[M] Skyrim: Rise of the Stormcloaks

[Daniel_Darkholm]

All was silent in the Blue Palace as the Stormcloak captain held the Lady Elisif hostage on her throne, nobody daring to do a damn thing. It was practically empty in the great hall... Except it wasn't.

While everything was going on, nobody had noticed the tall, blond haired Breton knight dressed in the uniform of a Stormcloak, his face hidden by the typical helmet worn by most soldiers in Ulfric's army. Liam had been eyeing the captain in absolute fury, his hand clenched around the pale milky white blade known as Duty hanging on his belt so hard that his knuckles turned white as he stood directly behind the guard captain holding his employer hostage. "Come on, turn around... It only takes one quick move to screw up, you Talos worshipping bastard..."

------------------------
Twenty minutes earlier

"By Akatosh you're a heavy fucker... Now, time to get in disguise." Liam was surprisingly calm considering everything that was happening at the time - Stormcloaks in the streets, people being killed and the Lady Elisif being trapped in the palace with Ulfric's boys. Deciding that he'd instantly be recognised if he simply walked into the Blue Palace, the Breton came up with a plan to try to save the courtiers of the Palace. As a result, he had knocked out the first lone Stormcloak he had seen and dragged the man to the basement where he had been hiding to change into the mans garb.

Putting the mans uniform on and hiding his distinctive blonde locks, Liam headed upstairsto the throne room upstairs and knocked another guard unconscious before seeing the scene laid before him - a guard holding the lady Elisif hostage with a sword at her neck. "Not on my watch. Not while I fucking breath." Heading up the staircase, the young knight placed himself directly behind the officer and waited for an opportunity.

------------------------

The look of fear on the captains face when speaking to the Dark Elfs face was one Liam smiled at, sensing that his opportunity to strike was closing in. Slowly, Duty began to slide out of its leather sheath, the blade silently coming out of its scabbard before resting at its wielders side as the Knight of Solitude removed his helmet to reveal his face to the Jarl and get companions.

"Now or never..." With a rapid movement, Liam struck the man across his sword arm with Duty, sending it tumbling to the ground, dagger and all. As the mans screams echoed through the hall, the young knight followed up his second swing with a quick thrust to the throat, burying itself in the mans larynx and leaving him choking on his own blood. As the man died, Liam quickly went over to the Jarl and carefully held her by the shoulder, almost tenderly. "Your ladyship, are you alright? He can't hurt you now. Find somewhere safe while these bastards are dealt with, please." He proceeded to turn to the Dark Elf in the corner and nodded to her thankfully. "Thank you for the distraction - without it I never would have been able to get the captain. Please, see to it that Lady Elisif is safe while I hold the stairs for reinforcements to arrive?"

[Fox Xalian]

Ali looked slightly annoyed at being ordered around by this complete stranger. "Yeah, you're right without me clearing out downstairs with a Frenzy spell the group that was hired to do this would've had a harder time too" she said. "And who the hell do you think you are anyway, giving me or-ders?" she snapped at him, checking the dead Stormcloak captain. "Great now we can't get any info from him...." she added. "Not entirely true" Sybille said, holding up a black soul gem, smirking. "Boethia's will, you soul trapped him!" Ali said excitedly. "I can heal the body if you can find a way to put his soul back in" the first mate of the ship said, running over from where her and Raven had been hiding, waiting for their moment to strike at the Stormcloak captain. "And you are?" Ali asked, looking at the high elf woman. "Alendria, first mate to Swims-through-Ice, and friend of Lucine and her sisters" Alendria replied. "Ah, nice to meet you" Ali said. Alendria used a healing spell to heal the wounds on the Stormcloak captain and Ali grabbed the black soul gem.

A few seconds later Lucine, Amber, Adra and the rest of the team came through the door, only to find Ali, Alendria and Liam standing over the dead captain. "Okay what the hell happened here? And who the hell is this?!" Lucine said, raising the visor of her helmet. "He's the reason the captain is dead, and we don't even know who he is, but he's been throwing orders around like he's Elisif's lover or something" Ali said. Lucine simply put her sword back in it's scabbard, rested her shield against the banister of the stairs and walked up to Jarl Elisif, helping her up. "M'lady, we were sent by Raven to protect you" Lucine said, bowing slightly. "I am Lucine Starseer, Knight General of the newly formed Solitude Vanguard, and oldest daughter of House Starseer, a noble house from along the High Rock-Hammerfell border, and formerly the northern parts of Valenwood. My companions are Adra'liana and Amber-Lee Starseer, my own sisters, Ali'andra Drel, ashkhan of the New Zainib ashlander camp, and Starkad Long-Fang" she said. "When she says oldest, she means by 10 and 30 minutes, since we're triplets" Adra said.

