Kathodos: A Return of Exiles

[Dabiene Caristiana]

Good to know you won't be stopping 'anytime soon' as you put it

And yea, I know how you feel. I have some work for school I need to finish up. So I probably wont be writing fanfics till after the 16th

And knowing how things are going so far, I think I'll keep enjoying it.

 

[Docta Corvina]

Good to know you won't be stopping 'anytime soon' as you put it

And yea, I know how you feel. I have some work for school I need to finish up. So I probably wont be writing fanfics till after the 16th

And knowing how things are going so far, I think I'll keep enjoying it.

Oh heck no, I won't be stopping. Slowing down is the extent of it, don't you worry.

And oooh, I'd love to read your work when you post it. I seem to recall you saying somewhere that you thought it would be about Severus. That would be very cool, indeed!

 

[Kynareth]

Wow. Just.... wow. What a story this is so far. Sheer brilliance!

You have written this so perfectly. I adore it! The tensions between characters are awesome and plotline is gripping.

I can't wait for the next update!

 

[Docta Corvina]

Wow. Just.... wow. What a story this is so far. Sheer brilliance!

You have written this so perfectly. I adore it! The tensions between characters are awesome and plotline is gripping.

I can't wait for the next update!

Thank you so very, very much! It means a great deal to me. This story has been my baby and I've absolutely loved the journey. As I've mentioned to others, I fully plan to keep going for some time. I will make certain that the next chapter is completed and posted by this weekend, at the latest. I've been working on it while on breaks at work and a bit at night - as often as I can, really.

Anyway, I really appreciate your readership and am thrilled that you're enjoying the story as much as I am! =)

 

[Kynareth]

You are very welcome I totally understand the "life gets in the way" thing. I look forward to the next update

 

[Docta Corvina]

You are very welcome I totally understand the "life gets in the way" thing. I look forward to the next update

Been bustin' a hump on this latest chapter while at work (while on breaks, of course) so it'll be up soon. By the weekend, at the very latest.

I'm excited!

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

yay!

 

[Docta Corvina]

Chapter 11

Author’s Note: This chapter again features a character belonging to Bulbaquil, a Nord named Sjadbek. I have no ownership of him, I am merely including him as a guest character in this chapter with permission.

......

“That name, does it ring any bells in your head, friend?”

Ralof didn’t have to wait for a verbal answer from his compatriot to know that indeed it did – very many and very loud bells, indeed. The other Nord’s slate-hued eyes flashed as he gulped his mead and set his tankard down with a hollow clunk on the tree stump beside him.

“Why do you ask?"

Ralof himself took a swig before answering. "Well, he didn't tell me much, but it seems I ran into her brother tonight. A Legionnaire, if you can believe it. I know I couldn't at first."

"Ah, but stranger things have happened, friend. I could certainly believe most anything you told me these days. That girl…I’ve seen her before. Recently, actually.”

As soon as Ralof raised an eyebrow the other blond Nord caught himself, realizing that what he knew could prove disastrous for the young woman if the knowledge traveled much further beyond him and his aging companion in bonds that night. He trusted Ralof, with everything in him. And he knew that the man would not violate that trust in any fashion – at least not advertently. He still had to be cautious, for her sake. For the unlikely savior who had rescued him on the road that night. Casting his eyes downward briefly, searching, readying his next words, he sighed and lightly seized Ralof by the arm. He would not disclose everything, but only as much as he felt was safe.

“You cannot repeat what I say to anyone. Not your sister, not your best friend! No one!”

“Yes, yes, of course I understand, Sjad. It’s that dire, is it?”

Again Ralof did not have to wait for spoken words to know that whatever it was indeed was serious. Sjadbek lead his fellow soldier a bit away from the camp’s fire pit, well out of direct earshot of any who may have been able to pick up on the slightest detail he offered in confidence. As soon as Sjadbek determined that it was safe to go on, he did so – albeit somewhat nervously.

“As I said, you cannot speak of this to anyone, it is truly a matter of life and death. Now, you heard about that group of Thalmor that got destroyed on the road up near Solitude just very recently, yeah?” He paused as Ralof nodded anxiously. “Well, I was there, I was part of that scrap.”

Ralof stepped backward in a mix of shock and intrigue. The news of the dead Thalmor agents had been spreading rapidly and was cheered everywhere it went, though in some places the cheering had to be quieted more so than in others. His friend, his comrade in arms, had been there for that glorious event. In a way, he was almost jealous.

“You’re kidding me, Sjad! By the gods, what happened?”

“I had been arrested. Come to think of it, I never really was informed of the charges against me. Not that I'm all that surprised, admittedly. Anyway, me and this other man - a much older soldier, never once said a word at all - we were being lead up that road that night, by the Justiciars. They told us we were going to Solitude, but I have my doubts. I’m fairly sure we were making a visit to their infernal 'Embassy' - they've some nerve and twisted humor calling it that. Praise the gods she showed up when she did.”

