ThreeDawg
Administrator
Voice of the Wastes
Posts: 1,219
Likes: 33
|
Post by ThreeDawg on Mar 8, 2021 9:33:12 GMT -5
(A continuation of Shadows of an Empire was long overdue. By about 3 years. I've been sat on this story for 7 in total, it has to be told!) Bravil, 1 day earlier. The brackish water of the lower Niben licked at the piers of Bravil's waterfront district. The shadow of twilight crept across the Niben Bay. A fog was rolling in from the east, over the crumbling ruins of distant Fort Grief that stood in stark contrast to the well maintained walls of Castle Bravil that stood protectively over the sheds and warehouses of the waterfront. Sconces had been lit, their flames flickering into the still clear air. The waterfront was even now busy, the creaking of era-old river barges almost drowned out the cries of gulls and chatter of riverfarers bringing in their hauls and finishing their work for the day. Another barge joined the crowded wharf, brushing up brusquely against the pier it shared with a handful of skiffs. Deckhands leapt overboard to secure the vessel and lower a narrow gangway. They moved quickly, a well disciplined crew for a barge that looked older than the Mede Empire. "Ah, Bravil." the Altmer Captain shouted out across the deck. "Like a second home, or the embrace of my mother. What a shithole." "But it's our shithole!" The Bosmer first-mate shouted from the decks. "That it is! Now, unload our cargo. I'd like to stop by Miss's Mast before the moons rise!" The Captain slapped the railing by the ship's wheel, and his crew gave a laugh. The Bosmer groaned a response, "Of course you would, you have to pay them back the two thousand Septims you owe them for last time you 'stopped by'."
The 'cargo' unloaded. They had been instructed to dress casually, to escape the eyes of those around them. The clothes that had been provided for them in their packs were nondescript, plain, rugged and seemingly well used. They blended with the crewmates as they moved from the barge onto the wharf. Emily, the short Breton with the emerald eyes, gathered them up ushered them quietly away from the crew. The two groups split, one venturing towards Bravil, the other out towards the northern shoreline and a rough-hwen bridge that connected the island-bound wharfs to the mainland across the reed-covered delta of the wide yet unseasonally fast-flowing Larsius River. There was no horses awaiting them, no guides or traveling party. The five moved silently, their packs secured firmly. The Breton led the way, he size in stark contract to the Nord, Hadimir, behind her. Then came the shorter Imperial, Scipia, working hard to hide his Legionnairy gait. Another, older man with greying hair, Daerus, followed behind him. Finally a Khajiit, Ra'jidar, kept up the rear. They marched this way, silently and stoicly, for the remainder of the night. They had been instructed to rest on the day before. ' It is best to travel through the night to the border', Emily had said. The roads were quiet, the hoot of owls and the rustling of wildcats broke up the rustling of the leaves and reeds as they followed the Larsius River towards Annequina. The moons rose bright, and Ra'jidar took the lead, midway through their journey. The sillhouette of an Imperial fortress in the distance broke up the road, and the group turned off into the northern woods. Some hours later into their silent trudge through the thick underbrush, the group had come across a trail. Hardly a boar-run, but from here Ra'jidar pressed the group west. It was rugged terrain, but the path was easier on this hot night than the brush had been. They came across a camp, abandoned recently. Goods had been left in packs, clothing folded neatly by five tents. "Make camp here. Rest quickly, we only have a few hours before sunlight." Emily had said, before grabbing one of the packs, clothing included, and disappearing into one of the tents. The others didn't protest much. The march had not been overly long, but the ruddy heat and harsh terrain had not mixed well with their river-legs. They lay down for the night, and their quiet trip was ended with a quiet nap.