Amber and Ali were busy discussing how to get the soul back into the Stormcloak captain, and after a few minutes they saw to the body being removed and helped with the clean-up, and the repairs to the doors that had been unrelentingly forced off their hinges during the battle. Lucine stood guard near Elisif, her helmet removed and sitting on a table near her where her shield sat. Amber walked over to Starkad. "Come on, let's go fetch Mara" she said.

[Rayne7]

Talon eyed the Knight, annoyed with his arrogance. "It wasn't a distraction. It was the truth; there was a plan in motion, and your actions nearly made it worthless. And for that, I nearly feel sorry for you."

Wraith stood, his ice-like eyes at odds with the searing white-hot anger that coursed through his veins, belied only by his hands flexing on the handles of his weapons. Looking across the room at the young knight that had stolen a kill meant to be his own, he couldn't stop himself from twirling his dagger between his fingers, releasing his agitated energy. A Knight, huh? He could've gotten Elisif killed! he thought as he began walking towards him, ignoring the protective guards who'd surrounded Elisif after the Stormcloak Captain's death. Sheathing his sword as he reached the young man, he back-handed the youth furiously, causing the guards to draw their weapons.

"Shit." Talon said, drawing her own weapons in her master's defense. "Nobody make a move!" she shouted at the guards, hoping her position granted to her by Elisif would make them obey.

"You stupid, ignorant pup! What were you thinking?!" Wraith asked with a low tone, his face inches away. "Your actions could've killed her! Did you think this was a game? A chance to prove your worth? Because if so, you've only proven that your own arrogance is worth more than your oath to protect your own liege!"

Turning away without giving the man a chance to respond, the Assassin stalked over to the mages currently discussing resurrecting the Stormcloak Captain. Taking a moment to listen, he waited for a chance to speak. "Can this actually be done?" he asked, tempering his fury to ask them calmly.

[StormWolf]

While their little incursion was not particularly surgical in its execution, the shock and awe of such a sudden and violent assault on one of the most fortified structure in the Hold seemed to have caught the guard with their breeches about their ankles and their cocks in their hands, metaphorically or otherwise. In the wake of the assault, Starkad sat atop the stairway to the grand hall, a sullen eye drinking in his handiwork.

Starkad kept reliving the moment his Shout tore through the air like a clap of thunder, making his own ears ring. He recalled with crystalline clarity how the iron-banded doors of the Blue Palace became pliant as virgin flesh; bending, moaning, screaming, and ultimately opening against the overwhelming force of undeniable entry. Now cooling, the palace guards lay dashed against the carved stairs of the palace foyer in congealing black pools of their own making. Like Starkad, they all wore their storm-cloaks, and like Starkad, the blue was black with the price of slaughter. Sitting atop the polished granite steps, Starkad gazed down upon them all – like so many broken jugs of wine. Etched upon their skin, Starkad saw honorific tattoos, bragging deed and service. He counted at least three served beside Starkad in the war, making them shield-brothers. Yet, Starkad remembered not their names, hardly even their faces. He saw only the hyena-grins of the five sardonic, demoniac phantoms that invaded his home and did what they did. It was a broad brush of inhuman hatred with which Starkad painted the rest of the Stormcloaks thereafter, and it wasn't until Long-Fang tasted blood again that he truly felt that hellish fire in his veins, a rage that burned away pain and doubt and fear. Stronger the skooma and more bitter than the Sea of Ghosts.

On his hither side, Starkad heard his name invoked. Breaking from his grim reverie, the Nord ceased the absent cleansing of the watered steel to behold Amber, the mighty sorcerer. Faintly, a smile flickered on his bloodied lips, and Starkad nodded. Returning Long-Fang to its scabbard, Starkad slung it over his back on its baldric of braided leather. Grunting tightly as he stood, Starkad winced at the encroaching phantom pains that his waning fury could no longer subdue.

"Aye, though I would wash myself, first and foremost. I do not wish for my daughter to see me in such a way," said Starkad in a low rasp, descending the stairs with a limp he surely did not begin his day with. "I am sure Elisif can forgive the use of the royal baths, aye?" Chuckled the bloodied reaver.

[lain]

Aura followed the sisters and the others inside the palace, climbing over many a corpse to do so. She grimaced and held her nose-- the smell of blood too strong for her senses. She nearly gagged several times. Perhaps she wasn't cut out for this kind of thing.