“She? The Breton woman?”

“Yes. I don’t know how she managed it, it must have been a divine blessing of some sort because she rode up on us that night, bold as anything. Most anyone else, especially her size, would have stayed far away. But had she not been there…well, let’s just say I’d be enjoying Thalmor hospitality tonight. And every night henceforth for Talos knows how long.”

“Now I see why you didn’t say anything. Both you and her…you’re marked, to say the least of it!”

“Indeed we are. Of course I already was. But her? Yeah, I told her as much. She didn’t seem fazed. I’m rather surprised by that, even now. She's up to something else here, I could gather that. She told me the next time we met, she'd be 'fully in the Legion'. Won't speculate on that bit, but needless to say the circumstances will be altogether different next time. I honestly don't want there to be a 'next time', until all of this is said and done, you know?"

"I know just what you mean. Did she say anything to you at all about why she's here?"

"No. The conversation didn't go on that long. I wondered. I could tell from the moment she spoke that she was from some part of Cyrodiil - I've heard that accent enough in the past year, as have you, I'd imagine. But like I said, something seemed...very different about her. Like all of the threats in the world, be they Thalmor or other, were of no consequence in the face of whatever she was thinking about. I've not seen too many with that look in their eyes, Ralof. And in that way, I'm also quite glad to be able to call her a friend. Save a man's life, you've earned his favor. As for the whole being in league with the Empire thing, well...I'll just have to hope and pray that we can avoid one another for as long as it takes, eh?"

"We can hope so."

As Sjadbek stood up to return to the now less bustling center of their camp, Ralof followed suit. But just before he began walking back, the former turned to the latter once more. The gloom hanging about the other man, who was normally playful and optimistic, was now much more than a passing shadow. Sjadbek had been growing concerned over the course of several days.

"If I may say, you don't quite seem like yourself. The cheer and headstrong merriment...it seems, I dunno, dulled. What's on your mind?"

"Eh...it's nothing important, my friend."

"Clearly it's important, as it's affecting you so. Come on, what troubles you? Is it bad news?"

"Just...been thinking about things lately. About this and that. There have been days where we have a lot of time to sit and ponder, you know?" Sjadbek nodded, smiling faintly. Ralof continued. "War will change a man, I know you know that. More and more lately, I've been seeing some of the ones who went to war with the Elves thirty years ago. Walking shells filled with broken ghosts...I suppose I fear that existence. I know all this has only really just gotten started, but it already is starting to feel like it's dragging on. Have to wonder...how many years does it take to break a man? It's a riddle I don't ever want to solve, Talos willing."

Sjadbek sighed, placing a friendly hand on the other man's shoulder. It was something that he too had contemplated, but in turn had resisted as much as possible. He could not see much utility in such thoughts. They may have been inevitable for a soldier, but they were hardly useful. Ralof, for all of his rambunctiousness and stout-heartedness, was yet impressionable.

"I've seen those same men as well. The way they look at you, but also past you, through you even. It honestly has given me chills. I've heard some call them lost souls, not very much unlike those you'd meet in some bitter plane of Oblivion. I too find myself wondering if one day, that could be me. If the damn elves had their way, we'd all be walking around in such a stupor. All of us. Would be far easier for them to try to roll over us in that state. But then something reminds me, so loudly and clearly, that that's exactly why we have got to win this war now. It's like the voice of Talos himself rings in my ear. There is strength and determination left among men of Tamriel. What those men have seen, what they've lost...we can't let it be for nothing."

With that, both men stood hushed, the wind whispering by them. Those were strange moments; the mutual realization, reminders, and the sounds of spirits rushing past in a kind of otherworldly tribute. They both were lost in it for nearly a minute. Ralof at last shook his head softly and blinked, his voice distant.

"One of them told me - and I'll never forget this - that 'glory is for the dead, and agony for those who yet live. And that's the damnable misery of it.'"

Sjadbek himself shivered with the utterance of the words. There was much he wanted to say, and much he could not find the words with which to convey. Remembrances of simpler times and a pleasantly crisp existence in their homeland suddenly warmed him. And then chilled him. But he was reassured as his comrade turned to him with a tired but chipper grin.

"Bah, what's another round before turn-in...how about it, friend? The mead's calling us. Can't you hear it?"

The moons sorrowfully watched the two as they made their way back. Their ever-jolly brother the sun could not fully understand a soldier's woes, not the way they could. So many hearts had been twisted by their light, under their light. And more would surely. Admissions, indiscretions, revelations, transformations and machinations - they were theirs to observe. As long as bleak night shook the hearts of even the very bravest, they would remain theirs.

…………..​

There was no way to know precisely what time it was. Thin shoots of light broke through the clutter of the collapsed entrance. And that at least was some kind of relief.

