Dragon of the East - Arc 2, Epilogue

  • Darasken

    ~ ~ ~

    Pine trees choked the sun’s light. We were alone in the shade of a dense forest, surrounded by bickering wildlife and a throng of greenery. Dead needles lay at our feet above a layer of loamy soil. The frigid cold was unkind. Our scales did not approve.

    We stared at the brass colored locket in our hand, its inner glass pane cracked. A face would have been visible through it. The vocal enchantments, however, still functioned. The ancient Dwemer contraption was useful, even in a broken state.

    This is disturbing,” a voice spoke through the locket. “What else have you learned?”        

    “Nothing of import,” this one replied. “No live dragons have been encountered yet, but we shall continue to assess their threat.”

    Do this. We will remain vigilant for sightings here as well.

    The dragons were a disturbing development, one that needed to be monitored. The An-Xileel in Black Marsh would watch for signs of the great winged beasts. We felt some pride, knowing our people would be safer with the knowledge we were able to acquire. Yet pride had a companion. Disquiet. Many things still troubled us.

    “Arch-Warden, this rumor… if it is true…”

    Our scholars will investigate. You have chosen to place complete faith in this so called contact of yours. You worry us, Darasken.

    “The letter was specific.”

    A red Argonian, no further description. You call this specific?

    “It is the deeper implication. A red Argonian… capable of slaying one of these dragons? Very specific, this one thinks.”

    What Lukiul would possess the skill and cunning to fight such a being? It had to have been Okan-Zeeus. The traitor’s blade was still sharp. We expected no less from a once legendary assassin. He may have even surpassed the strength of his youth.

    With nothing left to report, the Arch-Warden imparted to us names and their locations in the province of Skyrim. We committed them to memory. They were few, but they could be contacted. The An-Xileel had wisely planted sleeper agents in the north. We were to awake them from their slumber. Okan-Zeeus would soon have fewer places to hide.

    “Send the bird back. We will need it to spread word. Our allies must learn of the traitor’s presence in Skyrim.”

    It will be done. We look forward to seeing your progress when next we speak.

    The moment had come to cease communication. However…

    “Arch-Warden… Deerkaza…”

    Yes?

    “What would motivate the traitor to save a city?”

    His motives may be beyond our understanding now. We can speak no more. The Organism waits for us. Remain focused, Darasken… May the Hist guide you.

    We erected the spine of submission.

    “May the Hist guide us all.”

    The Arch-Warden’s voice was gone. Sounds in the background were heard before the bird switched off – croaks of frogs and hackwing caws. Creatures of Helstrom. We closed the locket and once again felt a longing for home. Skyrim was no place for our kind. But we were resolute. We would return to our marshlands with the traitor’s head… and all would be right again.

    Our eyes bent to the sun. Its light shone through tree branches lower than last we saw. Evening was approaching. The others would grow suspicious if we lingered any longer.

    The chase resumes…

    We quickly cast an invisibility spell and returned to the village called Riverwood.

    Nicolard was standing by himself at the edge of a river, next to a dry wooden dock with shingled roofing. There were few footprints in the wet gravel. While some pace in their thoughts, the spellsword preferred standing still. The hiss of rapids further upstream tantalized our ears. We had been near them back in the forest.

    We approached Nicolard, who turned around as our shadow met him half way.

    “Where’ve you been, Darasken?” he asked, irritated.                          

    “Off gathering information. We wonder why you are not doing this yourself.”

    “The others have it covered.”

    “Xhu… You are a model of leadership.”

    Nicolard grunted with a smirk. He found our comment humorous, though it was not intended to be.

    “They’re better at it,” he said. “I’d make too big a mess.”

    We would not contest that remark. Our boots sank in the gravel beside him. The rest of our body was wrapped in a warm grey cloak, from our head to our ankles.

    “This one still questions whether the traitor would have come to this village,” we said. “He could have passed this place traveling by river. Water transit is faster for our kind than walking.”

    The Breton uttered no response. He regarded us with antipathy.

    “…Why do you stare? Does our presence bother?”              

    “You’re a lucky lizard,” he said, his tone growing cold. “The others have gotten used to you. But not me. You aren’t one of us, Daraksen.”

    “If there is subtext to your words, speak it and be done.”

    “Don’t play games. If you’re up to something, I’ll find out what it is. You’d best come clean while I’m still in a good mood.”

    Empty threats. The man would not harm us so long as his precious gold hung at stake. Of the four mercenaries, however, Nicolard had the wildest temper. It made him violent. Dangerous.

    “Remember your contract,” we hissed.

    “Please. I’m a professional,” he said with a contemptuous smirk.  “I’ll make sure your clock’s still ticking when we send you back to Black Marsh.” The man flicked a spark of fire between his fingers. “Your ambassadors won’t mind a few scrapes and burns.”

    “You boast, spellsword,” we hissed. “Attack us and see if you survive the battle.”

    He made a point of showing the pale blue glow of a spell in his left hand. Dispel. We knew he could cast it, and he knew that we knew. It made his smirk repellent.

    “Your magic isn’t any good against me. Maybe if you carried a real sword, you’d stand half a chance.” He chuckled and faced the river. “Lucky for you, I like getting paid.”

    We withheld further words. There would be no underestimating this man. Nicolard was deadly, as the rest of the mercenaries were. The agreed upon sum for their service had outstripped even the traitor’s bounty. Their reputation, however, preceded them. They were purportedly worth the price.

