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@Dervish and I.
4th Second Seed, 4E208, outside the gates of Skingrad…It had been slow going on foot through the woods, the group spent several days roughing it in the forests, and through the fields with only each other for company, and not to mention the insufferable springtime insects. However, the journey wasn’t entirely without charm as fireflies and the rare Will O’ Wisp illuminated the night skies, the weather had proven to be quite mild. By the time they managed to reach the road heading towards Skingrad, it was almost easy to forget that the Dwemer had forced them out of the city, and why they were on the road to make for a distant city. A wagon happened upon the group early one morning, the driver and his wife, along with their daughter made a simple and effective offer; the group wouldn’t have to walk if they would keep them safe for the remainder of the trip. And so, exhausted and probably filthy, the group climbed aboard among the supplies and for many, immediately collapsed into sleep.
The distinctive towering walls, and steepled roofs of Skingrad came into sight two days later in the midmorning. The air was chilled, and drifting gray clouds hinted at an early morning rainstorm. Outside the walls stood a veritable tent city; a great number of Imperial City refugees had fled from the attack, finding their way to the city, just as the group had done, and yet, it would seem that all newcomers were denied entry. Leaving the remainder of the company behind, Rhea, Daro’Vasora and Brynja took it upon themselves to uncover the reason behind it all. The tent city proved a mangled, writhing mass of chaos; babies cried, children clung to their parents, and the adults were grim faced. There was little order amongst the refugees, save for the new muddied paths emerging from that morning’s rainstorm. All three were footsore, and in need of a hot bath, the cries of distraught children did little to soothe Brynja’s frayed nerves. Rhea led the way through the masses, sparing sympathetic glances at mothers comforting their children. These people were terrified. Plain and simple.
Stopping to speak with some of the refugees, Rhea discerned that they all had arrived, more or less, within the past couple days, and only two days ago, the gates to the city closed, denying entry to those seeking refuge. Many city residents that ended up in Skingrad were uncertain of their livelihoods, where would they go from here, and just who exactly were those in the airships? Asides from that, Rhea and the others were able to glean little information from them, and decided to find someone in charge to speak with, whether it was a city guard or even a city official.
On their way over to the main gate, a relatively short, and stocky Imperial man caught sight of the trio, and approached them with a wave of his hand, “Well look at you lot!” He called, slipping past two men looking rather upset after being turned away from the gate. Brynja’s hand traveled to the hilt of her sword as Rhea turned to address him. She could see that he was much older than her, perhaps a couple years past his fortieth name day. His scalp gleamed in the mid morning sun on account of baldness.
“Don’t suppose you’d be keen on joining our militia?” He asked, eyeing the three women before him.
“Militia?” Brynja responded, her brows knitted together.
“Aye, we’re the Colovian Rangers. Guard ain’t doing shit about what happened with the Imperial City, and I don’t think they quite believe these folks,” he swung his hand to indicate the refugees.
“Uh-huh. You sure you aren’t just trying to cull the population before they do something stupid like storm the walls before hunger sets in?” Daro’Vasora asked the man dryly. If he was frustrated or offended, he didn’t show it. The man had a resolve to him that even the Khajiit couldn’t dismiss off hand as a mindless dreamer.
“You’re a perceptive one, friend, but you’ve gotten the intention wrong.” He said, looking over to Brynja and offering a placating hand to gesture to keep her sword sheathed. His hand swept towards the encampment of people, the guards on the ramparts, and the growing sense of unease. “You don’t have a good chunk of the Capital’s population show up at your gates and let them in; there simply isn’t enough food or shelter for all of the people. Count Hassildor is a good man, even if he’s a vampire who’s been in office for hundreds of years, he looks after his people and he’s certainly trying to figure out how to deal with the thousands of people suddenly at the gates. I served in the Great War; I’ve seen what happens to people when they begin to starve, when no purpose guides them except for survival. So on that count, yes, I’m trying to get people away from here.” he smashed his fist into a palm, his gauntlet ringing with metal on metal. “I’m going to give them a purpose.”
“Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Brutus Denian, an associate of the Fighter’s Guild. It’s my duty to protect the populace, slay monsters, and eliminate potential threats that upset the balance of peace, and I’d like to think, taking the fight to a bunch of pompous bastards who came from the sky is in line with my duties, even if the good Count can’t spare his men to fight. So, with that mandate in mind, I’ve been looking for folks who look like they’re capable and haven’t been broken by these new invaders. There’s no pay as we’re a group of volunteers, but there’s always the glory. We’re going to find out where they’re weakest, and cut, and rip, and tear them apart. Stories of how Argonians repelled the Daedric invaders during the Oblivion Crisis tell an important lesson; it doesn’t matter how fierce and numerous your enemy, if you know your homeland and use it to your advantage, you can keep even the worst enemies at bay. If we can show we can hurt these invaders, well… it won’t be too hard to convince any of the Counts to lend a hand, will it?” Brutus grinned. He pointed to the North, where a series of tents apart from the others were being set up. “That’s where we’re assembling and arming up. I’d appreciate your arms and spirit, ladies, but I can understand if you aren’t eager to look for more trouble. But if you are, spread the word. They struck the first blow, we’ll make damn sure we strike the last.” With a polite nod, Brutus headed off to approach another group.