Penelope had not slept much. She thought maybe she had caught a half hour's worth of genuine unconscious rest a few times. Normally the darkness and coolness would have hastened slumber. But the new location, decidedly gloomy and ironic as it was, coupled with Mercer's wheezy breaths as he slept kept her awake. And did little to nothing to restore her already diminished energy. Sunlight, even the tiniest bits, were some comfort. And she hoped, desperately, that the Guild Master would have recovered a bit himself - at least to the point of being able to wield a blade again and as handily as he did previously.

She had cast another light spell - actually, she had done so each time she awoke in the night. And thus was reminded of the cavern's dimensions. As soon as her light found the ceiling, she heard low grumblings and growls from the Breton man on the bedroll across from the fire pit. He grunted and rubbed his eyes like a woken child. He sat up with his hair tousled and sticking out in various directions, and the very sight of it amused Penelope. After such a harrowing prior day and in spite of her circumstances now, a little grin stole across her face. Even as Mercer regained his bearings and tossed his characteristic glare her direction, her grin did not fade. All of it was so absurd, she had to appreciate the humor of it.

"Yyyouuu...we're..." He looked up and around, shuddering slightly at the chilliness of the cave. "We're still here! In this damned place!"

Penelope just laughed at his irritation. She sat calmly on her nearly flat bedroll and pulled a small object from her pant pocket. Freeing her long black hair from its tie, she began combing it and chuckling.

"Well, of course we are! Where else would we be? Did you expect to wake up in a plush bed in Solitude? I know Delvin talks me up quite a bit, but even I'm not that great of a miracle worker."

Mercer gritted his teeth at her silently for a moment, still glaring at her - the one still grinning. After slowly rising to his feet, he sighed and tightly crossed his arms. How can she smirk like a damned fool at a time like this?!

"Really, girl, you don't have to go through the trouble of preening for me. I've not the least bit of interest."

Unfazed, she continued combing and making certain that every tangle and rogue briar was removed. Those trademark bangs hung down across her face, just as they were meant to. But with her hair loose and falling just past halfway down her back, she looked even younger than usual. Even in spite of the new scratches and bruises endured from the events of the past day.

"Oh, come now, just because we're stuck in a cave in the middle of who-knows-where doesn't mean that I have to proceed while looking like you!"

His frown deepened and he ran one hand through and over his hair, feeling all of the flyaway strands. Dismissively grunting, he re-crossed his arms.

"I see that it's true what they say about taking the girl out of Cyrodiil but not managing to take Cyrodiil out of the girl. Hmpf, indeed." Penelope just shrugged in reply, still unbothered by the bitterness she wholly expected from the Breton man. Looking around again, he went on. "So...the way I see it, we'd better get used to spending the rest of our lives in here, slowly rotting away. Unless you've got some sort of digger's tool set hidden somewhere, I don't see how you can be so disturbingly cheerful."

Even he wasn't quite sure what to think when her smile didn't fade, but increased. She leapt up from her spot on the ground, having rapidly re-pocketed her comb and retied her hair. On the way over to him, she picked up another object.

"Ah, I don't have any digging tools, but I do have...a bowl!" She held up the artifact, still smirking broadly. What little light there was from the star she created above them bounced off of the Dwarven metal. In her boredom amid attempts to sleep, she had taken to dusting off and polishing the bowl as best as she could and the antique rims shone brilliantly once again. For all of her enthusiasm in these moments he thought she might have gone mad, driven insane by the earthen and rock walls.

"A stark raving lunatic now too, eh? Fantastic. Great use to me!"

"No, no, no, you old fool, don't you see? It's a Dwemer bowl. It was just lying about in a corner here, I found it just after I saw to your wounds last night."

Mercer bristled at her dual denigration of his age and his wit. He only just stubbornly waited for her to finish, despite having an inkling of her conclusion. She obliged with a sigh of her own.

"There's a possibility, anyway, that this is actually part of a Dwarven ruin. This very cave. I've heard about such a thing before, read a little here and there. About travelers stumbling onto previously unknown ruins by moving through caves, I mean. If it is, we may be lucky enough to find a way out. Of course, that would mean, more than likely, fighting our way through it."

"Yes, no doubt you mean the Falmer." Lips curled in revulsion at the very name of the beings. "I've had experience with them before, they're nothing I can't handle. Disgusting things..."

She promptly raised an eyebrow to that bluster. "Well, that's great and all to hear but with all due respect, that was likely when you weren't still bruised from a dragon attack and below full strength. It's going to be much harder being in the state we are. I'm not as concerned about them one on one as I am about what's been called their almost insurmountable strength in numbers. The thing is, unless we can find food and water soon, it's only a matter of time for us in here. I got away with a little bit of water and a few bits to eat, but it's not much and will be even less shared between us. We have to move quickly, but carefully."

