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There were six others stuffed in to the back of the wagon along with Ulfric, Ralof and the horse thief Lokir.
The first, to Ulfric’s immediate left was an Imperial Legate, in badly dented, tarnished steel armor that all of her rank wore in the Legion. Her dark hair was matted terribly and her tanned skin was marred by the scars common to those exposed to the lightning magickas; the ones that the Thalmor favors during ‘questioning’. Her bright eyes were focused straight ahead and her teeth clenched tightly around the fabric gag in her mouth.
Between Ralof and the Legate’s feet was a broad shouldered, pale tawny colored khajiit, white stripes and spots accented his face, tufts of white fur adorned the ends of his large, pointed ears which twitched to and fro as he took in the sounds around them. Said ears were pierced several times each with gold hoops, and his mane was shaved in to a mohawk. He was only bound by the wrists, with a single leather strap that he could more than likely cut with his sharp, black claws. Yet the feline seemed relaxed as he leaned back against the legs of the third prisoner who sat between Ralof and Lokir. The khajiit fore golden adept robes, leather bracers and sat cross legged.
A dazed, golden skinned Altmer, who’s head was also in a mohawk, with intricate, delicate looking tattoos of a flowering ivy of some sort. This mer had milky white eyes that wandered sightlessly over the scenery as her hands clutched at the back of the kahjiit’s robes. She wore a master’s robes, with a pair of thin enchanted gloves, and furred boots.
Against the back of the wagon, to Ralof’s right, bound and muzzled with leather straps was a lanky, agitated Argonian. His scales were rare purples and his spikes and horns a light eating black, as was one eye, the other an enchanting amber color. His horns were adorned with silver rings, as were his fingers. He wore an unusual set of leather robes with a thin, shining burnt red chest plate.
Hogtied between Ulfric and the horse thief’s feet was a Forsworn woman wearing a unique set of white furs the savage peoples called armor. Her hair was in thousands of tiny braids decorated with beads of bone and feathers. She also wore intricate jewelry of bone and gems; a necklace, a half dozen earrings per ear, bands on her upper arms and wrists. She was surprisingly clean, her skin tanned and tattooed in the clean, harshly angled designs often found in the Forsworn holy places, interwoven with delicate, stunning swirls and lines. Her body pulsed a sickly green of a strong paralyzing spell most likely set by one of the Thalmor agents that traveled with the Legion. Her mismatched eyes were open and wild.
Finally, on Ulfric’s right, barely conscious to keep himself on the bench, beaten, bloodied and barely breathing was a Bosmer-Nord abomination, his wild mane of dark curls was caked with blood and dirt. For the most part he looked like a Nord, with strong broad shoulders, a strong jaw and bright blue eyes which were drooped with pain. He was tall, with a trim waist. However, when one looked closer, his long pointed ears were visible though his hair, and his teeth were sharp and pointed like his elven kin. His features were also much to delicate, perfect to be anything other than Mer. His hands were long fingered and looked thin whereas a Nord’s which were thick and squared. His name was Elisdriel, he was Ulfric’s nephew.
When finally the walls of Helgen came in to view, the khajiit began to sing, the words so softly spoken that the humans could barely hear them, but the Altmer clutched more tightly at the beast’s robes, but the gentle hum was soothing, even to Ulfric.
The Stormcloak ruler looked around the wagon once more as they passed through the gates. He noticed that the Legate’s bloody fingers were working free a nail from the bench between them. Their eyes met, and Ulfric recognized her.
Valmana Vonialian, third in command to the Legion under General Tullius, responsible for winning back the Reach after the Markarth Incident. Previous to her sudden and mysterious disappearance from the battle field, Legate Vonialian was systematically wiping out the Forsworn and bandits. She was a hero, not only that but General Tullius’ adopted daughter. So why was she in the back of a prisoners wagon? The Imperial looked away from Ulfic quickly, but her fingers continued to work the nail free from the bench.
Suddenly the Altmer gasped, then spoke. “Mu los pogaan lein naakin fen fraan mii.” She rumbled, her voice surprisingly harsh, and familiar to Ulfric, the language the Graybeards spoke, the dragon tongue.