Birds chirped, and sunlight broke the canvas of the tent Scipia lay in. He'd slept like a soldier, quickly and lightly. He'd awoken three times in the night, once to the howl of a wolf, twice to the rustling of leaves and twigs. Yet he felt good. This was his country. He was Nibenese born and bred. Bravil-raised stock. He'd been in these woods countless times in his youth, and even more during his training at Fort Blackblood. He felt it a shame that they hadn’t been into the city proper. It wasn’t the nicest city in the slightest, but it was home. But he’d feel shame to visit, too. He hadn’t been home since the incident with Auventus. He grimaced at the memory. He had to clear his head. He set about getting dressed in the clothes that were left with the tent. It was light clothing fit for the journey ahead. Dark brown cloth pants that fit surprisingly well, an off-white cloth undershirt and a padded brown sleeveless tabard. Clothes that wouldn’t look amiss on a border trader out here. He untied the string on his tent, and found that Hadimir was already awake, and clothed similar to himself. He’d put his tent down and was sat by his pile of clothes. eating some hard tack and salted jerky he’d squirrelled away from the boat. “Morning.” He grunted, throwing a hastily wrapped bundle of jerky and tack to Scipia. “Thought I’d save our rations and use theirs.” Scipia nodded in thanks. He was sure the river crew had been paid well enough,they wouldn’t miss some rations. “Sleep well? Anybody else up?” “Poorly. These warm nights. Suppose I’ll need to get used to it.” Hadimir pointed a slice of jerky towards an empty tent, “Ra’jidar was gone before I could offer him breakfast. We’ll see if he comes back.” The Nord added between mouthfuls of food. “Heard shuffling from the other two, but they’ve been tight lipped.” Scipia nodded and started breaking down his own tent. “Well I’m sure they won’t want to miss a second of this wonderful morning.” He grinned, all thoughts of Auventus clearing like fog in the morning sun. “Ra’jidar doesn’t seem like one to abandon a mission. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of him and whatever prey he’s chasing down.” Hadimir moved over to Ra’jidar’s and started doing the same. “Fair point. Not used to being a camp follower to a cat, though. Could’ve taken care of his things first.” he grumbled. |
|
Salvahkiin
Archer
My Siren's name is Brick, and she is the prettiest.
Posts: 1,055
Likes: 4
|
Post by Salvahkiin on Mar 11, 2021 22:09:26 GMT -5
It had been many years since Daerus had been this far south. It was all too familiar to him however, the Priory had sat just beyond the outskirts of the Niben Bay. All manner of emotions were running through his mind currently. Sadness, anger and no small amount of regret. He found solace in how the land itself had healed so beautifully. Kynareth would not allow the accursed Aldmeri power over Nirn, and this was proof of that fact.
There was no communication between the group, there was no need to announce their presence to any potential robber. Disposing of undesirables would slow them down. They could deliberate in the safety of a secluded camp, though Daerus doubted his own participation in any conversation. He couldn't speak for any of the others, but he was tired.
The terrain turned sour when they descended into woodland. Daerus was glad that he'd spent the majority of the past three decades traversing Skyrim's indomitable snow, the thick brush paled in comparison. His aching limbs appreciated the discovery of a trail, but his mind did not. A trail implies a path travelled by others.
Hidden out of layman's sight was their pre-prepared camp. "Make camp here. Rest quickly, we only have a few hours before sunlight." Their leader announced before taking respite in one of the tents. Daerus chose one next to Scipia, that would be one flank he wouldn't have to protect. Soon after laying his head down, the pillow invited him to sleep.
Like Scipia, Daerus slept lightly. Wolves and other woodland creatures broke his sleep thrice, but Daerus did not need sleep as much as an opportunity to rest his body, and the few hours it had was plenty enough. His aged bones creaked and cracked as he rose from the bedroll, serving as an announcement that he was awake. They were provided inconspicuous clothing, that made Daerus look to be an old merchant with one too many debts to retire. Daerus exited the tent, and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of youth, pride and honour. It was good to be home.
Daerus began to disassemble his tent, as the others had done. It was wise to leave as little footprint as possible. He did miss the comfort of a fire, but that would be one of the many luxuries they would be giving up on this mission. Once done, the three that were awake sat down. Hadimir passed Daerus some rations, obviously 'borrowed' from the ship. Daerus thanked the Nord for the food and began eating, willing to forgive the theft, being sure they were more than adequately paid.
