The Refounding

((I'm amazed at your patience with me TLT. I'll be posting in this this week, without a doubt.))

OOC: For the sake of time, we’ll make it just a passage out.

Not that it won’t be interesting of itself …

Mhalla was relieved, more than she’d admit at any rate, that Julius seemed to have accepted her. Her thrown away joke at the men’s expense had been a test of sorts, a way in which she could see how they would treat her from now on. Julius did not disappoint. He joked back. She would be able to face whatever danger which lay ahead with the knowledge he’d have her back.

Cosnach on the other hand …

The man had not spoken a word since the three had entered the tunnel, outside of some grunted words in response to Julius’ banter. The clear look of distaste for his surroundings made it clear that Cosnach had enough adventuring for one day … or at least enough adventuring with this party. She could only hope he kept his cool until they got out and he could return to Markarth. If he did something stupid like separate from the two of them and run off he could very well end up dead, no matter how strong of a Nord he was.

She had taken point, sword and shield out, while the torch she held in her hand cast light down before her. It shaped and molded their sight of the recesses of the tunnel, showing rocky, jagged surfaces that descended ever deeper. This … was not good. They should have spotted some dwemer architecture by now – smooth marble faces, the billow of steam, and golden cylinders that drilled into the ground – but instead they faced the darkness and the darkness alone.

Until a form took shape.

“What on Nirn?”

She took a step forward and raised the torch – casting light on the figure.

She really shouldn’t have.

“Gods!” She yelled.

A pole stood out from the ground, imbedded in the dirt. On the top of the pole was a human face, and stabbed through with metal spikes that haloed it.

Its eyes had been gouged out.

“Falmer.” She cursed.

“Ka, ka, ka!” The sounds clicked against the stones, and a moment later a gray shaped blurred in motion before her, screaming as it lunged. Mhalla moved before her mind processed the sight before her, her buckler meeting the jagged blade and her silver sword glinting through the darkness to swing at the creature’s skull. A shield met her blade, shoving her to the side. She took the moment to leap away, putting space between her and the Falmer.

For it was a Falmer. It’s pale, white skin, elongated ears, beady, blind eyes and slit nose, all displayed before her in its ugliness, for who better than her to know what ugliness was? Julius and Cosnach stood behind her, and she could feel the ready tension in them, itching to be released, but this part of the tunnel was so narrow that they couldn’t hope to get by her. She had only a split of a second to take in the sight of the hunchedbacked creature and a split second to cast her eyes behind her at her fellow companions but it was enough, for a moment later the Falmer had its hand out and sparks of lightning coursed through clawed fingers.

Only to be met with a dazzling oval of glowing blue and green.

Her Lesser Ward was her weakest ward spell, but it was enough to deal with a minor destruction spell like Sparks. More than that though, with her reserves of Magicka she could hold up a Lesser Ward for a great deal of time, longer than the beast could keep up its spell at any rate. The moment the Sparks let down, she let out a burst of Sun Fire – a blast of light and heat and fire that scorched the Falmer across the forehead – making it let out a scream of pain as its guard lowered. That was what she needed. In that moment she thrust with her silver scimitar through its bare chest, coming out on the other side.

The Falmer spat up blood. Its own sword and shield tumbled from its grasp, clanging against the floor.

Mhalla kicked it off her blade and watched as it slumped to the ground.

She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her gauntlet, felt the cool metal against her heated forehead. She took one gulp of air (she would not let herself pant) and sucked in a lungful of blood, sweat and fungus from the depths of the cavern. A moment later she knelt down by the fallen Falmer. The dirtied cloth around its waist would serve well enough to clean her blade. Once clear of the blood and gore she sheathed her blade and turned to the two Nords.

“This changes things.” She said. Mhalla was normally solemn, but her words now carried even more weight.

She had dropped the torch in the fray, now she picked it back up and leaned against the rock wall, letting the light encircle the three.

