The Refounding

She knew something was wrong now. When Julius stood up, he did it with a stiffness that had nothing to do with his ever-present armor. That, and she could tell that his handshake had more strength to its grip than was fully necessary, and that his smile seemed strained, as if plastered to his features. If Artenarto noticed any of this, he didn’t make note of it, but merely bowed his head to Julius’ own introduction.

Afterwards, he took a step back and then sat down on the wooden bench, bringing his water (she still wasn’t convinced by his explanation, by the way) to his lips to sip at it. She would have looked at him a bit longer, as if she could draw answers out of him with her gaze alone, when Artenarto spoke up again.

“So, you said you needed me for a reading?”

“Yes,” Mhalla said, tearing her gaze off the brooding knight, “Julius and I are hunting after a pair of Hags. We lost track of them. I was hoping you could point us in the right direction.”

The Altmer smiled, crinkles in his cheeks formed on his elongated face, “Of course,” he said, “I’d be glad to. And, Julius, huh? You’re not one to forgo formalities. Did he go through a trial with you like I did?”

“Indeed. We’re both famished after it,” Then she stole a glance at the knight’s bread and water, “Or at least, I am.”

“Very well, I leave you to your meal then. I have some preparations to do. My room is that one,” He said, pointing to a room three doors down, “Come and enter when you’re done.”

With that, Artenarto left, his robes trailing behind him. Once he was out of earshot, she turned to Julius, “He’s gone now,” She said, a smirk tugging at her lips beneath her scarf. She pulled it down to take another spoonful of broth. Then she leaned over the bowl and beef, “So,” She started, “What was that about?”

Beneath her scarf Mhalla’s eyes crinkled, softened.

There was a smile in her voice as she spoke.

“I’ve met my fair share of humans who look at their fellow races in contempt, but I do not think many have half a good a reason as you, nor are they so self-aware of it. I am convinced of it, Julius. You are a good man. It is a shame that the Thalmor have twisted you so, so that it is difficult for you to look with trust to other Altmer.”

She leaned back in her chair, letting it creak against the floor, before bring her mead up to her lips. Once she had her sip, she brought the tankard back down again. She caught Julius’ eyes and held them.

“At least in Artenarto’s case you need not fear. He and his family are being hunted by the Thalmor. They’re one of the survivors of the Night of Green Fire.”

The event occurred in 4E 42. When the Thalmor had seized total control of the Sunset Isles and renamed it Alinor, the Altmer dissents had to flee from their island home and scatter to the other nations of the world. Artenarto came from a community that had settled in the Hammerfell city of Sentinel. After the union between the new government of Valenwood and Alinor had formed, a union that created the second Aldermi Dominion, the new alliance could then focus its attention on the rebels that had escaped them. So they brought their might down on Sentinel. The event comes to be known as 'The Night of Green Fire' due to the destructive magic attacks employed by both sides during the battle.

The district they were living in was razed, and most of their community slaughtered.

At that moment Artenarto stepped out of his room, “The preparations are done. If you two are done eating we can begin at once.”

If the upturned eyebrow was any indication, Julius was surprised by her words. But if one thing her life has taught her was that discrimination was in everyone – no matter how sweet a person may be the first look at her unveiled face always caused a flinch.

The true deviation occurred after that, in her mind.

Either the person then apologized or they scowl, walk away, and try not to look at her ever again.

It seemed to her that Julius had a distrust but not an outright hatred for Altmer. If they didn’t do anything to him, he’ll tense up but not act out. He’s wasn’t one of those types that lit the inn in Elinhir on fire the first night she had been picked up by the Vigilants. The type that wanted her dead just because she existed.

If anything his reaction to Artenarto as he returned proved it. He nodded at the man, stood up, and held out a hand. Artenarto seemed thrown off guard, but then he accepted the hand with a smile. “No need to apologize. If you are both ready, please step in.”

Mhalla took a glance at her plat. She had finished the slice of buttered bread, most of the beef stew and half of the baked potatoes. She shrugged her shoulders and stood up. “I’ll just pack the leftovers.”