"Splendid morning. I'd forgotten the beauty of Cyrodiil." Daerus said, to neither of them in particular. "I see we're assuming the role of merchant guildsmen."
|
|
ThreeDawg
Administrator
Voice of the Wastes
Posts: 1,219
Likes: 33
|
Post by ThreeDawg on Mar 12, 2021 9:03:45 GMT -5
Scipia raised a hand in greeting to Daerus as he left his tent, Hadimir greeting him with some tack and meat.
"Don't get down here much anymore, Daerus?" Scipia started, taking a seat in the grass by his neatly stacked pile of goods and equipment. "Did they dig you up from some sunny far away land like Betony or Cathnoquey you'd retreated to in your retirement?"
Hadimir, perched upon his pile in much a similar way to Scipia, looked over the old Knight. "No." the Whitefang said in his deep voice, twirling the crimson-fletched arrow in his hands, "He looks like this greybeard's bones have felt the cold touch of Kyne. Am I wrong?"
Scipia looked from one to the other. He didn't see it, himself, but Hadimir was watching Daerus closely. There was a sudden tension between the two. The rebellion in Skyrim was fresh in the minds of the Nords and those who made Skyrim home, even temporary. Divisions often ran deep to the core, and he'd seen a number of drunken brawls himself in the Imperial City between Nordic Stormcloak sympathisers and their own kin. A number of Imperial loyalists had fled the region to escape the flames of conflict before it had died down. Maybe Daerus was one?
To think that the Empire had been so close to splintering. He made a silent prayer of thanks to the Eight that the Legion had acted swiftly.
Emily, unlike the others, had slept soundly that night. While she had worries about the security of their journey once they reached Anequina proper, this was Cyrodiil still. This close to Fort Blackblood, adversaries wouldn't have thought to strike at them. Her real worry was if they were followed. Secrecy was their goal, and a wagging tail would give them away to the wrong Khajiit the second they left the forests. She stretched her arms and back. She wasn't a fan of sleeping rough, even after years of doing it regularly. With a free hand she ran a white glow over the skin her body. A simple spell to restore the stamina in her muscles. She doubted she'd need the magicka it cost her any time soon. While the ex-military outside had trained their body for marches such as this one, she had trained her mind and spirit. Her magicka reserves were deep, she could afford a drop or two.
Emily's outfit was as drab as the others, a brown hooded cloak wrapped around her chest and tied off at her shoulder covered a white shirt and a brown skirt that ended at her knees. They were fitted well - after all she had organised for their delivery - to provide a wide range of movement but looked as worn and used as the others in the group. Disguise was nothing unusual for a member of the Oculatus. The art of subterfuge was the most highly trained part of their role, and they excelled at it. Taking a pinch of the dry dirt under her tent and a drop of water she ruffled the braid in her hair and ran her fingers over the edges of her jaw. The bruise upon her cheek from their fight at the arena were healing quickly, thanks to restoration magic, but they were still painful to touch.
She pulled out a well detailed map of the region, tracing a line across the woods from Bravil. They would reach the border by mid-day. She sighed. So close, yet only the beginning of such a long journey. Chatter outside the tent pulled her away from the map, and she bundled her goods and old clothing together into her pack.
She left her tent to the sight of the three mercenaries bought with promises and threats getting along without bloodshed. Always a good sign. Like Daerus, she begun breaking down her tent and packing the canvas and poles together in a tight bundle. They would be carrying a heavy load throughout their journey: their own clothing, a tent, and pack of supplies. They would have to make do with carrying it all on their own two legs for awhile.
She listened to the other three as they spoke, letting them air themselves. Comraderie was good, even beneficial to the mission to a certain degree. She looked past them for a moment, crouched over her building pile of supplies, her emerald eyes scanning the forests.