“Damn Thalmor.” Ralof spat, drawing the conscious prisoners attention to where Ambassador Elewen and her guard sat on horse back along with General Tullius himself.
With a stomach dropping finality, the wagons came to a stop before the chopping block. Soldiers and Thalmor agents came over to unload the prisoners. The Forsworn woman was released from the spell that kept her unmoving, and she screamed and fighting like a woman possessed as she was dragged by Thalmor agents from the cart. Valmana shook off the hands of the Legionaries who reached to pull her out. She held her head high as she lowered herself from the step, and Ulfric noticed that no soldier would look her in the eyes, and most even kept their faces turned away from her as she joined the growing group of Stormcloaks. Even Tullius avoided her gaze.
Elewen moved her horse towards them as the dazed Altmer was gently lowered from the wagon, the khajiit pulled out with her with much rougher treatment. “Lovimiral, I’m glad to see you are unharmed.” The Ambassador said seriously, gazing down at the pair before her.
“Of course I am, mother,” The younger mer said easily. “Zi-rra never left my side.” She gestured to the khajiit. Elewen’s eyes narrowed at the furred beast as he was thrown to his knees after a swift punch staggered him.
“And the prisoner escape?” Elewen asked seriously, eyes turning to the Forsworn and Valmana who were being pulled over and tied to the back of a pair of Thalmor horses.
“They are skilled warriors, no?” Zi-rra answered as Lovimiral cut away his restrains with careful hands. “Very determined to get free. Lovi insisted on following them, and I followed her, as is my duty.” Elewen sneered down at him.
“Get Lovimiral ready for travel, cat. I will deal with you when we return to the Embassy.” She said. The khajiit bowed his head, then placed a clawed paw against the small of his charge’s back and lead her to a horse a golden armored mer had just dismounted.
“Ma’am, we found this lizard, who fit the description of a bounty that you ordered.” The legate said as the purpled scaled Argonian was dragged forward by two other soldiers. The legate also held a well worn, well maintained leather satchel up for the Ambassador.
“Ah, An-Ra, what a wonderful surprise to already pleasing day.” Elewen smiled wide and unrestrained as she snatched up the satchel. The Argonian managed a smug smile though his muzzle as the Altmer began to search his bag. She threw several potions, a journal and a pair of clothes on to the ground, then made an angry noise. “Was he found with anything else?” She asked looking down at the soldiers.
“No ma’am.”
“Where was he found?” The Ambassador asked, turning her eyes back to the Argonian as he made an amused hissing noise.
“Outside of Mortal, ma’am.” The Legate answered.
“Little beast!” Elewen snarled. “Where are the books!?”
An-Ra chuckled behind the muzzle and shrugged. The gesture clearly angered the woman more as she threw the satchel to the ground and roared.
“Send that swamp pest to the block!”
***Flick (Escape)***
As soon as the black dragon landed on the tower, the Forsworn woman had cut her binds with the serrated bone spikes woven in to her bracers. She killed an archer, and ripped his bow and quiver from his body as he fell and disappeared in the chaos. The Altmer Lovimiral and stood dazed, blind eyes staring up at the roaring dragon until Zi-rra threw her up on to a horse before swinging himself up behind her on the saddle. They too, quickly disappeared.
Ulfric spared on brief glance to where Elisdriel was crumpled over the headsman’s block before turning and running in to the tower. Ralof and surprisingly, Valmana rushed in behind him before the door was slammed shut.
“Was that really a dragon?” Ralof asked as the small ground of Stormcloak soldiers stood, panting and dazed as they listened to the screams and dragon roars outside. “The bringers of end times.”
“That’s just a legend.” Murmured another, terrified Nord.
“Legends don’t burn down villages.” Ulfric said seriously, his eyes roaming over his people before landing on the legate.
“We cannot stay here,” Valmana said, breathlessly as she pulled off her badly dented chest plate leaving her in the less protective chain mail. She wrapped an arm around her chest, most likely over broken ribs.
“Up through the tower then. Move!” Ulfric ordered.
