and this is Viconia." A quick motion towards Viconia and I watched his eyes glance in her direction, and decide it was healthier to look elsewhere. "We’ve come to speak to Jauffre."

 "Brother Jauffre?" he seemed puzzled for a moment before simply shrugging and deciding that we weren’t a threat and bandits wouldn’t have announced themselves to begin with. "May I ask what you want to talk to him about?"

 "Our words are for him alone. We’re simply delivering a message to him and then intend to be on our way."

 He nodded, brushing the dirt from the front of his robes with one hand and scratching the shaven patch of hair on top of his head. "Well then. I suppose I could take you to meet him."

 Taking a handful of paces out of the gardens and the flowerbed he was tending to he motioned for us to follow, giving an honest smile for a handful of moments before leading us on. "Welcome to Weynon Priory. I’m Prior Maborel, head of our community."

 We made our way down the path to the Priory proper, walking past the stable where the dumner stablehand stood in utter surprise at the two of us following after Prior Maborel. He had stopped still as he watched Viconia follow close behind me, still holding a knife in one hand and holding up one of the horse’s legs where he had been caring for the hoof when we arrived. I was quickly coming to understand that Viconia had that effect on most of those who laid eyes upon her for the first time.

 "There doesn’t seem to be many of you who live here." I said conversationally as we made our way to the front door of the comfortable looking Priory house.

 "There isn’t." he replied over his shoulder, opening the front door and stepping inside. "Brother Piner, Brother Jauffre, and I are members of the Order of Talos. Eronor, who we passed at the stable tends after the sheep and horses."

 We followed him up the small flight of stairs to the upper level and I found myself in awe at the sheer number of books that filled bookshelves across every wall. The quantity represented multiple lifetimes of work and dedication to simply write so many, and I found myself wondering exactly how much history and knowledge was stored within this simple building.

 He caught me looking about the collection and smiled pleasantly. "If you have the time you are welcome to spend it browsing the collection. All are welcome here."

 On the upper floor we made our way into a private study, where an enormous redwood desk commanded the room while being hemmed in by even more books that filled their shelving to the bursting point. A highbacked chair sat facing away from the window at the far end of the room, and seated in it, dressed in a same brown robe as Prior Maborel sat an elderly man of innumerable winters slowly leafing through a tome a thick as my arm.

 "Brother Jauffre, you have visitors."

 At Maborel’s voice, the elderly monk looked up from his book, glancing at both Viconia and I and immediately assessing us in a heartbeat. He looked like a frail, peaceful and harmless monk, but one look into those cold blue eyes and I knew that he was definitely not all what he seemed. Those eyes were those of an archer, ruthless and calculating and I immediately felt disarmed in his presence.

 There was no sense of tension or concern from the older monk as he set aside his book, placing a thin leather strip in-between the pages to mark his progress as he looked over us further. I couldn’t help but read the book’s title, The Art of War Magic; a must read for any Imperial Legion tactician and certainly not a book for a peace abiding monk.

 Maborel nodded to Jauffre as he waved the younger monk off, standing slowly as though his joints were giving him severe discomfort from the simple movements.

 "I’m Jauffre." He said, voice soft. "What brings you to see me?"

 Carefully glancing to ensure Prior Maborel had left, I unslung my pack from my shoulders, reaching deep within and placing the Amulet of Kings on his desk.

 The look of shock and sudden wariness was impossible to conceal, a dagger appearing in his hand as though conjured and suddenly we were no longer faced with a hunched old priest. His back straightened, shoulders squared and suddenly he stood as tall as me, lightly resting on his feet in a stance of a veteran swordsman.

 "You best explain yourselves quickly."

 I did so, ensuring my hands remained far from my weapons and trying to ignore how Viconia glared at him with outright hostility, almost daring the obvious ex-Blade to react. I told him of how I was in prison, how the Emperor and his bodyguards attempted to escape through the catacombs and the sewers under the city but had fallen. He listened intently as I told him how the Emperor had given me the Amulet, instructed me to find him and deliver it.

 After a while he visibly relaxed, the dagger disappearing without a trace within the folds of his robes and he ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

 "By the Nine this is insane."

 "I know that feeling all too well." I glanced back at Viconia who had wandered off slightly to glance over some of the books on the shelves.

 With a sigh he sat heavily in the chair and looked up at me, his expression suddenly calculating and extremely serious. "I am one of the few, perhaps the only one left alive who knows of Uriel’s bastard son."