“The dwemer automations sleep until they are awaken, and when they are they come out in twos or threes. That’s not the case for the Falmer. The Falmer are divided up into tribes that dwell underground in the dwemer ruins – they use swarm tactics, archers in the back, fighters and spellcasters up front. If we face five or six of them, or Aetheurius forbid, face a couple of their Chaurus insects, we will be overrun.”

“The only good news is that with the amount we’ve walked we must be near the base of Druadach Mountains. The only question is whether we’ll hit a larger cavern with Falmer in it before we get to the exit. If we do, we’ll have to decide whether to sneak around them or fight our way out.”

Of course, knowing her luck with adventuring they'll definitely find a Falmer camp.

“We shall.” Mhalla said as she nodded. “I’ll take point again.”

With that she stood up from where she leaned against the wall, and stepped forward, torch in one hand shedding light off the low tunnel as it descended ever downward, and bare steel in the other. The silver edge of the scimitar glinting in the torchlight.

Though Mhalla would not admit it to these two, especially after the fight before, she had more than a few apprehensions about how she would fare against the Falmer in any prospective fray. Her silver blade, while undoubtedly effective against the undead, vampires and werebeasts, was no fine steel to batter against armor and shield all day. Even those short altercations against the dwemer automations had left their scars along the blade, leaving chips along its edge. Honestly, it was not enchanted, Mhalla doubted it would have lasted this long.

She would have to find a grindstone when all was said and done.

Once they entered into complete darkness, she snuffed out the torch.

She turned to the two men behind her, “The heat from the torch might alert them, though they cannot see. My blade will light the way.” As she said this, she held her scimitar aloft, the enchantments on it glowing with a faint, golden light.

It turned out that even that was unnecessary, for soon light began to shine out from the mouth of the tunnel. But rather than feeling relieved to find an exit, Mhalla only felt a thick dread. For though they had not found any Falmer, their path had been lined sporadically by effigies mounted in the ground. After the first couple the sight did not unnerve Mhalla anymore for instead she just kept her sight resolutely before her – not deviating in the slightest.

So, when they stepped fully into the light, she knew what was awaiting them, what the markers had been pointing to all along.

The largest Falmer camp she had ever seen stretched out before her. In fact, she was not sure it could even be termed a camp. A small village seemed more appropriate. They were on an upper ledge, looking down into the bottom of a cavern cluttered with clumps of tents, made out of chitin and animal skin. In one corner was a pen that held about five or so Charauses, all of which were feasting on dead bodies … dead Falmer bodies.

About a dozen or so Falmers swarmed through the middle of the village, all gathering at two tents, two tents that were brightly aflame, threatening to jump to the other tents nearby. They emptied jars of water on them in staggered groups, one group filling up the water from a muddied stream that coursed through the bottom of the cavern, one group taking the filled jars and passing them to the group that on extinguishing duty, and then taking the empty jars and passing them back to be filled again.

And yet a fourth group dragged dead Falmer bodies from the front of the exit to toss them into the Chaurus pen.

…Yes. It seemed their witches had come through here.

It would be suicide to try to go through that. The moment the Falmer heard and smelled them dart down the ramp and to the bottom floor they would swarm, forgoing the fires entirely. But, there was another way. The exit on the bottom was not the only way out – only the largest. There, directly across from them, was another exit. While the ledge they were on had a rocky ramp down to the bottom floor there was also a rickety looking bridge that span the void. The bridge lead to the second exit above the first.

And there was a Falmer Skulker – looking right at them.

Mhalla raised up her blade and got ready to charge before it turn its head down below – to the heat.

Right. Blind.

She turned to the two men and gestured back into the tunnel – she didn’t want to risk being overhead by the Skulker.

Once they had put some distance between them and the village, Mhalla spoke up in whispered tones.

“We need to get rid of that archer. That bridge and upper exit is our best chance out of here. Sir Aventer. How good of a shot are you? Because you’ll need to put an arrow through its one of its vitals from a far enough distance that it can’t hear you. If you miss or do a nonfatal wound it will be on us, and the noise it makes will alert the others below.

