“Nothing changed,” Annalise retorted, “You were too busy skulking about in your cave to notice the outside world, Lycidas; and now that you’ve emerged you seem to think yourself entirely knowledgeable and fit to rule.” Amelie stepped forward, pulling a seat out from the table and lowered herself into it. Annalise would remain standing, her eyes roaming between the edgy pest surrounding the room, and hand ready; sitting would put her at a disadvantage – one she could easily afford against this rabble, but would rather not.
“I would’ve thought it was quite clear,” Amelie muttered, brushing her fringe back slightly, “We’ll send someone over from Northpoint, they’ll oversee all your production, make frequent checks to ensure none of it is being illegally transported or traded. They’ll also receive all reports from the Blackthorne’s concerning trade, and compare them with their own, and will sign off on any documents to be sent to Shornhelm. The Overseer will receive a small task-force, whom will sail with them from Northpoint, as well as a small contingent of guards to ensure they aren’t threatened by your people. You’ll forgive our distrust, but our Houses haven’t been entirely amicable in the past.”
The Breton leaned back, sighing slightly, “Regarding the Imperial City, well, whatever you say. You can blame everyone else, but as far as rumour has it; your family are the ones at fault. And Master Tavari’s own recounts,” She glanced at Ava, “Were quite detailed.” Amelie turned her gaze back to Lycidas, “However, as has been said, you will abide by our ultimatums; all of them. I would hate to waste the time forcing you to understand the lack of choice you have.”
Total Posts: 61
“We are behind schedule, Camoran.” Xietar snapped as the Altmer and his slave advanced through the courtyard to the town hall. The lights from behind the windows flickered on this dreary Morn. The Goblin desperately rushed to keep up with his striding Master, who’s merya pacing homaged the ancestor Phynaster. Camaron just about managed to hold the glass parasol above his head, panting away. The early-birds of the workers and residents turned their heads as the elaborately dressed Highborn optimate approached the steps with a goblin clamouring at his side.
“Boots, Camoran.” The young Altmer groaned in a condescending tone, snatching the parasol for himself.
“Yes, Optimate Xietar!” The goblin panicked, and pulled the chest round his back and retrieving a cleaning kit to begin brushing the bottom of his Master’s shoes. Who retracted some kind of magical incantation with a wave of his hand.
“…And the jewels, Camoran.”
The goblin bobbed his head vigorously, recovering a malachite box from the chest and reaching up on his toes to place it on the gloved palms of his Master.
“Your performance to this second has been satisfactory.” Xietar snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the side of the wall. The goblin waddled over, and stayed there.
A pristine looking Altmer entered the hall, strutting like a peacock with his hands folded behind the cape draped over his back. There was an air of entitlement about him that reinforced the typical cliché Altmer many on Tamriel disliked his kin for. Suited in a long white overcoat, tied at the waist and long black boots reaching up his lanky legs. A strong smell of cologne which likely made him smell like an Auridon Flower garden to any who had visited there. Xietar observed the throne and the others waiting with the gathering crowd for the coronation ceremony.
His face, a facade. But inside he writhed in the presence of so many ‘mongrels’. He kept as much distance from the residents as he could while he awaited the emergence of the Mayor-to-be. People around were speaking in hushed, gasped voices. It seemed something interesting had just transpired, or perhaps Xietar was just that good looking?
He had missed something.
“Well I’m sure you would receive the same treatment, you are about as much a stranger to them as I am” Rell explained “Either way I’m going, whether I have to stalk your or walk solemnly by your side. Id rather hear what they have to say first hand in case you miss any cues with your lack of people skills and if things go south, regardless of your combat skill you cant handle them all and id rather not have to put up with Veira and Tavari crying all over the place. It would put me off my work”
Plucking up his posture, he began following just behind the bosmer glancing around the town as he plodded along. Just as they set off, an odd looking altmer entered the hall, all clad in fine robes. Out of place in a small town like this and carrying an air of superiority. A goblin tended to the altmers every whim, a slave to him. It was disgusting. Sure goblins were; smelly, ugly, rowdy, vulgar, mischievous and had the humour of a child – laughing hysterically whenever a sound resembled a fart. But they didn’t deserve to be slaves, they weren’t too bad company when you looked past their faults and they do know how to make really good fried skeever. It was distressing to see the goblin so down, perhaps later he would spring him free… or her.