Standing near the throne, the fancy lady that they were apparently hired to protect had a sword to her throat. Then there was bickering. Then, out of nowhere, a seemingly brave soul stepped up and slayed the captor, freeing Elisif. Oddly, everyone didn't seem to happy with this outcome, and the young man got yelled at by several of her new 'friends'. He was only trying to help, she figured. She gave a slightly sorrowful look to the young man, but said nothing.

---

Elisif staggered and held her neck as the man was probably sent to Oblivion. She was obviously shaken, but was trying to conceal it. A small amount of comfort rushed over her when Liam touched her shoulder, however, and she stood up straight, catching her breath. Before she could say a word, he was reprimanded by the Dark Elf that had taken a job from Falk.

"How dare you speak that way to one of my appointed knights! I've never even seen you in Solitude before and you dare come into my palace and speak such things? Even if you were the only reason I am alive right now, it gives you no right to disrespect my knight, and thus, my authority."

No longer did she finish speaking than did someone familiar walk up to Liam and back hand him while growling at him more with more insults. When she thought a moment, she recognized the voice of the man that had previously identified himself as Wraith. Anger began to burn inside of her as well, and her tone was curt, "He had no way of knowing what was going on. All he knew was that I was in danger and he wanted that to end. He had no way of knowing about your convoluted plan-- whatever it was or is. Please, restrain yourself or I will have to take unfortunate actions."

Elisif watched and listened to the mages talking about some kind of soul binding. She sighed and held her forehead, "Please take that somewhere other than my throne room. And, guards," She looked to the few remaining Solitude guards, "Please begin cleaning this mess. Someone send word that my trip to Windhelm is delayed-- or even cancelled. I'm not sure right now."

"All of those who had to do with my rescue, I thank you. Please, make use of anything in the palace..." She looked past the others and noticed a burly, one eyed, Nord man covered in crusted and dripping blood, "The baths as well. I just hope we can clean them well enough when you are done." Elisif sat down on her throne and tried to calm herself. Something about the Nord man was oddly familiar. She could have sworn she had seen him somewhere before, but it was hard to tell from the massacre that covered him from head to toe.

[Fox Xalian]

Ali simply walked out of the palace, going to where her and Amber had agreed would be a good spot, considering the dungeons were now out of the question with Elisif seemingly hating everyone except Liam. Maybe it would be better if I went home she thought.

Lucine and Adra simply stayed quiet and, after making sure no more Stormcloaks were coming through the front door they returned to the Winking Skeever where thier cart was parked. "I think it would be best if we delayed in that message to our parents, not sure if soldiers from House Starseer would be appreciated right now" Lucine said. Adra nodded, it was unfortunate too, they would've bolstered security quite easily.

"I think we should head for the public bathhouse instead" Amber said, leading Starkad out the door and to the bathhouse. After they entered the empty building Amber removed her armour and the mages robe she wore under it, as well as her undergarments. Her ample bosom bouncing a bit as she skipped to the bath and climbed in. "Oh that is so nice" she sighed contently, the warm water washing over her. "This sure beats heating water in a metal tub after collecting it from the river" she said, smiling at Starkad.

[StormWolf]

Standing with shoulders stooped by fatigue, Starkad remained all but deaf to the chattering of the Jarl and her would-be rescuers. Perhaps with how things unfolded, the Jarl may not feel obligated to answer any boons or favors called upon by Starkad and his present company. Rearing his lion head, his flaxen mane now a matted tangle of rusty brown, Starkad tossed a one-eyed leer to Elisif, one that she seemed to feel. He saw how her spine went rigid, and her furtive gaze resting on him the way a doe watches the shadowed growth where the saber cat surely prowled. Smiling sardonically to the ghostly pallor that took Elisif's lily-white complexion, Starkad turned his back to the ruler of Solitude and limped stiffly after Amber.

Already, loyalists were clearing the corpses from the streets, doing their best to wash away blood and viscera before any maledict or disease could propagate among the dead. Street stalls were left abandoned, from which Starkad liberated several jugs of wine. Might as well, otherwise some lowlife looter might raid them. Shouldering his way through the door to the bathhouse, the lumbering Nord found a carved stone bench upon which he could set his burdens down. From behind him, Starkad could hear the shuffling of Amber's armor and clothing as they were cast off, the soft slapping of naked feet against wet tiles, and the soft washing of a body in the water.