“Well, that was an interesting proposal.” Rhea observed, looking to her compatriots. “Thoughts?”
Brynja shifted uneasily, glancing between Rhea and this disappearing figure of Brutus. “Personally? I’d like to move as far away from here as possible. But,” she nodded at Rhea, “if you’re fixing on going. Then I’ll go too. After all…” she bit her lower lip. Should she say it?
“I feel like we’re the ones responsible for this whole shitstorm. So we might as well see what we’re up against.”
“Vasora?” Brynja asked, she was still clueless over what happened with Zegol, but she could tell from the past days of travel that something was eating at the Khajiit, and for once, Brynja kept out of her way.
“The Dwemer took everything from me, only fair I’m doing the same. Even if that guy isn’t on the up and up, I’m still going to make them bleed.” The Khajiit replied tersely, looking towards the camp. “I don’t care what you do, I’m going. If it’s a load of shit, I’ll move on and do it myself.”
She nodded, though uncertain exactly what it was the Dwemer took from her, Brynja turned her attention back to Rhea, “I’ll go with Vasora.”
“I’ll meet you back at camp then. I need to speak with one of the guards.” Rhea explained with a nod of her head.
Rhea continued on her path to the main gate, she had to see what she could do to get in, while Daro’Vasora shrugged and headed towards Brutus’ encampment, not initially acknowledging Brynja’s expression to join her. After a few steps, she stated, “We escaped. You don’t have to keep following me. The job’s done, we can scatter to the winds now. So why?”
The harsh question struck a painful chord in Brynja, and she wanted to tell her the truth, that, for so long, she had relied on others telling her what to do, and where to go. She had served so long as being a protector, that now, she didn’t feel needed. And by the Nine, she didn’t know what to do with herself.
“Why does it bother you?” Brynja countered, remembering how strongly the Khajiit disliked their original conversation, though she regretted the question instantly. Vasora had told her that she asked to many questions and didn’t share enough of herself.
Another shrug. “It doesn’t. I’m just used to people coming and going as soon as a job’s done. I’m not exactly your friend, whereas Rhea’s tried to be a friend to all.” The Khajiit replied. “I’ve not exactly been kind to you, so are you interested in Brutus’ sales pitch or what?”
She sighed, “Maybe… I just don’t know what to do with myself. So I keep doing the same thing over and over again until I can’t. And part of it is guilt.” She trudged alongside her.
“Our group was the one that explored the depths of the mountains and set this whole thing in motion. If no one else wants to help, and be responsible for what we’ve done, then I might as well.” It crossed her mind now.
“Did… Zegol make it out of the city?” She asked tentatively.
Daro’Vasora nearly snapped,
do you see him with me?, but held her tongue. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing slowly. “I’d be with him if he did. He died protecting a couple kids, I found the bodies probably not long after the fact.” She stated in a very matter-of-fact tone, her eyes bored right ahead. The tears had already been shed, anger and malice had evaporated her sorrow into a maelstrom of hard emotion over the past few days. “I’m not going to feel guilty about what a bunch of dead monsters decided to do with their reincarnation, everything they’ve done is on them. I am not going to let them go after what family I have left.”
Gods no. Brynja couldn’t believe her ears. She didn’t say a damned thing as she listened to Vasora speak. Shame followed the last of her words, leaving Brynja to rake her mind for something to say.
“I am sorry Vasora. I truly am, and I understand your pain.” Her mind wandered to the Civil War, and how she lost much more than what she was looking for.
“There was a family dispute during the Civil War. My father and eldest brother supported the Rebellion, while my other brother aligned his ideals with the Legion. My whole family was split in two. For the first few months, I had to help my mother patch up the wounded soldiers that came into the city. And then a letter came. It was addressed to my mother, but I opened it anyways. My brother, Ivor, who served the Legion, was marked missing in action. I didn’t want it to be true, so I stole away one night, and set out for Solitude. They put me on as a healer, so I had first hand encounters of the dead and the dying. I don’t know how long I searched for him, but every soldier I crossed, I made sure to ask for him.” She shook her head, “I found him, alive, and for the most part, well. He was in Markarth. But what I didn’t know, was that my father and my brother Jorrid, had died months ago on the field of battle in Riften. I never had the chance to say goodbye.”
