Post by ThreeDawg on Apr 23, 2020 8:05:41 GMT -5
This is a little story I'm writing, a test run to try and get me back into the word-world. Feel free to read and hopefully enjoy!
Snow fell upon the city of Solitude this morning, as it had throughout the night. Red drapes held back the cold from the window, but cracks in the ancient stone walls let a stiff draught into the guardhouse. A small Breton man wearing fine clothes trimmed with saber cub fur, sat hands ringing, fingers tugging at the hemming of his sleeves. The desk he sat before bore the carved seal of the wolf of Haafingar. It's piercing gaze had always unnerved the Breton. A wolf was a lesser beast that preyed upon the weak and lost. A menacing beast. They were a far cry from the noble lions and gryphons that emblazoned banners in his homeland.
A Nord, wearing the surcoat of Haafingar over her leathers and chain vest, stepped into the dimly lit room and back behind her desk. "Rayan," she sighed, her gloved hands cupping over the wolf's eyes, "I can only give you the same answer I gave you yesterday. We have not seen hide nor hair of Darya. Neither in the city nor Haafingar. I even had our runner to Morthal ask about her. We have nothing."
The Breton, Rayan, shook his head. "There must be something?" he begged, "Any news of a lost girl found?"
The Nord sighed, leaning back into her chair to once more reveal the glaring wolf. "Rayan your daughter is a woman grown. Is there no way she could have... Boarded a boat to High Rock? You said she was homesick. Bored."
Rayan shook his head again, vigorously. "No! No, she would never. She knows better than that, my Darya is clever. She is-"
"An impulsive young woman." the Nord interjected, "I know her, Rayan. Her escapades around town got her dragged into my office on more than one occasion. Do you have any family you can contact back home, she may have gone there."
"No..." Rayan spoke softly, sadness once again brewing on his face. "Thank you, Isal, for trying." he rose, skuffing the chair back towards the desk. "I'll be back tomorrow to see if you have found anything else."
Isal rose with him, her concern was genuine - but so was the tiredness in her voice as she spoke. "Rayan... We can't continue this search for longer. Haafingar has more problems than a young woman who has ran away from home. Our resources are stretched thin, with the Legion beginning their pull back to Cyrodiil we're short staffed. You know how many ran off to play Legionnaire." She put a hand upon his shoulder, gripped it tightly, "I am sure she is fine, she will contact you when she gets to where she is going. But if you are still worried, have you looked into other methods? You are not short of a few septims, have you thought of a... Private service? The Companions? A tracker or hunter."
The evening air in Solitude was crisp. Burning braziers, more akin to bonfires, had cleared much of the morning snow across the main walkways. Still, there was a satisfying crunch to the paving stones along the side streets. Rayan trudged through the cramped buildings. He held his head low, thoughts of the morning rolling through his heads. Isal had turned him away, his visit to the docks had turned up nothing but rumours of Neraids or Lamias in the harbour preying on the youth. He'd looked for a Companion, but everywhere he had searched said the last had left on a venture some days ago. If only he had acted sooner...
The building Rayan stopped at was squat and old, lay between a meat market and a warehouse with an Argonian sat at its door. A painted sign hung from the front: a Horker with a sword held in its tusks. Hearthlight and the sound of chattering travelled through the frosted window. He'd been told of this place, a waystation for trackers and hunters.
The heavy oak creaked before him as he pushed the door aside. The barman, a heavy local with a thick beard, dropped a wooden mug onto the bar before him. "We've only got mead in right now, so that'll have to do you." he gruffed, pouring the Nord's favoured drink into the metal-rimmed mug.
Rayan wanted to recoil before the dour glare beneath the barman's thick brows. He nodded, putting a couple of Septims onto the counter, "Much appreciated." Rayan managed to squeeze out as he grabbed the drink he'd not requested. Rayan didn't feel like refusing the man would keep his welcome. Careful to avoid fallen mugs and the legs of the rough-looking men that sat throughout the inn, Rayan moved over to a seat up against the wall. All the tables were full of wild-looking men, swapping tales of hunting trails, beasts and monsters. Rayan was truly out of his depths.