Training, years and years of hard training allowed the Imperial to instantly ignore her injuries and keep pace with the soldiers moving up the stairs of the tower. When the dragon burst through the tower wall, she managed to pull Ralof back, throwing him against the wall behind her as the dragon’s fire filled the space Ralof had just been. As she turned to keep the heat off her face, she met Ulfric’s eyes, and he found himself frozen. Then the moment was over and she was jumping out of the tower, Ralof and the others just behind her.
***Neilass (Survive)***
An-Ra dropped the barely breathing halfling carefully on to a wobbly cart that had survived after collecting a frightened horse and soothing her, then tying her to the cart. During the attack, the Argonian had dragged the young male in to a root cellar to wait out the attack, and listened to Alduin’s carnage. An-Ra had taken to healing the worse of the wounds on the Bos-Nord under the light of a magelight spell.
But now, he knew it was not safe to stay within the smoldering walls of Helgen, even if the Legion and the Ambassador seemed to have fled, the Argonian was sure that they would return, to look for survivors and bury the dead. It was dangerous to travel with the man as injured as he was, but An-Ra had much he needed to accomplish during his time in Skyrim and he did not have what he needed to heal the man he’d saved, despite his grasp of Restoration magick.
Milos An-Ra, was brought out of his thoughts as the halfling cried out feverishly. With a sigh, the Argonian got the horse moving, leading the still skittish creature around the crumbled remains of the city wall and headed northwest along a less traveled road, hopefully to avoid any Legion or Thalmor along their way. The last thing An-Ra wanted was a trail of bodies leading the way to his home.
***Ru (Run)***
Zi-rra urged the horse further east at a steady pace, his charge held firm against his chest. Lovimiral was barely aware of the world around her as she’d been swallowed in to a vision as soon as the dragon had attacked.
That had been some hours ago now.
From the mumbling he’d been able to catch, the khajiit had pieced together that the other Dovahkiin had all managed to survive and escape their captors and the dragon, Alduin of legend, and were scattering to the winds.
Zi-rra sighed, and slowed their horse to a gentle walk and brushed Lovi’s hair from her face and thought of his options. They were doing all they could to keep out of Elewen’s grasp, and there were only so many places where a blind Altmer and a khajiit would be given shelter. Most seemed unreasonable to him as Lovi was a delicate creature, despite her insistence otherwise. After several moments of thought, Zi-rra settled on a direction and turned their horse towards the home of The Graybeards, the wisemen would give them sanctuary, peace, and maybe, even answers.
***Daal (Return)***
Valmana separated from Ulfric and his soldiers in the middle of the night while they camped in the mountains. She moved slowly, wearing pillaged, lightweight fur armor quilted together, and formerly owned by a bandit. She was making her way to Riften, and the only person she could trust in the entire country to not instantly return her to the prison she’d escaped from just weeks ago.
It had been many years since she’d spoken to her sister. The last time they’d spoken, it had been after Tullius had adopted her, and Vex had all but disowned her for joining the legion (as a spy and scout due to her skills learned in a life of a thief). Vex, had been a woman set in her ways by the time Tullius had rescued Valmana from imprisionment, impressed by her skills and given her a second chance.
******
The journey to Riften took twice as long as it would’ve normally due to her injuries, but she could do nothing but grit her teeth and bare the pain during her journey. She didn’t have the strength to gather much food on her trip,so by the time she found herself staring up at the gates of the city, she was falling in to exhaustion.
The city was covered in a thick fog as she made her way though the gates, pocketing the pouch of gold from the guard who’d tried to swindler her for a ‘Visitor’s tax’. Fair’s fair, after all.
She ignored the thug leaning agains the post of a house, trying to strong arm her and continued across the bridge. Her attention was caught by a woman wearing familiar leather armor, a thief’s armor. Val ease dropped on the woman’s conversation with the stable hand, and frowned. The woman was a desperate thief it seemed.
Not a good sign.
The Imperial woman hummed thoughtfully and turned to make her way to the lower level of the city, and scrunched her nose at the smell from the stagnant canal, she looked to her right to see that the gates for the water were closed tightly, another bad sign. She made her way into the Rataway, and made her way down to the Thieves den, the vagrants were a fight she really did not have the energy for, but she fought them off with the sword she’d pilfered from a deadman back in Helgen. Finally, she pushed open the door to the Ragged Flagon, and froze.