What was taking Ra'jidar so long.
|
|
Salvahkiin
Archer
My Siren's name is Brick, and she is the prettiest.
Posts: 1,055
Likes: 4
|
Post by Salvahkiin on Mar 29, 2021 2:12:14 GMT -5
Daerus let his head drop slightly, a smirk sneaking through his lowered guard. Hadimir was sharper than most of his kin. He lifted his head, to meet Hadimir's intense gaze. Knowing full well what Hadimir had running through his mind at the current moment, it was in Daerus' best interest to defuse this situation.
"Your home is hospitable as it is cold, Hadimir. To Man, at least. I've spent the past 40 years in Skyrim. Eastmarch had become the second place I call home. From where do you hail?"
Daerus, while not participating in the Stormcloak Rebellion, had seen the effect it had on Skyrim. In some ways it was worse than the Great War, it didn't split a people. Daerus had spent a great deal of time with Stormcloak soldiers. They were young men and women, eager to prove themselves, unprepared for the realities of war. Hadimir had the bearing of a Stormcloak. Daerus felt a kinship with the soldiers that the Rebellion had spat out.
He considered leaving Skyrim, perhaps going to Vvardenfell, or Solstheim. But in a way, he felt a sense of duty to protect the village he called home. Luckily for him, it was a relatively untouched piece of Skyrim. He knew that he'd either have died, or been hunted as a criminal of the Empire.
|
|
ThreeDawg
Administrator
Voice of the Wastes
Posts: 1,219
Likes: 33
|
Post by ThreeDawg on Mar 29, 2021 9:36:38 GMT -5
The Whitefang plugged the arrow back into a buckle on his pack. "Eastmarch." He respectfully nodded his head. "Good country. Good game. Good people. Kyne's own lands." Instinctively he looked north, or close enough, his hard demeanor softening somewhat as he spoke. "Whiterun myself. Born in the shadow of the Throat of the World. You've seen it, you know. Have you ever climbed the seven thousand steps?" he asked of Daerus, but not particularly waiting for an answer "I wish I had before I left."
He turned to Scipia, his softened look turned hard. His tone was hostile, as if remembering the years he'd spent up there. "You ever been to Skyrim, Legion? You ever tasted the fresh snow-water from the meadows?"
Scipia knew why he asked. He'd want to know too if he was in Hadimir's boots. Thankfully, he wasn't. Even more thankfully, he didn't have to lie. "No." Scipia began, "I've never been over the Jerell's. Been to Bruma, that's cold enough for me." He plucked at some of the grass near where he had perched his packs. "Been to Anvil, too, which has enough Nords to call it a colony of Skyrim."
His joke fell flat with Hadimir, but at least he turned his attention away. He was sated by the answer, it seemed. Hadimir had gone quiet.
A few moments passed with nothing but the birds twittering their songs, and the sound of Emily packing up her tent. Scipia dropped his grass clippings, lacing his fingers together. "What about you Emily, wher-"
He was interrupted by a sudden rustling from the brush, Ra'jidar emerged before Scipia could move to see who approach them. The Khajiit was stealthy in a way his intimidating size would betray. It took a talented rogue, or a cunning mage, to sneak up so brazenly on a camp of this company unnoticed.
"The path is clear, Emily." He said between deep, yet unlaboured, breaths. "We should remain untroubled on our journey." The Khajiit turned to his pile of belongings, and took a moment to bow his head to the group. "My thanks for taking care of my things."
Hadimir grunted.
"I half thought you'd run off." Scipia said, crossing his arms over his chest.
To which Ra'jidar flared in return. "I do not abandon a mission, gladiator."
Emily let out a short whistle, and the two turned to her attention. "None of us do. Which is why we're all here. Grab your things, the quicker we get to the border the better." She bundled her own pack, and tied off the rolled tent beneath it. Taking a deep breath, she set off. Ra'jidar was not far behind.
"What pulled on his tail?" Scipia wondered quietly, yet loud enough for the other two to hear, as he too grabbed his things together and made to leave down the path - and the lone tent.
|
|
Salvahkiin
Archer
My Siren's name is Brick, and she is the prettiest.
