Road to Fortune
Act 1: The Past
Chapter 1: Retelling
Written by NIL
It was cold. The chilling snows of Windhelm bit into the flesh of it's citizens, with each bite taking away heat and movement. The fortunate found comfort in their brick homes, near the fire with a goat fur coat over their shoulders. There would be a pot of hot Horker stew bubbling on top of a small fire, and the smell of the stew would linger in the house, creating a fog of taste. The less fortunate however, would sit in a dark corner gazing up at the bleak sky, and would curse the gods for their predicament, their rags doing nothing but to cover their damaged bodies against the eye, but not the cold. Janrig had been in Windhelm for 13 years now, 10 years as a regular citizen, and 3 years as a beggar. Age and bandits had taken a toll on his well-being, as he was crippled and could no longer serve as a sellsword, and due to his age, he could not train in a new skill in time. Despite his fate, Janrig simply accepted this new beggar lifestyle with ease. He had lived in Windhelm long enough to get used to it's unforgiving coldness, and he knew how most of its citizens thought. He knew the 'system.' Janrig knew pity was a great weapon for beggars, so he pretended to be blind, earning him his nickname. The other beggars respected him however, as back when Janrig was a sellsword, he had been kind and generous to most of the beggars, and now, they accepted him as one of their most trusted friends.
Today was like any other winter day in Windhelm for Janrig. He had set up his begging spot, near the front of the gate, where visitors to the city would come through. He stared emptily to the doors, and waited patiently. His 'benefactors' ranged from kind-hearted nobles, to couriers, and even the guards sometimes, when they were drunk and Janrig could persuade as he took advantage of their state. The door finally opened, and a small hooded figure walked into Windhelm. Janrig put on his 'beggar look', and stared up at the stranger's face, as he walked closer to Janrig. The stranger's face could be seen now, under the dark hood, and Janrig was surprised to find himself staring at the grey skin of a female dark elf. The dark elf stared at Janrig with deep crimson eyes. Janrig stared back, stunned by his discovery. 'Did she not know?' Janrig thought. Grey elves were greatly hated in Windhelm, and were mostly abused. One such Nord, Rolff Stone-Fist, would go into the grey elves' quarters and cause a ruckus almost at a regular basis. 'If he saw her now, he would surely give her at least a beating.' He thought.
"Hello traveler. You seem like you have journeyed a long way, but I regret to tell you that Windhelm is not so kind to elves... Dark elves in particular. I suggest you find rest in the grey quarter or near the outskirts of the town." Janrig said.
The elf merely smiled. This eased up the piercing look in her eye, which made Janrig feel more at ease.
"Your concern is noted Nord. However I am only here to find someone, and once my mission is complete, I will have left before I run into these 'Dunmer haters.'" The elf replied.
Janrig was surprised to hear her voice to be so clear and different in pitch, as most dark elves had a low voice. He then glanced at the elfs' apparel. She wore a set of dark leather armor with a fur coat that came over her shoulders. He could also catch a spark of light on her hips-a dagger carefully concealed beneath the belt. He then realized she would be capable of handling herself in this town. Janrig looked up again to face the stranger.
"Very well. Spare some change?" He asked.
The elf reached into her satchel and pulled out 5 Septims, and then tossed them into the small bucket at Janrig's feet.
Janrig smiled.
"Thank you ma'am."
The elf nodded, but did not walk away. Instead, she reached in and took out another 10 Septims. Janrig's eyes locked onto the Septims, as the elf played with them in her gloved hand, watching Janrig gaze at them with hope.
"I will give you these if you tell me where I can find the sellsword Janrig." She said.
Janrig's eyes met the elfs' surprised. 'Who is she? Is she a loose end?' Janrig thought. During his life as a sellsword, he had killed many people, of all races. He wondered if she was someone out for revenge. 'She surely looks like someone who is here to kill something...' Janrig scratched his white beard thoughtfully.
"Who wants to know?" Janrig asked.
The elf smiled again, however this time it gave Janrig a small chill.
"Don't worry. I do not wish to cause any harm in this town unless necessary. All I want from him is to hear a story." She replied.
Janrig stared at the 10 Septims again, and then stared at the elf.
"I am Janrig." He said.
The elf raised an eyebrow. Her expression was a mix of surprise and amusement, with a hint of disappointment. Janrig noticed this, and realized how pathetic he must have looked, to those who had heard of his past.
"I know what your'e thinking... But I am Janrig the sellsword." He sighed.
The elf scanned Janrig briefly, then looked shrugged.
"Fine. Prove it." she said, and then crossed her arms.
Janrig licked his lips, then slowly rose to his small, stubbly feet.
"Follow me." He said.