The sight of the miserable hole, was nothing like she’d remembered. Before joining the Legion, this place had been like an underground city, filled with boisterous people and loud vendors selling their wares. Now, it was pitiful, a few thieves milled around the bar, muck filled the nooks which once held vendors.
Valmana made her way around the outer walkway, towards the bar.
“You lost stranger?” A harsh faced Nord asked her, his eyes narrowed and a hand going down for the sword at his hip.
“No, I’m exactly where I want to be.” Valmana said calmly, and skirted around him and on to the wooden platform that made up the floor of the Ragged Flagon. She came to stand behind the blond woman at the bar and said: “There is nothing more soothing than the sound of clinking coins.” Then watched as her sister’s shoulders tensed. “It seems that our lullaby hasn’t been heard here in some time.”
Vex slowly turned around on her stool, and the Imperial women stared at each other for several tense moments. Then, in a flash, Vex was knocking her stool over as she lunged, punching Valmana hard in the jaw. Normally, the legate would’ve been able to take the hit without more than a light rock back, but injured and exhaustion had her falling back in to the table behind her. Valmana cried out as her ribs were jolted and she gasped for breath, eyes watering as she fell to the floor.
“Divines!” Vex cried, quick to realize her sister is not well by her reaction to the hit, and is kneeling next to her as Valmana slumped against the table leg, clutching her side and trying to slow her breathing. “What in Oblivion happened to you?” Vex asked, her eyes burning as she took in the state of her younger sister.
“I need a place to heal… to hide.” Valmana said quietly as other thieves had taken an interest in the women’s altercation. Val reached out and took Vex’s hovering hands in to her own, forcing her sister to meet her eyes. The blond gasped since the eyes that she looked in to looked nothing like she remembered, they didn’t seem the crystal blue that her sister had been known for. “Please, Vex.”
Vex nodded and shifted to pick up the slighter woman, then carefully got to her feet, taking most of Val’s weight in the process. Vex snarled as Delvin got to close to them. “Back off, I’ve got this.” She hissed as her own slow, smooth movements had caused her sister to whimper in pain.
“You’d better tell me exactly what happened to you.” Vex ordered as they made their way to the back of the tavern, and through the false backed cabinet , down the narrow hallway to the door that lead to the inner sanctuary of the Thieves’ Guild. A few thieves milled around the rounded room, and a draft of air came from one of the alcoves. Valmana gave a tired nod as she was lead over to one of the many beds that lined the outer wall, each with its own chest and nightstand. Vex carefully laid Val on the bed, gasping as Val bared her teeth, which now seemed so much sharper than she’d remembered, Val’s canines were elongated and seemed inhuman. As Val slowly relaxed in to the bed, Vex took the time to look her sister over more carefully, taking in the scars that crisscrossed her arms and legs. Vex clenched her hands in to fists.
“Rune!” The blond thief hollered turning to spot the man at a pot near by. “Bring me what health potions we’ve got, bandages too.”
“Sure thing, boss.” The man called back, taking one look at the two women. Val snorts, opening her eyes to look up at the older Imperial.
“Boss?”
Vex ignores her, and stands. “Vipir, get Cy and bring me some of those dividers, gotta give my friend some privacy.” She said to a passing thief. The commotion drew the attention of a man standing over a large desk, and he looked over at them for several minutes as Rune came over with an armful of potions and cloth. The man made his way over as the first divider was brought over and placed to the left of Valmana’s bed.
“Who’s this Vex?” The man asked.
“Just a thief out of Leyawiin,” Vex answered as she pulled the stopper from the largest potion vial.
“Your home town, how interesting.” The man commented, turning his attention down to Valmana as Vex helped her sit up enough to drink the potion. Then the man chuckled. “When I said I wanted new blood, I didn’t mean I wanted it spilt.” The Breton said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I had a little tussle with some thugs when I stumbled through their camp.” Val lied easily after she’d swallowed the thick liquid. “I’ll be right as rain in a few days.”