But once it’s taken care of, the second problem is the bridge. There’s no way we won’t make any noise crossing that thing. So, once it’s dead, we’ll have to run. They’ll hear us below, but once we make it safely outside we’ll be fine. They hate the sunlight.” It was one of the reasons why the Sun Fire spell was so effective in the earlier fray, which Falmer reeled back partly in pain from both the heat and the light.

She took a moment to close her eyes. When she opened them again they were as hard as steel.

“If you don’t kill it on the first shot, we’ll have to charge the bridge anyway and go through the Skulker.”

Mhalla swallowed back a burst of laughter. Julius response had just been so … so male. After living in the Sanctuary with her fellow brothers-in-arms, she should have known better than to question his combat prowess, but truthfully she just wanted an honest gauge of his abilities. It’s not like every archer could hit a vital at this distant with a hundred percent certainty.

Julius went first, followed by Cosnach. Any hope that they could sprint over the Falmers’ heads with them being none the wiser was shattered the moment the men put their steel-clad boots on the rickety wood. The creaking of the wood made a sound as shrill as a whistle blast. The Falmer below ceased their movements in a moment, like a wave of stillness washed over them. Then the shouts began.

“Go! Go!” Mhalla exclaimed, and the men wasted no time in hurrying through.

She cast Barkskin on herself, the skin beneath her steel armor Altering and toughening up in moments. Just in time. Down below, several arrows soared up to meet them. However, given how badly aimed they were, it was clear that the best shot was the one that Julius had taken out. But still, a couple splintered against her armor.

Then came the spells.

The tail end of Sparks and Flames reached up at them. Mhalla managed to get up a Lesser Ward in time, letting it hover in front of her as she continued to run forward. Outside of the sizzle of lightening and the flash of flames, the Vigilant also heard the thud of many footsteps. Those with arrows and magic had stayed below to attack, but those with blades and axes had charged up the rocky slope and were about to reach the mouth of the bridge. She looked ahead to see that Julius and Cosnach were already out on rocky soil, right before the exit out to Skyrim proper. Just a little more.

Crack!

Mhalla’s world jarred down. Her boot had snapped through one of the wooden planks, which had either been rotten with age or worn from the heavy stomping of the men who had come before her. Instantly, she saw Julius motion towards her but she shouted, “No! I’ll handle this!” to him. The sight of Cosnach holding him back with a arm and muttering some words at him was enough to tear her attention back to the board.

She tried to yank her boot out, once, twice, but the Falmers were already crossing, sounding giddy at the prospect of an easy kill before them. It was with that glance that she spotted the two ropes that kept the bridge moored, with the boards overlaid on top of them. She acted before she really thought about it.

She swung her blade down, slicing the two ropes.

The bridge fell apart and the Falmer tumbled down, screaming before they collided with the rough ground below.

Mhalla was falling as well, but she snapped an arm up, clutching at one of the severed ropes.

She snapped her left arm up.

She screamed.

It was unlike the grunts she made in combat, whenever she was struck with a strong blow. No, this was a sudden spike of pain that tore through her body and made everything red and hazy. It was in her left arm that Halivid had cursed her, the decay spreading from her left finger tips until it spread to half of her body. Now, only skin and bones covered her left arm, and what remained of her decrypt muscles now sung in agony as they felt the pull of her steel-covered weight.

She bit her lip and swung her other arm up, clasping at rope. I must have dropped my blade. Came the sudden thought when she realized both hands were empty. But then she reached up with her left arm, through the pain, to clutch higher on the rope. And so she went, one hand in front of the other, her feet walking up the cliffface, climbing up to the top. Once she was nearly there hands reached down for her and the men helped pull her the rest of the way up.

She tumbled her way to the top. Unlike before with the fight with the Falmer, she was openly panting. She reached up and tore off her scarf, not caring, for once, who stood nearby to see. She took the scarf, now just a red cloth, and began patting her face, trying to soak up the sweat. Once the strain on her lungs had lessened and her face was relatively dry, she rewrapped the scarf around herself.