Where would he start, which one looked least likely to run off with his septims or leave him for dead.
"You look out of place." hissed an Argonian, seemingly emerging from the shadows behind one of the barrels nearby. "Are you lost, or is there something we can help you with?" The Argonian's crest was a series of sharp needles, and they lay flat as he gestured to the Dunmer that stood in his shadow. Rayan thought that an odd pairing.
These two are as good as any, he supposed. "I'm looking to hire some trackers." Rayan started, best to get straight to the point with this lot.
"Aaaah, ssay no more." The Argonian replied, his crest flexing at the wide gesture of his hands.
"Sirix-Tai and Athal, at your service." the Dunmer finished for his friend. Stepping into the light more, Rayan could see the intrinsic ritual-scars that wound their way around the Dunmer's eyes, falling down his cheeks.
"Besst trackers north of Gideon," The Argonian, Sirix-Tai, continued, "beast, monster... man? We can track anything on two legs or more."
"Or less." Athal added.
Rayan humoured their exaggeration with a nod. Too pushy, he thought, but he was desperate. "It's my girl, Darya, she's been missing for over a week now. I need to find her, bring her home and make sure she's in no trouble."
"Aaaah, a girl, yess, we can find a girl. Five hundred septims." Sirix-Tai patted his own coinpurse. The Dunmer smirked, he liked the price his companion had suggested.
Rayan looked down, this was useless. "I have told you but a name, and you are so sure you can find her that you have a price?"
The Dunmer spoke, a glint in his ruby-like eyes, "We have a price, you have a job. We'll -"
"Back off Athal, you'll do nothing." growled a Nordic voice sitting at one of the tables. His drinking companions watched the Nord slide back from his chair and move over towards the duo. The Nord stood tall, as were most of his kin, but his features were marked by intricate blue tattoos that ran across the left of his face. A fish swam amongst the swirls and the longer Rayan looked upon it, the more he could see.
The Argonians crest raised in protest, his eyes narrows to slits and his upper lip curled to expose the sharpness of his teeth. "You do not get to tell us what to do, Nordling. This is our contract."
The Nord let out a short laugh that echoed from the rafters. Rayan noticed then that the other patrons had grown quiet themselves. "You're nothing but bandits and highwaymen, you'd take that coin and run off - or worse, threaten him for more. You've done it before, we all know it." The Nord raised his arms, and a small murmur of approval rose from the other Nords that had sat with him. "We've no place for you here, and we'll not have you sullying our work any longer."
Sirix hissed, and Athal flared as he moved a hand to his hip.
"Enough!" the barkeep shouted, "I'll not have you bring the guards in here with your trouble! Sirix, Athal, Farsten - and you, Breton - get out. Settle it or kill each other, I don't care, just not here!"
There was quiet, and the air was tense between the trio of hunters. Athal moved first, pushing his way passed the Nord. "You owe us five hundred, Nord." Athal growled. Sirix followed, crest flared and skulking.
Farsten, as he had been called by the barkeep, merely grunted his disgust at the mer. He moved back to his table, drained the mug he had abandoned, patted one of his companions on the shoulder and said his abrupt farewells. The barkeep kept his glare upon his back as he left. The barkeep coughed once, harshly, and that was all the warning Rayan had to vacate the premises himself.
"Farsten, is it?" Rayan shouted after the Nord as he strode his way down the street. "You have scared off my prospective hunters and the contract is still open, if you're interested."
The next day wasn't as cold, a warm breeze had come up with the waters of the Karth River. The smells of wildflowers in First Seed were carried with it, mingling with pine sap and sawn wood from the riverside sawmill. Farsten sat atop one of the many ridges that ran to the north of the Karthside road. The road followed the Karth until it hit Dragon's Bridge, from there... Wilderness until Rorikstead in one direction, or crossing the Hjaal river and a treacherous mountain road up towards Dunstad Grove then down into the Drajkmyr.