Mercer shifted his suspicious glances around the cavern, looking at Penelope, then above her, past her and then at the ground. Again that fear stirred within him, a fear he never wanted to admit but held fast all the same. And once again, she was right in all of her practicality. He had been prepared for the blind and twisted Snow Elves that he had encountered all of those times before. He had indeed been at full strength then, bearing not so much as a scratch or a labored breath as a result. The dragon had dealt a serious blow, though with her aid and a night of rest, it was no longer a mortal wound. He would have to be cautious, extremely so. And he would have to rely on her, to trust her if he wanted to see the end of the cavern and whatever ruins that may have been attached therein. Once again, she was right. And he found it extremely annoying.

"Alright, fine, fine. So, what now? You, uh...said something about...food?" He could barely shuffle his feet in time to muffle the grumbling growls of his hollow stomach. He cleared his throat for good measure. Now it was her turn to cross her arms and softly chuckle.

"Yes, indeed I did. I've got a little bit of roasted venison from the inn in Solitude, as well as a little bread. Though with all of the attempting to escape a dragon with my life, it may have gotten, well, squashed a bit. Let's see."

She reached into the pouch at her side, her trusty leather satchel that went everywhere with her for as long as she could remember. Torn in some places and mottled in others, it was a lifeline every time. She soon produced the small portion of venison, as well as the once-fresh bread. Sure enough both were flattened, but edible. They would not have cared if it had been splashed with Falmer blood at that point. She halved the rations and also pulled a flask from her bag. It contained not anything harder than spiced wine, but it was more than welcome now. She took a gulp and offered it to Mercer, who eagerly did likewise.

"Ah, that's good. That's very good. Where did you get this?" His visible reluctance to hand the flask back to her was another point of amusement.

"Bought it from a lady in Solitude. I think her name was...San. Evette San. Something like that. I'll have to remember to go by her stand again next time I'm there on Guild business."

"Funny you mention the Guild," He snarled, eyes alight despite the rich shadow, "...I thought you'd abandoned us, given your predilection for running off and doing who-knows-what on our time."

Here we go...

"Come again?"

"Did I stutter at any point? You know exactly what I mean, you've done it enough times now that I no longer will be as charitable as Brynjolf and chalk it up to bad weather or army checkpoints or...bandits."

"Actually, you should have seen the last bandits I had to tangle with, they were pitiful. Didn't even see it coming, the poor bastards-"

"Cut the crap, girl! You've got something else going on and now, as your Guild Master, I demand to know what that is!"

"For godsakes, Mercer, have I ever done the Guild wrong in any fashion? Have I not been helping since I arrived? Our profits are far better than they have been for quite some time, Delvin and the others admit to that daily. Brynjolf certainly appreciates it. Why do you assume I'm doing anything besides Guild business? If I was, you would surely know."

"And who says I don't know?"

The low, almost guttural tone of his voice amid those words finally slackened the confidence Penelope had been donning since she had been reunited with Mercer in the wilderness. It caught her off guard, like a sudden strong wind. Those green eyes glowed with that familiar spite and for a moment, she wondered if he really had been haunting her shadow for longer than she knew.

No. I'm not gonna let him do this, not now.

"Well, this is the first I've heard of such nonsense. The ample coin I've been bringing in must be enough to have kept you quiet about whatever mysterious 'sources' you claim to have. This is a strangely chosen time to bring all this up. And you know it."

She sealed that retort with a grin. It was a bluff of sorts, and she hoped he wouldn't call it. Even if he did, what did it matter now? Until they found a way out of the cave, none of it mattered much in the present. Still, what seemed like a rational deduction to her was hardly a thought process for Mercer now. Hellbent, he drew nearer to his underling as he growled.

"What happened that day you came back from a job out west practically in shambles? As I've said before, I'm no fool and I won't be taken for one. What have you done?! And why were you in Solitude? Who did you talk to?!"

He won't let up, he won't be satisfied until he has something. Fine. He wants truth? I'll give him truth. But only a piece of it. He'll be none the wiser. At least for now.

"...Fine. Fine! Too many damned questions this early in the day. If you must know...I...kinda sorta...joined the Legion."

With that affirmation, she crossed her arms. Unimpressed and frustrated, yet guarded, she waited for his reply with tense silence. After a few seconds, the reply would come as a roaring shout in her face.

"...You did what?!"

"Did I stutter?"

"Are you trying to get yourself booted, or are you just really keen to disobey direct orders?!"

"Honestly, I didn't think you'd take it this hard."

"And why shouldn't I? You know that the expressly indicated rules of this outfit were neutrality, impartiality, detachment in every sense - no thief under our banner is going to get openly involved in the war. It's bad for business and it's bad for our image!"

"How can you say that with a straight face? We all know Maven has her close - hmpf, now that's an understatement - 'ties' to the Empire. If anything, I'd say you're saving the 'no involvement' line for any Stormcloak-persuaded type who might come along and make things generally nastier for Her Highness' Imperial patrons. Well, such a line is lost on me obviously. And I say that since I am involved now and will remain so, it might as well be to the betterment of the outfit. Either that or you can boot me. For Mara's sake, it doesn't mean that much to me either way. Truly, I think you're just inventing 'rules' and reasons to chastise me! The war was never explicitly labeled as off limits when I signed on."