It was a surprise that Gladius survived through the civil war by the clanging his armour was giving off. Any army within 100 miles would hear him coming and be able to set a trap. It was one of life’s many mysteries, just like how he could sustain such grumpiness without turning to steam or how no matter how long it was since last seeing patelin jr he didn’t seem to age a day. It was truly strange times
A few weeks earlier, Elden Root Fighters Guild
Weyenon plodded through the Elden Root Fighters Guild almost on the verge of collapsing. He had heard rumours of Elden’s sheer size, but he never believed them.
That was a long trip up.
The Redguard’s young and slightly gourmless face waited in a line of associates who were queued along toward the desk of the Guardian ‘Lobgan The Large’ A towering Orsimer who offered contracts to guild underlings. One novice had actually ran out of the hall in tears after the giant Orsimer’s booming voice roared at him, it was hard to tell if it was tears or slobber from the Orc’s tusks.
He simply didn’t know. You never -asked- Lobgan ‘The Large’ for a promotion. He’d either send you rolling back down Elden or roar laughter into your face.
It was eventually Weyenon’s turn to inquire about a contract. The Redguard stepped up, he himself was quite tall, standing at a modest six foot, but the Orsimer’s shadow loomed over him.
Weyenon cleared his breath. “Ahem, Oroight? Guardian…Lobgan? Yeah, umm. I was wonderin’ if you ‘ad any contracts for a novice? I’m pretty good wiv a blade and oi can use a board well loike. Yeah…”
Silence. People watched on with baited breath. Lobgan stared, fumes eroded from his nose like a pissed off bull that had just seen it’s Wife and Children slaughtered.
“Sure.” The Orsimer… smiled pleasently? “Got a forest skeever infestation in a small home down by the middens. Authorities want us to clear the place out before it’s restored. Think you gawt what it takes, kid?”
“…Yea. Oi fink so. Yea. Okay. Oroight.” Weyenon mumbled.
The Guardian slammed a marked map on the table. “Then Goooooo!” The Orsimer’s roar almost deafened the hall, he picked the young redguard and threw him across the hall. Clasping his hands after and laughing. These were fun times to be in the Guild.
Later that day.
Weyenon entered the abandoned manor. Wherein an infestation of forest skeevers were sleeping peacefully on top of one another. Weyenon charged in and attacked the large rodents with his mace.
It was a massacre. He cleared the pod of all of them, he had to clear. He had to. Here’s not here. Smashed rat brains covered the floor, as he regained his breath and seathed his mace. He made his exit.
While heading back towards Elden, he passed by a rather concerned looking dark haired bosmer. Standing at a petite size, he was dressed in a sleeved green tunic and tight pants tucked into his shoes.
His mouth was agape. He saw the blood on the mace. Patelin rushed to the abandoned house.
“Dante? Mellisa? Geralt? Annabelle?! Do you hear me? Is everything okay?” Patelin, III of his name, entered the pod treehouse to find the rats had known had been brutally savaged.
“NOOOOOOOO!” He fell to his knees. “I will avenge youuuu!”
Patelin would burn their bodies later that day… on a spit roast. He was hungry after all.
“Okay, I need a new pastime. This rat thing just isn’t working. They always die.” He chewed sucking one of his fingers. “Mmm. Alas, I will seek the Yokudan who did this. I will find him. I will eat him. Then I’ll poop him back out and send him back to his family in a box… gee, that’s a bit much.”
Patelin II began to make his way back home.
“Probably just steal something from him, actually.”
A Thorne In The Lion’s Paw.
Loredas, 15th day of Heartfire, 2E 583.
Lycidas Blackthorne, Southpoint Grand Hall.
