Shadow of an Empire [Open! Well, Full]

(Not my turn, I know, but I'd rather conclude his death now)

Daryn, wounded and dazed, felt another hit of the blunt steel smash into his back and split the table he was laying on in half, the splinter cutting into his skin and the mace shattering the bones in his pelvis and spine. The world grew dark, and the silence was almost enjoyable. Blood pooled around the elf as he murmured nothings to no-one in particular, writhing in pain. Daryn felt weightless for a moment, as though he were floating upwards to a better place... but alas, no, just downwards. Something groaned as he seemed the drift downwards and into the cold waterfront air. Splashing sounds of a river hitting it's bank could be heard faintly and then loudly, and Daryn momentarily opened his ashen eyes. A slither of grey could be seen in the man's eyes, and his expression was morbid... Daryn could not fathom why as he flew through the air and into the Niben, his gear causing him to become engulfed by it's murky waters, dunmer blood seeping into it. In his final moments, he thought of how sorry he was...

..sorry that he hadn't killed more people in his final hour.

Dead. The Mer was already dead. Even before the Nord had fractured his jaw across the table, he was dead. If Hadimir hadn't, Scipia would've. That didn't make the scene any more satisfying, it was never enjoyable to watch someone taken by surprise. It did feel... Justifiable, though.

A life for a life, not quite the message the City Guards would like to send but handled these matters with a dose of rural justice. It was over in one hit, was it pretty? No, but it was effective. The second probably just served to break their table - spilling mead and even a lit candle onto the Mer's body. Lay in his own blood, his own Ruby Throne.

It didn't matter that Scipia would've preferred to leave the shattered man for the local justice department, it didn't matter because the bar patrons were likely to have finished the job if Hadimir hadn't. The dead gladiator probably had friends in here, everyone carried a dagger these days.

At least Hadimir had the sense to clean up the mess. Scipia just gritted his teeth, gave the Nord a nod and sheathed his own sword. A sword which had lay limp to his side the moment the Nord's ominous shadow had appeared behind the Mer. Unbloodied, although flecks of the first strike had spattered across his tunic.

The Veteran said something, and it took Scipia a moment to remember just what it was. He nodded, admitting he would've like the idea of the Mer finding peace. But, "Perhaps the Nord was Stendarr's Wrath, Judge and Executioner. He deserved it." The last part, was more to ease his own mind.

He did deserve it.

Scipia bent down, picking up the chair that the Mer had been sat on. It was quite clean, no more than the typical bar room mess. He picked up the mugs too - although realising soon after that their table was shattered beyond use. A chair would have to do.

Bar chatter had resumed, at a quiet 'gossiping' level. Yet, "Why are there no bar staff?" Not that the question needed an answer, but Scipia looked to Daerus anyway. As if in answer, a serving maid crept close. She looked sickened by the grime on the floor, and held a bucket and rag in one hand.

"You need to leave.." She said meekly, so low as to be near silent. Scipia didn't move, just looked at her curiously. She stammered, as if they would kill her too. "The woman said you need to leave."

Scipia glanced over at Daerus, gave him a nod and inclined his head towards the stairs. They had been summoned.

---

Back in the cool twilight air of the waterfront, Emily was waiting not far outside. She was with two others, an Argonian in shrouded armour and an Altmer who wouldn't look out of place on a shipping barge. Her arms were crossed, a scowl on her face. "I leave you alone for five minutes!"

Scipia held up his hands, "You hired a crazed killer. You can't hold us accountable for your mistakes."

The truth seemed to soften her frown, but she didn't say it. A subject change was her only option, "Alright. We need to get you three out of here. I'd rather not get embroiled in the paperwork for this." She turned to the Altmer, "Is your ship ready?"

He had the look of a scummy little captain, the sort who would ring his hands as he mugged you for passage across a river. But he spoke with the eloquence of a noble. "Ready, as always, for the Oculatus." He even bowed.

Emily looked back over the two, and her scowl deepened. Would she ever stop scowling? "Where's Hadimir?"