"Well, where should we start?" Rayan called out as he moved away from the gates to Solitude. He was head-to-toe in furs and leathers, with a backpack far too overburdened. Farsten could see that he'd had some experience in the wilds before, but he had clearly bought his survival not earned it.
Farsten idly tapped the butt of his spear off the road beneath him. "Darya. Your girl. She has not been seen in the city, or beyond, for one week?"
"Nine days, now." Rayan corrected, solemnly.
"And you were sure she didn't leave the city by boat?" Farsten took in a deep breath at Rayan shaking his head, the salt of the Sea of Ghosts had mingled with the wildflowers. "Was she adventurous? Did she travel?"
Rayan thought for a moment, scuffing a boot along the cobbles. "Yes." he hummed, "We had both traveled, a long time ago. You see we're not locals, not really."
"No?" Farsten said, his sarcasm ushering a frown from Rayan.
"No. She was born in Elinhir, spent the early years of her life there. We left, me and her, when she was seven. North towards my homeland, then East to Markath. We spent a time there but the Reachmen were as dour as I remember growing up. So we moved here, to Solitude. So yes, we traveled." Rayan sighed, looking off to the south along the river. To his home, Farsten thought.
"Did she do much traveling alone? Did she leave the city often? Business, leisure?" Farsten tapped his staff once, bringing the Breton back from his memories.
"No. Well, she'd head out into the woods on occasion with friends. There was one day where she didn't come back, naturally I was worried so I asked her friend's parents where they'd gone. Clearpine Pond, they'd said. I didn't know where that was, but she came back within the few hours as I was trying to find out where." Rayan stopped, thinking again, he noticed Farsten's raised brow and answered the unspoken question. "I've already spoken to her friends, they haven't seen her. They know nothing and they're all accounted for."
"Is there any reason why she'd run away, decide to go off alone. Family? A lover? Debt?" Farsten had to check all the boxes.
"No, no." Rayan stammered out quickly, "None of the sort. She was happy-" Farsten raised his brow again. "Mostly. She'd get in trouble around town sometimes, but nothing a young lady wouldn't do here if given half the chance."
Farsten nodded. He'd seen it before. A part of growing up. Adventurous youth, running off into the hills around Hvitkald. They'd return with their tales, or kills, or riches. Sometimes they wouldn't return. This wouldn't normally concern Farsten, but Rayan had septims and Farsten had a need for them. He dropped from the ridge, using his staff to bare the weight of it. He began the walk down the Karthside. The sound of scuffing boots on stone picked up as Rayan jogged to catch up.
"So you have the track?" He asked, hopefully.
"No." Farsten could do nothing but laugh at the suggestion, he clapped Rayan once on the back. "I am a tracker, not a wolf. But I know where we should start." He raised the icey-blue top of his spear towards the rising hills to the South-West, and the sun-touched white tips of the mountains behind them. "That way. Clearpine Pond lies over those ridges, a days travel for a group of kids. If you keep up, we can make it in half that."
Rayan shook his head, "I can keep up. It was my idea to venture out here with you in the first place-"
Farsten laughed again, "I know, you were very insistent on that."
There was silence for a moment, Rayan came into step beside Farsten. He looked out over the wilderness and drew a sigh, "My daughter is out there... I have to find her, this is my final hope. So yes, I'm coming and I won't return until I have her." He put up his height, as small as it was compared to the Nord, putting on the brave lion face of the Bretons. "What makes you so sure she went that way?".
"Deer and boar tend to follow the same paths, to places familiar, when they wish to retreat to rest." Raising his spear again, he drew a line from the road before him to the horizon, roughly following the Karth river. "People do the same, you just build roads instead to make it easier on you. If she ran, she would've gone to Clearpine. From there? We will see."
Rayan huffed as they stepped off the road, rambled over one of the ridges, and approached the pine-heavy treeline at the foot of the most northerly tip of the Druadach Mountains. "And why should I trust this hunch of yours given you're not a wolf, tracker?"