Flushing at the cheeks, Starkad fumbled with the clasps of his cloak and armor, piling them high on the stone bench. His broad back was still facing Amber as she lounged and cooed from the steaming waters. Pale scars and twisting tattoos sprawled across the massive shelves of steel sinew, his thickly-wrought limbs bearing the strength of tigers. Dropping his loincloth lastly, Starkad came to the realization that this was the first time he had been bare-backed with a woman since his wife was so wickedly taken from him. It had been so long ago, but Starkad still felt some measure of nibbling guilt, as if his late wife's ghost would curse him for being unfaithful to her memory. Taking a deep breath, Starkad's whole backside seemed to twitch, from his bullish neck to the firm shape of his buttocks. His hackles prickled at the eyes he felt lingering on him as he turned. Starkad's broad and hirsute chest rose and fell with a sigh as he approached the bath. He was a beautiful display of a Nord's raw barbarism. The sprawling hair of his torso reminiscent of a tree in shape – its boughs spreading over his chest, its trunk running the length of his stomach, with virile roots exactly where one would expect them, swaying softly with his staggering step.

Slowly, Starkad lowered himself gradually into the steamed waters of the bath, situated across from Amber. Scores of wounds suddenly flared with scarlet pain as they were submerged, their presence made suddenly known to the exhausted titan. His complexion was splotchy with blossoming bruises on his chest, shoulders, arms, back, and head. His eye winced nearly shut, a low groan escaping Starkad's split lips as he slowly submerged himself beneath the waters. There he lingered for several long moments, the grime and filth of the battle from his scalp and hide.

Rising with a low gasp, the Nord shook out his mane and scrubbed flecks of water from his beard. Standing in water neigh waist deep as he stood, Starkad knew it did little to conceal anything for either of them. With a warm smile, Starkad snatched up two of the wine jugs he had procured. Prying the cork from them with his teeth, the Nord took a mighty quaff from one. Crossing the breadth of the bath, he extended the other jug of dark green blown glass to the ruddy-skinned Breton woman,

"Drink with me to the victory of the day, to the honor of the fallen, and for the sweeter things to come," quoth Starkad, his expression, in that moment, softer than Amber had likely seen Starkad afford any but Mara before.

[Daniel_Darkholm]

"Who in Pelinal's name... Did that bastard just hit me for saving Jarl Elisif? Hmph."

Still reeling from the backhanded blow from the gruff looking man, Liam steadily got back to his feet and took a deep breath, mostly to calm himself down slightly and prevent him from throwing a strike of his own - then he saw the worry and concern in Elisif's eyes at his injury and the young Breton felt immediately at ease. "Erm, if there's nothing else my lady wishes of me, I would beg leave to get this looked at - it seems to be impairing my vision slightly." Turning his back and slowly walking a few paces, Liam turned round and bowed his head apologetically to his liege lady. "I am sorry if my actions out you at further risk my lady. However as your sworn sword it is my duty to end all threats to your person in the easiest manner possible and i did just that... I hope you don't let my impulsive and idiotic actions affect your perception of me.". With that, the Knight of Solitude headed off towards the bathouse, mostly to try and clean the surprisingly bloody cut above his left eyebrow from the savage strike dealt to him by the large Nordic man.

Striding out of the palace at a slow pace, Liam ran a hand through his long blond locks and sighed a relieved breath of air - the Jarl had been saved from harm, albeit in a potentially disastrous manner. Entering the bath house with a tired, weary expression on his face, the Breton slowly began to remove his armor by removing the straps on breastplate and then taking off the boots, greaves and gauntlets that had protected him from harm that day, the scratches and dents on the plate mail telling many a new story.

He looked quite a sight in that room, face covered in blood and dirt. Looking in the adjacent mirror at the end of the room, the knight couldn't help but think he needed a bit of rest and recuperation: His beard was slowly starting to grow though it was surprisingly uncommon for the natives of High Rock to grow large beards anyways. His long blonde locks were almost dyed black from the spot, grime and smoke from the days events and lad had joked that maybe he needed to get a haircut lest it become such a hassle as it were. With a small smirk, the young warrior walked into the baths and immediately averted his eyes with a look of embarrassment upon seeing a number of nude people bathing. "Well... This is... Erm, awk-awkward..."

With a few quick steps, the lad hopped into one of the springs and immediately felt his muscles relax as the warm water soaked into his lean, strong muscles. Cupping some of the water in his hands, the boy felt almost child like as he splashed the water upon his face, the dried blood and dirt on his cheeks and eyebrows slowly running off his face and into the steam filled baths before he dunked his entire head in. Before long, he was singing a tune he had picked up from his time at court, a favourite of his that the bards would play.

