Sevari sat perched and hidden by the brush and rocks, blanket wrapped tight around him to break up his silhouette and provide some much needed warmth. Skyrim was a land of rocks and hills wherever you went. Made him wonder what could make his hill with rocks on it so important, why he needed to keep watch. This was Reachman country though, and you don't take chances in Reachman country. Especially when you're traveling with only your small group of closest comrades and don't have an army to make sure no one asks about the Nord gold you have.
"Shit place."
They were sent well past any sign of civilization into the Reach in search for a magic staff. What it looked like, no one had any idea, but the rich Cyrod bastard promisedsome of the fattest purses he'd ever seen. He wasn't about to ask why after that. His folks needed their cut of the rewards and plunder, Sevari needed to provide, but while he sat shivering on this cold, cold hill he wondered why he let Beck get the jobs for them and he didn't just do it his damn self. Probably because Beck couldn't swing a sword too good, so the only way he could make himself useful was as a talker. Sevari spat.
A windy night like this was just like any other in the Reach- shitty. Sevari sat staring out at the darkness, though it really wasn't darkness to eyes like his. Where others saw only black and grey for five paces out, Sevari saw a whole world in shades of blue. Shame that world was only hill and rocks lit by the sorry light of the moons. He looked up at them, sniffed. He didn't smell anything, didn't hear anything, and he groaned. He always took first watch, always volunteered for it, didn't really know why and thought to himself that he really ought to stop that for the twelfth time since they left Rorikstead. He got up on his knees, wincing at his sore arse from sitting on the cold, hard rocky soil the Reach was good for and walked back over to the fire. Even before he could see the people all huddled around it, the faint glow the only thing peeking up over the little hill like its own little sunrise, the same shitty wind brought Paints' song drifting over to his sharp ears. His ears twitched at that, Paints was graced with a voice that wasn't really suited for songs, but the Argonian sang anyway. He crested the hill with a little smile at the song, a bawdy little jig about Wayrest Whiskey and Gelina was nodding her head along with it, ladle stirring up some soup she'd thrown together and Ja'Kiefer was busying himself with a book.
"That's good," Sevari said, keeping to the shadows at first,
"Any Reachmen come looking for anyone to kill and rob, they'll have dinner and a song." The way he came up without anyone knowing gave Beck a jump and he heard the lad swear under his breath at the fright.
Paints only smiled and kept singing, knowing Sevari was only taking the piss. His song's rhythm was picked out by the scrape of his blade across his own whetstone, a steady
squick,
scrick. Scimitar, same one Sevari gave him back in Winterhold. Didn't know why he kept it even after he'd found a dozen and more blades as flashy as the glass one he'd lost after fighting those damn Falmer in that damn cave. Maybe he liked it, it was a thing to behold, black wood polished with moonstone designs swirling, swirling up to the hilt. Always did have a thing for being the biggest eyesore in the middle of a fight, did Paints-with-Blood. Maybe he was scared he'd get lost among all the drab colors of the Reach. "Juin's back." Beck's little voice said, looking up from the book he was drawing in, the scratches of his pencil hiding under Paints' song.
"Nothing to report." The Dunmer said, the same look he always had on his face, like life was just a long chore to be done and he'd since grown used to doing it. No joy, no sadness either, but the slightest smile drew itself across his face as soon as he saw Gelina's soup. Gelina smiled back, Sevari could tell she was glad everyone liked her soup, she was always quick to do something to make sure she stayed wanted around, made sure she was valuable. That was a good thing, and Sevari had since come to trust in that side of her for all the weeks they'd walked all across the snow, hills and rocks Skyrim had to offer.
"Put up your weapons!" Zaveed's voice came from the darkness and made Beck jump yet again, swearing under his breath yet again and made Juin chuckle low. The Khajiit crept out of the shadows and into the firelight, Wets-his-Blade close after. That same look on Zaveed face as ever, characteristic as Juin's. A devilish little grin, like he'd had a joke the rest of them couldn't hear and he dropped to his arse next to Sevari while Blade took his scowl next to Beck. Sevari produced his flask and took a swig of it, not worried about anyone creeping up on them if they hadn't by now. He handed it over to Zaveed and nodded to Blade. The hulking Argonian laid his greatsword across his lap, nodding back.
"You lot catch sight of anything?" Paints asked without looking at any of them, taking a break from singing and bringing out a little cloth to polish his blade.
"Big bags of gold? Food other than soup? Talos himself?"
"Sadly, no. Reachgirls said that they'd be here soon to share our bedrolls, though. I think one was Queen of the Reach herself." Zaveed grinned from ear to ear and Ja snorted while he took a long pull from the flask. Sevari curled his lip while Zaveed drank. He was hoping that flask would last him a while but so long to that notion. He sighed, shook his head and produced his own whetstone, spitting on it and then sending the blade of his long-knife scratching across it.