The duo followed the robed Altmer inside one of the rented rooms. The room was standard Skyrim inn fare. A hay filled bed in the middle, cloaked over with wolf skins, with twin bedside dressers on either side. It had standard decorations as well, a long narrow chest on the east wall with baskets on either side and wolf skins hung up on wooden walls.

It was at the foot of the bed that Artenarto did his preparations.

An oval rug had been spread out, and on it a magic circle had been inscribed, arcaic patterns that looped and crisscrossed on top of itself. The rug was weighed down by four braziers on each corner and each one contained a soul gem – each bigger than the last. If she had to guess, Mhalla assumed they were Petty, Lesser, Greater and Grand. She glanced over at where Artenarto stood behind them.

“Where did you get a Grand Soul Gem? I doubt you killed a Mammoth recently.”

Artenarto chuckled. “From the College. Though they sell to me they’ve yet to let me through their doors, unfortunately. Hopefully with more readings like this they’ll see the value of my magic. Speaking of the session, I’ll need my payment.”

Mhalla pulled out her coin pouch. “Half now, half later once the prediction comes true. With the standard discount.”
She was about to pull out the usual fare when Artenarto held up his hand, “I’m really sorry about this, but I must ask for the full price.”

“What?”

“You’re not on official Vigilant duty, isn’t that right? Your comrades are not with you. I can’t charge you the discount.”

“I see. That’s fair.” She counted out the fifty Septims, two twenties and a ten, and passed them to the man. He nodded and then gestured to the circle.

“Please, take a seat.”

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Just out of the sheer impracticality of carrying hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of Septims in a couple pouches, I decided to give a scale to the currency. 1, 5, 10, 20 and then a 100 (not that we’ll see the later in the rp). I’ll pm Dawgs after this to see if that’s okay.

Artenarto seemed surprised for a moment, and then a moment later a bit sheepish. “You don’t really need to sit down – you just need to be in the magic circle. Though the closer you are to it the more in range you’ll be of the spell.”

The Altmer smiled, and Mhalla could just see the excitement radiating off him. Here we go again, she thought.

“You see the problem in most academic circles with the Clairvoyance spell is not its reliability but the vagueness of its insight. This is naturally the case, after all, Magicka is fueled by the casters own inner emotions. How will the caster get a clear insight of their goal when they do not know what it is they’re looking for in the first place?

That’s where I came up with this solution: Why not have another mage cast Clairvoyance for you? The purpose of this circle is to act as a conduit for my magic to bestow the vision on the both of you ... or one of you,” He added, seeming to read the disapproval in Julius’ face, “if you don’t want magic to be tampering with your mind.”

“Do you need a summarization of our goal?” Mhalla interjected.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I don’t need to know what the two of you are looking for. I’m merely acting as a source of Magicka – the spell will work off the goal in your mind, not mine.”

“Alright, we’re ready to begin.” She glanced over at Julius. “If you want to step out, now’s the time.” And then shut her eyes.

Artenarto's hands were set aglow in a purple light – one that flickered and coiled around his fingers. Then light spread from his open palms and into the soul gems, passing from the Petty, to the Lesser, to the Greater to the Grand – the light growing increasingly brighter as it went. Then the light swarmed inward, capturing Mhalla who sat in the Circle in a vivid glow.

That’s when the vision came.

Flashes of sensations crossed her mind’s eye – the trickling of water through a wheel, the sound of a saw slicing through trunks, the smell of pine, the feel of heat hitting her skin. And then her sight blurred to life – the image of a wooden building by the side of a stream, followed by a Nord woman cradling a pile of firewood.

Then Mhalla snapped back.

“A lumbermill?”

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Half-Moon Mill resided on the flanks of the Ilinata Lake. The two hags set up camp on one of the lake’s shores to the east of the lumbermill. From where they sat, huddled by the campfire, they could still make out the column of smoke from the chimney in the Half-Moon Mill. Martia shot a glare at the building then spat, the mucuous was ate up by the fire in seconds. “The vampire-bitch could have at least let us stay inside for the night.”