"As I said in the city, I'll take the septims once I've found her. So, I'll find her, All-Father willing."
Snow fell upon the city of Solitude this morning, as it had throughout the night. Red drapes held back the cold from the window, but cracks in the ancient stone walls let a stiff draught into the guardhouse. A small Breton man wearing fine clothes trimmed with saber cub fur, sat hands ringing, fingers tugging at the hemming of his sleeves. The desk he sat before bore the carved seal of the wolf of Haafingar. It's piercing gaze had always unnerved the Breton. A wolf was a lesser beast that preyed upon the weak and lost. A menacing beast. They were a far cry from the noble lions and gryphons that emblazoned banners in his homeland.
A Nord, wearing the surcoat of Haafingar over her leathers and chain vest, stepped into the dimly lit room and back behind her desk. "Rayan," she sighed, her gloved hands cupping over the wolf's eyes, "I can only give you the same answer I gave you yesterday. We have not seen hide nor hair of Darya. Neither in the city nor Haafingar. I even had our runner to Morthal ask about her. We have nothing."
The Breton, Rayan, shook his head. "There must be something?" he begged, "Any news of a lost girl found?"
The Nord sighed, leaning back into her chair to once more reveal the glaring wolf. "Rayan your daughter is a woman grown. Is there no way she could have... Boarded a boat to High Rock? You said she was homesick. Bored."
Rayan shook his head again, vigorously. "No! No, she would never. She knows better than that, my Darya is clever. She is-"
"An impulsive young woman." the Nord interjected, "I know her, Rayan. Her escapades around town got her dragged into my office on more than one occasion. Do you have any family you can contact back home, she may have gone there."
"No..." Rayan spoke softly, sadness once again brewing on his face. "Thank you, Isal, for trying." he rose, skuffing the chair back towards the desk. "I'll be back tomorrow to see if you have found anything else."
Isal rose with him, her concern was genuine - but so was the tiredness in her voice as she spoke. "Rayan... We can't continue this search for longer. Haafingar has more problems than a young woman who has ran away from home. Our resources are stretched thin, with the Legion beginning their pull back to Cyrodiil we're short staffed. You know how many ran off to play Legionnaire." She put a hand upon his shoulder, gripped it tightly, "I am sure she is fine, she will contact you when she gets to where she is going. But if you are still worried, have you looked into other methods? You are not short of a few septims, have you thought of a... Private service? The Companions? A tracker or hunter."
The evening air in Solitude was crisp. Burning braziers, more akin to bonfires, had cleared much of the morning snow across the main walkways. Still, there was a satisfying crunch to the paving stones along the side streets. Rayan trudged through the cramped buildings. He held his head low, thoughts of the morning rolling through his heads. Isal had turned him away, his visit to the docks had turned up nothing but rumours of Neraids or Lamias in the harbour preying on the youth. He'd looked for a Companion, but everywhere he had searched said the last had left on a venture some days ago. If only he had acted sooner...
The building Rayan stopped at was squat and old, lay between a meat market and a warehouse with an Argonian sat at its door. A painted sign hung from the front: a Horker with a sword held in its tusks. Hearthlight and the sound of chattering travelled through the frosted window. He'd been told of this place, a waystation for trackers and hunters.
The heavy oak creaked before him as he pushed the door aside. The barman, a heavy local with a thick beard, dropped a wooden mug onto the bar before him. "We've only got mead in right now, so that'll have to do you." he gruffed, pouring the Nord's favoured drink into the metal-rimmed mug.
Rayan wanted to recoil before the dour glare beneath the barman's thick brows. He nodded, putting a couple of Septims onto the counter, "Much appreciated." Rayan managed to squeeze out as he grabbed the drink he'd not requested. Rayan didn't feel like refusing the man would keep his welcome. Careful to avoid fallen mugs and the legs of the rough-looking men that sat throughout the inn, Rayan moved over to a seat up against the wall. All the tables were full of wild-looking men, swapping tales of hunting trails, beasts and monsters. Rayan was truly out of his depths.