Posts: 1,055
Likes: 4
|
Post by Salvahkiin on Mar 29, 2021 17:25:45 GMT -5
Hadimir missed home, that much was certain. Daerus remembered why he was here, and wondered as to what Emily was holding over Hadimir. It didn't matter, he was here. They all were. Eastmarch defused Hadimir, definitely one of Ulfric's boys, then. While Hadimir was speaking, Daerus double checked he'd packed everything.
"Have you ever climbed the seven thousand steps?" Hadimir asked. He had. Long ago, long before Skyrim was split in two. "Once, when my bones were younger. Younger than yours are now." After all, Daerus hadn't immediately settled down in Skyrim.
Hadimir's distaste for the Empire ran deep. Now Scipia was in his sights. They would all be in a spot of bother, if any of them had participated in the wrong side of the Rebellion. As Scipia directed his question towards Emily, he'd begun to ponder on her past. She knew theirs, far too well for his liking.
Finally, their Khajiit compatriot had joined them. Apparently he had been scouting ahead. None of the others, especially Daerus, were stealthy and quick enough to scout their path. Ra'jidar thanked them for packing his equipment away, Daerus gave a short nod in his direction.
Emily's whistle was short, piercing. Daerus quickly shifted his attention to her. "None of us do. Which is why we're all here." Daerus agreed, silently of course. None of them seemed the type, they would see this through. They all got up, made their final preparations and set off.
"What pulled on his tail?" Daerus let out a quiet chuckle. The way he said it, reminded him of Nords, back in Skyrim. "I think you've found a chink in his armour, Scipia."
|
|
ThreeDawg
Administrator
Voice of the Wastes
Posts: 1,219
Likes: 33
|
Post by ThreeDawg on Mar 30, 2021 9:48:13 GMT -5
Scipia nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Best I not go for that chink, too. Probably some bad history."
Yet he couldn't help but shake the feeling that the Khajiit hadn't been insulted by the suggestion. He'd turned it around on Scipia, and that was the chink in his armour. He didn't know how much the others knew, if at all, but the Penitus knew everything. Bad history. This place and this journey was nothing but bad history. He looked to the ground he trod on, and continued his journey quietly. Gladius on his hip, but no shield nor banner on his back.
Hadimir had up to this point remained quiet. And he did for a fair while longer. His mind was clearly still on home, absent and longing. His people were waiting for him. His family. His home. Fair Skyrim. "So. You made the pilgrimage to High Hrothgar, Daerus?" He spoke, with a new found semblance of respect. "There is Nord in you."
He caught up to the old Knight, leaving Scipia to take up the rear. "You were younger, then. What brought you to the roof of the world? Most don't come willingly. Only Nords returning home, or those running from troubles only to end up in a Sabre Cat's den."
Emily and Ra'jidar paced ahead of the group, talking quietly.
"You made it to the border unhindered? What took you so long?" Emily said, firmly yet with calm.
"There was a group on the trail." The Khajiit hissed. "I had to... Follow them, closely." He stretched out his back. The Khajiit hadn't been afforded much in the way of sleep.
"Trouble?" Emily asked again, an eyebrow arching.
"No. Hunters. Poachers, really." His tail flicked irritably, "Men, not Mer nor Khajiit. If they see a sign of us, which I doubt, they'll retreat back to their shadows. The Count of Bravil is not a man fond of those that poach his game."
Emily nodded. "Good. We can not afford confrontation this early in the journey. We have a schedule to keep."
"Or we miss our target." Ra'jidar finished for her. He picked up the pace and left Emily behind, his footing through the overgrown trail as sure as somebody who had walked it dozens of times.
She turned her head to the three behind her, keeping pace well and steady. Would they be enough?
|
|
Salvahkiin
Archer
My Siren's name is Brick, and she is the prettiest.