The two walked (Janrig limped.) outside the town, where Janrig circled around to a small shack near the docks. The shack was more of a collection of rotten wood that barely held together by almost everything-from thick hay tying the planks, to string, and even a rusty sword that replaced one of the planks, that was stabilized into the ground. The shack reeked of fish, but the elf didn't seem to mind, which Janrig found surprising.
Janrig then dusted off a large chest that sat underneath a rotting table with only three legs, and then opened it. Inside the chest lay a set of surprisingly well-conditioned, shining armor. The chestpiece of the armor was dark but had a silver gleam to it, which brought out a fascinating shade of grey. The shoulder pads were decorated with red cloth and mountain lion fur. And on the heart, there was a red painted image of a fox's head.
"The armor of the Red tails!" She gasped.
Janrig looked up from the chest.
"That enough proof for you?"
The elf didn't reply, but merely stared at the armor until Janrig shut the chest. Like being woken from a spell, she suddenly twitched and then looked at Janrig with different eyes, this time full of excitement.
"What happened to you? If you don't mind me asking-" She started.
"No no it's fine... It's my own damn fault. I lost a lot including my leg while being overrun by an army of bandits, and then I foolishly gambled all my savings in Riften." He muttered.
"Oh." She merely replied. Clearly, she was disappointed still.
"Here. For your troubles." She said as she handed Janrig 10 Septims. Janrig grasped the Septims with his bony fingers, and hurriedly put them in his pocket.
"So what's this all about? Why have you sought me out?" He asked.
The dark elf hesitated, and then took her hood off, to reveal a beautiful face, decorated with black hair that reached her shoulders.
"My name is Nelari of house Telvanni. I've been researching your people for quite some time now... I need to know what happened to the Red tails expedition group." She stated.
Janrig was surprised. He had been in the expedition group during his good days, but their wild adventures were quickly forgotten with the war rising, and their tales drowning in the stories of the dragonborn and the death of the high king. He did not expect to see someone still interested in his group's endeavors.
"Tell me... why you are so interested in us? We are dead." He stated bluntly.
"I've become interested in what became of your final adventure. There was no 'official' telling of it, and it seemed as though... The Red tails stopped existing entirely." She explained.
"Aye. A dark matter that is." Janrig muttered.
"Very well." He smiled. It was nice to gain interest again.
"I'll tell you." He said as he collapsed down onto a smooth rock for comfort.
Balrund was no mage, nor an assassin nor an archer. He was a warrior to the deepest of his bones. A true soldier to the core. And here he was faced with a bronze dragon. Most of us were down, either knocked out of the battle, or dead. But not Balrund. Like some kind of 'last wall' of defense, he stood in front of the fierce beast, leaning on his greatsword Viola. The sword, made of Daedric materials was an ugly, powerful thing. It was magical, and had the power to suck the life force and stamina of any it fought. However, lying in the rubble, even I saw that Balrund was near his limit. He was done. It was like seeing a fox in front of a troll. There was a tremendous difference in strength, stamina, and raw power. But I saw the burning gaze of determination in his eyes, as Balrund stood up straight and began swinging Viola, as if he was painting in the air. The swinging began picking up the pace, and the dragon acted quickly. With a deafening cry, the dragon opened it's mouth and the red hot flames seared out of it's jaws, which in half a heartbeat, consumed Balrund completely. The dragon finished, and seemed confident. They all do. But that was its downfall. From the smoke ashes, Balrund leapt into the air with Viola in both hands and stabbed the dragon in its skull, right through the brain. He had shielded himself from the flames by using his sword's movement to raise the dust in an attempt to douse the flames, as well as to use his body's fluid, water-like movements to divide the heat around him, thus saving him from death. The dragon cried out madly, as Balrund repeatedly stabbed it's head with a sword in one hand, the other gripping the dragon's horns tightly. The dragon fell, and Balrund pulled out Viola, gave it a few quick swings to wipe away the blood, then turned to face me.
"Wait."
Nelari interrupted.
"Hmm?"
"I'm sorry, but this is not what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear from the beginning. I'm sure the tales say much, but give me your perspective. You've been there since the beginning, when it was first formed, right?" She asked.
"Naturally, yes. I was second-in-command." Janrig said proudly.
"Then tell me how you met Balrund, and tell me... Oh! did he actually turn into a vampire? Did he-"
"Too many questions lass!" Janrig chuckled. He was surprised to see the cold, assassin-like woman to be charming and curious as a young child.
"Sorry. I'm just so excited, that's all." She replied, returning back to her noble, elven posture."
Janrig smiled.
"I'll tell you the whole story somewhere warmer. Get me a space, quiet and near the fire then I'll tell you everything."
End of Chapter 1
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