"Our hero, our hero
Claims a warrior's heart
I tell you, I tell you
The Dragonborn comes

With a Voice wielding power
Of the ancient Nord art
Believe, believe,
The Dragonborn comes

It's an end to the evil
Of all Skyrim's foes
Beware, beware
The Dragonborn comes

For the darkness has passed
And the legend yet grows
You'll know, you'll know
The Dragonborn's come"

And with that, the Bretonnian knight close his eyes and smiled slightly, quietly wishing for a class of wine... He did have an eventful evening after all.

[Rayne7]

Wraith eyed Jarl Elisif with something akin to amusement at her threat. The fact that she had the nerve to threaten him even with the term 'unfortunate action' was laughable; she'd need to learn to become a terrible menace when threatening others if she ever wanted to earn the respect of her warriors. Kindness and caring only went so far; being willing to visit violence on those who would harm her own people, and doing so with, if not passion, then an ice-like indifference would create fear among her enemies, and respect from all warriors on both sides. With a shake of his head, the Assassin heard the retreating footsteps of his comrades, leaving himself, the Jarl, Talon, Aura, Sybille, and the palace guards in the room.

"A Knight as well trained as he's supposed to be should limit risk, not increase it. A dagger thrust through the base of the skull, severing the spine would've killed your captor immediately, without risking the knife at your throat cutting or stabbing you because his sword might not have struck the arm in just the right way." Wraith said, looking at the Jarl meaningfully. "I believe my actions were restrained plenty." he added, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his axe, remembering wanting to cleave the man's skull.

Talon cleared her throat, looking to him. "It was not your place to reprimand him, be that as it may." she offered, ignoring his derisive snort. "He acted as he thought was best, foolish though it may have been."

Wraith shook his head, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, slowing his heartbeat until he was calm before addressing Elisif again. "So long as you're safe, that's all that matters." he said, carefully eyeing the Jarl, noting her disquiet from the ordeal.

Talon poured a goblet of wine, bringing it to Elisif. "Here, you look like you could use this." she said, standing beside the Jarl in her position as an adviser.

---

Elisif furrowed her brows, watching after Liam as he excused himself. She had almost expected him to retaliate, but as it seemed, he knew better. Nothing good would have come from it.

"Gods, you are arrogant," Elisif pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on, "I'm grateful that my knight didn't retaliate because I doubt you would have resisted slicing him to bits." She stepped closer to him, swallowing any fear that had remained from the previous events, "Perhaps I don't fully understand what you are capable of. Perhaps I made a mistake in seeking you out. Perhaps you will save my life, but kill the rest of my men in the process on a whim. Perhaps my knight acted impulsively, but you can't say that you did not just act the same way in assaulting him."

Try as she may to intimidate him with an icy stare inches from his nose, no doubt he found it laughable. With a huff, she backed off, turning to sit on her throne.

"Talon is right in that it was not your place to act like that. Please don't ever do anything like that again," She sighed, completely exasperated with everything. It was then that Talon offered her a drink-- which she very much wanted to take. She began to reach for it, but then stopped herself, remembering her unborn, "Perhaps that is not a good idea," she said, then resting her head in her palm.

What had she gotten herself into? This was ridiculous. Then again, her life was falling under the category of ridiculous at the moment. This man... he was infuriating. Just standing there with a smug look like he owned her. How dare he.

"Talon, would you be so kind as to draw me a bath in my private bathhouse?" She asked, a sigh still on her voice as she spoke.

Aura stood back, watching intently at the situation unfolding. Raven was getting chewed out after smacking the pretty blonde man. This woman... 'Elisif' was very angry and seeing Raven getting scolded by her was...

Hilarious. She laughed, trying to cover her mouth to obstruct the noise.
"Nice going." Aura smirked, walking up to Raven and elbowing him in the ribs gently, "You deserved that."

"But, all other plans went well," She shrugged with a smug expression,
"That is what matter, yes?"

At this, she took it upon herself to introduce herself to the Jarl,"I am called Aura. Archer and frost mage. This man asked me to help."

Elisif nodded to the strange looking elf. She figured she had to be some kind of oddly skinned Altmer, "Yes, thank you for you assistance. Please, make yourself at home. You may use the bathhouse for my staff if you wish to refresh yourself."

"Thank you, Jarrlll..." She struggled with the term, but managed to spit it out, "I will."