” Everyone has a choice, from the Bosmer outside of this room, to the rat scurrying underneath the table….. they all have choices. Surely I must not need not need to tell you that we don’t need to be adversaries, you have no position of power in this land, we both know that threat is far fetched at best. “
” This city is under the banner of The Aldmeri Dominion, and they are well aware of my newly appointed position within Southpoint. There are many among the Aldmeri Dominion who are friends of House Blackthorne, be it by blood, or by kinship, you aren’t the only one with high connections….. “
Ava grinned at the mention of her dealings in The Imperial City. ” Like how you drugged a bunch of Imperial Royal Guards, before I got in the way of your little plans ? Say all you want, but I never spilled any Imperial blood that night, sure I broke the law, but so did you if I remember correctly. “
Lycidas smirked slightly, as he placed his hands on the table. ” We will not be accepting these terms, many of these ultimatums you wish to put into place have already been in motion for longer than you would think. We live here in peace, and we will continue to do so, but on our own terms. “
” Say House Blackthorne decided to travel to High Rock, then proceeded to lay out ultimatums for House Montclair. You could ether accept living with the ultimatums, thus losing all respect that House Montclair had ever garnered in the process, or you could decline them, thus facing the repercussions. “
” The Aldmeri Dominion has great respect for House Blackthorne, and they have been most generous towards my family. We will not betray their trust by showing a lack of strength, they are well aware of our conditions, and more immortally we are well aware of how we must operate in this new position. “
” You are welcomed to stay, and watch how we do things, you will see that we do not need your ultimatums to run Southpoint. Those illegal trade routes you mentioned earlier are how we get blood into this province without attracting attention, blood harvested from live stock I might mention…. “
” Those routes are faster than traveling along the ground, they also take less of an escort to ensure they don’t get attacked by bandits, or worse those wild beasts who have ransacked dozens of caravans along the the roads leading into Southpoint, and we have can not afford to have delays. “
” Stay for awhile, see how Southpoint, and House Blackthorne operate, wouldn’t you rather trust your own eyes over that of a report? “
- This reply was modified 1 month, 1 week ago by Ava Blackthorne.
Amelie laughed, “The Dominion has great respect for you?” She snorted, glancing at Annalise, whom still bore the irate and bitter expression typical of her, “Well, I think it’s clear you have no issues making up stories to support your arguments; I’m not quite sure what I can and won’t believe. And I have already seen how your family operates with my own eyes, and it is distastefully similar to, though infinitely sloppier, infinitely more immoral, and infinitely more ridiculous than, myself.”
The Breton stood, noting the readied others, and pushed her chair in, “I don’t trust you Master Blackthorne, and I certainly don’t trust or like your… family. You’re a pit of snakes. If you will not adhere to the terms set, then House Montclair must ensure its interests fulfilled by other means.” Amelie turned away and walked towards the door, before turning her head back momentarily, “We shall remain in Southpoint for two days, you have until our departure to change your mind.” The Montclair narrowed her eyes at the nearest cur, and pushed the door open.
Annalise rolled her eyes, approaching the exit as Amelie departed. The Eldest Breton turned back also at the doorway, “Lycidas, I will be as frank as ever. House Montclair cannot risk any repeats of your family’s past actions. However much you try to play it off as not your fault, you were undeniably involved for whichever reasons and that blame shall never leave you or your family. This is your sole chance, albeit an unsavoury one from your view I imagine, but these are the securities and punishments that must be implemented; for we do not trust you. Deny us, and you shall be granted no quarter.”
She sighed, looking around at the snarling ferals surrounding their father, “Which do you value more, your pride, or your children?” Annalise stepped out of the room, closing the door
- This reply was modified 1 month, 1 week ago by Ungoliant the Consumer.
Gladius scoffed. Bravado beyond his means. Admirable to some, but detestable to anyone with a smudge of concern.
“It’s your choice. Know that I have friends – or I used to – of the lycan variety.” He remarked, putting his shield back on his back as he began his passage to the outer city.
He wouldn’t need his horse – nor did he want to bring one to a situation that might turn ugly.
Veira turned in for the night, not wanting to lose beauty sleep – let alone the time consuming debacles – and retired to the sheer luxury of the tent. She didn’t trust a vampire infested city to offer any real hospitality, let whatever they usurped.
For now, a snow bear pelt, a canvas tent, an a long faced vigilant chewing on grass was the best of a simple life.
Big day tomorrow. She thought, cosying up as she flash froze a mosquito cutting into her relaxation time.
Still following the bosmer, they made their way towards the outskirts of the city.
“How does one make friends with lycans?” He questioned the bosmer “From my experience they aren’t very friendly and what they lack in that they make up for in bite-iness” at that moment a cold shiver went down his spine and he nervously felt the back of his thigh.
“Also how do you know where we will find them, they could be anywhere around the local area. Other than the main road that is… didn’t see any signs of them around there nor regular wolves for that matter”
In all honesty he was a little afraid of these werewolves, terrifying beasts that towered over people and had extreme strength. Only a daedra could make beasts so abominable. Only a daedra could unleash them so mercilessly into the world. No different from vampires, both kill the innocent without concern. Neither had a place within Nirn. Though honest individuals could be forgiven, those were few and far between.
Just then the wind picked up, blowing a frosty breeze straight across their path.
Curious, Rellicas was. Too curious. Dangerously curious.
