Author's Note: This is a bit of a run-on story from my other story, the Path to the Ebony Warrior. I really enjoyed writing that one, so I decided to write a 'sequel' of sorts, set 30 years after the first story!
22nd of Hearthfire, 4E235
"I've finally arrived."
The Altmer woman pushed open the door to Candlehearth Hall in Windhelm. Stepping out of the freezing Windhelm evening weather into the warm building, she ordered a drink and seated herself by the hearth, dropping her pack by the table and unclasping her heavy fur coat. She lay back and sighed. "I should've gone with the caravan. Dragons, freezing weather, those dreadful sailors - this venture has been nothing but a disaster." She took a sip of her drink and reassured herself. "That's in the past now. Soon I'll have what I came for and I can show all my colleagues back on the Isles what for!" That  put a slight grin on her face. Looking around the common room, she was surprised by the diversity of the patrons. Man and mer talking like old friends over a drink, a dark elf lying in the arms of a Nord man - hardly the culture of barbarians and Nord supremacy she'd been told about. The Altmer decided to go over her notebook - something that had become somewhat of a mantra for her. She found comfort in knowing that each day she read it, she was one day closer to her goal.
The Challenger - otherwise known as Dragonborn or Legate Marcellus. Unknown parents or circumstances of birth - raised and trained at the Chapel of Stendarr in Chorrol. Imperial hero of the dragon crisis in Skyrim in 4E201. Incredibly skilled and powerful holy knight, upholding the ideals of the Divines (8 or 9 unknown). Was a master of close combat and magic; created a suit legendary equipment, including weapons (what I'm after!). Defeated the dragon Alduin, the Dark Brotherhood, Vampire Lord Harkon and the mythical Ebony Warrior. Instrumental in the Empire quelling the Stormcloak Rebellion. Member of the Dawnguard, Companions and College of Winterhold. Disappeared in 4E203, unknown circumstances. Believed to still be alive.
Follow in the Challenger's footsteps; attempt to discover clues to current location/resting place. Go to Windhelm and hire guard(s) for my journey (Rykon?).
The Altmer woman was distracted by a conversation downstairs, and a familiar name.
"Rykon!" the female bartender exclaimed. "What can I do for you this evening?" It seemed the mercenary had arrived - right on schedule.
"Evening, Sara, I hoped you could help me," the voice of a male Imperial replied. "I'm supposed to be meeting a woman here - high elf, light skin, golden eyes, silver hair, about 100 years old?"
"Ah yes, she arrived just earlier. She's by the hearth."
The elf by the hearth closed the book, placing it on the table, and finished her wine. The mercenary walked up the stairs and looked around. The elf had never seen someone so armed in her life - Rykon was clad in a chainmail hauberk with steel pauldrons, heavy travelling cloak, with a battleaxe and bow strapped to his back and a sword and mace on his belt. He strode over to the elf's table, removed his glove and extended his hand. "Lady Sorelann! Pleasure to meet you." She shook his hand.
"Please, call me Ariem."
Rykon took off his pack, laying his weapons by the table. He was tall for an Imperial - almost as tall as Ariem - with a short beard, blue eyes and long brown hair. He pulled up a chair to sit opposite Ariem.
"Sara downstairs didn't do your beauty justice, my lady."
Ariem sighed and glared at him. "I didn't come all the way from the Isles to get compliments from Imperials. So cut the crap and let's get to business."
Rykon shrugged. "Very well my-" he stuttered for a moment - "Ariem. Finest mercenary in the north, at your service."
Comments
hopefully it will come sooner than the last
Keep up the good work