"You wouldn't want to tempt fate by mocking a Reachman in the Reach itself." Markain said, frowning at the lot of them under his brow. No one payed him a lot of mind at that, everyone knew the dour faces and heard the hard words about a hundred times since they'd picked him and Gelina up in Winterhold. You'd think a Reachman would start to smile being back in the Reach, but no, Markain still just sat there with the same look on him. Ever since they'd crossed over into the rocky expanse of nothing that was the Reach on their way to Markarth, the Reachman had seemed to do the impossible and get more dour. It was even enough to rival Blade's black scowl. Sevari would ask what was eating at him but he guessed 'everything' and knew he probably wasn't too far off. Paints had begun to hum again, filling the silence while he polished the steel of his blade.
"Where's Viryn?" Ja asked, looking about the fire at all the faces.
"Probably still standing watch. Quiet, dutiful fellow, he is." Zaveed said, stretching his arms up and then folding his fingers behind his head, relaxing,
"He should talk more."
"You should talk less." The Imperial stalked out of the shadows, throwing his gladius down by his pack. That was about three days' worth of talking out him already.
"Soup's on." Gelina said and everyone nearly surged forth and trampled her, equal parts hunger and a liking to Gelina's concoctions fanning a fire in them. They held out wooden bowls, pewter cups, tankards. It was a varied array of vessels but you worked with what you had and learned to stay more or less happy with things so long as you weren't bleeding out when you made a living on the road. It was a dangerous line of work they were in, but they'd grown close doing it and everyone figured any other work just felt wrong. They shared some jokes and some stories, laughing and smiling in the firelight until it was finally time to sleep. Sevari looked at the faces across from him at the fire and smiled, remembering all the times he'd done the same thing before, different faces at the fire, different times. He never got along too well with his brothers, but he reckoned this was his second chance at a happy family and he'd take it. A fair bit of trust and a good bond was what kept you alive on the roads. He settled down to sleep and it found him easily. Glad for it too, there was work to be done tomorrow, and not the kind to smile at.
* * *
The village was pressed up against a rocky crag to shield it from the wind, a fence of head-high rough cut logs around it with a crude little gate. A single hall in the middle of it, ends of its curving uprights carved into the shape of some animal Sevari couldn't make out from that distance. The rest of the structures were tents, cured hide of mammoths, probably, stretched over skeletons of wood. There was a big bonfire up and throwing light across the whole of the squat little village while silhouetted figures jumped and danced around it in a savage circle, music in some eerie tongue Sevari couldn't understand wafted up towards them with the breeze. The whole sight made him nostalgic for civilization. It was a wonder Markain was supposedly descended from these folk.
"Can you understand the song, Markain?" Zaveed asked, the same little smile on him.
"Mm." Markain grunted next to him.
"What's it about?" Juin asked.
"Killin' Nords." Markain grumbled, straight-faced as always.
"Do you Reachmen have any songs that are happy?" Paints asked, shaking his head.
"This is one." Markain said, not a drip of humor from him, eyes never straying from the village below.
"Alright, time to think up a plan." Sevari said, slithering off the rocks they were all on their bellies on. They all huddled themselves around in a tight circle while Sevari brought out one of his knives and scratched a crude model of the village into the dirt.
"There's probably fifty, maybe sixty fighting men down in that village that would love to scalp the lot of us."
"Too much to fight fair." Beck muttered.
"Never been one to fight fair, really." Zaveed said.
"One of us should serve as a distraction, or mount a diversion and try to draw some of them off. Maybe Paints walk into the midst of them and blind him with his armor." Paints shook his head and snorted softly.
"I was thinking just that." Sevari said,
"One of us should be the decoy, that is, make it easier on the lot of us trying to sneak in, less people want to cleave our heads in two that way."
At that moment, the lot of them swiveled their eyes to Zaveed,
"If you send me, the only ones drawn away from the village will be the women, you know."
"Right. Well, you can take your pretty face and perch yourself up on one of those rocks up there. Just take your bow and shoot into their little village. You don't even have to hit anything, so long as they see it coming and chase after you." Sevari said.
"Right, right." Zaveed said, leaving the circle to go and string his bow. He could hear him take a couple meaningless twangs at the string a bit as he walked back up to lay on his belly to overlook the village.
