Unforeseen Overture{Skyrim}

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by The Great Me!, Jul 20, 2013.

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  1. Mid-day was overcast darker than this hour usually was with a thick canopy of gray clouds as amber-hued leaves were sent dancing through the air by a gust of wind, the forest humming with the pattering of droplets that fell from skyward down to earth. The covering of seasoning birch trees was the dead giveaway to tell anyone that this was the region of the Rift, only a few firs dotting the landscape. After a few hundred feet, visibility ended entirely behind a vail of gray-blue cast by the drizzle, making the land seem swallowed up by a sea of fluffy mist.​
    The only sounds besides the pitter-patter of rain that broke the silence was that of a fire a short distance away, the wood spitting as it tried to maintain a fire and quickly loosing life to the incessant water dripping down on it from the sky, and the occasional pawing or snort from a dark-colored horse with unusual eyes that seemed to glow a menacing blood red. Laying not far from the horse was the carcass of a bear, which was thoroughly mutilated and ripped open, blood soaking much of it's brown fur.​
    Silently, a single blue eye, the other right eye scarred and shut, scanned the land with intent criticality. The figure - who wasn't very large, somewhere a margin over five feet in height - sat atop the flat of a wide stone pillar long ruined by time, which stood vigil in front of a Jarrol mountain cave just off the main road heading west towards Ivarstead. A large black cloak lined in black fur and feathers draped over him to hide most features of his body, a few brown and blond locks peaking from under the hood, and a body that might be called sickly or painfully thin when no longer hidden by the cloak. Despite being young, appearing as if only in his mid-to-late teens, his single blue eye and heavily scarred face betrayed a hardened, callous, and brutal young man that had seen and experienced too much already for his lifetime.​
    The relative silence of the forest was a welcomed one but he knew that it wouldn't last, though the circumstances towards why the peace would be broken was not an entirely unwelcomed reason either. Rather, it was the inbetween now and when he was to find his target that troubled him. He preferred to work solo, even before the falling apart and rebuilding of the Brotherhood thanks to their past leader...thanks to the betrayer.​
    Bitter weight like a boulder planted itself in his chest all the way down to his stomach at the thought, his hands clenching until his already pale hands turned white as the snow in Winterhold beneath the cloth that draped around his seated body. Why did Nazir have to decide to pair him up for this mission? He could just as easily handle it on his own, if anything any of the other initiates that joined after the relocation would only slow him down or make the Hit more of a hassel for the practiced young assassin. He may have been relatively tolerant...maybe so far as to say 'nice' or 'respectful' to the Redguard assassin, which was a mighty accomplishment for the untrusting and spiteful young male, but that didn't mean he liked any of the others in the group, and certainly not the newer ones.​
    With an irate huff under his breath that made a white exhaled cloud spiral into the air and disappear, he impatiently tapped one index finger in timed rhythm, blue gaze flicking about the land searchingly.​
    Honestly...Fredas, the Angarvunde ruins entrance in the Rift, 4 in the afternoon, SHARP. What about that was so difficult to follow? Real great fucking partner you've set me up with, Nazir, I can tell this one's going to be so damn competant I could drown myself to save the trouble and annoyance. He silently ranted, his mood not doing so great at the moment. Not that his mood was doing well in...well, just about ever. Once in a Blue Moon was a bit too generous in trying to say how often he was in any sort of decent mood, forget a good or great one. If my target gets away I'm going to have this other guy's head for it instead. You know what - forget his head, I'll rip him into so many shreds the animals won't be able to find the leftovers.
    Really he was away from the sanctuary so much he wasn't even sure who he was meeting - what had his name been? Dave...? Dean? Don...? Something starting with a D, but other than that he didn't care to remember - or who even was a part of the Brotherhood anymore besides Nazir and Babette, but frankly he didn't care to know. As soon as this mission was over, he'd probably never bother with seeing the guy ever again anyway. In fact, if the guy didn't show his ass up to their rendezvous point in the next five minutes, he was probably going to declare To-Oblivion with waiting and go on ahead without, not being one for patience or hospitality, and never meet him at all.​
    #1 The Great Me!, Jul 20, 2013
    Last edited: Aug 3, 2013
  2. Wolfen woke, sitting up in the bed. It had been a fretful night's sleep, as it always was for the Imperial, and this inn was a true shit-hole. They only served their own hand-brewed drinks, all of it mead that tasted similar to mule-piss, and their beds were little more than belts on a small pile of straw. "At least they're free of parasites..."

    Wolfen got up, going to the bag that carried all his belongings. He pulled out a set of worn traveling clothes, smelling them lightly. "Need a wash... better find a stream." He pulled them on anyway before fitting the steel plate to his body. He made certain to keep the helmet on, not wanting to be recognized, and left the inn without a word to any of the occupants.