Roshel took a sip out of her mug, the steam from the heated cider tickled around her face. “There’s no helping it,” she said, “Hert made it clear that the Clan would have no part of us unless the trade is done.”

Martia swirled her glare over to her companion, “Like hell it will be! There’s no way the Matron will go through with it.”

“There’s no way of knowing Matron Halivid’s thoughts.” Roshel took another sip.

“Let’s just return so the Matron can turn the offer down and we can search for other means.”

“Very well. We’ll have to travel north again. We can’t risk venturing too close to Falkreath and Elinhir – that’s Sanctuary territory.”

“North? Up to Markarth? We’re going in bloody circles.”

“No helping it. Our base camp is up north; we’ve got a climb ahead of us to reach that mountain summit.”

They started breaking down camp. They rolled up their bedrolls, repacked their various sacks and rations and lastly snuffed out the campfire – basking the entire area in shadow.

In the quiet that descended, Martia asked, “What’s the name of that old Nordic tomb anyway?”

“Nahkriinah.”

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OOC: They would not know this (since they probably just stumbled on the name in old records) but ‘Nahkrinnah’ (Pronounced Na - Ka - Rin - Na) means – Vengeful Fury in the Dragon’s Tongue.

“It’s simpler than that,” Mhalla said, as she stood up from the circle and stepped back into the inn. Behind her she could see Artenarto start disassembling the magic circle. “The way Clairvoyance works is that it gives you a vague ‘gut feeling’ of where to go. But it’s a bit stronger because of the ceremony – we get a vision to begin with and a stronger impulse to follow. Once we step out into the road we’ll have a sense of where to go.”

“That’s quite right.” Artenarto said. He stood up from the ground and slid one of the soul gem holders into a drawer. “In fact, there’s some records that indicate that some particularly Magicka sensitive individuals can even see a trail of blue light leading to their current objective.

“The Dragonborn.” Mhalla said, glancing back at both Julius and Artenarto. “Or at least those are the rumors.”

“Yes.” Artenarto said. “Rumors.” He almost seemed to visibly deflate at that, like the winds were taken out of his sails once it became clear that his “records” were no more than hearsay.

When they returned, Mhalla wasted no time in walking back to her table where her cold food awaited. She took the half of the baked potato and wrapped it in a cloth, before stuffing it in her pack. There was nothing she could do for the stew – the liquid would just spill out and stain her knapsack if she stored it.

After making sure everything else was in place, she walked towards the door of the inn and stepped out of the Lazy Dwarf.

The moment she did she almost reeled back.

This was the strongest feeling she ever had with this spell. A part of it had to do with the fact she knew this lumbermill. The moment she felt that it was to the south Mhalla knew it was the Half Moon Mill. It was the mill that provided the most lumber to Falkreath, the sister city to Elinhir. Still that raised the question – “Why are they so close to the Sanctuary?”

She straightened her back and shot a look at Julius. “Well, either way we know where to go now. It’s a shame we don’t have horses to catch up to them easily.”

Just as she finished saying that she spotted it. A speckled mare stood outside the inn, tethered to a post. An urge, an old urge, surged up in her, but Mhalla squashed it down. Wow. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like doing petty thievery – I thought that girl was dead.

Just the thought of those old days turned her body rigid. “Let’s go,” she said. Their descent down the road let the forest completely envelop them. The inn went out of sight.

The roads were actually fairly safe – a fact that would have been an outright lie decades ago when the Forsworn had populated the area. This was still Forsworn territory, but ever since Fort Sungard was retaken by the Imperial Hero during the Civil War, the roads have been actively patrolled and safeguarded. The Forsworn still issued ambushes and raids, but if the victims were lucky a squad of guards would be patrolling nearby and be on them in mid fray.

Actually, now that she was thinking of it – “Maybe we can request a mount at Fort Sungard, or at least join a patrol heading south. I do know that patrols occasionally act as escorts if they meet travelers heading the same way.”