Posts: 1,055
Likes: 4
|
Post by Salvahkiin on Mar 30, 2021 17:02:36 GMT -5
The three had spent a while in silence. Some minds longing for what was behind them, others for what lie ahead. Emily and Ra'jidar discussed presumably his morning stroll up ahead. If it was anything for the three warriors to be concerned about, it would have been shared with them, Daerus supposed. He was snapped back from his pondering by Hadimir's newfound respect for his elder. "There is Nord in you." Those unaware of Skyrim's hardy people wouldn't understand the gravity of the sentiment.
"You were younger, then. What brought you to the roof of the world? Most don't come willingly. Only Nords returning home, or those running from troubles only to end up in a Sabre Cat's den." Hadimir was right, Skyrim wasn't his first choice of retirement. Circumstance led to his being in Skyrim, it just so happened to be the best choice for a man in his situation.
"After the War, I settled in High Rock. I spent some years there before being forced to leave. I found my way east, and spent some time as a mercenary for hire. One such job was to escort a Shatter-Shield to High Hrothgar, wanted to brag to his friends that hadn't made the pilgrimage, you see." Daerus was in far too over his head for this job, and didn't realise just how much it'd change his life.
"Nevermind that I could barely name the nine holds and their capitals, he hired me anyway. We left for Riften, spent far too much time there for my liking, and made our way west to Ivarstead. Lake Honrich is quite beautiful in the early hours of the morning, and the sun breaks through the forest."
Daerus paused momentarily, partially catching his breath, and reminiscing on how beautiful Skyrim could be. Sure, the whole land permeated a chill that shot straight into your bones, and every second creature you see in the wilderness would have you for a meal. But the sights to be seen in Skyrim make it all worth it.
"We rested in Ivarstead for the night, and crossed the bridge as the sun rose. The young man that brought supplies up for the Greybeards left with us, happy to share in the company. These were calmer times, Hadimir, where one could walk the steps without fear of wolves, or trolls. Something about the air on the Throat of the World, it cleanses you. The man walks down is not the man that walked up." He paused again, this time to smile, and look at Hadimir.
"If we make it back from this, I'd like to walk the steps again."
|
|
ThreeDawg
Administrator
Voice of the Wastes
Posts: 1,219
Likes: 33
|
Post by ThreeDawg on Mar 31, 2021 7:08:14 GMT -5
Hadimir stared ahead, nodding slightly at points in Daerus' story. He was no bard, but hearing the reverence of the beauty that was Skyrim in the old man's tone instilled him with pride only a Nord could feel. He doubted many of the other races felt such about their homeland. In truth, many of the Bretons and Imperials he had met seemed joyous about leaving their homes behind for one reason or another, only the Redguards he had come across seemed homesick. Something he respected. He'd never given the other races much chance to prove this theory wrong, either. "You speak the wisdom of the Greybeards, Daerus. The birthplace of Mankind." He exhaled, remembering the majesty of that particular mountain. "You describe Kyne's Breath. It flows in all the races of Man. Few feel it. Fewer still listen to it." Hadimir looked the old man in the eyes, wondering for a moment what the person who had walked up that mountain was like before they had felt the touch of the Gods of Men. "I envy you, Daerus." Hadimir was not too proud to admit that much. "Walking the steps. I was too young when it was safe, too bold and cocksure when I could've, and too weary when I should've." He shook his head as he spoke, there were many things in life he regretted. This one wasn't entirely his fault, of course. Those years of his life were one of secrecy. "I fear that mountain has been tainted by the blood of brothers and sisters, its long shadow cast over the bones of my people." Hadimir had pride for his homeland, and he had pride still that it had fought for independence from Thalmor control. They had lost. But as long as he drew breath, so did Talos. "You were in Skyrim, during the war. You would've seen the aftermath of those battles. I lived through them. I fought for my people, my High King and the God of Man. I don't regret what we did, what we had to do. I only regret that the Empire sent a Legion to stop us." He looked over at Emily and Ra'jidar, walking ahead. He knew they were within earshot. He simply didn't care. "This Empire sold us out to the Thalmor, then they cower behind their forts while knife-ears drag families from their homes. If they'd acted - if they'd negotiated with Ulfric - so much could have changed. I'd be leading my men down here to kill Thalmor, not sneaking in through the back door while half my men are buried under ice and snow."