"I...I really have no idea why I tolerate you, girl. Insubordination, at least twice now! A big mouth. You're good at what you do, I'll give you that. You've got the charisma for this job. But that same charisma would have the others turning their blades on me in the night!"

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?! After all of this time, you think I'm some sort of assassin?"

"No, you're much too sloppy and block-headed for that. But all the same, I don't trust you. I've never trusted you. But I don't trust anyone. Learned that little life lesson long ago."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that-" Her words bore the utmost sincerity. But it made no nevermind to Mercer. In fact, had he appreciated the sincerity in her words, it would have caused him additional rage - added to that at present.

"I don't need or want your half-baked sympathy! My point is simple: since you have proven yourself an asset, you will remain with the Guild. And trust me, that's the only reason why I'm tolerating your maddening presence. You wanna get yourself killed or maimed in a pointless conflict, have fun doing so. Just live long enough to make me a few more chestfuls of coin beforehand. In the meantime, if I should come to discover anything you've done against any of my interests, well...you'll be wishing that war or the wilds took you."

She cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, her eyes half-lidded with irritation and frustration.

"Have you always been this nasty? Or is it something you grew into over time? Actually, I can rather plainly see you as a spoiled little boy, from a rich family, who threw little tantrums whenever he didn't get the toy he wanted. Not far off the old mark, am I?"

"You don't know when to shut up, do you?"

"Hmpf. You really ought to calm down, nearly everyone in the Guild is either scared of you or otherwise just as happy to avoid you like a daedra's shadow."

"Good. It's all as I intended then. Less bother for me. More work done. More coin. Everyone's happy in the end."

"Except you, clearly."

"What?"

"You heard me. You're one of the most profoundly unhappy people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing and I have to wonder where it all comes from."

"And you'll never know. So save your breath. And quit trying to change the subject. You've been caught out. Admit to it."

"Whatever you say. What's important now is getting the hell out of here, so how about you and I agree to save our strength for the Falmer and whatever else lurks in here instead of wasting it squabbling with each other over stupid things that will matter even less if we die in here?"

She put forth a hand to shake on the agreement and though Mercer recoiled at first, he eventually completed the gesture. Penelope smirked.

"Alright then. Let's hope that all of that casual studying, all those days spent in the museums and libraries in Cyrodiil pays off, eh?"

"Cyrodiil, bah. I knew as soon as I heard your annoying accent that you were from somewhere around there. And as a result, I knew you'd be trouble. I'm sure Brynjolf just found it charming."

"Didn't bank on my usefulness, did you? That should show you not to be so hasty to judge." He sneered as she wagged a finger in his face.

"Hmpf. Speaking of Cyrodiil, what kind of a name is 'Penelope' anyway? Besides being one of the more idiotic ones I've ever heard, I mean. It's not Imperial or any kind of respectable High Rock name. I should know."

"Well, what sort of name is 'Mercer'? It even just sounds angry and horrid."

"You're hopeless."

"And you're incorrigible. Now let's go."

The Guild Master gave one more brisk sigh and scowl as he followed the young woman across the room, toward the tunnel she had spied in the night.

As they entered the damp passageway and began to descend, both wondered if they ever would see the often cloudy Skyrim sun that they had each taken for granted for so long. More than that, perhaps, they wondered if they would get through the cave together without destroying one another out of sheer frustration and suppressed rage. Both had their grievances. What remained to be seen was whether those grievances would prove ruinous before the end.

…………..​

The soldiers of the Rift's Imperial camp were sick of being bored. This much was assured. But the kind of respite from that boredom that had surfaced overnight was not at all a pleasant one.

Scouts had returned desperately in the night on horseback, heralding that bodies and goods burned to the east, just beyond the ruins at Bthalft. Winded from the shock of the sight and the urgency that carried them back to the camp, they had only been able to eke out a few phrases between shallow breaths. What they had brought with them would do a great deal more of the speaking in their stead.

Carius was roused from his bedroll by his interim lieutenant, one who was abundantly apologetic for the interruption. Legate Fasendil remained in Solitude, for an unknown duration of time. No one seemed to know the nature of his summons or if they did, they were not forthcoming. Such was not surprising on the face of it these days, but all the same it was enough to make a brand new Praefect anxious at the helm - particularly as the word came of striking advancements in the war against Ulfric. Unforeseen advantages had come recently in the form of new ground and new fortifications under Imperial control, such as Fort Hraggstad. Each small victory was another step forward. And it was all now but a matter of time. Carius often wondered if he would be ready should the final battle calls come while he still lead the Rift's contingent.