With a slight bow, she took the direction that the knight had gone, figuring that he had gone to the place Elisif had mentioned. Seeing steam coming from under a door, she opened it and was greeted by the sight of several nude people-- one of them being the knight. Was there no separate room for women? It was all the same?

She covered her eyes with her arm, unsure of how to proceed. Slowly, she peeked beyond her arm. Really, she could see nothing deemed inappropriate since most of the people were at least waist deep in the water.

She stepped behind a pillar and began to take her robes off, then covering her breasts with her arms as she stepped into the water, the knight from earlier now singing some tune that mentioned the Dragonborn. She sunk down to her nose in the water, trying to forget about how thinking about the Dragonborn made her feel.

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Talon softened, noting the worry that tugged at the corners of Elisif's eyes. She touched her shoulder gently, looking to Wraith with apprehension. "Of course my Jarl, and I'll prepare a tea for you as well." she said, leaving to her duties.

Wraith's eyes flashed, bemused as he was by her words. "You're right. You don't know me, nor what I'm capable of. And that's the only reason I'll forgive your accusation. Slapping him wasn't merely an impulse. It was a lesson, one that will serve as a reminder in the future that he should consider his options far more carefully, though you are right in that any retaliation and I'd have cut him to ribbons."

Folding his arms over his chest, he paused as a thought struck him, then shook his head. "A Raven sees some large prey in the distance, and begins circling. The wolf, seeing the Raven, follows it to the prey. After killing it's prey, the wolf feasts, and perhaps proceeds to carry what meat it can from the carcass. Then the Raven appears, and feasts upon the remains. That is the relationship between the two. And that is the relationship I offer you. I will lead you to your enemies, mark them and act as the Omen of death. Your warriors is your pack, and they will kill your enemies, and together we will all feast."

"You don't have to like me, nor my methods. All you have to do is remember, so long as our bargain is made, I will sacrifice everything to see it through. Am I arrogant?" he shrugged. "Perhaps, but that is a right I have earned over the years doing things you could never dream of. But so long as I'm alive, you can be assured that I will protect you, or should I fail in that, avenge you."

Shifting, he stared her in the eyes. "I won't bow to you, nor any other. Nor will I swear to become your vessel, like some fool Knight. But I give you my word, that neither I nor those who serve me will bring you harm unless you betray me."

---

Elisif listened to his illustration with a quirked brow-- then shaking her head, "You forget that this isn't only about killing enemies. This is for Skyrim. 'Feasting on enemies' is... the term is 'icing', I suppose. This is bigger than you or me. Or anyone. This is a nation! I only ask that you not forget that." Elisif stood, done with this exchange, "Unless you need anything else," her tone dripped with sarcasm, "You are dismissed. Feast."

She exited the throne room and went into her bath house, shedding her clothes and handing them to a maidservant the moment she stepped inside and exposing her slightly pregnant stomach. The relaxing steam filled her nostrils and then her lungs, giving her a much needed sense of calm. Her smooth porcelain skin reddened slightly as she submerged herself in the bath, feeling the events of the day melt away. Surely, nothing could disturb her peace.

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Wraith sighed as the Jarl left, rubbing his temples as he considered recent events. Nothing had gone according to plan, and it seemed the Gods themselves were against him. He chuckled as he considered it, shaking his head. As a son of Sithis, what else could he expect? Turning, he left the Palace and went to the Bath-house, where he went into one of the private rooms where he could be by himself. Undressing, the half-breed assassin folded his clothes carefully and set one of his daggers into their folds, placing them near enough to the water that he could reach. Stepping into the water, he dove under the surface before rising again, pulling his hair back from his eyes as he thought about his exchange with Elisif, grinning at the thought of the woman trying to intimidate him.

With a shake of his head, he thought about their plans for the future even as he continued washing himself. He needed to consolidate his place at Elisif's side, and in spite of the killing of the Stormcloak Captain, she seemed to now distrust him more than ever. Her lack of understanding the danger in her fool Knight's actions, combined with her compassion, compounded her need to protect the warrior as well as his image. Of course, once her training began, she might come to understand the need for efficiency in such things. But that would come later, and for now he needed to repair things to earn her trust. Women, he thought, shaking his head. ​They always complicate things.

[Imperial1917]

Wary eyes looked up to watch the young Templar as he rode past where their owners stooped over some bit of rubble or, more often, a motionless body. He ran his gaze over them, dissuading would-be challengers and assuring others that he meant no trouble. Both looked away quickly.