In it all the Falmer had never truly turned their attention away from them. A couple still shot arrows or spells at them, but they always fell far short of where they stood on the top of the ledge, making it a wasted effort. Down below, yet another half a dozen bodies lay splattered against the ground, greenish-red blood pooled around them. In turning their attention to the intruders instead of the fire, it gave the flames chance to grow, snapping a few more tents in its wake. More Falmers were coming in through dark, narrow tunnels, coming in from alcoves in the cavern, but all in all it looked like a mess that they wouldn’t be able to clear up soon.

At least long enough for the three of them to continue their exit out into Skyrim.

Which is what she did. After one last glance at her blade, softly glowing beside the piles of bodies, she turned around and walked out into the fresh, morning air.

It was like walking out into another world.

They stood on top of a rocky slope of one of Druadach Mountains. Before them stretched a verifiable forest, lush evergreens with clumps of mountain flowers and mushrooms like blisterworts, clustered around their base. A pool of water glistened in the middle of the clearing, and blue butterflies floated above its surface. In fact, the scene looked so idyllic that Mhalla thought for sure that the tunnel had somehow deposited them far away from the Falmer camp until she noticed that a stream issued out from the pool and flowed downhill into the mouth of a cave below … a cave that had a couple of Falmer standing in the mouth of it, not daring to step out in the sun.

Mhalla reached for a hilt that was not there. Right. She remembered. I dropped it. Though she had noticed it mere seconds ago, she was still somewhat disoriented. So, instead, she lit up her hands with Sun Fire. Apparently the thought that more light could be tossed at them in the safety of their darkness was too much and the Falmer scuttled back into the cave.

For a moment, she just stared down at the water, feeling the weight of the presence of the men behind her. Then the tension was shattered by Cosnach’s voice.

“Well, I guess I best be heading back now.”

Mhalla shot a look at him from the corner of her eye, but still did not turn around to face him, or say a word.

“I think that’s been enough … adventure for me for a lifetime. I’ll head back to Markarth and do some thinking, since this whole debacle has given me a lot of food for thought.” With that he began to step down the rocky slope towards the pool. Before he reached it though, he turned back, “Also, Julius, if you’re ever in town again, look me up. We can have some ale at the Silverbloods on me.”

Mhalla watched him weave through the forest, his form fading as it stepped onto the main road.

She had not moved, but then again, neither had Julius.

She had to fight off the awkwardness that seemed to linger on her. It’s fine. She told herself, He already had an eyeful of it earlier, just … be natural. “I guess it was only a matter of time before he left.” She said, “He may be a good brawler, but he’s a citydweller, and not one to rough it out in dwemer ruins. But, at least you’ve seemed to do some good in his life … Julius.”

With that she followed Cosnach’s footsteps, stepping down off the slope and by the pool.

Through the scarf she smiled up at him, “Shall we continue the hunt, Julius?”

“Of course. The Hunt has just begun. And the prey have yet to disappear entirely. We need to take advantage of this."

Though such is what he said, but, to be honest, Mhalla did not know where to go from here. She had hoped that the tunnel would lead them straight to the Hags’ den, but instead it took them outside, and so now the duo of witches could have taken any route through the wilderness. It was times like these that she wished she was a tracker, able to discern paths through thistles and footprints.

Paths …

Of course!

But she was jarred out of her eureka moment by the sound of Julius’ voice. She knew that tone. It was the tone of concerned matrons of Elinhir, asking if “Everything was alright?” and whether she’d like to take a “Little something extra” when bartering with silver jewelry in the common market. She knew his words before he even spoke it. “Vigilant.” He started, seeming to cling onto the formality in his request, “It is not my place, but I'd appreciate it if you informed me as to what has caused your arm to not be on par with the other. I will not judge, regardless of the cause. If there's a way I can help ease the pain, feel free to say as much."

She was … split. Yes, split is a good word for it. Just moments before she had decided to treat the young knight differently, like one of her brothers-in-arms, for indeed it is only her fellow Vigilants who had ever fought by her side before, and some had even seen her bare face and had not been repelled. Keeper Tarvynl, Calilian, Hjor, her squadmates, all of them accepted her even while the other Vigilants remained cold or neutral to her … oh, and Fesda too, she guessed.

