The Refounding

Mhalla had not seen many of these carts.

Whenever she had traveled, it had either been on foot or on steed, journeying alone or with one other companion. She found it was much smaller than she would have suspected. She, D'ordon and Igmund had spent the later half of the day loading up the cart, while Hjor busied himself elsewhere doing something. By the time they were done, the front half of the cart was filled with a spare wooden wheel, three barrels, one of which was filled with shared rations and cookware for the party and the other two with spare armor and weapons should the one their current ones fall into disrepair, and four bedrolls. However, she had a hunch that Hjor had come by earlier and had hidden away a lockbox with the septims spared for the expedition somewhere in the cart, like underneath a loose floorboard.

Speaking of the Nord, right now he was coming out of Elinhir. In both hands he held a parchment, one rolled up the other fluttering. Mhalla made out the form of lines and paragraphs on it. So when he fully came up, and began to pack the parchments up in his own pouch of belongings, she asked, “What's on it?”

“On this,” He said, gesturing to the rolled up parchment, “is a signed contract from the Stonemason Construction Company. There was a headquarters in Elinhir, but they're scattered across the Empire. They'll be giving word to their base in Dawnstar.”

“You're hiring stonemasons?”

Hjor smirked. “After all these years, you didn't think I'd know you would hate to be stuck at some construction site?”

Mhalla at least had the decency to flush around her one visible eye.

“And the other?”

“Ah!” D'ordon said, “I gave him that a couple hours ago.” He snatched the parchment out from where Hjor was about to pack it. “It's our route!”

D'ordon spread the map out, weighing down a corner with one of the sacks. “It took some digging to find the imperial routes throughout Skyrim, but I've more or less chartered them all out. To meet both the objectives to reach the site of the Hall of the Vigilant and to gather word of Halivid's movements in the area these are the best major routes to take.”

Mhalla followed the route, starting at Falkreath and ending between Morthal and Dawnstar, and only asked one thing.

“Our first stop is going to be in Markarth?”

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

Tacitus Sallustius eyed the young man that approached him. He had spotted him earlier, having nearly ran down the slope from the marketplace towards the Riverside. He had seen his armor, his worn and tattered cloak, and felt relief. Now this … this was the type of customer he was used to, that he could handle while Master Ghorza gra-Bagol visited the Jarl in the Understone Keep. He was prepping his best sales speech as the man bumped into some of the smelters near Cidhna Mine, but when the wanderer got to the forge he quickly cut him off.

“The one who just left?” He had practically forgotten the mage when a potential buyer had shown up. “Ah. No charge necessary for chatting. How about you promise to look at my wares, afterward, hm? As for the mage, yes, she was a odd one, even as far as those magic types go. Came here carrying a sack in hand, saying that she had a helmet that needed disenchanting. That wasn't too odd, if a mage ever does come by it's usually to sell some sort of armor or weapon they don't need or cuz they think we enchant our blades as well as sell them. But when I told her that Hamal,” Realizing he was a outsider, he added, “ah, a priestess of Dibella, up in the temple, well, when I told her that the priestess does most of our enchanting she let loose this most god-awful noise. The worse sound the Divines ever cursed my ears to hear. She said she'll find another way, and left in a hurry.” He shrugged, “Not much else I can tell you.”

Right. He thought, suddenly remembering himself. Master Ghorza would want me to stay on track.

So he tried his best smile, “But if it's magical armor you want, why, we've just recently got a fresh batch in. How about this Steel Helmet of Archery?” Technically, Hamal said that it was classified as a minor enchantment, but who would ever want to buy a Steel Helmet of Minor Archery? “Perfect for that crossbow there on your back.” He had spotted both it and the worn scabbard on his hip when the warrior made his dash over. He had a couple other magical head items, like a Circlet of Alchemy meant for Calcelmo but none currently for sale. He would resort to other magical gear they had on hand or even mundane weapons and armor if he had too.

Anything to be able to tell Ghorza that he had at least made one sale before she came back.

................................................................................................................

Martia closed the gold-plated door behind her and let the bustling sounds of the smelters moving in and out of the mine, of the entirety of the City of Stone quiet. Few dared to venture into the Markarth Ruins, that sole link between Cidhna Mine and the city proper, the deepest underbelly of the dwemer marvel of technology and magic. .

Which made it a perfect place to meet up with Roshel.

Martia descended, the smooth stone of the entrance to the ruins became the rough dirt of a sunken cavern. The stone and earth merged seamlessly together to the point when she circled around the sole pillar in the middle of the entranceway and walked down another flight of steps she was not at all surprised to see that the dwemer masonwork had resumed.

Roshel was sitting on a bench before what looked to be a embedded energy source, producing a faint green glow. She stood up when Martia came over, instantly spotting the burlap sack in her hand.

