The carriage creaked, as it moved on the road. The road was full of bumps and had been ill-maintained. Damn, someone needs to do something for this road Roland thought. It wasn't the first time he was traveling on a bad road or across a broken terrain, but this was ridiculous. He had joined a caravan bound for Arenthia from Skingrad, and it seemed that their destination was near. He hadn't been to Skingrad in years, and now he had to just practically run through it. Hector hadn't left much time to be late, to be honest. He was a man of tight schedules, as he had been during the Civil War.
Roland never had been to Valenwood, and even at the borders he had been a bit amazed. Forests in Skyrim and Cyrodiil were just that, forests, but here, Valenwood seemed to be synonymous with the word itself. If one looked forest on a dictionary, you'd find a picture of Valenwood. Roland was reading the letter Hector had sent, once again. It was written with precise and tight letters, and it was short. My dear friend Roland, I hope this letter finds you well.
The letter went with the pleasantries for couple of sentences, but it also brought up the business quickly. Hector wanted him to come to Valenwood for a secret mission, that could affect the fate of the Empire. A mission of utmost importance, for the reasons of state I cannot reliably write in this letter, as it's fall into the Thalmor hands could undermine my work. Come with haste.
Roland was sitting in a open-top carriage, armed and ready. He had joined the caravan on the pretext of a simple caravan guard, but the master of the caravan had been suspicious from the start, for the first couple days or so. As they approached Valenwood, the master had become himself more nervous, in fear of possible bandit raids or harsh Thalmor customs officers. Everything had gone smoothly, though. They had crossed the border and would reach Arenthia almost ahead of schedule. The caravan would stock up of Bosmer goods, while Roland would leave them and find Hector.
They came to a bridge, and another caravan guard, a young Orc, sighed of relief. "You know, I've gone this trail for a few times now, and somehow, that bridge gives me relief. It means we've passed the hardest part of the journey."
Speak for yourself. If I know Hector, the hardest is yet to come, Roland thought as he raised his eyes from Hector's letter to take a peak at the Orc. Tough-looking, muscular, armed with a scimitar, a bit nervous. Possible Legion material.
"This hasn't seen hard at all. I fought in Skyrim a few years ago, and this could labeled as a quiet day. Of course, it is often calm before the storm," Roland pointed out, and folded the letter.
"Right. Did you see any battles?" Orc asked out of curiosity.
"No, I didn't", Roland lied. He didn't like it, but he had to, for a while longer. He had actually served as a swordsman, fighting in the frontlines. "I was in charge of a supply wagon. Well, a few, actually. We hauled mostly food, weapons and armour for the Legion. Most of the time, it was a boring job."
They talked a bit more about the Civil War, as the caravan crossed the bridge to Arenthia. They stopped near a tavern, and Roland said his goodbyes to the Orc, probably never going to see him again. He left the caravan with his equipment. Roland was wearing his armour and had his trusty bastard sword on his left hip, and so the locals he saw seemed a bit wary of him. The armour wasn't the Legion's armour, but what he had bought along the way from Skyrim to Valenwood, buying the pieces from here and there. Hector had specified not to use the Legion's armour.
Entering the tavern, Roland wanted to indulge himself one last beer before the mission ahead. Heck, it might the last one in a long time. He ordered a pint of dark beer and asked a Bosmer barmaid of a tall, middle-aged Imperial in or near the town. It was a risky bet, as the Bosmer could be a Thalmor informer, for all he knew, but Roland didn't know exactly where Hector had made his camp.
"A tall Imperial came to Arenthia a few days ago. I heard he has a camp in the river bank", the Bosmer said quickly. "Just walk down stream, and you should find it."
"Thank you", Roland replied to her. He finished his pint and left for the river bank. It took him quite a while to get there, as the undergrowth was quite dense and roots were everywhere. Finally, he approached the campsite, and saw Hector and a Dunmer with him. Both seemed to peer at the other side of the river, as if looking for something. "Hector!" he shouted at him. "It's me, Roland."
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