But even so, she had only known the man for a couple days, they did not know how informal they should be with each other.

He must have sensed her hesitance, for he then added, “If, however, the subject is not one you'd care to tell a stranger, then I'll understand and inquire no more. You have my word, by all the Divines."

That was enough to make her decision.

“You are not a stranger, Julius Aventer. You have fought by my side as a true brother-in-arms. Besides, you already know the answer you seek. You’ve seen my face. The curse that has inflicted the left side of my face originated in my left arm and then spread outward. These gauntlets,” She said, tapping the left one with the right, “are enchanted with Fortify Strength. It gives my right arm the strength to smite foes, but gives the left just enough strength to hold a shield aloft. I was considered untrainable by some of my fellow Vigilants prior to the gauntlets.”

They had walked some distance away from the pool, heading towards the main road. After all, it was her intention to head south to Falkreath. As they stepped onto the cobblestone path she spoke up, “As for what caused the curse … it was a Hagraven. A Hagraven named Halivid.” She stopped, her steel plate boots crunching against the gravel of the road, as she stared at Julius, blind eye gazing. “I do not know if these Hags we search for are her minions or not. But, if they are, I will be the one to kill them. I won’t stop until I have their bloody bodies at my feet.”

Her snapped words hung in the air for a moment, but then died when she turned her head back to the road.

“Now. As for our next move, I know of a mage in Falkreath that is particularly gifted in the ways of Clairvoyance. He’d be able to point us in the right direction now that the Hags are out loose in Skyrim. We’ll keep heading south until we find an inn, we’ll rest and restock and then continue on to Falkreath. Is that acceptable?”

"I will not steal that right from you, Vigilant. The creatures offended you, and took something from you. It is only right and just that you are the one to strike the final blow that cleans their head from their shoulders."

A tension that Mhalla did not know existed eased from her shoulders and her back, making her flex her fingers out in her enchanted gauntlets. Honestly, she did not know how he would treat their prey the moment they caught up with the Hags. That initial meeting, where they had both held up that blacksmith by the scruff of his neck after they realized the misunderstanding, proved that Julius could be just as hotheaded as she.

But the look in his eyes, the intensity of it, assured her the truth of his words before he spoke them. “Before this information, I was merely content to retrieve what is mine, but now? These creatures will pay for the crimes they committed against you Vigilant. Of that, you have my word, on my honor as a Knight and follower of the Eight and One."

“Thank you.” She said, grasping onto the scarf covering and nodding her head at him.

Those were the last words that issued into the silence.

The crunch of their steel-clad forms on top of the dirt road sounded out in the silence as the two wandered further south. Shadows from the trees on either side stretched over their path; hugged the road as they dipped down in it. A fox chased after a hare, both being lost in the underbrush. The vegetation on the ground and the leaves on the trees shook as Kynareth’s breath brushed through them.

Perhaps it was this serenity, this lapse of violence that normally plagues Tamriel’s wildernesses, which caused him to speak.

“It's a beautiful country, this Skyrim, is it not? Cold and harsh, yes. Unforgiving, yes. But what land is forgiving? I grew up in the Colovian Highlands, where beasts lurk just off the road. The Imperial Patrols used to always give the warning to us if us children would stray too far from the village. It was amusing, because I think they never really expected us children to listen or understand, but they did their best. Poor men."

That caused a chuckle to escape her lips, the first he had ever heard from her. After all, the town mayor of Elinhir says the same thing. She had often seen the thickset man leaning over a huddled mass of children warning them of the dangers that lurk beyond the town walls.

It was that memory that caused her to speak up after the knight was done.