"No luck?"

"Of course there was no damn luck! We shouldn't have come to a city in the first place!"

"You know we had to. We could only go to them as a last resort."

"Well. We're at that last resort."

"I agree."

Well. There was some victory in that. But Roshel went on.

"Did anyone see you?"

With that, Martia calmed down. Somewhat. "No. Just the blacksmith. I was sure to keep my face hidden."

With that the two climbed up a even steeper flight of stairs to a flat platform with a ancient rug of red with a gold pattern still stretched out on the stone. But what caught Martia's eye was pass the rug and the four columns in the corner to the golden arch in the front. "Do you think?" She couldn't help but ask.

Roshel took one look and shook her head. "No. There's no Centurion. There was a Sphere that I took down earlier."

Martia had seen it earlier but had decided not to comment.

It was in the next chamber that the stone gave way to earth again, this time taken over by a beast of another kind. Webs coated the corners of the chamber, and two of their inhabitants rose up to greet them.

Killing the spiders was simple enough. Backpeddling and throwing flames and shock seared their bodies down. And in the one moment they got close enough, Roshel darted a hand forward, it being layered in flames a moment later. It was then that Martia knew that she was no longer in Markarth. And it was then that her doubts surfaced.

"Are you sure there's a passage out of the city here? If we end up walking right into Cidhna Mine I'll - "

In answer, Roshel walked up a flight of stairs in the southeaster corner and then tossed some powder in a brazier by a stone wall. It flashed and in the light the stone shifted, groaning with effort as it slid to the side.

"After you," Roshel said.

Martia scowled.

And the stone wall closed behind them.

It was true. Markarth was going to be their first stop.

That just went to show how close Elinhir really was to Falkreath that to stop, rest and restock there would just be a waste of time and energy. In fact, the two towns were so close to each other that the old Imperial fort along the border had long ago been abandoned. Some bandits even made their home in it a decade ago, before they were wiped out, leaving the fort twice as desolate.

So the party descended down a slope, ignoring a lone cave etched along the mountainous rock face along the way. And when Falkreath appeared below, the top of buildings jutting out over the grasses and trees, they merely passed by it, the fork in the road leading into the city all but forgotten.

Mhalla would come to regret that.

They were barely outside of Falkreath when they passed by old Nordic ruins. Just like wit the cave earlier, they decided to ignore it. But it did not ignore them. They had barely passed the ruins when out from a nearby tree a figure emerged, made of sinewy wood and branch like antlers, a green glow giving life within. “Spriggan!” Hjor barely managed to yell before the aspect of nature vanished once more.

Mhalla barely managed to jump out of the cart and draw her sword before the Spriggan reappeared baring down on her with boney claws. She snapped her shield up and saw stars, her arm shaking with the strain. “Don't let the claws hit you!” D'ordon shouted, “They're poisonous!” I know. Mhalla thought. I taught you that!

But at the very least he knew what the standard protocol was. While it was distracted with her, D'ordon, Igmund and Hjor ganged up on it, swords hacking in vivid strokes. It howled, a green glow bursting off of it. Mhalla wasn't sure what it did until a deer, out in the woods, came charging in, bucking it's green-shrouded head against Igmund's back.

While Igmund turned her attention to the new threat, the Spriggan disengaged, putting some distance between them. She could sense more than see the build up of magic. It's a swarm of bees! A unique destruction spell, known only by the Spriggans, besides the pain of a bees stinging their unguarded faces, each one was poisonous. They couldn't be hit with it, not like this, all grouped together.

So when the swarm was conjured, she conjured up her own magic – Sun Fire.

The two blasts struck each other, and the flaming bees were pushed back onto the Spriggan.

And it howled. Stumbling. And fell – over the cart.

One of the barrels crashed opened and ignited.

The Vigilants worked instantly. Igmund letting the dead deer drop, Hjor pushing aside the corpse of the Spriggan, all working to stamp out the flames. As it wasn't a flame manipulation spell, the fires themselves were tame. But they did enough damage. Three weeks worth of rations, burnt to a crisp.

The Vigilants worked silently. Igmund skinning off the hide and carving off the meat from the bones of her kill. Hjor, D'ordon and Mhalla gathering what rations were salvageable and carefully repackaging them, before letting the horse, Hjor's Galatia, finish off the ruined food. Soon enough they were back on the cart, leaving behind a singed, broken barrel behind in their wake.

It didn't even need to be said that they were leaving the taproot inside the Spriggan be.