Before her scowl turned to unbridled rage (which, Scipia knew, in the hands of a Mage could result in half the waterfront burning down) the Argonian piped up with his rough voice. "I saw him throw the Dunmer in the Niben." Scipia now realised the Argonian was dripping water, he'd been spying in the waves.

((With the loss of our Dunmer friend, Endi will have to sit on the sidelines until Hands-Eyes-Ears can be pulled into the thread (perhaps around Bravil, or in Annequina itself). So we'll switch up the posting order until that time, TLT if you'd like you can go next. Sal, then me. Sound good?))

(If you'd like to post some of your Argonians exploits, I'd be fine for you to post ad hoc. As for how he gets there, it's up too you. Just know that Emily has sent a runner to instruct Oculatus to aquire the next person on the list, where we pick him up is entirely up to you. Just as long as it's on the route from Bravil to Rimmen (it's not really that far a distance by horseback.))

The body made a splash, the sound a soft break into the evening air, as it sunk into the waters. Hadimir stared at where the surface settled before going to one knee in the sand. He dipped his mace into the river, watching the mer’s blood seep off it. Then he laid it to rest, scooped some water in his cupped palms and splashed his face. First the dunmer’s then the gladiator’s.

He felt it then. Hadimir resisted snapping his head up and instead just raised it up naturally. He scanned his surroundings by glancing through peripheral vision. I’m being watched. But he couldn’t locate the position exactly. He dried his weapon and face by bunching up cloth from his armor and wiping them down. The sensation of being watched faded. The watcher either stopped or went farther away. Hadimir sheathed his mace, stood up and left as well.

He walked back into the Waterfront and headed towards the warehouse-turned-tavern. Hadimir just made it to the front of the Bloated Elf when the door opened. A young woman stepped out, in a more modest version of the Nordic tavern clothes. The barmaid carried a bucket of bloody water, which she dropped with a thud and a splash, the moment she saw him. She took a step back and closed the door. Hadimir stared at the wood. Well … that was one hell of a reaction.

He stepped forward to knock when the door opened a crack. “Please leave.” The barmaid wasn’t even looking at him, she was staring at the ground.

“I’m sorry that I’ve disturbed you, ma’am, but I came with some – "

“They’ve left already.”

I should’ve figured they’ll kick us all out after that mess. “Where to?”

She snaked an arm through the crack and pointed. Hadimir nodded and looked at her. When their eyes caught her face paled and she closed the door again, faster this time.

“Thank you.” He said.

.................................................................................................................................……

Following the direction the barmaid pointed to lead Hadimir back to the shore of the Niben. However, the stretch of shore he had dumped Daryn in had been unpopulated and undeveloped, but this stretched was littered with buildings and a pier. In fact, he could see the group gathered on a pier by a barge. He took the steps down, walked onto the planks and froze. There, beside Emily, behind an Argonian was an Altmer. Hadimir’s face turned a stark white and his fingers flexed over the pommel of his maces. But then they relaxed and fell to his side. One mer is enough for today.

Still, he had come to a sort of calm, acceptance, of the act, but that calm was ruined now as he walked towards the group. He caught the tail end of what the Argonian said (so that’s what I felt).

“And now I’m here.”

The message...

Men could only run so fast, but the will of Sithis was indomitable. Emily's men darted through the night, each with a message to pass on to the next man in line... like next of kin passing on their regards following the death of a loved one. The lack of a rogue in their group opened up a vacuum vaster than the Void, and it needed to be filled with a dark soul... and who better than the murkiest hearts in all of Tamriel; the Dark Brotherhood. Sanctity did not truly ever really exist in the brotherhood, or in any criminal organisation within the Empire's bounds for that matter; their spies and moles see all. A sanctuary existed in Corinth, and the Empire was at lest vaguely aware of it's existence despite not having access to it, and as luck, or perhaps fate, would have it, this was in close proximity to their target location; Rimmen.

