After Averaine had led them to a campsite, Shork dropped what supplies he had been carrying at the centre of the clearing. Feeling nothing but apathy towards the idea of helping establish a fire, the mercenary instead plucked a bottle of ale from his supplies and wandered around to the back of a nearby tree. He drunk down the alcohol quickly, greedy for its empty satisfaction. Once the beverage was finished he threw it randomly out into the wilderness, and returned to his companions.
A confrontation of sorts had begun between Julius the Legionnaire and his employer, with the former uncharacteristically accosting the Nightwalker.
"-The more we delay, the stronger the brotherhood gets. Or is there a reason you want to stop by this village? One that you don't want the rest of us to know about?" It had become apparent during the weeks spent in his fellowship that the Altmer was no ordinary individual; his affliction aside. To launch a campaign against the Brotherhood was obviously not an unmotivated act. The vampire clearly had something to hide, and whilst the mercenary had seen little reason to doubt the Mer, he had conflicting thoughts on whether to inform the others of Salthar's rendezvous at the settlement. I fear not all of our companions will agree with my reasons.
Others appeared to weigh in their views, the ranger Torin challenging the Nightwalker in turn, and Donath attempting to broker peace whilst others looked on. Shork remained quiet in his corner of the clearing, disliking this previously untraceable tension within the group. After several moments he turned and quietly departed the fellowships camp once more, the voices of his companions gradually fading away, much to his content.
***
The Orc wandered through the gradually receding woodlands, feeling glad to know that the Fall Forest would soon be behind them. Any animals within his vicinity quickly darted away, sensing the beast within him. In time, he felt something watching him from a distance, but the ale had hampered his senses, making it impossible to track the source. In time the presence seemed to pass, and Shork's defensive instincts died down. Now he turned back towards the direction he had come from, hoping that the argument back at the camp would be resolved by now.
As he did so the Orc was suddenly knocked off his feet by a fast-moving object, falling forwards into the dirt. Caught by surprise, he stumbled to his feet and drew his mace, fearing he had been discovered by a Brotherhood mongrel.
Yet he felt no adrenaline after the sudden attack, and no creature was present for him to confront. In fact it was the enviroment that felt different now; the tree's at this edge of the forest were now ominously looming over him where they had modestly shrouded him before. The trunk of one oak tree had been drained of its colour, and to Shork's sudden alarm began to move as though conscious.
A root broke out of the earth at Shork's foot, fluidly wrapping around his ankle before he could even react. Almost tripping in his shock, it took several moments for the Orc to respond, and his chosen response was to bear his mace down on the unlikely restraint. Before the weapon struck home his wielding arm was caught by another root, which wrapped itself so tightly around his limb that it triggered a violent spasm, forcing him to drop his weapon. Shortly after his remaining limbs had also been constricted, and with a sudden creak the sentient roots had plucked him from the ground, rendering the mercenary immobile.
Struggling in his confines to no avail, the Orc quickly assessed his situation. The black tree was a foreign adversary that he had no knowledge of, and he couldn't understand its motives, for now it had become rigid once more, uninterested in its captive. Looking down, Shork saw his mace lay on the floor below, out of reach. He looked up again to see if there was anything to assist him... and saw a figure, clearly aware of his presence, stood metres away.
They wore hooded black robes that concealed their identity. Emblazoned on the front of the robes was a symbol; a blossomed tree etched in gold. Shork was at a loss for words.
"Wyran-Orsim" said the figure, revealing a dialect that helped Shork identify them as a male Dunmer. The Mer's use of the orcish tongue was surprising. He hadn't heard the words of his own kind for years, yet the elf spoke with a clear confidence. From what he could decipher however, it was clear that it was his Lycanthropy being referred to.
He spoke in standard Tamrielic in response, not in the mood to humour the Mer's linguistic skills.
"If this is your doing-" he gestured backwards towards the tree with his head
"-then I'd appreciate it if you call off this bastard tree, before I claw my way out and forcibly arrange your limbs".
The elf gave a pompous sigh, seemingly unimpressed by the threat. They spoke once more, reverting to Tamrielic. "Like the rest of your race, crude and uncivilised". He began to approach the tree and its captive. "What were you doing in Riften, Lycan?" the Dunmer said with an adamant calm, not looking up at the Orc.
Shork gave a low growl before responding. Strangely he now felt compelled to talk, now feeling weary of his situation.
"I walk among those seeking to destroy the Whitescar Brotherhood". The Dunmer nodded, still not directly looking at the mercenary. "A noble goal for such a sordid being, and one that serves this province well." They began to pace around the tree again, still contemplating this information. "But a foolish goal at that."
The Orc blurted out something before he could stop himself.
"I am in service to Salthar Vivarian!" He gasped, realising the Mer was somehow influencing his mind.
The Dunmer stopped pacing as that name was heard. For the first time, he looked directly at Shork, and the mercenary could see the elf's face; their skin was abnormally pale, and his eyes gave off an intense crimson glow. A Nightwalker for sure, but different to the ones who were accompanying him in the fellowship.
Though he seemed to be pleased with this news, it did not show on the vampire's face. "Well, that is most fortunate for you. Vivarian's conquests have proved most beneficial to us in the past, and I doubt this will prove different".
The Dunmer produced a low-pitched hissing noise and then turned his back on the tree, slowly walking away. The roots constricting the Orc receded, and he unprofessionally dropped to the floor. Grabbing his mace immediately Shork jumped to his feet, furious with the elf for manipulating his mind.
"No more tricks, Nightwalker!" he shouted, and charged the Mer. He wouldn't allow the Fellowship's mission to be compromised by this potential enemy.
Before he could close the gap however the Dunmer spun round, and his hood fell away in the motion, revealing a bald head marked with incomprehensible glyphs. His eyes now shone with a terrifying radiance, and the mercenary stopped in his tracks, caught up in a terrified awe of the vampire.
Even now, the elf's voice remained equable. "I am no threat to your group. The Brotherhood's downfall would be a long-due enactment of justice, and my people will be glad to hear of your efforts". Shork found himself believing the Mer now, without the same sense of manipulation he had subconsciously felt before clouding his thoughts. Any desire to fight, to learn left him. Now he simply wished to return to the camp and its warm fire, and forget about this vampire and his sorcery.
He gave a grunt, and then began to walk away, stopping momentarily to speak aloud to his acquaintance.
"If our mission becomes common knowledge, I will hunt you down". The vampire nodded. "And if the day comes when the Brotherhood is smitten, we will meet again. Your talents could be useful to the Coven". With that, the Dunmer departed as well, headed in a different direction, leaving the mercenary at a loss for words. After a few moments he gave a grunt of derision, and made his way back to the Fellowship's camp. Once he arrived at the clearing Shork moved directly to the fire, avoiding eye contact with any of his companions. There was much on his mind.