"After Zaveed's drawn some of them off, Me, Juin, Gelina and Beck can work on getting ourselves in after they've shut the gates behind them. I'm sure a shitty fence like the one they've got down there will be nothing for you two. Just no tripping over a sword-rack like last time, alright?" Gelina nodded, all quiet business, with Beck frowning with the memory of his blunder,
"The rest of you, you're with Blade and Paints. Your lot will come in after we've got the gates open. If the impossible happens and things don't go quite the way we want them to, grab the staff and run like the Princes themselves are in there. Everyone understand?" Nods of approval, low grumble from Markain,
"Good. To weapons, then." And just like that, smooth as butter, practiced as an artist with a brush, the lot of them drew steel as sharp and clean as they were dirty and road-worn, checking over armor and swords and knives. They exchanged nods, slapped each other on the back or on the shoulder. Sevari clasped hands with Paints and slapped a hand down on Juin's shoulder, the lot of them exchanging nods of encouragement. That was them, their band, their crew, bonds hard and tempered. A family.
"And one more thing," He held a finger out to the lot of them,
"None of you die."
"Sentimental shit." Zaveed called out from his perch. Sevari could hear the smile in his voice and a laugh from the lot of them. After a few moments of preparation they were off, quiet as a breeze.
* * *
They made it close to the walls, quiet as the wind in a graveyard and not a hitch. It wasn't much of a victory, but it's the little things that have to be appreciated. Sevari squatted low, hidden behind some brush and further hidden in the darkness of the night. No doubt the rest of them were near blind. He waited, and waited, and waited. He waited long enough to wonder if Zaveed had fallen asleep up at his perch until he heard the thump of a shaft into wood. Yelling went up behind the little fence and three whole dozen of them came yelling and hollering out of their shoddy gate. Some were tugging on trousers and headdresses, all were bringing along bone and iron weapons of savage looking efficiency. Good enough to kill Zaveed if they found him without his luck, which was something he didn't want to start thinking about right now. They'd left two guards at the door, the couple of them lazing about and not paying too much attention. That was good for Sevari though, always easy to sneak up on a fool who wasn't paying attention.
He felt his foot slip on some loose pebbles, and those loose pebbles started falling and gathering up other loose pebbles until a right racket was heard and he saw the lads at the gate looking right in his direction. Just as the boy closest to him finally locked eyes with him, he stepped forward, pressing his knife into his neck and chopping his throat out. Before the other lad could yell out for help, he heard Juin coming up behind him and taking him to the ground, two neat stabs to the chest, one for the lung, another for the heart. A neat piece of work, besides the part where it wasn't. He made his owl's hoot to signal Gelina and her soft footfalls brought her up to the gate, which she scaled without any difficulty. In a matter of seconds, the gate parted like the curtains of a stage and Gelina beckoned them in with a graceful bow. Beck chuckled and they found themselves in, another fake owl's hoot and Paints brought his group up and in through the gate, quiet enough, even Blade for all his bulk, big greatsword held just under the hilt in its sheath, blade longer than his long tail.
The two groups split from each other and went about searching. Sevari hoped he happened across something expensive, like jewels or other such he could give over to the fence back in Riften. No legitimate merchant could find a lot of uses for anything dug up by an adventurer. Maybe he'd get together enough to finally make out like dirty, dirty thieves. It'd be a bittersweet goodbye to a life of adventuring with a group of people as close as they were, but being honest it was a bit more sweet than it was bitter. He smiled, maybe he'd be able to get a new hat, or new Camlorn leather boots. Strut around like a big man wearing the nicest boots in Skyrim. But then the more he thought about it, the less appealing it seemed. Made him wonder what the appeal in impressing people you didn't even know the name of was.
He was deep in thought right when he led his group around a corner and right into the way of three thick-bearded and shirtless Reachmen, wiry muscle bare under fur capes. They stared at each other for a while and time started to move real slowly right about then. One of them opened his mouth and raised his hands, and Sevari's arm lanced out, cutting a chunk of skull off the boy, slow as slow. He noticed the boy wasn't even old enough to have to shave but they'd given him a sword. Time was slow enough right about then that he had time to wonder if the boy was raising his hands to throw a punch or surrender. But then time started moving far too fast and Juin hacked into the neck of one, sending blood spraying into his face and caught him in the eye. That sent him reeling and he stumbled back, pushed back on his feet by Beck. He chopped wildly at one and caught him in the forearm, cleaving through bone and leaving his hand flopping. By that time, the lads' death cries signaled the rest of the camp and Sevari waved them all piling into the longhouse before they could get caught in the open. Sevari's crew stood opposite twelve others their party stopped and the drummer stopping his song suddenly like he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. The Reachman at the front hacked and coughed something out in his savage's tongue and Markain said something back, shrugging his shoulders.
"We're only here for a staff." Sevari said, swallowing his nerve.
"You'll get my fucking iron, Cat, and then I'll wear you."
The two sides just stood there, gawking at each other and waiting for the other to make the first move. Then Sevari felt the looming bulk of Blade step up from behind him, sword in its sheath and hands gripped in big, scaly fists. "Draw your iron, you fucker."