But it had not been the time for second guesses and apprehension. The Imperial grabbed his armor and ran to the front of the camp to meet the scouts. Still shaking, they stammered nearly without pause. Carius put both hands on the shoulders of one man, urging him to calm down as well as slow down. The man took a deep breath and finally regained enough composure to look the officer in the eyes and relate to him what they had just seen. What Carius heard from the man chilled him through and through. And those hazel eyes of his shone with deeper urgency when the man shoved a heavy cloth into his hands.

As he unfurled the heap, curious soldiers stood nearby to look on - some still yawning. But all gasped as he stretched the deep red material out in front of him. It was a banner. A decidedly familiar banner, at that. One with a decidedly familiar emblem. It was no less than that of the Legion, the timeless dragon symbol, but applied in black. Color-wise, it was a perfect inversion of the banners hoisted by the Legion for as long as anyone could remember. But if that wasn't curious enough, the black dragon was treated to a brilliant red eye, one with an equally red trail flowing down from it. Whether the eye was meant to be weeping or bleeding, no one knew. And no one dared speculate. It was a most bizarre and unsettling souvenir indeed. And the only clue to its origin came in the form of initials painted on either side of the dragon: "M.I."

Carius gripped the cloth, racking his brain for any meaning to the letters. They could have meant anything at all, or nothing at all. It was assumed that they were representative of some sort of faction, though it was anyone's guess from there. Still holding the banner, he quickly mounted a horse and cried out for the scouts to take him and a few others to the site of the massacre. The lieutenant would stay behind with the bulk of the troops out of precaution. The scouts reluctantly agreed and moments after, the group was off into night - unsure of what further oddities they may find along with the remnants of tragedy.

After a brief journey, they found their destination. Just past the usually bandit-infested ruins, acrid smoke rose, almost choking them as they drew closer. Sure enough, now-charred bodies littered the ground. Carius dismounted and took some time to look over the destruction. Flickering torch light illuminated the corpses of varying sizes and builds, and that was about as much as he could discern. Little more than brittle, blackened bones remained in some cases. Only the roasted edges of dresses on some poor souls pointed to a gender. He was positive that a few of the many dead were Khajit merchants. And burnt carts loaded with now ruined textiles and sooty glasses backed that suspicion. He shook his head sadly. No one needed to die like this. Absolutely no one.

But it was the last corpse he saw that shook him to the core. Lying next to a larger body was that of small child, a brown-haired little girl no more than seven or eight years old. Her body had not been touched by fire and upon kneeling down, Carius could plainly see the wound that had ended her short life: a horrific gash across her neck. Barbaric. Gods help us all...

Eyes stinging, he shook with simultaneous rage and despair, sick at heart that no one had been able to save the child or any of the others. No one of the gods had intervened on their behalf. And he was left wondering why.

A husky and heavily accented voice suddenly cut through the evening and startled him as he stood up again.

"Refugees, from Windhelm. Nords mostly. A few Bretons too."

Carius turned to see a young Khajiit man standing off to the side. He was shaking, presumably from residual shock. His clothes were splattered with what looked like blood and were torn in numerous places. Light blue eyes were dull and weary. He continued as the Imperial silently approached him.

"My people were...well, you don't care about my people."

Carius was actually taken aback by the Khajiit's comment. "Of course I do, friend! I care about any who have been struck by this sort of violence. Please, continue."

"Well, my people...our caravan was simply passing through. At the wrong place at the wrong time, as they say. These men, these soldiers...they looked just like you all. Came out of nowhere. They just appeared as if out of a fog. They were like ghosts. Chanting ghosts. And they smelled like death."

The second part caused the Imperial's brows to furrow in thought. It was quite a strange description. Men in Imperial gear, ghostlike, chanting and smelling of decay? To say nothing of the banners, two more of which were recovered at the scene. By the gods, what is happening here?

"How did you escape?" One of the other soldiers asked. Carius only looked on, also curious as to the cat's explanation. The Khajiit angrily turned to answer.

"I was lucky enough to get away with my life! Even if we had seen them coming, it would have been hopeless. They were too many and we were not properly armed. I ran away until they were gone. I know there is little honor in that, but what use is staying put for an impossible battle? Foolishness."

"These men you saw, the ones who did this...what were they chanting?" The officer inquired, his mind entirely fixated on the Khajiit's testimony.

"I know not. It was not anything I have ever heard before. All I know is that they came out of the shadows and mists and when I came back, everyone was dead. And those ghastly things were left behind." He pointed to the bloody banners strewn about.

Carius thanked the Khajiit for his help, and recommended that he come back to their camp for some medical assistance. But the feline refused, insisting that he would be just fine once he was among his own kind again. The Imperial wished him well and watched the cat limp along in the darkness. He then turned to the two scouts and instructed one to make haste for Ivarstead - it being the closest village - and inform whoever he could find there of the immediate need for clean up and recovery assistance. The other one he instructed to ride to Riften to inform the Jarl of the incident. He intended also to dispatch a message to Solitude before morning. But as it would turn out, a courier would appear from the capital city before morning officially arrived.