 Gesturing about himself he began, suddenly filled with a compelling reason to suddenly voice a secret that had gone unspoken for many years. "Many years ago, I served as captain of Uriel's bodyguards, in the same capacity as the unfortunate Elis Ranault. One night Uriel called me in to his private chambers where a baby boy lay sleeping in a basket. He told me to deliver the child somewhere safe but never told me anything else about the baby. I knew it was his son, especially how from time to time he would ask about the child's progress."

 He laughed, voice filled with bitterness. "Now, it seems that this illegitimate son is the heir to the Septim Throne. If he yet lives."

 "Does he?" I asked, flinching as Jauffre looked back at me with those cold sharpshooter’s eyes.

 "He may. The Emperor and all of his known sons are dead and the Empire is already starting to crack and sway under the strain. It is over two years since I last reported to Uriel about the boy. If he is known to those responsible for the murders of his father and brothers, there is very much the chance that he is dead."

 "I don’t understand why an illegitimate heir to the throne would be so important, or why the Emperor put so much importance of not only delivering that," I motioned to the Amulet where it rested on the desk, "but finding you and ensuring that you found this child."

 Jauffre sat in silence for a few moments, obviously thinking over everything I had told him. "Little of it makes sense to me, but there is so much that only the Emperor’s understood about the meaning behind the rituals of coronation. The Prince of Destruction he spoke of? Well that can only be Mehrunes Dagon. His own words, "Close shut the Jaws of Oblivion’ certainly suggest that he perceived some threat from that terrible realm. I’m not an expect in such matters but I know that it is the general understanding that the mortal realm is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers."

 "The Amulet of Kings is ancient." He continued, rubbing the slight stubble of his jawline thoughtfully. "Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods. It is a holy relic of untold power and when an Emperor is crowned, he uses the Amulet to relight the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark for the first time in centuries.

 He shrugged. "It may be that the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the Emperor was aware of..."

 There was an uncomfortable pause, before he nodded to me, and cast a sideways glance at Viconia "You have performed a valuable service my friends, although I am not entirely sure of what to do with this information. Finding the heir is of utmost importance, that much is for certain but I doubt that I can simply walk him to the Temple of the One, place the Ruby Crown on his brow and call it a day. These assassins were able to strike at three different places at once, kill all three known heirs and the Emperor who was escaping through a route known to less than a dozen individuals in all of Tamriel. There is something terrible at play here, and we are against a conspiracy that, if I’m truthful; is somewhat terrifying."

 "So you are a Blade." The statement made Jauffre raise an eyebrow and grin.

 "Yes, Baurus told you right; I am the Grandmaster of the Blades. I know I don’t look like much but discretion is our watchword. Sure, the Praetorians may preen and bluster about in their glorious armour, but we are the Emperor’s eyes and ears as well as his Swords. Which, whether you like it or not you have found yourself in this just as deep as the rest of my brothers."

 His expression hardened to a mask of determination. "And so I find myself in need of your help."

 "You need me to go find this bastard I take it?"

 A simple nod and Jauffre rose to his feet once more, the persona of the monk neatly packed away into the recesses of his mind and instead now replaced with the professional soldier-spy. He moved as though was half his age, the packed energy leaving his muscles humming under the tension as he moved through the study, pulling a key from within a hollowed out centre of The Mirror and opening a chest under the window.

 "His name is Martin and while no longer a boy he has no idea of his heritage. He serves as a priest of Akatosh in Kvatch’s Cathedral. You must go there at once. If the enemy is aware of his existence, as seems highly likely then he is in terrible danger."

 The squeal of barely used hinges echoed through the room as Jauffre opened the chest, revealing a small arsenal of weapons and equipment that hadn’t been used in years, but were no less effective as a result. Various items including a full suit of splint mail armour; identical to those worn by Baurus and his late comrades and a beautifully forged Katana lay within. Jauffre wasted no time in pulling most of the equipment out.

 "My resources here are limited." He apologised, briefly lifting up one of the Swords, drawing it slightly out of the scabbard and seeming happy with its gleaming edge before sheathing it with a click of metal. "but I will help in any way I can."

 He placed most of the items on the desk, leaving the single katana leaning against his chair and obviously not wishing to part with such a fine sword. Motioning to both Viconia and myself to the small collection of equipment and armour he seemed almost apologetic at the quality and amount he had available. "Feel free to help yourselves, but I will unfortunately be unable to accompany you. There is much to be done and I need to mobilise the Blades to meet this new threat whatever shape it may take. You must travel immediately to Kvatch, find Martin at once and bring him safely back here. By the time you return preparations will be made for his continued safety, and perhaps we may know more of what is happening."