Solitude smelled of blood and piss. Whatever enchantment might have had it smell of roses as in the old songs were long since broken; the mages who cast them long since dead, or fled. There were only men of Men in the streets; there were neither women nor children to be seen. Those that remained went about their tasks quickly and as quietly as they could manage. It was clear that there had been trouble recently. Blood stained the center of streets, the corners of blocks, and the feet of watchtowers, all places where guards would have stood. Black and grey cloth stained darker than night covered uneven piles on carts or, more often, on the street; men sat sorting through piles of mail hauberks and greaves, swords and axes, cutting Stormcloak sigils from the cloth that surrounded them. A handful watched over the grim operation, clearly little more than peasants in stolen wargear. Merchants sifted through their broken wares, searching for what could be salvaged and making stock of what had been stolen. Only a few others dared to walk the open streets, clearly the victors of the struggle. Even the innocent hid when victors paraded.

Isus was the only man ahorse; there were no other horses that he could see, save one daft and his own. It seemed a small wonder now that he had seen so many in flight along the road from the gates upon every kind of steed, dapper and warhorse alike. He had seen fewer of the poor: that would come in the days that followed if it did at all, for the war had left many with little to flee with and fewer places to hide out the return of the storm of war. Kings and queens spoke of divine rights; peasants just prayed for rain and healthy children. Not Men nor Mer nor Beast could carry the righteousness of the Divines in their claims. He could feel the envious eyes of the men in the streets. Violence was part of the most primal nature of Men, alongside greed. When let loose, they often flew together. A heady mixture of bloodlust and avarice hung in the air, coated over with the poor perfume of the justice of mortals. It stank.

As he turned along the path to the Blue Palace, shouts drew his attention. Few merchants would brave such circumstances, even among war profiteers. By now, most of those brave enough to be about had cleared up what they deemed the essentials and fled for safer places. Most, but not all. One such unfortunate was not being prepared to pay for that mistake with his life. Isus could not see him, but his cries of pain filled a small square where broken and abandoned stalls stood. Shattered wine bottles surrounded what the Templar presumed was the merchant’s stall. All about him was a group of men who had gathered to vent their anger. He lay beneath their boots now, suffering the full measure of their wrath. “Traitor!” cried one. “Stormcloak filth!” declared another. Any protests the man might have made under better circumstances were replaced by his howls of pain.

Taking his horse’s reins more firmly in hand, Isus shouted and spurred the animal forward at a rapid pace. The warhorse brought him into their midst, separating the merchant from his abusers. Retreating a few paces, they regarded the newcomer with bloodshot eyes behind which their primal drive to draw their weapons and cut him down warred with a deeper instinct that cautioned them. One of them stepped forward, his mail hauberk rustling as he did. “Go on, Imperial,” he said, waving a hand, “This had nothing to do with you. Let us finish with this traitor and be done with it. Solitude will be better for his death!” Isus said nothing, merely holding the man’s gaze. Emboldened by his silence, the remaining three men edged forward. “Get out of the way!” one said, reaching for his holstered axe. Sliding his sword from its scabbard in one smooth motion, Isus brought it into a ready position. At this, the assailants paused.

These were no soldiers. Isus could see that. They were dirty, ill-kept, and did not carry themselves like soldiers. The armor they wore was not theirs, but clearly looted from the fallen Stormcloaks. Desperation backlit the rage in their eyes. The war, the sacking of Solitude by the Stormcloak army, would have left few real soldiers and these were none of those. They were out of their depth and knew it, trapped between sheltering in the madness of unrestrained violence and the inevitable grief that accompanies the first murders men make. Isus could tell all of this with a glance. The men gripped the hilt of their weapons with unsteady hands made for tailors and smiths. They would break easily. Leveling his sword, Isus intoned with all the voice of the Emperor and a servant of the Divines, “By the Rule of Akatosh, the Mercy of Stendarr, and the Balance of Zenithar, begone! In the Name of Talos, begone!” Unsteadied by the sudden appearance of an armored Knight whose skill and experience far exceeded their own, the men turned and fled, though the leader cast a venomous look over his retreating back.

When they had gone, Isus sheathed his sword with a sigh that was cut short by a nearby cry belonging to a feminine source. With a turn of his head, Isus took in a small girl emerging from behind the abandoned merchant stall, trailed by a woman with an outstretched arm and eyes filled with fear calling, “Tanya!” His gaze followed the girl to the man’s side. Dismounting, Isus stood beside the girl as she knelt and grabbed the wounded merchant’s hand, tears running down her face freely. Then the woman was there as well, kneeling beside him. The man was clearly close to death. As he looked on, shame made Isus want to shut his eyes, to turn away. Had he been a master of Restoration, he might have saved the merchant. But he was not more than a journeyman and only a master could save this man. He would die because Isus was not strong enough.