At long last, the chain of messages had been completed within a few hours, the final man riding a dark horse and donning attire blacker than the Dread Father's heart. The message was encoded within a letter, decipherable only to those in a select inner circle of individuals under the Emperor. Neither of the men spoke, exchanged looks or even acknowledged the others existence; there was no time. The ritual had to be completed TONIGHT, and tonight only... the Empire's fate depended on it. The final man spent little time perusing his instructions, and immediately headed for the catacombs under Bravil's church; the lock was barely an obstacle, though the stench of death certainly was, even for an adept agent such as this. All of the items were here; bones, skulls, flesh, organs, nightshade, a dagger and innumerable candles and torches. It did not take long to set up the effigy; a skeleton embroidered with fresh flesh, a silent heart and candles all around. Nightshade plants were growing in from the graveyard, and it's petals would coat the agent's dagger as he began chanting...

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."

It was too weak.

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."

The agent didn't feel the darkness watching yet... it needed more.

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear!"

More!

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear! Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and feaaaaaaaar!"

Mysterious forces of darkness had witnessed the harrowing task. The message had reached the next man in line.

Emily surely wasted no time. The moment Hadimir spoke up she let out a relieved sigh and stated that the barge was ready enough and they should head off. Well, the Altmer had already turned around onto the barge – he was likely the captain; a realization which brought up the thought Abeceans. A thought which he squashed down. Just because he had yet to meet an Altmer that wasn’t Thalmor didn’t mean they didn’t exist. He wouldn’t kill the man just because he didn’t like him – they already had more than enough crazed killers for one voyage. No, he would simply turn a blind eye to the Altmer on the tense trip to Rimmen.

…Unless the man gave him a good excuse to do otherwise.

He followed on behind the gladiator, Scipia, if he remembered correctly. There was a silence that hung over the figures that filtered onto the boat. Hadimir found the mast of the ship, right there on the belly before the trap door that lead down into the underbelly. The Whitefang took the time just to stare out into the waters. Despite his earlier thought about the Abeceans, the Nord actually didn’t have a problem with boats. He did grow up in the Whiterun Hold on the banks of the White River, after all.

At least that would be the case if he didn’t worry about its seaworthiness. The comment the mer made was not encouraging in the least, but Hadimir knew better than to interject – whatever he would say wouldn’t be … polite … so he better just keep his trap shut.

As he leaned against the mast Scipia and Emily passed by him to the hatch on the floor that lead down to the lower deck. A hatch that Scipia left wide open behind him.

Hadimir didn’t think much of it, just looking back out over the water.

At least until the outburst came.

The Whitefang cranked his head around to stare down at the hatch below. While not as loud as that first “Listen!” he could still hear the distorted (from distance) feminine shouts. It seemed the one-sided argument was over now as he heard the faint sounds of footsteps walking away.

Hadimir walked up to the hatch and jumped down it, ignoring the perfect good ladder behind him. An open door lay to his right, and through it he could see the form of the gladiator bending over and examining a pack it looked like. There were three other sets of packs, each on a bed. Must be our bunkroom. He thought, as he stepped towards the doorway.

“Scipia.” The Whitefang said. But even as he said it his gaze rested on the corridor which Emily departed through. “I didn’t think that mess would upset her so much.” He then turned his gaze back on the gladiator. “I pegged her for the unfazeable type - she was the one who hired that psychopath in the first place.”

Scipia turned around to note the Nord, giving him a short nod before turning back to look through the pack. "I think there's more to it. Either she didn't want the associated work with cleaning that... mess... up or, she's in way over her head with this 'mission' of hers. I don't know how these Oculatus types work, but it sure seems like she didn't expect that one coming." He finished with the pack, now that its contents were spread haphazardly on 'his' bunk, and sat down next to the contents. "Truth be told, Hadimir was it? Or do you prefer Whitefang. Even I didn't expect the Dunmer to act so... brazen. It's almost like he had a death wish, or some Daedra had addled his brain. I've never seena anyone act like it." He sighed. "What is Nirn coming to?"

"Oblivion if I know.”

Hadimir walked fully into the room then, standing opposite of the gladiator. He picked a bunk and sat down on it. He leaned forward as he said, “Hadimir is fine. Only my squadmates call me Whitefang – or the Stormcloaks before that – back when there still were Stormcloaks.”