“This isn’t a temple, you gotta earn your keep here, friend,” Vex bristled as the man glared.
“I’ll cover her ’til she’s back on her feet Mercer, back off.” Vex said. “She’s a good thief, it’ll be worth while.”
“Fine.” Mercer spat. “But I have a job for you, so you’ll be working, not playing healer Vex.” The Breton stalked off then, leaving no room for discussion.
“I don’t trust him.” Valmana said, narrowed eyes watching the man move back to his desk and lean over a scroll.
“Then your instincts are still good,” Vex snapped as another divider is set up. “Drink this too.” She pushed another vial, of a darker red potion against her sister’s mouth.
“I don’t work for free, y’know Vex.” One of the men said leaning around the divider.
“Yeah, yeah,” Vex waved him off. “Get the rest set up and we’ll discuss your payment Cy.” She said then began opening the straps that tied Valmana’s armor in place.
***Alok (Rise)***
Luciana had traveled most of Skyrim in her years, during hunting parties and the like, so getting from Helgen in to the Reach was easy, even when she traveled through wilderness. Once in the Reach, she made her way to the nearest Forsworn stronghold: Lost Valley Redoubt. It was northwest of Falkreath, well fortified with supplies and men, according to the last report that she’d received.
And was the nest of several Hagravens, who might be able to answer the questions swirling around her mind like an angry hive of bees. Luciana made her way though the camp, ignoring the looks of her people as she traveled up to the Hagravens.
“You survived.” One of the bird women stated sounding somewhat impressed. “The entrails did not bode well for you.” She looked down at Luciana, with critical beady eyes.
“I have questions.” The woman said, holding her chin high as she dropped her stolen bow and quiver next to a table. She dropped herself elegantly in to a chair as a younger woman rushed over to drape a blanket of furs around her shoulders, and another two ladened the table with food and wine. “Questions only Gods can answer.” The young woman trembles as she pours wine in to a goblet, but Luciana cannot tell if it’s because of the three Hagravens who are beginning to move around the Forsworn Queen, or because of who Luciana is.
“Gods?” The lead Hagraven clicks and hobbles towards a blood soaked table as Luciana bites in to a large wolf steak. The trembling forger girl nervously moves to stand behind the queen as she eats, watching the Hagraven as she fusses around her table, picking up various potion ingredients and muttering to herself.
It takes several minutes for the Hag to finish whatever she is doing, by which time, Luciana has devoured a second steak and the nervous girl, has moved forward to pour more wine, and offer a bowl of sweet berries for the queen to eat.
“This will provide answer.” The Hag tells the Forsworn warrior as she hobbles over, holding a bowl between her clawed hands. “Very strong.” The forger stumbles back several steps as the bird woman comes closer. Luciana ignores the girl as she takes the bowl. Inside is a gritty ball substance.
“You will eat as much as you can, then put the rest under your tongue.” The raven tells her, then returns to her sisters.
“My q-queen.” The forger calls then, and Luciana looks over at her.
“Briarheart Erik has a tent set up for you.” She said and points to the cliffside, over looking the rest of the camp, near the water. An unstable table and chair as been placed outside the tent, heavily loaded with offerings and gifts for her. A half charred dresser sticks out of the tent’s mouth. And several bundles of taproots are hung around and in the tent to provide pale light.
“Very well.” Luciana stands from the table and made her way over to the tent, and ducks in to it as the forger follows behind her, carrying the goblet and bottle of wine. The Forsworn queen slouches against the mound of pillows on the bed and pulls the ball from the bowl and examines it briefly; it smells sweet, but also like blood, even staining her fingers red as she turns it to and fro. Never one to delay, the woman bites in to it and grimaces, indeed it is sickly sweet, but a bitter taste follows along with tastes and textures that are neither pleasing nor easy to swallow. After the first three bites, Luciana’s mouth begins to grow numb and she forces herself to swallow another mouthful before putting a pieces the size of a septim, under her tongue.
“Do not leave my side.” Luciana tells the forger who hovers just inside the tent. Her hearing begins to fade out as the glow from the taproots begins to grow much brighter. “The ravens are the only ones I trust.” She slurs as the forger moves closer, taking the seat next to the bed.