“I wish I could say I couldn’t relate, but it’s a bit fresh. My family found me to be an embarrassment and a liability, so they sent me up river to Zegol because he owed my father a favour. I still love them, and I still worry. Now, especially so with what’s going on.” Daro’Vasora admitted, her teeth grinding. “You have my genuine condolences about your family, it should be something that remains, if anything, the one certainty in life. What happened with Ivor?”
Brynja nodded at Vasora’s words, perhaps they were far more similar than the two women could begin to comprehend, “You would think so.” She gave a soft sigh, “Ivor… I’ve not wrote him in years. Mostly from shame. The last I know, he still lives at home with our mother and sister, though I’m certain Elyse, that’s my sister, has finally found some lad to marry. Far as I know, she even has a child or two by now.”
“Why was your family embarrassed over you? I mean, I’m certain my own mother felt embarrassed when her first daughter was taller than both her sons by fourteen. And more so when I refused to become a lady.” Brynja pondered the thought, wondering what Vasora could have possibly done to bring that situation upon her family. She shook her head, adding, “You don’t have to tell me. After all, we’re just strangers.”
Daro’Vasora looked over and locked eyes with Brynja, mentally weighing the Nord in her mind. She’d been mostly kind and genuine as far as Daro’Vasora was concerned, her questions seemed to come from the heart rather than finding weaknesses in her armour. She sighed, glancing around before speaking, noticing they’d entered the field between the tents of the refugee camp and the tents for the Colovian Rangers. “Daro’ isn’t my name, it’s an honourific amongst my people, kind of like how you Nords have your earned names. It means ‘thief’, or ‘clever’ roughly. I came from Leyawiin, my mother works for the Count and my father is a respected merchant, both gave me everything I could have wanted as a cub due to a respectable amount of wealth and influence. My family’s fairly well regarded down in Leyawiin, but I found it terribly boring and it doesn’t matter what race you are, if you’re a teenager and you’re bored, you act out in stupid ways.” Brynja listened close as she spoke.
“I decided to not be a good and proper young woman who knows proper court and dining etiquette, I wanted excitement. So, I began stealing small things from shipments, not because I wanted or needed them, but to see if I
could. Turns out, I had a knack for that and the thrill it gave me was intoxicating. Long story short, I pushed my luck too far, got caught when I got stuck on one of my father’s boats heading off into Topal Bay for trade, and thus La’Vasora became Daro’Vasora, a prefix from her father’s mouth. I then got stuck working as a cleaner in the castle while mother was working and had no freedoms to speak of, and it became clear that staying wasn’t an option. Daro’ can open a lot of doors for you in some circles, but any that require a sterling reputation? Well, let’s just say that when your family fancies themselves more Imperial than Khajiit, you’ve basically branded yourself for life.” She explained, deciding to get it out on the table as plainly and quickly as possible. Sometimes it was better to just pull out the needle instead of leaving it in to fester.
She couldn’t help but laugh, not a loud boisterous laugh, but a soft-hearted chuckle, “I think our mother’s would have a grand old time wagging their tongues about how their daughters didn’t quite become the darling ladies they so hoped.” She blew out air across her lips, not quite a sigh, but an expressive mannerism. Her mind wandered to the first night that they had made it out of the city, and how she had revealed to Megana her sole reason why she drank. She hadn’t treated Brynja any differently, which she was grateful for. And, in this situation, Brynja presumed that she shouldn’t treat Vasora any different.
“There’s the tent.” She pointed ahead, they had finally wound their way through the masses of people, and had arrived at the aforementioned militia tent. She could see Brutus, bald head gleaming. “Well, should you ever need a blade, or a healer to tend to your wounds, I’ll be there. Now let’s go see what this razzle dazzle scheme is all about, eh?”
Rhea headed back to the group with grim news. She wracked her thoughts on what to say. They had come all this way just to get away from the Dwemer, and now they couldn’t even step past the city walls. She ground her teeth as she strode, her pace heavy with frustration. She felt like she was failing in all areas of her life, as a leader, as a comrade, as a friend, as a human.
“Look, I can’t let you in unless you have documentation.”, protested the guard she heckled.
“And what kind of documentation do I need, exactly?”, she pressed. Rhea wasn’t going to allow herself to be turned away so suddenly. The guard sighed, it was clear that he had a rough day handling angry refugees.
“You need a letter bearing Count Hassildor’s name, along with his royal seal stating that you are, a citizen of Skingrad.”“Bring me your superior. I want to speak with him directly. I have vital information related to the invaders, the Dwemer” For several tense seconds the guard and Rhea held one another’s gaze, each unwillingly to bend. However, the guard broke his gaze first, leaning over to his counterpart and whispered in his ear.