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“Why exactly are we off the road again?”

Roshel sighed when she heard Martia speak up. The Hag rubbed the bridge of her pointed nose, nearly a beak with how far along the path of power she’s gone.

“We can’t risk being seen by the patrols.”

“It’s fine. We’ll just kill them.”

“Do you expect to kill off an entire garrison?” Roshel snapped. She let out another long sigh and tucked her hands into the sleeves of her robes. “We just need to make it past Fort Sungard – once past there the patrols will be few enough that we can take some risks.”

“So long as we can kill soon. I’m itching for some meat.”

“You’re bad habit is showing.”

“It is as Namira wills.”

“Maybe it’s because we already had this exact same conversation before?” She did not laugh, but it was a near thing. “Do forests always make you reminisce?”

The flicker of good humor left her. “To be honest though, part of it has to do with the fact we’ve already traveled up this path. If I didn’t know through clairvoyance that we were getting closer to our destination I would’ve sworn we were walking in circles.”

At that moment they stepped out of the foliage and onto the Imperial highway, Mhalla turned to her companion and gave him a smile through her scarf, which likely looked like a skull glinting its teeth at someone. “From here it’s a straight shot down the road, pass Rorikstead, and to the Fort.” That was probably the reason why the Lazy Dwarf was in such an out of the way place – it was set up to attract travelers on their way to Rorikstead who wanted a rest before they reached the small hamlet. By Mhalla’s estimate it would take a couple more hours to reach Rorikstead and at least half a day to Fort Sungard. Her smile faltered. Still too far.

Then she spotted figures on the horizon.

“The gods are with us, Julius! A patrol!””

Two men on horseback pulled to a halt when they saw the duo approach. One of them reached for his hilt, but paused when he saw the insignia on Mhalla’s robes. “What is the nature of your business, Vigilant?” The other asked. Respectful, but cautious. After all, for all they knew she could be a bandit that strip the clothes off a victim. That, and she wasn’t in the company of other Vigilants but one other armored traveler.

Either way, she sought to put their fears to rest with a simple nod of the head. “Stendarr’s mercy be upon you. The two of us seek to travel south to Falkreath. Is your patrol heading in that direction?”

“Yes, we are. Back to base. We can accompany you both as far as Fort Sungard.”

“Much appreciated. It would have taken long to go on foot.”

Upon hearing that, the other Imperial patrolman, the one who had put his hand on his blade’s hilt, narrowed his eyes. “You wish to have a ride?”

This one is far too paranoid. “Yes, if possible.”

The other man, blond-haired she could tell from under his helm – possibly a local, smiled, “Since it’s a short distance it won’t hurt the horses. Sure, come on up.”

Even so, the men scooted back in their saddle so that they would sit in front of them, not to their backs. But that may just be standard protocol.

Once both Mhalla and Julius got situated the soldiers started up their mounts to a trot, then a gallop. They left the Lazy Dwarf, and even Rorikstead, far behind.

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"Let's just get out on the road now."

Roshel grind her teeth. She took a moment to inhale then spoke in her normal monotone.

“We’ve already been over this Martia. Even if we’re pass Sungard this is still the road to Rorikstead. There could be patrols.”

“We’re far enough away from the garrison that we can take one or two meatheads.”

“There’s no need to – Wait. ”

Roshel pulled her red-haired partner in crime down into the bushes with her. Sure enough, two patrolmen galloped past.

Two. Two men. Just two. She could feel Martia’s will to jump out and attack through her tensed body, Roshel had to press her shoulder down.

When they were gone, Martia whirled on her companion. “We’ve could’ve taken them!”

“For the last time – ”

Something sped by Martia, flipping up her locks of hair.

An arrow lodged in Roshel’s throat.

And a moment later a sword.

The Hag’s dead body flopped to the ground and blood caked Martia’s lock in a new red hue.