“This is not my land, either. My chapter is situated right outside the borders of Skyrim, in the town of Elinhir in Hammerfell, and I grew up on the streets of Dragonstar further north. Both lands are actually fairly mild – the true scorching heat is further inland, in the Alik’r Desert. The only reason why my squad is in Skyrim now is because BladeKeeper Hjor is going to establish a new Skyrim chapter of the Vigilants, since the old Hall of the Vigilant was destroyed ten years ago.”

It was about midday, several hours had passed since they had left at the break of dawn, and all that combat made her look forward to a good rest and meal. That’s why, when she saw a single building off the side of the road, an inn, gods be thanked, she nodded her head at it to Julius. However, before they reached it, she turned to the knight and said, “What of you, Julius? Why are you in Skyrim? Why are you searching for this helm?”

The sight of the inn grew as the two approached. A wooden building with a straw roof, like nearly all of Skyrim’s buildings, lay nestled above a trickling stream that likely fed into the Karth River further south. The duo would need to be careful as they cross the Karth River, as Forsworn populate the banks of the river all along the heartland of the Reach, but for now Mhalla was merely grateful for a chance to kick up her feet and relax.

But it didn’t stop her from listening to his reply.

"A fair question Vigilant. I'm in Skyrim for a variety of reasons, but the core reason is because it's my duty to be here. There's quite a bit of history involved with this explanation, so I will keep it short for now, and explain more if you wish when we enter the inn."

Another long story. She thought, Why does it seem like every visitor to Skyrim has a story to tell? After all, the Dragonborn herself was a visitor to Skyrim.

“Only a bit ago, my father-" The pain in his voice told her all she needed to know. She didn’t even need to hear his next words to know Julius’ father had passed away. Condolences were on her lips, but before she could speak them he went on. Much like he had a moment before listened intently as the Vigilant gave a brief overview of her purpose, so too did Mhalla listen. He finished his tale by the time the two reached the door of the inn, which sign overhead read The Lazy Dwarf with one of the ancient dwemer tipped on his side, asleep with a flask of ale in hand.

Julius went to open the door to the inn and she followed him inside. "And so here we are, Vigilant. A Knight without a Lord, and a Vigilant without her companions."

“It’s more like I fled from my companions. Speaking of which, they should be finding that I’m gone now that dawn has come, and they’ll likely turn to Artenarto to find me. We should hurry and reach him before they do.”

The inn was fitted in the style of many Nord mead halls. A large heart fire sat in the middle with chairs set in clumps around it. A bard stood in the midst of the chairs, strumming the lyre and singing the song, Ragnar the Red, which was one of the more popular songs in Skyrim now that neither of the Ages songs were applicable once the civil war ended. Along either side of the inn sat long narrow oak tables where patrons who were eating their noontime meal sat. In between the tables were sets of doors to rooms, none of which were needed since this wasn’t going to be an overnight stay.

She approached the front counter where a Breton woman was wiping down a tankard. “I’d like some beef stew, baked potatoes, a slice of bread – buttered and some mead.”

The Breton woman blinked, as if to say Where do you put all of that?, before smiling the innkeeper smile. “Of course,” she said. “But as for mead, I’d recommend Black – ”

“Just mead.”

The smile did not falter. “Very well. That will be seventeen Septims.”

As Mhalla pulled out her coin pouch and began counting out the Septims, she muttered over to Julius. “It’s amazing how Maven Black Briar’s influence extends even to here. I’ve even heard of her, though I live in Elinhir. I still think Black Briar mead tastes like piss, though.” Once done she glanced up to the innkeeper, whose smile seemed visibly strained, “I mean no offense, of course.” She added as an afterthought.

Mhalla grabbed the neck of her mead, headed towards an empty table, and waited as Julius gave his own order. After the man sat down, Mhalla leaned over to him, metal clad elbows creaking against the table, “I didn’t have the chance to say it earlier, but I’m sorry to hear about your father, Julius. I, too, know what it means to lose those you love. But he did well with you – I’d never have imagined you were a blacksmith’s son with the way you carried yourself. This order, though gone, carries out its legacy through you – of that you should have no doubt. Tell me a bit more about it, if you will. Was it a martial organization like the Fighter’s Guild?”