Where would he start, which one looked least likely to run off with his septims or leave him for dead.
"You look out of place." hissed an Argonian, seemingly emerging from the shadows behind one of the barrels nearby. "Are you lost, or is there something we can help you with?" The Argonian's crest was a series of sharp needles, and they lay flat as he gestured to the Dunmer that stood in his shadow. Rayan thought that an odd pairing.
These two are as good as any, he supposed. "I'm looking to hire some trackers." Rayan started, best to get straight to the point with this lot.
"Aaaah, ssay no more." The Argonian replied, his crest flexing at the wide gesture of his hands.
"Sirix-Tai and Athal, at your service." the Dunmer finished for his friend. Stepping into the light more, Rayan could see the intrinsic ritual-scars that wound their way around the Dunmer's eyes, falling down his cheeks.
"Besst trackers north of Gideon," The Argonian, Sirix-Tai, continued, "beast, monster... man? We can track anything on two legs or more."
"Or less." Athal added.
Rayan humoured their exaggeration with a nod. Too pushy, he thought, but he was desperate. "It's my girl, Darya, she's been missing for over a week now. I need to find her, bring her home and make sure she's in no trouble."
"Aaaah, a girl, yess, we can find a girl. Five hundred septims." Sirix-Tai patted his own coinpurse. The Dunmer smirked, he liked the price his companion had suggested.
Rayan looked down, this was useless. "I have told you but a name, and you are so sure you can find her that you have a price?"
The Dunmer spoke, a glint in his ruby-like eyes, "We have a price, you have a job. We'll -"
"Back off Athal, you'll do nothing." growled a Nordic voice sitting at one of the tables. His drinking companions watched the Nord slide back from his chair and move over towards the duo. The Nord stood tall, as were most of his kin, but his features were marked by intricate blue tattoos that ran across the left of his face. A fish swam amongst the swirls and the longer Rayan looked upon it, the more he could see.
The Argonians crest raised in protest, his eyes narrows to slits and his upper lip curled to expose the sharpness of his teeth. "You do not get to tell us what to do, Nordling. This is our contract."
The Nord let out a short laugh that echoed from the rafters. Rayan noticed then that the other patrons had grown quiet themselves. "You're nothing but bandits and highwaymen, you'd take that coin and run off - or worse, threaten him for more. You've done it before, we all know it." The Nord raised his arms, and a small murmur of approval rose from the other Nords that had sat with him. "We've no place for you here, and we'll not have you sullying our work any longer."
Sirix hissed, and Athal flared as he moved a hand to his hip.
"Enough!" the barkeep shouted, "I'll not have you bring the guards in here with your trouble! Sirix, Athal, Farsten - and you, Breton - get out. Settle it or kill each other, I don't care, just not here!"
There was quiet, and the air was tense between the trio of hunters. Athal moved first, pushing his way passed the Nord. "You owe us five hundred, Nord." Athal growled. Sirix followed, crest flared and skulking.
Farsten, as he had been called by the barkeep, merely grunted his disgust at the mer. He moved back to his table, drained the mug he had abandoned, patted one of his companions on the shoulder and said his abrupt farewells. The barkeep kept his glare upon his back as he left. The barkeep coughed once, harshly, and that was all the warning Rayan had to vacate the premises himself.
"Farsten, is it?" Rayan shouted after the Nord as he strode his way down the street. "You have scared off my prospective hunters and the contract is still open, if you're interested."
The next day wasn't as cold, a warm breeze had come up with the waters of the Karth River. The smells of wildflowers in First Seed were carried with it, mingling with pine sap and sawn wood from the riverside sawmill. Farsten sat atop one of the many ridges that ran to the north of the Karthside road. The road followed the Karth until it hit Dragon's Bridge, from there... Wilderness until Rorikstead in one direction, or crossing the Hjaal river and a treacherous mountain road up towards Dunstad Grove then down into the Drajkmyr.