For a moment, Martia stared up in blank surprised at the woman who now stood over her. Though her face was covered, the Hag could make it out the expression on her face. The fire in her eye. The undead draugur would be warmer, and yet the fire of life that sustain them could not compete with the dark fury that seemed to radiate from her every pore. She watched the warrior’s blade go up and then –

Then she snapped out of it.

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Fifteen minutes ago.

It came on her with a sudden burst, a wave of feeling that struck her head. In that moment the image of the mill, cemented in the far corner of Mhalla’s mind, shifted to that of a forested road. She glanced over to Julius to see that he was already looking in her direction – he had felt it too. She leaned forward closer to the rider in front of her, yet still she had to raise her voice a bit to be heard over the thundering hooves. “Soldier!” She said, “Our destination has changed. Ride a half a pace then drop us off.”

“Why the sudden change?”

“Our prey is on the move.”

The soldier shot a look behind him, then glanced back to the road. “This is not our business. We must finish our patrol before evening fall. Hrorbjorn and I will ride on once we’ve parted ways, Vigilant.”

Not all Imperial soldiers care for justice, I see. Instead she said, “I understand.”

They found a thicket on the side of the road, one thick enough that Julius and Mhalla could hide their presence – a necessity for what she had planned. She gestured to it and the horses slowed to a trot then a stop. Mhalla slipped off. She turned her gaze to the other steed and saw her knight-companion doing the same. Once the duo stood to the side of the road, the soldier who shared a mount with her nodded his head, “Safe travels. May the gods be with you in whatever confrontation you face.” The other soldier, Hrorbjorn, stayed in a brooding silence.

Once the two had left in a pillow of dust, the two descended into the thicket. Then Mhalla spoke, “The Hags will be here any moment. I suggest we ambush them under this cover.”

“Sounds good to me.

“Good. Here’s the plan. We both charge in – I’ll take the brunt of their attention and spells with my Wards and you’ll strike them.”

“And have you charge in barehanded? No.”

“What other choice – ”

The sound of the kiss of metal against metal sounded as Julius slid his blade out of his sheath. He handed it to her hilt first. “I’ll stay behind at range while you go forth. You’ve already seen how good of a shot I am.” He gave his usual smile.

“That I have.” She reached out for the blade. “I will treat it with honor; that I swear.”

Once they took their positions, it was a short wait. And once the wait ended, the action happened swiftly – in a moment. The two Hags came into sight. Even if there wasn’t the feeling of the Clairvoyance magic fading as they reached their destination, there would be no mistaking them. Their features were hollowed, with beady eyes and elongated noses that nearly formed to beaks. Through the sleeves of their robes twisted fingers sharpened to claws could be seen. But more than that … their features … their features. The moment Mhalla saw their features her blood boiled and froze over at once simultaneously.

It’s them.

Her fingers tightened on Julius sword.

She didn’t even need to hear the twang of the release of Julius’ crossbow to move.

The bolt struck into one of the Hag’s neck and the blade followed, biting into and carving out a chunk of flesh. It’s a shame, She thought as the body topple in a shower of gore, I couldn’t see the look on her face.

But she could see the look on the other one. For one beat of a moment uncomprehending shock filled the Hag’s features. Mhalla raised her blade.

Then a scream broke the silence.

Flames poured out from everywhere. All at once. Like an explosion of force that slammed into her. If Mhalla didn’t throw up a Lesser Ward then and there she would have been burned. Even so she still slid back, her steel-plated boots gouging the earth. “You!” A torrent of flame rocketed out to her and Mhalla dived and rolled out of the way. “Fucking!” A firebolt slammed into the ground behind her as she got back to her feet. “Bastards!”

“I’ll kill you.” Her hands moved in a scooping pattern, as if collecting the air in her palms. “I’ll kill you.” She moved in odd twisting steps, part ritual, part dodge of Julius’ bolts. “I’ll kill you all. I’ll flay the skin off your bones, drink your blood and feast on your innards! Namira will writhe in pleasure from your torment!”
“Shut up.”

Mhalla charged.