Svarnor
Shadowcloak of Nocturnal
Merythyn was upside down.
To tell the truth, it was not the first time the Dunmer thief had been in this position, but it was certainly the first time he'd been clinging to the bottom of a cart as it bounced and bumped along the road to Helgen.
His shoulders burned with effort, and his fingers felt as if they were about to fall off, but Merythyn held on, knowing that to release his grip was to allow himself to be discovered, assuming he survived the stomping hooves of the horse pulling the cart behind his.
The young Dunmer had been looking for a way to infiltrate the Village and Imperial Outpost of Helgen for days, since he'd gotten a contract from none other than Proventus Avenicci, Steward to Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. Evidently, one of the townsfolk of Helgen had recently come into inheritance, and had received a necklace, set with jewels and wrapped in enchantments, as their share. Clearly Avenicci wanted the item.
Unfortunately, security in Helgen had been getting tighter since the war began, and the fort was closed to all but the Legion and the Townsfolk.
Thus, the cart.
As the cart bumped along the road, Merythyn listened carefully to the conversation on the cart. He had made it to the transport in the dead of night, and had no idea of the occupants. The first to speak was a woman's voice, with a Nordic accent:
'Can you believe it? All this time we've worked, and it's over. Our cause is doomed.'
Another voice, with a similar affectation, though this was clearly a male:
'Don't forget Stone-Fist and the others. Just because Ulfric's been captured doesn't mean the fighting's finished.'
Ulfric? Could they mean Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the rebellion? If Merythyn had accidentally grabbed hold of a prison cart, he would want to get away as soon as possible, necklace or no necklace. If Ulfric was here, then there might be an execution, and if he was found, the Headsman's block would still be warm.
Not that the Dark Elf had actually committed any real crime, yet. The Imperial's would probably just execute him, along with the Stormcloaks, just because it was easier. Unfortunately, they were drawing close to Helgen now. Merythyn could hear the guards at the front of the wagon line calling out to their comrades on the walls. He heard the gate creak open, and more than one Stormcloak curse. Evidently the Thalmor had a presence here.
The wagons rolled through the town, stopping finally at the base of a tower. As the prisoners filed off the carts, moving towards a pair of soldiers with a list of criminals, Merythyn slipped out from beneath the wagon. All eyes were focused on the prisoners as the priest began to perform their last rites, and one of the Stormcloaks interrupted, asking them to hurry it up.
Having reached the safety of a sidestreet, Merythyn looked back, and couldn't draw his eyes away as the Headsman's axe went up, and then back down with a sickening crunch.
The young Dunmer winced, moving once again into the shadows. His best chance to escape would be over the wall, but now that he was in Helgen, and everyone's attention was on the executions, it seemed a shame not to go after the mark. The thief crept towards a house that fit Avenicci's description, and was awaiting the sound of another execution when a roar echoed across the sky.
A dragon swooped down from the heavens, spewing fire and knocking down stones from the walls. As the beast's tail swept across the roof of one house, knocking the flaming thatch down into the street, Merythyn rolled to the side, barely avoiding a beam which hit the pavement with a crack.
Despite the chaos, the fighting, ad the escaping Stormcloaks, Merythyn was still focused on the job. He sprinted towards the house, all attempts at secrecy forgotten. As the Dark Elf burst through the door, he swept the room with his eyes, searching for the necklace. Unfortunately, the house was occupied. A woman, perhaps the wife of one of the men who was watching the execution, still sat in her chair, suprised by he noise and this stranger. Around her throat was clasped a silver necklace, resplendent with jewels.
'Sorry' Muttered Merythyn, giving the woman an apologetic smile. A moment later, he lunged forward, snatching the necklace and pulling it free. Before the woman could react, the dark elf was out the door, running pell mell for the gate.
An imperial soldier spotted him, but seemed to pay no heed in the confusion. Given a moment more, the man might have wondered where the Dunmer had sprung from, but just then the dragon landed behind him, washing the figure in flames.
As the dragon took to the air once more, Merythyn sprinted the last few meters to the gate, and ran for his life towards the forest. He made it, plunging deep into the twisted undergrowth, pushing forward, towards Ivarstead.
Just when he was sure he had lost all pursuers, a voice spoke from behind Merythyn.