He shook his head, the disdain was clear on his grim face. "Instead we are sent to stop a war. They are cowards." |
|
Salvahkiin
Archer
My Siren's name is Brick, and she is the prettiest.
Posts: 1,055
Likes: 4
|
Post by Salvahkiin on Apr 2, 2021 1:32:55 GMT -5
Well, this was to be expected. Daerus often earned the respect of Stormcloak soldiers, without intending to. Storytelling and revelry were pillars of Nordic culture. The two went hand in hand, you need only enter the nearest village or city's inn to realise this. But you'd best find yourself appeasing the patrons with your accomplishments or filling your belly with mead.
Daerus often chose the former. Sometimes, the stories were even true. After all, he and the Stormcloaks shared a common enemy. Not the Legion, but the puppetmasters behind them. They would sit opposite, beside, and sometimes at a different table due to his being full. He had their full attention. Whether they were seeking wisdom through an old man's tales, or just wanted their mind to be occupied by something other than their woes.
"You speak the wisdom of the Greybeards, Daerus. The birthplace of Mankind." Daerus was an unruly child, and seldom truly listened to his elders. Listening to them wouldn't have changed anything. He'd still be in hiding. He'd still be exactly where he is now. Old age wasn't kind to Daerus' youth. Skyrim had managed to preserve his body, at least when it came to swinging a sword, but Daerus couldn't pass for a year younger than sixty. Luckily for him, he'd made his home a place where elders had the utmost respect.
"You describe Kyne's Breath. It flows in all the races of Man. Few feel it. Fewer still listen to it." Daerus didn't quite understand the Nord. But they were a superstitious people. Knowing far better than to pick it apart, he gave a nod and grunt in agreement.
"Walking the steps. I was too young when it was safe, too bold and cocksure when I could've, and too weary when I should've." This hit very close to home. Wisdom spoken by a regretful man. The two were closer than either of them realised. "Regret will forever follow you. Making peace with your choices, and attempting penance is the most we can do."
"I fear that mountain has been tainted by the blood of brothers and sisters, its long shadow cast over the bones of my people." Hadimir seemed naive to Daerus in this moment. Ulfric's Rebellion was still recent trauma for Skyrim's people. They would carry the burden of scarring their land for decades to come. But it will recover. Daerus had seen it very recently, in this very place. Death, destruction and fire were what Daerus had associated with Cyrodiil. But what he had seen recently were a forgetful people. Forgetful of the chaos 40 years ago. Blissfully forgetful. "Kyne blessed this land long before man or mer inhabited it, and she will continue to bless it long after man and mer die out. The Throat of the World is divinity incarnate, there is nothing that can harm it."
"You were in Skyrim, during the war. You would've seen the aftermath of those battles. I lived through them. I fought for my people, my High King and the God of Man. I don't regret what we did, what we had to do. I only regret that the Empire sent a Legion to stop us." The wounds of war were very fresh for Hadimir. Not so much for Daerus, but that did not mean they had healed. "Forget not who holds the Empire's leash. They will not forget you. They will not forget any of us." This seemed to shift his attention to the Dominion.
"This Empire sold us out to the Thalmor, then they cower behind their forts while knife-ears drag families from their homes. If they'd acted - if they'd negotiated with Ulfric - so much could have changed. I'd be leading my men down here to kill Thalmor, not sneaking in through the back door while half my men are buried under ice and snow." A sentiment shared by many, it was entirely naive, however.