“Right. You stay here. No funny business.” He said before slipping away. Minutes passed before an Imperial man in steel armor approached Rhea, the guard she hassled trailing behind him like a kicked puppy.
“Captain of the Guard, Petronius Lepidus, at your service. Marius here tells me that you are quite earnest in speaking with me? I would hope that your protests are nothing trivial?” Rhea had to admit, Petronius, as he called himself, was quite a handsome man. His jaw was square, with an aquiline nose that bore a slight hook to the left. His eyes the color of cornflowers, and he kept his brown hair cropped close, everything about him spoke of a clean-cut soldier. Even his face was devoid of facial hair.
“I have a group of highly skilled, and talented people that escaped from the Imperial City. We could be of use to the city. We could help organize this chaos. All we ask in return is entry to the city, or at least give us supplies.” Rhea put her hands on her hips.
“As much as I wish I could do that, I simply can’t. It is the orders of the Count, and it is his orders I follow. I assure you, we have the situation entirely under control. Now-” She didn’t want to hear it, especially from a pretty face like him.
“Do you even have rations going out to the people? There are women, and children out there that are terrified, hungry, and tired. Is your Count so foolish to turn a blind eye upon them? To ignore their cries for help? We can help, if you could only grant us an audience-” “As much as I wish I could help, I cannot grant your wishes. I can pass along your message, but it would be in your best interest, if you dispersed. I follow Count Hassildor’s orders.” His hand traveled to the sword at his side.
“You’re making a grave mistake.” Rhea said, before turning away.
The grey clouds that lingered in the sky earlier that morning had all but disappeared now, leaving brilliant blue skies overhead. It did little to mask the atrocities they survived, and it only further compounded Rhea’s attitude of failure. She rounded the corner when she spotted two Thalmor agents addressing an overly large family. One was a woman, a spidery looking thing with spindly arms, and much older than her counterpart. The other reminded her of Petronius, but as an Altmer. He was exceptionally tall, passing nearly six and five feet. He had skin the color of burnished bronze, and lush locks of blond hair that was pulled back from his face into a high ponytail. Curious, she drew closer, though not close enough to draw any direct attention.
“I assure you, we hear your plight, as your Count does not. As he sits upon his throne, hiding behind these walls, Runil and I are working constantly to aid those met with such a fate. This is what little grain we could spare.” The spider woman passed a small canvas sack over to the man. Her fingers were long and knobby, and from where Rhea stood, she could see that she had equally thin features, a nose far too thin for her face, and lips that were barely there. She had platinum blonde hair piled high atop her head in an ornate braid.
“Yes… Arawen and I are doing everything within our power to lend a hand to your…
children.” She watched as the one called Runil, his upper lip lifted in disgust though he tried to smile through it. Rhea noticed that a black eyepatch covered his right eye. He appeared immaculately dressed despite the current muddied streets. “We have sent letters to Anvil so that our embassy officials will take action.” The father and mother thanked the two representatives before they turned away. Rhea averted her gaze as they passed by her.
“What filthy creatures.” Runil commented, “They act no better than pigs in a pig pen.”
“My heart aches for any of our brethren trapped outside these walls, Runil. Truly, it does.”
“As does mine, Arawen. As does mine. If I had the power, why, I would extend special grants to our brethren.” Their words faded as they disappeared into the thick of the crowds.
Rhea returned to the camp moments later. Nearly everyone was present. Brynja and Daro’Vasora had yet to return from the recruiting tent. She bit her lower lip, casting her eyes towards the ground. This moment had come, and she needed to be a figure that they could rely on in this chaos, if they wished it. Clearing her throat, she began to speak.
“It appears… that
all refugees are denied entry until further notice. There are no established rations going on, so what food we have… is all there is. To pass through the gates, we need a letter bearing the name of Count Hassildor, along with his royal seal to prove that we are citizens of Skingrad.” She paused briefly, “There is a volunteer company just north of the tents, they are seeking anyone willing to lend a hand. There is no pay, unless you seek revenge, then there is plenty of that. Daro’Vasora and Brynja have gone to give what help they can. They’ll need all forms of help. Healers, swords, archers, mages, everyone. If you wish to help, speak with Brutus Denian.” She turned back to the city walls, scowling. “In the meantime, I’m going to find a way to get an audience with the Count and get us into the city proper. I can understand if you all wish to part ways at this juncture, but I refuse to consider my responsibility for you all through until I know you’re safe. But for now, we need somewhere safe to rest and resupply if we’re going to move on to try our chances elsewhere.”
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