“There are few friends of Lycans, yes.” He admitted. “But there are those who have walked that path – many of their paths – and lost their way. Some who find their way. Some who found the path and could not leave it.” He mused. “And some who have a reason to forge their own.”
“There’s a grove about two kilometers North North East of Southpoint.” He detailed. “Werewolves have been… known to congregate there. It’s barren and removed from civilization, and like a few other places I know of, those werewolves tend to live their lives undisturbed.” He surmised. “They’ll either be the ones responsible, the ones who know who are responsible, and if I’m lucky, there’ll be someone who quit the pack responsible.”
Gladius was being cryptic, but he was sure Rellicas would figure it out. While he doubted the man’s experience, whatever his job was required some notion of reading inbetween the lines.
This Bosmerknight once ran with werewolves. A contradictory notion of the Green Pact, where fallen foe must be consumed, but one’s form must stay Bosmer. Weeks in isolation, and a wretched salvation later, and he was on and behind the frontlines for another bloodbath.
Maybe he’d see a few members of his old pack this day. Maybe he wouldn’t. All that was certain was his Ring of Hircine. He came here to bury that symbol of an old life, but …. now he might end up passing on that burden.
Rell tried to visualise the several different ‘paths’ that Gladius was talking about, all the use of the word paths eventually confused him and he lost track of the point of what he was saying. Probably something about different choices.
“You’re a very cryptic mer, ya know that?” He teased the bosmer before returning to seriousness “What makes you think that these werewolf friends you have are still the same person you once knew and that they wont simply attack you on sight. After all once the beast blood takes over they loose any idea of who they are. They just turn into violent savages”
Although Rell was rather harsh about Werewolves, all he said was true. Despite what anyone would have you believe in tamriel, no one can tame the beast blood. It was far too powerful for anyone to control. All this talk of werewolves brought back bad memories.
2 years ago in daggerfall…
The cart rocked as it bounced off a bump in the road. The moon was out shining down a pale light onto the road, so Rell clambered down to take a look as the cart came to an abrupt stop. He was on his way to the city of daggerfall for the festival of lights, it was a good opportunity to make some money as most people were more willing to spend. Of course though his prices were lower during festivals, he wasn’t an evil money grabber.
As he leant down to see what the bump was a foul smell hit his nose – whatever the bump was had a shape like a person. The realisation then hit Rell and he began to back off towards his seat again. Everything was silent as the moon went behind the clouds, leaving the road in darkness. Then a horrific shriek broke the silence…
Rell shook away the memory and attempted to block It out of his mind, hoping he hadn’t missed anything Gladius had said
He supposed there as some truth to that. If he had to shame Vampires for their urges, Werewolves could not be seen in any a brighter light. The instinct to roam, kill, feast and worst found it’s way into the heart and mind of even the strongest and weakest willed. It overcame those without the impulse control to deny themselves, and exacerbated the most primal of the base motivations.
…Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.
Nonetheless, they deserved to have their voices heard.
“It’ll take us … maybe 35 minutes in this terrain.” He nodded. “They recognize the scent of one of their own, even once removed.” He less cryptically stated.
Rell was taken back by the sudden lack of cryptics.
“You… Youre a werebeast?” Confused and if he was honest with himself, Rell felt a little scared. If he was a werebeast then what would stop Maenriel from turning on Rell, If anything went south then he would be entirely on his own. He gulped heavily. 35 minutes walk into the forests of Valenwood would put him at a substantial distance away from anything safe, sure a concoction of potions would help him withstand their assault for a while but how long could he fair against a pack of beastly savages?
His Pack could only carry so many potions;
3 potions of health – used to give an immediate healing effect that lasted a second or two, potent for its size but only capable of restoring medium sized lacerations.
A potion of invisibility – to help him where diplomacy and brute strength wouldn’t, assisting him on getting out of sticky situations by giving him invisibility for roughly half a minute but depending on the amount of movement could be more or less.
A potion of strength – freaky looking after use, it granted him greater muscles and strength so that he could clear a suitable path from which to travel or equal out an uneven fight.
A potion of feathers – which granted him a reduction of weight so that he could jump to heights normally unreachable to assist in exploring and retreating.
Lastly a bottle of sleeping tree sap – to calm his nerves and help him to sleep when camping and otherwise resting.
All of these were useful and would surely help him in some way, but that would depend on whether he was able to use them. The fragility of the bottles made them vulnerable and he could hardly ask everyone to stop so he could use them. Some strategic planning may have to be done, perhaps a bandolier or belt may assist in the future but for now something more creative.