Indeed, the night's somber events were turning over in the Praefect's mind for hours afterward. He could not seem to find sleep as the face of the dead little girl haunted him. Instead he stood over the table in the commander's tent, eying the banner first brought to him by the scouts, hoping for some sort of revelation to strike in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. And that is precisely as the courier found him. The wiry man did not linger, staying just long enough to deliver the message and get back on his route. Carius was frustrated that the courier had arrived and went before he had penned the final draft of his message to the headquarters in Solitude. But it fast appeared obvious that that would not be a problem. For it was Tullius who had written to him now. He could scarcely believe that his name shared the relatively plain parchment with that of the general and for a moment, he was almost afraid to read the correspondence.

The general's writing style was very much like that of his vocal speaking patterns: crisp, to the point, and vaguely cynical. But after the initial customary title acknowledgements, the real matter was disclosed to the young Imperial in no uncertain terms:

"Praefect Serenus, by now you may or perhaps may not have gotten word that a certain acquaintance of yours is in Skyrim - a Breton woman, a blood relation to Captain Adrianus of the Legion. I hesitate to inscribe her name in this missive lest it fall into mischievous hands, but if you are as personally familiar with her as I am told, her name is unnecessary to make explicit at this juncture. In any case, she is in Skyrim on a personal mission, the nature of which she will reveal to you soon. She has been assigned to your camp as an auxiliary under your lead, and upon next contact with her she will be informed thus. Expect her to make her way to you soon, in the coming week. You are essentially to look after her, make sure that she remains as safe as possible until further notice. You and your men will continue to assist in the war, make no mistake. And she will join you. Her brother will also be receiving special protections, but he will remain at his current location. We believe this to be the more prudent course.

I trust you realize that the Legion does not make a habit of this sort of thing. But I also trust that you realize other things are at work here. Irregular circumstances call for irregular measures. You may be much too young to recall his name or know anything about him, as he has been stricken from most records of the Great War. But I will tell you now, so that you may be as informed as possible, that Roscius Avienus has surfaced once more - we have reason to believe that he too is in Skyrim. He is a madman, a traitor, and a murderer with an axe to grind, and he will be riding the winds of Ulfric's chaos. He himself should be considered extremely dangerous, but his associates should not be discounted either. He is well-connected and familiar with the networks of the Legion, and for good reason. I fear saying much more in a message such as this. I expect you will seek out your own resources on the matter. In time, you will receive additional support and manpower to this end, ones who will be in a better position to expound upon the subject of the renegade and exile, Roscius Avienus.

As for the young woman, she is talented and I suspect that the good faith put in her by so many is wisely placed. All the same, we cannot be too careful. Clearly, you are not the only one with vested interest in seeing both her and her brother restored to their family unharmed.

There is already blood in the snow. Keep on your guard and we will see this thing through.

For the Emperor,
T"

As he reached the end of the letter, Carius had to brace himself against the table in front of him. First of all, Heron had never mentioned any sort of "personal mission" to him in any of his notes. Did he know? And if so, why had he not told him? Secondly, the name "Roscius Avienus". He had in fact heard it before. It was a name his own soldier father had mentioned a few times, only to be hurriedly hushed by his disapproving mother. For a long time, there had been whisperings of a demented Legionnaire who had been driven mad at the hands of the Thalmor during the Great War. He had become something of an urban legend, one recounted by devious schoolchildren in efforts to scare one another. Could it have been the same man? After all of these years?

As the morning sky broke forth swirled with stunningly deep shades of red, the old legends and schoolyard chants swiftly took on newer and much graver resonance.

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

YAY! I love the little banters of Penny and Mercer XD For some reason, Mercer reminds me of a really ticked off John Wayne or Alan Rickman playing a villan is that normal?!

And oh! Mystery killer... Me likey

Continue!!! Don't stop! :O

 

[Docta Corvina]

Thank you so much, Dabiene! I'm very glad you're enjoying it! Things are starting to really get crazy and I'm excited to keep on going with it.

And haha, I love Pen and Mercer's dynamic, I really do. It's absolutely unique and hilarious. It's really fun to write. And as for Mystery Killer, I can't wait to get him back on the scene again as well.

 

[bulbaquil]

The plot thickens. Yes it does.

"How can you say that with a straight face? We all know Maven has her close - hmpf, now that's an understatement - 'ties' to the Empire. If anything, I'd say you're saving the 'no involvement' line for any Stormcloak-persuaded type who might come along and make things generally nastier for Her Highness' Imperial patrons. Well, such a line is lost on me obviously. And I say that since I am involved now and will remain so, it might as well be to the betterment of the outfit. Either that or you can boot me. For Mara's sake, it doesn't mean that much to me either way. Truly, I think you're just inventing 'rules' and reasons to chastise me! The war was never explicitly labeled as off limits when I signed on."