“Maria,” coughed the man, reaching out and touching her cheek.
“Tobias,” said Maria, “How could this be? We worked so hard since the war, survived all this... How could the Divines be so cruel? Is this Talos’ punishment?”
“Shh,” he replied, “Do not say such things. The Gods have been good to us. We must have... have faith.” Turning to the girl, he said, “Take good care of your mother, Tanya, for your father. It... it is just the two of you now.”
Choking, Tanya said, “Yes, father.”
“Tobias, you can’t go!” cried Maria, laying her head down on his chest, “I...”
“Shh, Maria.” soothed the man. “Only the Gods can decide when that time comes. And that time has come for me. Pray, fetch me a priest.”
“Who?” she sobbed, “What priest is there to be had in Solitude now after the Stormcloaks...”
Striding forward, Isus knelt next to the dying man. “I am ordained in the eyes of the Divines.” His voice caught in his throat for a moment, then he continued, “If you are prepared, I will administer your last rites.”
The man chuckled wetly, blood spattering his tunic. “They have been good to me: they gave me a moment more with my family and sent me a priest when my time came. Thank you, Templar.” His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “I am ready.” Turning to the two women, for surely now the young might be considered among the old, Isus said, “Please step back. The last rites are only for the priests, the dying, and the dead.” Maria looked back at him with empty eyes. “We are all dying,” she replied. But she wrapped her arms around her daughter and moved her away. As this was done, Isus saw that a crowd had gathered.

Turning back to the man, Isus leaned in so that only they and the Gods could hear, and intoned the last rites. When he was finished he said, “It is done. You can rest now.” He made to pull away, but the man grabbed his arm with a strength that belied his state and pulled him closer. The merchant’s eyes glazed over and when he spoke it was not with his voice, but with the voice of many, as a choir from beyond. “Isus Makarus, Knight-Templar of the Divines, hear us.” Entranced, Isus heard them. When it was over, the glaze left Tobias’ eyes.

Standing, Isus looked around at the gathered crowd, knowing that they only guessed that the rites had just ended and knew no more than that: perhaps it was better that way. He climbed atop his horse once more, but before he could set out, he heard Maria’s voice again. Looking down, he found her gazing back up at him, eyes filled with grief and pain. Tanya stood beside her. The widow’s lower lip trembled as she said, “Justice, Templar, justice.” He heard the crowd echo the word. “I beg of you,” repeated Maria, “Justice.”
“What justice would you have?” asked Isus solemnly.
“These men who killed my husband.” she replied, desperation in her eyes.
He paused, and then said, “As the Divines will it, so I obey.”
“And another.”
“Another?”
“We are poor, Templar. We have nothing. When the war came, it took everything we had. But then things got better for a while. We made a little money and Tobias put it into wine to sell. But then this madness, just when we though the war was over. And a man, a Nord, took what we had left; the few bottles that we had left. The thugs wanted wine we didn’t have, so they tried to take Tanya and Tobias tried to stop them.” Tears rand down her face. They were the first Isus had seen her weep since they met. “If that man had not taken the wine, maybe Tobias could have placated them; we might have been able to recover from this. Now Tobias is dead and we have nothing.” She fell to her knees and grabbed Isus’ greave. Through tears she cried, “I beg of you, Templar, justice for my husband; justice for my family!”

Raising his head, Isus looked to were the sun fell upon the Blue Palace and back down to the woman, then to Tanya where she stood a few feet away from the exchange. She looked back at him with piercing eyes. There he saw no grief. The tears the young woman had shed were now dry. He had seen the look she gave him now. Many times. He knew that it had once filled his own eyes. Looking back down at Maria, he said, “The Divines will it and I am their servant.”
“Thank you, Templar, thank you.” said Maria, her voice breaking. “The Divines go with you.”
“Always, Maria,” he replied, adjusting his reins, “always.” Heeling his horse, he set it to a trot, and then stopped it next to Tanya. She looked at him with those eyes and he leaned down to speak in her ear where only they and the Gods could hear. “When that day comes, go to Ebonheart and call upon the Divines at their altars in the garrison chapel. They will hear you.” Finished speaking, he looked in her eyes and beheld the nothingness there. But then, he had not expected to see anything. He leaned back.

Spurring his horse on, he made for the Blue Palace. Behind him, he heard Maria for the last time, her words echoing in the street and in his ears, “Remember Templar, justice!”