They lucked out in the fact that there was a lumber mill just up the bend. Half-Moon Mill was it's name, and the owner, a woman called Hert Mhalla believed, was willing to trade them some vension, stored in a butcher's cabin in the back, for the deer hide. Not that Mhalla paid much attention to the haggling. She sat on the ground by the waterwheel washing her shield of any poison that might remain on it and then wincing as she examined it. The face of it was scratched to all hell, the sigal of Stendarr's Hammer was all but worn off, worse yet one of the straps for around her arm had snapped forcing her to hang it across her back. Her sword was also in bad condition, several chips were along it's length. The reason why they packed spare armor and weapons was for this exact purpose but Mhalla still wanted her shield and her sword. As the party left again, she swore that first thing she'd do in Markarth is get her equipment repaired.

Hert watched the four Vigilants leave, a smirk under the red that flashed through her eyes.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, which is ironic since a decade ago the rest of the journey would have been the most perilous, venturing past the Bard's Leap Summit and the Lost Valley Redoubt. However, once the civil war was over the Imperials at Fort Sungard focused their attention to patrolling the main route to Markarth, making the roads safe for travel once more in peacetime. They had their midday meal at Old Hroldan before heading off again.

Dusk was falling by the time they made it to Markarth. They knew they were approaching the town instantly. If the windmill on the hill top wasn't clue enough, the set of buildings that made up the miner town sure was, stone, squat dwemer buildings. After dropping off their cart and Galatia by the stables, forking over a few septims to have Cedran to look after it, the Vigilants made their way up the stone steps and into the town proper.

The moment they entered into the city, the group split up. “I'll head into the Silver-Blood Inn to book our rooms are find out if there are any rumors about of Halivid. I want you three to hit the marketplace and restock on our lost provisions.”

“If it's alright with you,” Mhalla interjected. “I'll head over to the forge and get my gear checked out.”

Mhalla hurried, soon it would be time for both the marketplace and the forge to shut down for the night.

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

“Hm. The noise, huh?” Tacitus felt a bit discouraged that the man shifted the topic back to the mage, but figured anything to keep him standing by the forge. “I'm not sure quite how to describe it.” Aint' that a hell of a understatement. “I guess my best try would be that it was somewhat of a mix between a high-pitched scream and a bird screech. Inhuman was the first thought I had, but now I think the woman might have just been naturally loud. Sorry if that doesn't help.”

But then the Imperial blacksmith perked up considerably. “Why, of course!” He said, pulling out the helm in question. “You have a good eye, this piece of fine metal only costs six hundred and twenty five septims! That's only five times the base price of a standard piece of headware, and I assure you the craftmanship and quality of the enchantment more than – ”

The words died in his throat. Around the bend, where a bridge extended over the water that flowed throughout the City of Stone, a figure was approaching. Through the dim light Tacitus could just make out the robes and the scarf that obscured her face, hiding it in shadow (Sadly though, the dim light also hide from his view the blade on her hip or the shield strapped to her back). He wasn't sure, but, despite himself the Imperial asked,

“Is that her?”

Tacitus had barely gotten the questioning thought out before Julius grabbed his tunic. “Fight? Guards?”

The knight let go and walked over, hand on hilt. “Wait!” Tacitus shouted, but the young man left.

The hairs on the back of Mhalla's neck bristled. Even if she hadn't spotted the poised hand above the blade, she would have known the stranger's readiness to fight by the steel in his eyes and the rigidness of his gait. The Vigilant stood resolute, taking in the man in one fell swoop. Tattered cloak. Worn armor of low make, and a scabbard on his back. A typical wandering warrior down on his luck, if not for the quiver of bolts and the crossbow on his back which was not a usual ranged weapon by any means.

She half expected him to be a brigand of some sort, waiting to waylay travelers in the falling dusk of Markarth, but when he spoke that confusion was clarified – though not much else was. She took a beat, trying to gauge whether this was a rouse of some sort to lower her guard so he could better strike her down, but with the blacksmith up above watching she doubted that to be the case.

With voice rich in authority, she said, “There has been a misunderstanding, citizen. I am Vigilant Mhalla of the Vigil of Stendarr – Sanctuary of Stendarr, Hammerfell chapter. I have come on a mission with three of my fellow companions and we have just entered a moment ago.”

Listening with care, Tacitus decided now was a opportune moment to intervene. “Yes, sir!” He said, jogging down the steps. “It is as she says. I wasn't sure when I first saw her, but she is definitely not the mage who visited me. For one, she wields weapons while the other did not and two, now, in this light, I can see that she is wearing a dark blue robe – not a black one.”

Mhalla, who had been tuning out this conversation, knowing that the problem had been resolved and waiting for his business to be done with the young man so she may begin hers, snapped her attention back on the smith. “Black?” She growled, the tone deep and coiled with buried anger.

“Uh … is that important?”

In a flick of motion, Mhalla's right gauntlet snagged him by the collar lifting him high into the air.

“What the – ”

“ Tell me what you know of her!”

Demanded answers and grabbed by the collar by two warriors in one day.