Just then he looked down at his feet, he needed some more boots. Although he had always taken care of them with polish and wax, he had them for several years and the sole was beginning to peel away from the leather, compromising the waterproofing and comfortability. He didn’t have enough for new boots, at least not the same type of leather. Rell always found that Guar leather boots were more comfy despite being more expensive, maybe he could get them refurbished. It would depend on money though. Maybe the bosmer could help if he didn’t eat Rell first.
- This reply was modified 1 month ago by apexpredator1.
A Thorne In The Lion’s Paw.
Loredas, 15th day of Heartfire, 2E 583.
North East Of Southpoint.
Jasayla Vellane, North East Of Southpoint.
” The Ayleid’s really loved their structures, what can you tell me about this place we are looking for, how are you even sure it still exists? ” The Nord spoke aloud, to most it would seem like insanity, but to her it had become a part of her daily life, speaking to an Ayleid spirit was not very common for most.
” We will know it when we see it, should still be mostly intact, most likely long since looted clean by others however. ” Aurora responded inside of Jasayla’s mind, something that had remained the same in the daily life of the former soldier, who had changed so much in the last several months of her life.
” I take it we are looking for something others would have overlooked, or not had the ability to reach? ” Jasayla stopped, taking a moment to take a drink of water with her free hand, as she looked around, the forests of Valenwood where hardly a place to be explored without being prepared for trouble.
Aurora was silent for a moment, but only a moment. ” You are holding the ability, without it, reaching what we seek would be impossible. “
Jasayla glanced down at her sword, An exquisite gilded blade of elven origin was drawn from the foliage. The blade was forged of solid quicksilver embedded with golden lettering in a language and text written in Ayleid. The pommel was made of beautifully crafted gold alloy, with two sapphires buried within. The sword ultimately had remained the only thing the Nord had kept from her past, choosing to change everything else about herself in order to start over.
” Still have a fair bit of traveling to do, we should try finding someplace to get some fresh supplies, wouldn’t mind a bed for a night. ” Jasayla stopped for a moment, brushing her cherry red hair out of her eyes, before she continued pressing forward in hopes of stumbling across a place to rest for awhile. The Nord cared little for anything outside of her own goals, she had lived the life of someone who had suffered the consequences of following orders for too long. She was a changed woman, one far more ruthless, and one who had suffered the cruel taste of losing people she cared about. If anything she had grown more dangerous over the last few months, rather than fearing the coming fight, she embraced it, now having grown to enjoy the thrill of a fight rather than fear it. She had spent the last several months constantly on the move, traveling all across Cyrodiil, killing anything, or anyone that was a danger to others. She had taken up contracts from time to time, an easy source of coin, but she enjoyed killing the likes of bandits, slaughtering them without a second thought.
Lycidas Blackthorne, Southpoint Grand Hall.
” The Montclair’s seek to control House Blackthorne, what a strange turn of events, we must see that they enjoy their stay in Southpoint. We would want them to travel back to High Rock empty handed, now would we? See that our quests are well taken care of, we must begin our preparations soon. “
Ava smirked slightly, before turning it into a full faced grin. ” They will have their hands full, don’t you worry Father, don’t you worry…. “
” Avelyn. You should keep tabs on them, make sure they don’t wander off, we can’t have them running about inside of Southpoint during the coronation. They probably are hoping to pull some kind of stunt when our guard is down, we can’t let that happen, make sure they don’t go mucking about. ” Victoria spoke.
” I was just thinking the same thing. ” Avelyn smiled slightly, as she exited the room.
Lycidas chuckled slightly, as he ran his ringers through his beard. ” You asked Avelyn because she is the most ruthless, truly a wise choice. The rest of you should also keep an eye out for trouble, if The Montclair’s have traveled to Southpoint I’m sure they have brought friends that we have yet to meet…. “
” …Find them… “
- This reply was modified 1 month ago by Ava Blackthorne.
Rohlbert tossed the apple aside suddenly, unceremoniously chomping down what was in his mouth, as he gave a short wave to the sisters. Safe to say he was unsuccessful in hiding the guilt on his face, as he scurried over to them. Annalise’s glare was apparent, as she eyed the still rolling fruit.
“It could have been poisoned.” She berated, her scrutinous gaze turning to the boy.
“We’re immune to poison.” Rohlbert grinned cockily, before wincing as Annalise clipped him over the back of the head.