'You'd better stay very still, or I might just put an arrow through you.'
To tell the truth, it was not the first time the Dunmer thief had been in this position, but it was certainly the first time he'd been clinging to the bottom of a cart as it bounced and bumped along the road to Helgen.
His shoulders burned with effort, and his fingers felt as if they were about to fall off, but Merythyn held on, knowing that to release his grip was to allow himself to be discovered, assuming he survived the stomping hooves of the horse pulling the cart behind his.
The young Dunmer had been looking for a way to infiltrate the Village and Imperial Outpost of Helgen for days, since he'd gotten a contract from none other than Proventus Avenicci, Steward to Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. Evidently, one of the townsfolk of Helgen had recently come into inheritance, and had received a necklace, set with jewels and wrapped in enchantments, as their share. Clearly Avenicci wanted the item.
Unfortunately, security in Helgen had been getting tighter since the war began, and the fort was closed to all but the Legion and the Townsfolk.
Thus, the cart.
As the cart bumped along the road, Merythyn listened carefully to the conversation on the cart. He had made it to the transport in the dead of night, and had no idea of the occupants. The first to speak was a woman's voice, with a Nordic accent:
'Can you believe it? All this time we've worked, and it's over. Our cause is doomed.'
Another voice, with a similar affectation, though this was clearly a male:
'Don't forget Stone-Fist and the others. Just because Ulfric's been captured doesn't mean the fighting's finished.'
Ulfric? Could they mean Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the rebellion? If Merythyn had accidentally grabbed hold of a prison cart, he would want to get away as soon as possible, necklace or no necklace. If Ulfric was here, then there might be an execution, and if he was found, the Headsman's block would still be warm.
Not that the Dark Elf had actually committed any real crime, yet. The Imperial's would probably just execute him, along with the Stormcloaks, just because it was easier. Unfortunately, they were drawing close to Helgen now. Merythyn could hear the guards at the front of the wagon line calling out to their comrades on the walls. He heard the gate creak open, and more than one Stormcloak curse. Evidently the Thalmor had a presence here.
The wagons rolled through the town, stopping finally at the base of a tower. As the prisoners filed off the carts, moving towards a pair of soldiers with a list of criminals, Merythyn slipped out from beneath the wagon. All eyes were focused on the prisoners as the priest began to perform their last rites, and one of the Stormcloaks interrupted, asking them to hurry it up.
Having reached the safety of a sidestreet, Merythyn looked back, and couldn't draw his eyes away as the Headsman's axe went up, and then back down with a sickening crunch.
The young Dunmer winced, moving once again into the shadows. His best chance to escape would be over the wall, but now that he was in Helgen, and everyone's attention was on the executions, it seemed a shame not to go after the mark. The thief crept towards a house that fit Avenicci's description, and was awaiting the sound of another execution when a roar echoed across the sky.
A dragon swooped down from the heavens, spewing fire and knocking down stones from the walls. As the beast's tail swept across the roof of one house, knocking the flaming thatch down into the street, Merythyn rolled to the side, barely avoiding a beam which hit the pavement with a crack.
Despite the chaos, the fighting, ad the escaping Stormcloaks, Merythyn was still focused on the job. He sprinted towards the house, all attempts at secrecy forgotten. As the Dark Elf burst through the door, he swept the room with his eyes, searching for the necklace. Unfortunately, the house was occupied. A woman, perhaps the wife of one of the men who was watching the execution, still sat in her chair, suprised by he noise and this stranger. Around her throat was clasped a silver necklace, resplendent with jewels.
'Sorry' Muttered Merythyn, giving the woman an apologetic smile. A moment later, he lunged forward, snatching the necklace and pulling it free. Before the woman could react, the dark elf was out the door, running pell mell for the gate.
An imperial soldier spotted him, but seemed to pay no heed in the confusion. Given a moment more, the man might have wondered where the Dunmer had sprung from, but just then the dragon landed behind him, washing the figure in flames.
As the dragon took to the air once more, Merythyn sprinted the last few meters to the gate, and ran for his life towards the forest. He made it, plunging deep into the twisted undergrowth, pushing forward, towards Ivarstead.
Just when he was sure he had lost all pursuers, a voice spoke from behind Merythyn.
'You'd better stay very still, or I might just put an arrow through you.'