And no sales. I just want to close the forge and call it a night.

Tacitus looked twice as scared when Julius turned on him as well. He gulped, the metal clad fingers of Mhalla's Bracers of Might brushing against his throat. "I didn't know!" He said at last. Desperation leaked into his voice. "Black, blue - whatever. What does it matter what color the robe was? She was wearing robes!"

Mhalla eyed him before letting him go.

"It matters because black robes are commonly worn by necromancers, conjurers, warlocks and the like. Any spellcaster that has shunned organized practice tends to wear them. That is not to say that there are mages who don't wear them, but they tend to loot such robes off of corpses of rouge magicka users."

Tacitus Sallustius paled. More and more so when the full grasp of what he encountered occurred to him.

"Then she was ... I just ... "

"Met a witch. Alert the guard. I will visit you in the morning to get my gear repaired and to hear your version of the account personally."

"Of course!" Not needing any further prompting, Tacitus got up, gathered his belongings around the forge, put down a "Closed" sign and then hurried off to the guard tower. She sighed as she watched the Imperial leave, before turning to the other warrior - having nearly forgotten him in the all the hustle.

"I beg your pardon if you still desired to do trade with him. The fact a witch managed to get in and out of the city unnoticed needed addressing." And then, remembering his earlier apology, added, "And you need not fear offense on my part, it was a honest mistake. Come. It is late, let us go to the Silver Blood Inn for the night while you fill me in on what occurred."

"Mhalla" She said, "Vigilant Mhalla of the Sanctuary of Stendarr."

Though he could not see it she smiled under her scarf. She had noticed how he had fought off his own ire, saw it in the way he clutched his fists. She had been there. Her temper was a wild and unchained thing, one that got her into quite a bit of trouble in her younger years.

They talked as they walked, the forge left behind. When they rounded the corner, she asked, "So, if you were not there to use his services, then why were you there? What exactly was that information you wanted from him?"

Though he may not be able to tell, there was a hint of steel underneath her cool words - like a dagger hidden beneath silk. Her gaze, as always, unnerved those unused to it - a dead, glazed over eye and a icy blue one as well, just as cold. If he gave the wrong answer, which none would be fool enough to do to a known Vigilant, or gave her a measure of suspicion she would take him in for aiding and abetting.

But before she got the chance to hear his response, a shout echoed over to them. "Mhalla!" She turned to see D'ordon and Igmund approach. They both carried sacks of salted produce to replace that lost during the Spriggan attack. They bore the same garb as she, blue robes with a stitched insignia of a hammer clad in rays - Stendarr's Hammer. The same symbol was on the bucklers on their left forearms. Igmund's eyes widened as she neared, her bobbing slightly as she glanced at the two, while D'ordon's eyes narrowed in his tanned face.

"What's this?" Igmun said.

"I would like to know that as well." D'ordon said more coldly.

"This is a young warrior I just met. He has information that could be of use to us about a witch sighted in the city." Any shred of confusion left them then, their bodies tensing. Mhalla turned to him, "Feel free to introduce yourself. Afterwards, we can meet Hjor inside the inn."

Materialize out of the night? For a moment, Mhalla was caught off guard by what the hedge knight, Sir Aventer, said. But on a second glance, she figured he was right. Though they had merely walked into the marketplace with it barren and empty as it was, the stalls long closed and locked up for the night, those who run them taking any valuables they needed back to their homes, the two Vigilants appearances was more than a bit sudden, especially with lone witches out on the prowl.

Mhalla held out her hand, when shaken Julius would find that she had a unusually strong grip. “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you. Again, I am Vigilant Mhalla and these two are my companions, Vigilant Igmund,” She said, gesturing to the young Nord woman, “and Vigilant D'ordon.” The Redguard name slipped easily passed her tongue one of the fewest hints given that Mhalla was a Redguard herself. “The last member of our party is the group leader, BladeKeeper Hjor, who is in the Silver Blood Inn – so you have no fear of any more popping out of the aether.”

Before either she or Julius could go on, Igmund spoke up, “Could you fill the two of us in about this witch? Everything, from the beginning.”

Mhalla glanced ahead. The stalls in the marketplace were stretched out in rows with specific aisles dedicated to types of wares. The Silver Blood Inn was up ahead, past the Stoneheart General Store, a blocky, two storied building, with two long dead dwemer spheres curled up into balls on either side of the door. Whatever the dwemers used the building for in ages long past, a merchant had come in and turned it into a store roughly five years ago, leading to the expansion of the marketplace. To walk the length of it would take some time, so hopefully the man could finish his tale by then. I am still curious about why he approached the smith in the first place. Though she was still a bit guarded, she believed the respect he displayed when her two comrades-in-arms appeared was genuine, so her fear of him being a secret accomplish was more or less abated.