“Yes, my Queen.” The forger said softly.
Soon after, reality swirls away from the queen and she slumps against the bed, eyes rolling in to her skull.
******
The Forsworn Queen woke to a damp cloth swiping gently at her face, her eyes fluttered open, and the forger’s young tired face looked back at her, clear with relief.
“My Queen,” She said with a heavy breath. “I feared the Hag had killed you.”
“It is not my time to die.” Luciana said, forcing her aching body upright, her voice hoarse.
“Drink.” The girl held out a goblet of water, and she drank it gratefully. “You were like that nearly a full day, you were feverish, and thrashed like deadra hunted you.”
“I am fine.” Luciana said. “What is your name?”
“I am Sera, my Queen.” The forger said, reaching up once more to wipe the cool cloth against fevered skin.
“You’ve served me well, it seems, Sera.”
“It was an honor.”
“I will need you at my side often in the coming days, dear Sera, are you up for the task?” Luciana asked. The girl nods her head vigorously, her red hair swishing around her heart shaped face.
“Anything my Queen asks.” Sera replied.
“For now, I require nothing but rest and food,” Luciana stated, leaning back against her pillows with a groan. Sera dips the cloth in to the bucket at her feet once more. “Send for the Briarheart as well, I must send word that I am still breathing, lest my husband does something foolish.”
“Of course.” Sera places the wet cloth against the hollow of Luciana’s throat and stands. “I will bring food back as well.”
“Thank you, dear Sera.” Luciana closes her eyes as the forger ducked out of the tent.
***Ahraan (Wound)***
Elisdriel woke to damp, cool air, and two familiar moons filling the sky above him. Thick clouds travel across the sky in the opposite direction of he cart that carried the injured young man through the marsh. He was wrapped in furs, and beneath that, his clothes had been cut away so that his many wounds could be bandaged, leaving him only in his under clothes. Behind the cart, was an unfamiliar Argonian, who was manipulating a pulsing blue light over a lump of iron ore.
“You’re awake, a good sign.” The lizard said, not looking away from his task. His long tongue flicked out in to the air. “The worst of your wounds have closed or at least stopped bleeding.”
“Who are you?” Elis asked, head heavy and memory foggy.
“Milos An-Ra, I’m the one who saved your life in Helgen.” The purple scaled beast looked up from the ore finally, as it turned from iron to silver. “I would be more surprised if you’d remembered.”
Elis tried to sit up, but could only just lift his head. “Where are we?”
“Hjaalmarch,” Milos informed, tucking the silver ore in to his pocket. “My home is not far.”
“Your home?”
“Where else would I take you, silly boy?” The Argonian said easily. “How do you feel?” He asked, jumping in to the cart with a careful grace. Elisdriel’s brow furrowed as he took stock of himself. Aches and sharp pains filled most of his body, yet none of the blinding agony he’d felt just days before filled his body.
“Not dead,” He decided to answer, and Milos made a positive hum and pulled away the furs with nimble hands. He poked at several different spots, gauging how Elisdriel reacted to them before settling back against the wall of the cart. “Why are you helping me? What’s your story?”
“I have no story.” Milos replied. “Just like you no longer have a story.”
“What in Oblivion does that mean?” Elis asked.
“Your Uncle will try to kill you, if he learns that you still draw breath, so you can no longer be you.” The purple scaled male told the halfling seriously. “You hold claim to his throne, and are thus a threat to him.”
“I do not want his throne.” Elisdriel spat.
“And should the Empire learn of your blood, they too would want you dead.” Milos continued, unphased.
“They killed my mother.”
“They have killed many mothers,” Milos said sagely, and looked down at the man, barely more than a boy really. “And they will kill many more before this war has ended.” Elis puffed up like an angry cat at the Argonian’s words, bared his pointed teeth, but then, slowly deflated, looking away as his eyes welled with tears.
“I do not know what I am supposed to do.” Elisdriel said softly, clutching the furs tighter around his body.
“I will help you,” Milos said after several minutes. Elis looked up at him, but the Argonian was looking away, his eyes unfocused and distant.