"The Dominion are not in the business of negotiation. Ulfric was smart enough to realise that. They know conquest and domination. Negotiation would've put a knife in his back. They do not forgive transgressions, if you are an enemy of the Thalmor, they'll kill everyone close to you without a second thought."
|
|
ThreeDawg
Administrator
Voice of the Wastes
Posts: 1,219
Likes: 33
|
Post by ThreeDawg on Apr 7, 2021 6:54:48 GMT -5
Hadimir nodded, a ruefull smile on his face at Daerus' comments on the Thalmor's deceit. "Don't I know it." He shook his head, his teeth ground. Hatred etched across his face, the Thalmor had been hurting those closest to him all his life. "If only the second Titus had heard your words before he signed over his own people." he spat into the dirt. "Good riddance to his empty throne."
Scipia had been listening quietly up to this point. He'd known love for the Legion, for the Empire, even for the Emperor - flawed as he was. He'd done his duty and paid the price for it. As had Titus Mede II. "You speak harshly of a dead man, Hadimir. By Arkay, bite your tongue."
Hadimir turned his head to Scipia, a frown growing on his face, "I know the Legion were pups for the Empire, but even you must see the Concordat for what it is. The man was a fool."
"The man was a ruler." Scipia chided. "They have to make decisions for the good of their people that only they can justify. Blame him for his actions all you wish, Hadimir, but don't doubt the resolve of the man. Had he wanted to enforce the Concordat, he would have signed over the Empire before the war without bloodshed." He shook his head, "Or do they not teach you that in Skyrim?"
Hadimir stopped and turned to face Scipia now, who had to cut his gait short to avoid stepping into the Nord. "They teach us that your Emperor betrayed Talos and his followers, my people." His fists clenched, his teeth ground. This was his sore spot.
Scipia had not wanted to fight this war, and he didn't now. The civil war had raged on in Skyrim and it had done nothing but strengthen the hand of the Dominion. "The Thalmor killed your people, not the Emperor. Or did the Altmer march upon Skyrim at the head of a Legion?"
This was the wrong way to say that, Scipia realised, as Hadimir stepped forward "They may as well have! Where were the Legion when Justicar's bled the snow red? They came for Ulfric's head for standing up for his people as High King."
Scipia raised his arms to his side, both to leave himself defenseless and to make a point of his surroundings. "Here, Hadimir. We rebuilt these forts, manned the walls, patrolled the borders. We were here, keeping the Dominion in check. We were here, until Ulfric Stormcloak made a show of Markarth and forced the Emperors hand."
That, Scipia realised as Hadimir bristled, was also the wrong way to say that.
|
|
Salvahkiin
Archer
My Siren's name is Brick, and she is the prettiest.
Posts: 1,055
Likes: 4
|
Post by Salvahkiin on Apr 26, 2021 0:57:56 GMT -5
"If only the second Titus had heard your words before he signed over his own people. Good riddance to his empty throne." Daerus had fought and bled for Titus. Daerus had spoken to the man, once. Found him decent enough. "Titus did what he could, Hadimir. He was no Talos, Reman or Whitestrake. He was just a man."
Scipia had decided to join the discussion, which was quickly spiralling into an argument. The men had opposing philosophies. Hadimir was so quintessentially Stormcloak in his reasoning. Scipia was making sound arguments, but Hadimir was missing his points.
"Here, Hadimir. We rebuilt these forts, manned the walls, patrolled the borders. We were here, keeping the Dominion in check. We were here, until Ulfric Stormcloak made a show of Markarth and forced the Emperors hand."
Hadimir stopped, taking Scipia's words to heart. Daerus stood between the two, attempting to stop any aggression from Hadimir.
"Hadimir. The boy speaks true. Ulfric forced Titus' hand. The Concordat was a hard fought peace. I lost my father, my Commanders, my Order on the Red Ring Road. I sat with the Legion. They wanted the hell to end. They wanted peace, at any cost. Talos worship was an afterthought. You won't find a follower of the Nines more loyal than I. I am oathbound to the Divines beyond death."
"A united front against a weakened Dominion is our best chance at going back to the way it was before the War. Ulfric made his play at the wrong time, but he will not have died in vain, Hadimir.
|
|