“Not to all of them.” Amelie quipped, grinning to herself as she walked ahead. Though she doubted that any of the Blackthorne’s had taken the time to so thoroughly explore alchemy to know that… they’ve breathing to do, can’t worry their pretty little heads about learning things. “The right ingredients and you’d be vomiting your insides outside by now.” Amelie turned her head slightly, just glancing at him out of her peripheral vision; “Do as you’re told next time. We’re not strict without reason.” Admittedly, the younger sibling often wondered if she’d make a good parent… probably not.
Annalise and the youngest Montclair continued out of the Hall, the eldest having decided she didn’t want to spend the next several hours in a room with an army of Blackthornes. Their host remained behind with Amelie, whom took to indulging her social side as well as the obligation to remain. “Taure,” She sat next to the Altmer, whom nodded, “Lovely town.”
Amelie chuckled, “Quite.” Taure’s eyebrow raised, encouraging Amelie to just get to it. He was old, and he was tired; his patience was little to none at this time of night. “All right. I’m only guessing that you’re here on business, but I’m going to need a favour.”
The Altmer’s brow furrowed as he crossed his arms, “Another?” Amelie scoffed in feigned offence, but it was soon replaced with a grin.
“Yes.” She sighed, glancing about the room briefly for any eavesdroppers, “The Blackthornes aren’t the most trustworthy, nor reasonable, nor sensible… nor anything much but-”
“Amelie.” Taure interjected.
“Yes,” She reiterated, “You’re aware of their ‘trade’ along the Sirid River?” Taure nodded, “Amongst other things too,” To which he nodded again, “Well, I’ve given Lycidas some time to consider a ‘proposition’ of mine. House Blackthorne will cease all illegal or otherwise unsavoury proceedings, and well… a few other things. I don’t doubt he’ll refuse, which suits me just fine-”
“No.” Amelie frowned. “You wan’t the Dominion to turn a blind eye? No. It’s not my decision, and if it were I would still refuse. Amelie, just because you are my friend does not mean I’ll do anything and everything for you.”
“Oh come on Taure, it’s not like they’re part of the Dominion; and they’re a nuisance for you too.”
“Then, if necessary and if the time comes, the Dominion will deal with them. The Blackthornes are on Valenwood soil, are essentially Valenwood citizens and any act against them could be an act against the Dominion. I would advise you to leave this alone.” Taure pulled his staff up, placing it against the ground and lifting himself. “I won’t say I support them, but considering how it will affect you, I suggest you don’t act so rashly.”
With that, the Altmer departed from the room, leaving a disappointed though poker-faced Breton behind.
Gladius gave a wolfish grin from behind his helmet.
“Peace, Rellicas. I gave up that life.” The Bosmerknight relaxed, with a brief hand up gesture from his gauntlet. “I had no desire to chain my demise to Hircine, or live too many sleepless nights.” He reminisced, taking a solemn breath before moving on. “Worry not, I’ve had the cure.”
That might not have been completely reassuring, but that’s all he cared to say on the matter. Maybe… just maybe, there was still a little bit of the beast left in him, but he’d never felt it. Never. It was said other werewolves could tell. The moonblood left it’s traces on a level only other werewolves could detect. While the obvious boons of vastly heightened sense, an immutable beastly form and an intrinsic connection to the … Ooze were nothing to be discarded lightly, it was larger burden removed from his chest than he expected.
Nonetheless, he continued his pace.
The bean shaped elf tumbled out of the family pod under the weight of his luggage. The large backpack weighted him back like an imga was pulling on him. “Going Southpoint, avenge deaths, make my nemesis pay and all that blah, blah, blah. Probably be back in a week?” He called back through the door.
Inside Patelin Sr snored in his armchair and half heartedly drueled out a send-off. “Yuuuurghgh!”
Mother Bolynel had always been bright and shiny in the Mornings, even before Magnus ever was. “Ta-ta, my dear! Do be safe won’t you? I left some of those Taffy treats in your bag. The ones you like! I hope you won’t do anything dan-” Bolynel was interrupted by her son.
“Yessss, yes. Good bye, good bye…”
His mother practically lifted him off the ground to kiss the dark curls on his head. Patelin squirmed.
“Okay fine! Just stop! I’m trying to channel vengeance.” He wriggled himself down and huffed, waddling on his way.
His steed awaited him at the beginning of the road down to Elden Root. Which still; from here, blanketed the sky above in the green mass of it’s branches. Benvolio the Guar wagged his tail, the dark and gangly marsh guar was originally brought here by Argonian migrants, but the story of how he came into the care of Patelin Sr is one that always changed.