"Well, where should we start?" Rayan called out as he moved away from the gates to Solitude. He was head-to-toe in furs and leathers, with a backpack far too overburdened. Farsten could see that he'd had some experience in the wilds before, but he had clearly bought his survival not earned it.
Farsten idly tapped the butt of his spear off the road beneath him. "Darya. Your girl. She has not been seen in the city, or beyond, for one week?"
"Nine days, now." Rayan corrected, solemnly.
"And you were sure she didn't leave the city by boat?" Farsten took in a deep breath at Rayan shaking his head, the salt of the Sea of Ghosts had mingled with the wildflowers. "Was she adventurous? Did she travel?"
Rayan thought for a moment, scuffing a boot along the cobbles. "Yes." he hummed, "We had both traveled, a long time ago. You see we're not locals, not really."
"No?" Farsten said, his sarcasm ushering a frown from Rayan.
"No. She was born in Elinhir, spent the early years of her life there. We left, me and her, when she was seven. North towards my homeland, then East to Markath. We spent a time there but the Reachmen were as dour as I remember growing up. So we moved here, to Solitude. So yes, we traveled." Rayan sighed, looking off to the south along the river. To his home, Farsten thought.
"Did she do much traveling alone? Did she leave the city often? Business, leisure?" Farsten tapped his staff once, bringing the Breton back from his memories.
"No. Well, she'd head out into the woods on occasion with friends. There was one day where she didn't come back, naturally I was worried so I asked her friend's parents where they'd gone. Clearpine Pond, they'd said. I didn't know where that was, but she came back within the few hours as I was trying to find out where." Rayan stopped, thinking again, he noticed Farsten's raised brow and answered the unspoken question. "I've already spoken to her friends, they haven't seen her. They know nothing and they're all accounted for."
"Is there any reason why she'd run away, decide to go off alone. Family? A lover? Debt?" Farsten had to check all the boxes.
"No, no." Rayan stammered out quickly, "None of the sort. She was happy-" Farsten raised his brow again. "Mostly. She'd get in trouble around town sometimes, but nothing a young lady wouldn't do here if given half the chance."
Farsten nodded. He'd seen it before. A part of growing up. Adventurous youth, running off into the hills around Hvitkald. They'd return with their tales, or kills, or riches. Sometimes they wouldn't return. This wouldn't normally concern Farsten, but Rayan had septims and Farsten had a need for them. He dropped from the ridge, using his staff to bare the weight of it. He began the walk down the Karthside. The sound of scuffing boots on stone picked up as Rayan jogged to catch up.
"So you have the track?" He asked, hopefully.
"No." Farsten could do nothing but laugh at the suggestion, he clapped Rayan once on the back. "I am a tracker, not a wolf. But I know where we should start." He raised the icey-blue top of his spear towards the rising hills to the South-West, and the sun-touched white tips of the mountains behind them. "That way. Clearpine Pond lies over those ridges, a days travel for a group of kids. If you keep up, we can make it in half that."
Rayan shook his head, "I can keep up. It was my idea to venture out here with you in the first place-"
Farsten laughed again, "I know, you were very insistent on that."
There was silence for a moment, Rayan came into step beside Farsten. He looked out over the wilderness and drew a sigh, "My daughter is out there... I have to find her, this is my final hope. So yes, I'm coming and I won't return until I have her." He put up his height, as small as it was compared to the Nord, putting on the brave lion face of the Bretons. "What makes you so sure she went that way?".
"Deer and boar tend to follow the same paths, to places familiar, when they wish to retreat to rest." Raising his spear again, he drew a line from the road before him to the horizon, roughly following the Karth river. "People do the same, you just build roads instead to make it easier on you. If she ran, she would've gone to Clearpine. From there? We will see."
Rayan huffed as they stepped off the road, rambled over one of the ridges, and approached the pine-heavy treeline at the foot of the most northerly tip of the Druadach Mountains. "And why should I trust this hunch of yours given you're not a wolf, tracker?"
"As I said in the city, I'll take the septims once I've found her. So, I'll find her, All-Father willing."