    “We are not here to undermine your efforts,” this one insisted. “We wish to see you succeed.”

    Nicolard folded his arms. “I’ll believe that when we find Okan-Zeeus.”

    The spellsword did not have to believe anything. Our words were true. We wished to assist him and his cohorts in their commission. It was a privilege.

    The An-Xileel could have sent another, one less qualified. We entreated our leaders, implored them for the chance to travel with these mercenaries. This one had never contemplated thoughts of revenge, yet as we faced the prospect it became… enticing. Were we not skilled enough, now? Could we not track the traitor down? It was ironic. Okan-Zeeus had been our motivation to become an agent of the people. We wished to see Black Marsh’s enemies destroyed and the province kept safe. But the traitor always seemed too lofty for us, an adversary beyond our small reach.

    He had become so close now. We were fated to meet again. Okan-Zeeus would regret having spared our life.

    Another shadow crept up behind us. Nicolard and I glanced back to see Ugrash coming to join us by the water. A strong wind blew. The orc woman had a scowl to trump all scowls. She was a picture of abhorrence, loathing personified.

    “You’re glowing, Ugrash,” Nicolard said. “Enjoying your revisit to Skyrim?”

    “The cold,” she muttered.

    “What about it?”

    “The last reason I left. The first thing I remember.”

    Nicolard laughed. It had indeed been an unusually cold day, indifferent to the sun. Ugrash did not appreciate returning to the land of her birth. The reasons for this were not fully known, though mentions of a ‘chief’ and ‘third wife’ had been tossed in conversation. Orc settlements were common in Skyrim; tribal groups living on the fringes of Nord society. We suspected she left one such settlement over disagreements of tradition.

    “What have you learned?” we asked the orc.

    “Nothing I feel like sharing.”                         

    “So nothing at all, in other words,” Nicolard said. Ugrash let out a huff and the spellsword smiled. “We’re still on his trail. The bastard thought he had us duped. Afareen’ll find something.”

    The Breton would never admit that it was our display of tenacity in the Imperial City that had brought us all to Skyrim. He and the others would have given up if not for this one. No efforts on our part, however, seemed to gain the trust of these killers for hire.

    A fourth shadow appeared. Afareen. We were pleased to see her. Nicolard and Ugrash were poor company.

    “Where is J’Kar?” we asked. “He is not with you.”

    Afareen glanced back and shrugged, indicating she did not know but that J’Kar was still in the village. He had a tendency to go out on his own and cause mischief. The other mercenaries had nothing against this, so long as the Khajiit did not incur the wrath of the law. We were under the impression that his record was improving.

    Nicolard watched the Redgaurd keenly as she came to the water’s edge alongside us. Her expression appeared unusually still. Calm and detached.

    “Ahhh… I know that face,” the spellsword said with a sly grin. “What did you find?”     

    “There’s a man at the inn with a broken leg,” Afareen replied. “He knows something.”

    “Wouldn’t talk?”

    “Silent as a mouse.”

    Ugrash snorted. “We should just beat it out of him.”

    Afareen frowned at the orc. “Do we have to? He didn’t seem so bad.”

    Nicolard’s grin broadened. “Must’ve been a charmer. Finally found your better?”

    “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” the Redguard sneered.

    “Do not let emotion blind you,” we growled. “Whoever this man is, he is no innocent. To protect a traitor and mass murderer… is an act deserving of due penalty.”

    A violent interrogation would be an act of mercy by compare. The two mercenaries turned to their leader. Nicolard straightened his back and cast another spark between his fingers.

    “No choice?”

    Afareen shook her head. “He’s a fighter. It’ll be messy.”

    A slight evil for a greater good. The spellsword resigned.

    “If he dies, it’s on you,” he said. “Make it look like an accident. We don’t want the guards breathing down our necks.”

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Comments

10 Comments   |   Fallout Night likes this.
  • Okan-Zeeus
    Okan-Zeeus   ·  December 11, 2015
    Ah. I played a bit of that game, but certainly didn't think about it when I wrote this chapter.
  • Chris
    Chris   ·  December 11, 2015
    Dragon Age: Origins I believe
  • Okan-Zeeus
    Okan-Zeeus   ·  December 11, 2015
    @Sindeed
    Better late than never.  Also, DAO? What's that?
  • Sindeed
    Sindeed   ·  December 11, 2015
    WTF!?!? How the hell didn't I notice this chapter? Super hyped for Arc 3 now. Also, getting a DAO reference...
  • Andrew Paredes
    Andrew Paredes   ·  October 7, 2015
    I'm looking forward to the next arc. This has been my favorite thing to keep up with since I came across it months back. Great writing!
  • Lazy
    Lazy   ·  October 6, 2015
    But Ralof is mai husbando! Why must he die?! >.<</body>
  • Mirric
    Mirric   ·  October 6, 2015
    a once legendary assassin The Dark brotherhood is after him and hes born under the shadow. Im assuming Chases-The-Wind is a runaway shadowscale for some strange reason.
  • The Wing
    The Wing   ·  October 6, 2015
    Nooo not Ralof!  You are cruel to leave us hanging with this, Okan!
    But in all seriousness, though I cannot wait for the next arc, I'm really excited at the prospect of you writing an actual novel. 
  • Tolveor
    Tolveor   ·  October 5, 2015
    I'll gladly be waiting for when more comes out. It's been a joy following this series
  • Borommakot
    Borommakot   ·  October 5, 2015
    And now...we wait.