"You wouldn't want me to do that, Witch-Man." The mountain of a lizard rumbled.
"What the hell'd you call me?" The Reachman asked, pitted and scarred face screwed up with anger.
"I didn't stutter." Blade said. The Reachman took a step forward, unsheathing his iron sword and Blade put a hand on his big blade. Another step and his grip tightened. Sevari took the time to look at everyone's hands as long as they were busy appreciating his big, fuck off Argonian companion. None of them had anything that could be counted as a magical staff. Just iron and bone, and lots of it.
Sevari and Paints went towards another door and the Reachman spat, "Where the fuck are they goin', huh?"
"I'd worry about me." Blade said, voice grating out, eerily level given all the iron pointed his way. Sevari shut the door behind him and Paints and they turned around to see a hagraven standing over a corpse with its heart cut out, muttering some dark sounding incantations over it. The hagraven whipped around, fast, and hissed at them, talked in some language Sevari couldn't understand but couldn't stop listening to. The more he listened, the more the world melted away and the only thing there was him and the hagraven. Finally, he understood what she was saying, though he couldn't make out the words exactly. He needed to stab Paints and then himself, that's it. It seemed easy enough, actually, and Sevari turned around to see Paints with his arms outstretched, pointing to his neck,
"Do it here! Here!"
"Right, right, just hold on." Sevari pulled a knife from his belt and took a step towards Paints, feeling drunker than he ever had been, but he still needed to pull through and do this. Easy enough. He raised his hand to the ceiling, making ready with a few practice jabs, making sure he could get it right.
"Hurry up, fool!" Paints said, arms still outstretched.
Between the hagraven's incessant whispers to do it and Paints rushing him with the task, Sevari couldn't take it. Finally, he raised his hand but while he had the knife up in the air, he felt reality rush back. What in the Princes' Planes was he doing? He looked at Paints and he blinked like he was coming out of a sleep he wasn't expecting. The two looked at each other, and shared a moment of silence, slowly coming to terms. Sevari swallowed,
"I don't know…"
"You damned shit, you were going to do it." Paints said, incredulous.
Sevari stood, gawping,
"Seemed like you wanted me to, at the time…"
"Spend so much time learning those chants when I can sneak up behind them and plant my axe in their skull." Sevari heard the wet crack of Zaveed pulling his axe free of bone, smile on his face like this was a big joke only he got,
"Never underestimate the ability of people to be outright stupid."
Sevari put his knife back in its sheath and brushed at his shirt, clearing his throat.
"We should go back downstairs."
"Oh, you should see what the big lizard's done." Zaveed laughed before his face dropped and he pointed at Paints,
"Oh, shit, Eye-Sore."
Sevari turned to Paints to see his armor smoking, the end of his scarf up in flame and starting to spread along the various bits of cloth around his back.
"Fuck!" and he nearly bowled Sevari and Zaveed over, grabbing up a bowl of water and splashing it down his back. It did little for the flames and Sevari set to beating the flames with his cloak. By the time they were done with it and coming down the stairs Sevari was swearing up a storm and hoping he didn't come down and see Blade impaled on his own sword or some such for Zaveed to come upstairs laughing about like he did. Instead, he just found his lot standing behind Blade, who'd barely moved from his place, greatsword held out in front of him, dripping blood.
"I'll be damned." Paints said.
"Didn't even lift my arm." Ja said.
"Killed the whole lot of them, just like that." Viryn, even, seemed impressed. They all stood in silence, looking at the pieces of men and others curled about their killing wounds, sure enough all twelve dead. The moment was burst apart like a hammer to a clay pot when Gelina burst in, heaving in breaths.
"They're back!" She yelled, and sure enough when they piled outside to get a look, all the ones Zaveed had led away and looped around to come back were finally returning. Without a word, Blade set to putting all his strength into great big chops into the shoddy fence, easily tumbling it down in a section big enough for the lot of them to run through and they wasted no time proving that theory. The lot of them ran and ran back to camp, Sevari's burning lungs burning more with each breath in. When they'd finally settled back down they looked at each other. Sevari panicked, feeling about himself, remembering just why they'd been there. His eyes went wide as two plates.
"Who has the fucking staff?" Sevari near yelled.
"Here!" Beck said, grinning oh so proud of himself and shaking a long, carved piece of wood with cloth at the end that held shells or bones to make noise when rattled. The lot of them stared around at each other, not wanting to believe what they were looking at. After a long, ugly silence that made Beck's smile drop a bit and take on a more confused look, Sevari ground his teeth and his hands clenched and unclenched fists.
"Beck," he began, quiet and even as death,
"That's a fucking drum stick."