I love that response of Pen's to Mercer's protestation against Pen's joining the Legion. It sounds like just the sort of thing Pen would say - few people in Skyrim truly like "Her Highness" Maven Black-Briar.

I'm personally quite curious to see Brynjolf's reaction to the discovery that Pen... "Oh hi, sweetie. I picked up some fresh-baked bread, some Black-Briar mead, oh and by the way I joined the Legion."

Again, you characterize Sjadbek so well. My Sjadbek is quite a bit less scared of the Thalmor than yours is... but my Sjadbek is also the Dragonborn and yours isn't, and that's a pretty big factor.

 

[Docta Corvina]

The plot thickens. Yes it does.



I love that response of Pen's to Mercer's protestation against Pen's joining the Legion. It sounds like just the sort of thing Pen would say - few people in Skyrim truly like "Her Highness" Maven Black-Briar.

I'm personally quite curious to see Brynjolf's reaction to the discovery that Pen... "Oh hi, sweetie. I picked up some fresh-baked bread, some Black-Briar mead, oh and by the way I joined the Legion."

Again, you characterize Sjadbek so well. My Sjadbek is quite a bit less scared of the Thalmor than yours is... but my Sjadbek is also the Dragonborn and yours isn't, and that's a pretty big factor.

LO, yep! Pen is like the anti-Maven of a character. She's not impressed by her in the slightest, refusing to give her credit for much of anything since she sees it all as so incredibly slimy. Thing is, Pen is obviously not completely opposed to 'playing the game' as it were, in order to get helpful leads for a much more important cause. But she truly despises her and everything she stands for as far as familial imperialism goes. She's seen it enough back home in Cyrodiil, she's still not impressed now.

Bryn's reaction will be interesting as well. Haha, the look on his face = priceless xD I can't wait to get to that. Mostly it'll be funnier to me since it will more than likely be Mercer who breaks the news to Bryn about it, not Pen herself. Mercer will try to use it as a point against her, but not everyone in the Guild will be keen to look at it that way...

And aww, thanks! That's big praise coming from his creator, so I'm flattered! Yeah, my Sjad here is a bit more worried for the sake of Pen. He really has zero idea of what she's up to in Skyrim (at least for the moment) and so he's only able to go off of what he sees. I liked how he sorta brushed off the arrest bit but was much more concerned about the Thalmor tracking her down if anything was slipped. Sjad's adorable.

 

[Atmora]

Another awesome chapter Docta! Loving the interactions between Pen and Mercer too

Can't wait to see what happens next!

 

[bulbaquil]

And aww, thanks! That's big praise coming from his creator, so I'm flattered! Yeah, my Sjad here is a bit more worried for the sake of Pen. He really has zero idea of what she's up to in Skyrim (at least for the moment) and so he's only able to go off of what he sees. I liked how he sorta brushed off the arrest bit but was much more concerned about the Thalmor tracking her down if anything was slipped. Sjad's adorable.

Heh - I think it's something like, Sjad knows what he's gotten himself into. He knows perfectly well he could end up like Bjaknir or worse - he knows he's a marked man every second he's wearing the Stormcloak colors.

He doesn't think Pen knows what she's gotten into, and he's concerned she's gotten herself in over her head. "Does she really think being in the Legion will protect her from the Thalmor?"

Also, I found it remarkably easy to read Tullius's letter in Tullius's voice.

 

[Madrar]

Another very creative chapter. Good job!

 

[Jersey Dagmar]

Bloody amazing! This villain of yours intrigues me. Can't wait to learn more about him.

 

[Docta Corvina]

Bloody amazing! This villain of yours intrigues me. Can't wait to learn more about him.

Thank you, my friend! =) Yeah, Roscius is going to be a fun character to explore and flesh out. I had a feeling you might gravitate toward him a bit - hell, I'm charmed by him and all his strangeness. He's in it for the long haul now obviously, so I know I'm excited!

And truly, thank you again, everyone! The support has continued to be amazing and I'm already sketching out the next chapter. I feel like I'm on the same roller-coaster as all my characters are at this point.

 

[bulbaquil]

Ooooooh.

I'm betting Brynjolf returns to the forefront in the next chapter? Just a wild guess on my part

 

[Docta Corvina]

Haha, Bryn will indeed be back on the scene next chapter. His little adventure of trying to track down his two favorite Bretons simply amuses me to no end. And haha, oh, we shall see! It's gonna be a rough trek out of that cave which may or may not be a ruin...but if anyone can make that journey, those two can.

More questions: what will Bryn find amid his own journey west to find his Guild mates? Will Mercer learn anything from his time underground? Who are the ghostlike soldiers reeking of death and murdering innocent people?

 

[Jersey Dagmar]

I just want more Mercer and Penelope hilarity. Those two just crack me up so much. Like an old married couple.