He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling of the upperdeck. “As for the Dunmer … to be honest I didn’t think I was gonna kill him. A swing, he’d dodge and maybe you folks who were calmer than me would break it up.”

His eyes clouded – the sliver of gray in his left eye almost seemed to dim in the light. “That’s how I half expected it would end up … now, of course. Back then … back then I just – I don’t like having men I coulda saved die on my watch.”

He turned his gaze away from the ceiling onto Scipia, the distanced look in his eyes focusing and hardening. “I don’t like it at all. I’ll do my part on this trip to see to it that we all get back safe…even that damn Altmer if he doesn’t turn out to be a Thalmor spy.”

Scipia had pushed himself up into sitting position on the bed, watching Hadimir carefully as he talked. He did this for a few moments longer, before breaking out of it with a blink and looking down at his course hands. He nodded, once, as he started speaking. "I know how you feel, Hadimir. You were in the Stormcloaks, then. I wasn't deployed to Skyrim, thankfully. I didn't fancy the idea of spilling the blood of Men - while the Thalmor watched from the sideline. The Empire of Man had fractured enough without breaking into smaller parts for the Thalmor to seize."

He leaned back a little and gave a grim smile, "So I left the Legion and started spilling the blood of Men while the largest city in Tamriel watched from the sideline... At least I wasn't being used to kill, anymore." He shook his head once and let out a sigh, "Now I'm back where I started."
Hadimir raised an eyebrow up at Scipia’s statement. Not so much at what he said, but at what he didn’t say. He focused on the first half of what Hadimir said, the nickname he had among the Stormcloaks, and not on the latter half. He guessed it made sense – why dwell on that heavy, morbid topic? Hadimir knew when to take an out when given.

“You were in the Legion?” Hadimir said. Unlike with the ire shown to Emily earlier there was no distaste shown to a fellow man of war. “I agree – the Thlamor shouldn’t be left to their own devises. That’s why when I was in the Stormcloaks I was in a squad devoted to hunting them down – still continued with it when the High King was killed. The only good thing about this sham is that it can result in a war and will get the Imperials off their collective asses and finally start doing something … uh, no offense.”

After a beat, Hadimir leaned forward, “Now, this is only my own thoughts on the matter, but if Skyrim had succeeded in winning independence than Ulfric wouldn’t have wasted ten years to take the fight to the Thalmor. We could’ve made some major strides with the Empire to push them off the mainland entirely. But, of course, that’s just my belief – we’ll never know now.”

Scipia was quite surprised about the revelation of Hadimir's past exploits. He crossed his arms over and genuinely looked impressed. Hunting Thalmor was a dangerous game, it was like choosing to hunt a Werelion. Thalmor were hunters themselves, to hunt the hunter is a rightly bold statement of power. It was no surprise Emily had collected this one for their mission.

He smiled at the 'offensive' comment, too. In truth, his feelings about the thought of another Great War were mixed. He could only raise an eyebrow at Hadimir's clear Stormcloaks opinion. For the side who had completely lost the war, it surprised Scipia that Stormcloaks still believed in the man that was Ulfric. His ideals. His goals. But, Scipia nodded, "That's a fair argument. But knowing the Empire, if the Stormcloaks had fought out of the Legion then they'd either refuse to accept their independence or they'd refuse to work alongside them. There's nothing more true in life than the stubbornness of Imperials."

He didn't say it with much pride, even though he himself was Imperial. In fact he meant not the people, more the system. The blinded hierarchy of generals and noblemen that made up the Elder Council. The Emperor himself, even, could be counted in that list. "Personally, I don't think we're ready for another war. Not yet. I've seen the Legion, they're not what they used to be. A bunch of farmers' sons dressed in armour and trained for a few weeks. We'd marched them through Bravil and into Annequina, most of them didn't even know how to live rough. Let alone fight." Scipia shook his head, memories of his time in the Legion coming back. "A generation recovering from a war, with no legionnaires left to train them. No offence to yourself, but I heard the Stormcloaks didn't have much different origins."