The huge reptile hummed in excitement, lowering himself to let the Bosmer saddle him. “Remember, you’re not taking me far. Just until I find a carriage to hitch on one of the Imperial roads.” Patelin reminded, patting his hide. The guar tried to clap his small arms together awkwardly, before skipping away down the hill.
“I’m coming for you, Weyenon. Mwahahah…Ahahaha… AHAHAHA-” A bug flew into his mouth and the puny bosmer gagged heavily, tumbling from his mount, who was non the wiser as his rider was left on all foors behind, eventually heaving the large dragonfly from his throat like a cat would a hairball. Patelin managed to pull his over-encumbered self from the ground.
The small brained Guar still charged on far ahead down the road, Patelin sighed and plodded behind.
No rest till Southpoint.
“Oh phew!…” Rell retorted, relaxing his tone as his mind ceased to worry about any imminent danger “You had me scared for a second” Giving off a little laugh before going on to explain “If I’m honest with myself, Werewolves and other werebeast terrify me. Sure vampires are scary too but not in the same way as hircines beasts; there’s something about their relentless bloodlust and animosity that just chills me to the bone. Hopefully we run into these ones in their normal form”
Just then he halted momentarily and lifted his water-sack from his side and perched it on his lips for a sip. Although the water was warm it was still refreshing. Rell then resumed following Gladius, speedwalking so that he reached about a meter behind him. He found it difficult to drink and walk, it always ended up getting spilt all down himself, making him soggy and irritated. So instead he would have to pause and drink to save himself from become disgruntled.
Curiosity got the better of him and he forgot his manners “What’s it like? The transformation and bloodlust. What do they feel like?” His voice was hesitant but avid “And what cure was it? I didn’t know there was one”
That was reassurance enough apparently. Splendid.
“They are both terrifying and insidious, yes.” Gladius admitted. “Any pity or reasoning for a werewolf is applicable to a vampire, and vice versa. But … for the most part, Werewolves stay clear of societies and seldomly leverage their abilities; the ones who can’t control it can’t abuse it or trust it. The ones who can control it tend not to flaunt it unless absolutely necessary.” He explained, giving a largely personal insight on the matter.
Rellicas asked the natural question. What was it like? The hyperfocus of all senses on their edge. Hearing every sound like you were touching it with your fingers. To have touch with the vibrancy of neverending colors. To have sight that smelled like any distant memory recalled perfectly. To have smell like remembering every taste you’d ever known. To have taste like recalling every distinct sound and what it was the precursor to.
But….. the instinct.
The overwhelming urge that it wasn’t enough. That only by unleashing the beast. By unlocking a surge of daedric flesh. By fucking ripping something so completely, brutally and unconcionably. By reveling in absolute dominance of lesser prey. Working as a werewolf pack.
Even with the Ring of Hircine. That trinket merely unbound you from the compulsion, but not the choice.
He’d given a long, drawn out pause before answering. “Its … the feeling of being bigger, stronger and free. Unhinged. Being powerful in the simplest way possible. It’s enticing at first. But when it controls you, it only spirals put of control,” he described, not giving away anything explicit.
“Cures typically depend on the cause.” He started talking again, finding himself done with the previou topic. “Most involve an elaborate game against Hircine. Some are abstract forms of alchemy. Myself? The Silvenar – the Bosmer religious leader of sorts – has a connection to Yff’re capable of restoring a Bosmer’s true form. It’s typically reserved for staunch followers of the Green Pact, and those who recieved Lycanthropy unwillingly.” He discerned.
“Me and several others fought werewolves once. Dominion business. Ultimate lose lose situation….” Gladius scoffed. “Green Pact stipulates any foe must be consumed within three days. The believers amongst us consumed that flesh and took our leave of the Dominion. A few of them still cling to that way, and I would not be surprised if I see them again.”
He had revealed much, but given the audacity back in Southpoint, it seemed like a completely normal thing to describe.
Patelin eventually came to a halt arriving at the Imperial crossroad. Hopping down from the guar he patted the reptiles’ hide a final time. “Well, here we are, sport! Appreciate the ride, but better you get back home before hunter’s hour.”
The guar stubbornly remained, planting his bottom on the floor sitting with his tail between his legs. “Fine. Be my guest. You’ll be sorry if a poacher finds you on these roads… y’know what some folks’ boots are made from around these parts?” Patelin interrogated, resting his hands on hips and tapping his foot.
