Chapter One
~ ~ ~ Sabina Marco ~ ~ ~
*twang!*
The arrow was perfectly on point, slicing through the air, and slammed into the side of it’s target’s neck. The doe let out a cry of pain, before a second arrow struck it’s rump. It staggered, only to roll dead onto the grass below it’s hooves. Crimson was splattered up onto the tree behind it and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
I lowered my bow, arms relaxing and crept close to what will now become a week's worth of dinner for my hungry stomach. Game was sparse in this area, with the Jarl’s poaching law and all, but they were ignored by most. My knife slammed into its shoulder blade and I carved, ripping through tendons and muscle, stripping flesh from bones.
The quiet hum of a torch bug was the only sound apart from my own that was in the area. Trees taller than anything else around surrounded myself in this quiet grove and long grass swayed as the gentle breeze brushed against them. It was a quaint place and a far cry from the swamps of Argonia.
Ah, Argonia… While it was a cruel and harsh land to those who feared it, I found it pleasurable during it’s good days. Flowers would bloom in patches where the sun would reach the swamp shores, trees dipped their roots down in the earth and their twisting, gnarled branches would span across the sky, fighting each other for space. The scent of the place held a fine musk and would seem to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
It was wise of the lizard-folk to spread rumours of the deadliness of their home. Even the infamous Talos, Tiber Septim himself, was too cowardly to venture into the depths of the swamps. It was said that humans couldn’t enter it without getting sick or dying a gruesome death. But I entered it and lived there for a very long time. Most of the Saxhleel found my Imperial body strange enough, but then again, I found that many were welcoming of me.
After I had butchered the doe and wrapped what meat I could salvage in the her pelt, I rose from the ground, my head twisting left and right. No predators had followed me to my kill and the only remains were a pile of twisted bones and blood on the ground. My rations had run low and I knew I could not afford to cross into the nearest village to buy supplies, as my gold count was as low as my food supply. Thus, I had carved a bow out of wood and strung it up with the stomach lining of a rabbit and whittled simple arrows. They were not perfect but apparently they worked fine.
My camp was not far and was well hidden in the forest. I slung the sack of meat over my shoulder and trudged my way through the woods, avoiding the main paths, and over the ridge I crept. The sun was barely peeking over, the last rays for the day cause an orange glow over the forest trees. There was barely snow in this region of Skyrim, but those pockets that did remain caused a shiver to go through my spine. It was a reminded that this land could be harsh, unforgiving and I could not afford to let the weather overcome me. Still, I would rather have snow over rain.
It had been three weeks since I fled Black Marsh. Three weeks of running, hiding and never sleeping in the same place. Three weeks of hiking, avoiding the trails and going hungry for the sake of making ground. Three weeks of sore feet, aching muscles and dry throats. Three fucking weeks of this. I did not believe I was followed, and if I was, I was prepared to deal with them. A finger went to my bow, thumbing the string and feeling the tension. Need to be tightened, I noted, before releasing it.
The life of a nomad was harsh, but I had grown fond of it, I will admit. Solitude does have it’s perks. I shot a gaze over my shoulder, watching the sun finally make its descent behind the Jerall mountains, their jagged and daunting peaks looming against the darkening sky. The moons were rounds and full, just like they were on that fateful night when I left the swamps. Somewhere in the distant, crows cawed, owls hooted and a pack of wolves howled. I shivered slightly as cold wind blew over, sending the cloak I was wearing to flap against my legs. A swore escaped my lips and forcing me to bring my barbaric fur armor tighter against my skin.
After a few minutes of walking, I turned and pushed through some brambles, scratching my skin open with their prickles. A necessary precaution, but painful all the same. I came to my camp and dumped the meat by the circle of ash that was once a campfire. A pile of furs lay nearby and I curled upon them, pulling the top most over myself to shield my body from the cold. A storm was coming, I could feel it in my bones. No fire would be lit tonight, too risky and the wind was going to be howling causing it to be useless.
I let my eyes fall close and for a few moments, I am at peace. The memories of the last few nights of events washed over me, lingering on the more significant. I was foolish to try and cut through Cyrodill, I had forgotten how tense relations were between the provinces after the Great War. The Imperial guards had trailed me as I crossed the province, suspicious of me for unknown reasons, but I managed to lose them somewhere around Bruma.
Sleep came over me and I rested, the warmth of the furs around me soothing my aching bones and muscles. A light rain fell across the forests of Whiterun, just as I predicted and the wind was a mere whisper upon the trees. I don’t know how long I slept for it had felt like an age since I last had.
Unfortunately, this felt very short-lived because then, a new noise joined the fray of those around me… Clopping upon stone, like those of heavy boots upon stone. No, that wasn’t it… Hooves. Horse hooves.
They were too close. I sat up very quickly, throwing off the pelts and reaching for my weapons - A bow, a sword and a quiver of arrows lay nearby, worn and broken but good enough to use still. My backpack went swinging over my shoulder and I broke away from my hiding spot to slink down towards the noise of the intruders. I didn’t realise I had slept so long until I came over the hill and the sun came right into my eyes.
From my position, I could see Whiterun in the distance, a low covering of fog circling the streams around its border. A bird chirped nearby and I could smell the sweet scent of fresh hay and flowers blooming by the farms to the west, while a trickle of smoke rose above the fog in the east. I predicted it was very early, too early for nay but farmers and peasants to be awake.
My feet moved quickly and I stumbled a little as I crept through the bushes. I would never get used to moving with legs, I grumbled silently to myself, before I paused as the hoofsteps grew closer.
Two beings passed beneath the bluff where I was now perched, heading south along the trail and across a stone bridge. Three were upon the horses, a pair slightly behind on bays and another ahead on a palomino. The two slightly behind were in glistening black armor that was adorned with the carvings of eagles and feathers, while the one who rode ahead was in some form of trench cloak and hood, dark with lines of gold. He seemed to be in charge, speaking in a haughty tone to his comrades. “Come now, we cannot afford to linger any longer! We must get to Helgen immediately!”
Helgen… It was a small Nordic town to the south but I knew little other than that. Was it significant to these elves? I furrowed my brow as they continued on their way, struggling to remember why they appeared so familiar. With a few swift steps, I descended the hill and followed the trio as they carried on, moving on at a trot. This was not my business, sure, but curiosity was spurring me onwards.
The trio was silent and quickly disappeared from my sight in the early morning light. Then it hit me as hard as a warhammer in the gut - Thalmor. I cursed a little and halted my walk after them. The rulers of Summerset Isles and the sworn enemies of the Empire and pretty much everyone else on Tamriel. I brushed a strand of raven-black hair out of my eyes and frowned as the sound of their horses disappeared into the early dawn.
I had heard tales of them when I was camped with the Argonians. The saxhleel were about as fond of them as were of Dunmeri slavers. As they nursed me back to health after my injuries upon the sea, they would whisper of the Thalmor and their cruel deeds across the land. As scared as they were of me and my Imperial form, they grew fond of me soon enough.
Despite the danger, despite the risk of them discovering me, and despite the lack of reasoning for doing so… I followed.
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Replies
very well written!