“None taken. And you’re right, many of the Stormcloaks did have humble origins, but Nords are a race of warriors, having grown up to songs from bards of swords and sorcery, and living in a dangerous land, though Cyrodil is dangerous enough from the tales I hear. Quite a few have drawn their first blood before they joined, like I did.”

Suddenly, a grin bloomed on Hadimir’s face and he reached back over his shoulder to his quiver.

“My namesake,” he said, as he drew out a single arrow.

It had simple white and black fetching and a standard black shaft, but it was the point that stood out. A pale white that seemed to gleam a bit in the dim torchlight. Though it had been carved and whittled down to a point, reinforced by metal, there was no denying what it once was.

A fang.

A dragon’s fang.

“I was there,” Hadimir said, with no little amount of pride in his tone. “When the Dragonborn first came to Whiterun I had been stationed as a guard. I was having an evening shift at the Western Watchtower when I spotted that bastard come in over the horizon - thought it was a bird at first, I hadn't even heard the rumors, but I wouldn't have believed it even if I did. My captain was scorched alive when he came up to see what the fuss was about. I managed to survive with a few other fellow guardsmen until the housecarl came with a stranger. If only I knew that she was going to save my ass. I wasn’t doing much damage to it shooting up at it, though I did punch a small hole through its wing. She was the one to kill it in the end, I saw her do it, and I saw her absorb her first dragon soul afterwards - that moment it was ... I don't know how to describe it. I don't think any of the songs does it justice.”

He slipped the arrow back into his quiver.

“Let’s just say I’ve been trying to live up to that first kill ever since, though killing every Thalmor I see comes close.”

It wasn't a surprise that Hadimir and the other Stormcloaks had spilt blood before the war, Skyrim was a harsh place for harsh things by all accounts (part of the reason Scipia was thankful he never went there). Cyrodiil wasn't exactly safe, Scipia had seen a few Legionnaires dragged back to forts with missing limbs after confrontations with Ogres, Minotaurs or Goblins. But Skyrim was something different, the cold winters killed more people up there than anything else.

Yet what Hadimir had pulled out was still a shock, it shook him to his core and indeed the object was truly unmistakable. He had expected some part of an Ice Wolf... "I've never seen a Dragon." Scipia confessed, his voice awed by the trophy weapon. "I've only ever heard about them. I heard the rumours they'd returned, and I'd read the papers describing their power. To see one taken down, to have taken part in it - no matter how small. It must have been..." Scipia shook his head, unable to find the words to describe what was running through his head. Instead he just sat upright. Killing Thalmor didn't even come close to killing a Dragon, in his mind.

He leaned forwards, his lagging attention fully on Hadimir now. Like a small child hearing the stories of their fathers. "What was she like? The Dragonborn. I heard she was a Nord. But then again I've heard just as many times that she was a Breton, or an Imperial... One Bosmer told me she was an Altmer once so I put him on the floor for lieing." Scipia grinned, flexing a fist in triumph.

Hadimir smiled at Scipia’s reaction. He could already see the shock and awe on the man’s face as he looked down on the arrow. He could hear the excited quiver to his tone as Hadimir slipped the arrow back into his quiver. It’s been a long time since he told that tale. He told it often when he was younger –green and eager to awe his newfounded brother-in-arms in the Stormcloaks. His nickname took off from those hushed tavern tales – those boasts done over flagons of Nord mead.

Since then the tale has gone unuttered – as the Stormblades knew it by heart and there were no other ears to hear.

Hadimir smiled once the tale had finished and Scipia hunted for information about the Dragonborn. One of his favorite subjects, actually, though he talked of her with less passion than he did before. “Aye. I can tell you a bit about the Dragonborn, but only a bit, I’m afraid. She was decked head to toe in iron armor and had a horned helm obscuring her face, though through it you could still see the human features. The armor may have been enchanted, for it fared well against dragon flame. As for the rumor about her being a Altmer, as bull as it is, there is a hint of truth to it in that she was tall. Of a head with me, maybe taller. In fact, I didn’t even know she was a woman till she spoke up for the first time…when she Shouted.”