Benvolio groaned heavily and raised his mass to reluctantly return homeward bound. Patelin waved him off, and embarked on his journey in the opposite direction, dressed in typical style. A long sleeved tunic that was a few sizes too large, but wrapped at the waist, tight brown breeches tucked into the dark shoes just up to his shins. The backpack almost looked like a shell behind his bean shaped body.
The little elf had been strolling for about an hour, whistling casually and stopping to check over his shoulder now and then, hoping to hear the sound of trotting hooves down the road. With no such luck thus far he eventually felt the need to drain the main vein, he trekked sidewards further into the forests slightly, to relieve himself. One oft wondered if the green attested to this, but surely Y’frre would have made mention of that in the Green Pact if she took issue with being showered in golden bladder rain.
Patelin’s thoughts came to a dramatic end when suddenly an arrow pinged it’s head into the ground in front of the puny elf. Startled, he glanced back only for another, then another…another, and then another until arrows surrounded him in a circle. Junior gulped as a gang of wood orcs closed in. Patelin exhaled deeply. “Oh… bugger me.” He raised his hands in surrender, the Orcs snarled and laughed menacingly.
“So tiny! Little worm.” One barked.
Patelin nervously forced a humorous chirp. “Yes…yes! I am. I am indeed. Won’t find many tall people around these parts. But, hehuh! I’m sure you’re aware of that. Names Patelin III. My pleas-”
The Orc interrupted with a growl. “You work in mines for us now. Cut worm first!” The alpha Orc instructed of one of the betas, who approached from behind, dagger at the ready.
Patelin suddenly felt a draft southward and checking down discovered that his breaches and underwear had been at his ankles the whole time. The Orcs had been referring to his wienie.
The exposed elf glanced up and vanished in a puff off magicka in the nick of time. Dropping to the floor the shimmer of the elf rolled over and bent his kneels, quickly pulling his garments back up. A big orchalite axe lodged inches away from his body. Patelin scurried back up and retreated down the bank off the roadside, arrows were firing blindly in his direction and the Wood Orcs in pursuit.
Huddled behind a tree, his spell was not a sustainable one and he popped back into visible light. The little elf improvised quickly, reaching to his pack for his buckler. Only it wasn’t used conventionally, crafted with tempered Argonian flint, it had a nice and smooth curved surface. Patelin dropped it on the floor, placing one foot under the handle he pushed himself forward down the bank with the other, surfing down the steep wet surface at a great speed. The bank got steeper, steeper and steeper, and he went faster, faster and faster until the Orsimer suddenly seemed a world away…
Patelin eventually lost control and fell. Junior was sent tumbling from the mudslide, down through trees and plummeted to an ungraceful roll onto the forest floor. Lying flat on his muddy face, the bosmer lifted his chin, coughing and spluttering, he parted the soggy messy curls from his eyes, to see a tall, cherry red haired and well equipped; Nord woman. Jasayla stood before him.
“You’re devotion paid off then” He smirked “And it taught you a valuable lesson” It was truly surprising how different and unique the common folk of Tamriel were, no two were the same. No matter where Rell travelled, he was always surprised at the people he would find. No matter how observant you are, you could not predict everything, just as Rell couldn’t predict the new found knowledge about Gladius.
The walk was actually rather therapeutic despite them being on the hunt for the werewolves, chirping birds whistled a fine tune that delighted the ears and the trickle of a nearby stream made fine ambience. Every so often a small breeze would blow through the trees and the first of autumns leaves glided delicately to the floor.
“Stop!” Rell suddenly bellowed, holding his arm in front of the bosmer to cease his steps “Look!” his voice filled with excitement as he pointed to a small mushroom on the floor. Immediately he fell to his knees and lay down with his face barely a few inches away from the mushroom.
“Sweet divines! Do you know what this is?” he questioned eagerly but not waiting for an answer “This is a yellow Cinnabar Polymore! One of the only things known to mortals that can be used to make a potion that deflects magic, and most certainly the only mushroom. WOW! This little fella is a long way from home, its normally found in the west weald region of Cyrodiil so how it got here is a total mystery” He knew pretty much everything there was to know about alchemy and botany. It was one of the few things that could entirely engulf his mind and thoughts. “This guy is actually pretty rare too, even for someone like me that knows how to find them” His hand stroked the mushroom delicately as he gawped in its magnificence.
“Come down here and have a look!”
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