    Not bothering with a horse, he strode with determination out of the small town. Ivarstead, if he'd read the sign right. Not that Wolfen cared. All of Skyrim looked the same to his eyes. He trudged on, heading straight into the tree line. There was a small ruin almost a day's walk from the town, and that would be his next encampment. He smirked to himself, mentally calculating his ammunition. He needed to find more arrows soon, or else he'd be forced to resort to the flimsy iron-headed ones. Those would be lucky to take down a rabbit. His current quiver, carrying fifteen Dwarven arrows, could kill anything he was likely to run across, but with so few shots, he had to make them count.

    It wasn't long before he met trouble. A small squad of soldiers, or people who looked to be soldiers, approaching him calmly. Wolfen wasn't fooled. There were too many, and they carried the wrong gear. These men wore Stormcloak armor, but carried swords, not axes. Wolfen didn't wait for the ambush, instead pulling Reaper from it's sheath and burying it in the "Stormcloak" soldier's belly.

    Five minutes later, he walked on. He was down another arrow, putting his count at fourteen, but he had another forty Septims, another treasure map, and most importantly, another human heart. He didn't like collecting the grisly items, but they were far too useful in potions. All in all, it had been a profitable attack, but not a very interesting one. "Today is going to be very boring indeed." His high, feminine voice nearly caused him to burst into laughter, but Wolfen trudged on. He smelled a troll on the wind. Maybe the monster was in his path. That would be entertaining.
  3. "Oh to Oblivion with this!" The youth hissed under his breath, straightening up and moving to drop down off of the ledge of the stone flat, land on his feet with his cloak furling out behind him. He cursed foully as a tendon in one foot pulled too sharply and gave him a jolt of pain. It wouldn't hinder him too much, but he was already in a bad mood with the No-Show assassin that was supposed to accompany him on this mission. As if I even need them. Real great waste of time.

    He whistled his lips and the dark colored horse perked it's ears and trotted up to meet him, snorting and seeming just as impatient to get moving as he was. At least his damn horse knew when it was time to go. A little nudge was all that was needed to send the horse trotting off the side path and onto the main road for some minutes before turning up north into the hills and further towards the mountains. A bear was ahead and he made it a point to skirt around as he heard it give off a warning roar, having had enough of bears today already, and past a large burial mound until he could see the ruins of what was probably an old fort or watchtower at one point, now overrun by bandits, or so he had heard.

    He skirted the far perimeter near the ruin and up a side-mountain path that was mostly hidden by the rocks, the wind and snow coming more heavily here. A small ruin ahead housed a pair of frost trolls but they were easily disaptched with a few arrows each. By this point, he dismounte and scaled the rocks to a perfect vantage point above the ruins, a few bandits milling about the stone structure, blissfully unaware of an assassin perched above them, a deadly glint to his eye.

    "Well then, let's get this over with."


    Bushes rustled violently as a man tore through the brush and down the hill of the woods, in the direction of Ivarstead, the closest main settlement at the moment. His eyes darted behind him before turning ahead again, feet landing on smooth stone of a ruin that held a circular pit, probably for liquid of some kind. He was dressed in typical hide armor of a bandit or perhaps even a hunter of some sort, but the look he bore was more like that of a terrified rabbit. Behind him came crashing a mangy grey-green apelike beast with huge fangs, snarling viciously as it chased him down.

    The man didn't even bother with the stairs, heaving himself over a ledge just before the troll would've gotten him and rolling as he hit the ground. He sprung back up and kept sprinting, until he saw Wolfen just down the hill, racing towards him and yelling more like a terrified and defenseless farmer than what looked to be a hardened bandit, "Help! Help me! There's...there's a beast! A monstrous beast!"
  4. Wolfen paid little heed to the man, backhanding him to the dirt to silence him. Reaper took care of the troll, cleaving it straight down the middle. "Just a troll, you ninny." His voice seemed annoyed, but still, the high-pitch made it harder to take seriously. He overlarge sword and battle-scarred armor made up for it. He continued on, ignoring the bandit altogether. If the bandit wasn't going to attack him, then he wouldn't bother.

    The scent of the trolls mingled now with the smell of blood. Wolfen would have assumed the trolls attacked the bandits camped at the ruin, if he was the type to assume anything. He cursed the possibility, though. He'd hoped to fight the trolls and the bandits at once. This would have been a true test of his skills, juggling assault from two separate groups, each wanting to end him and the other group. He'd have to dodge attacks from both sides, play them to fight each other, all the while bathing in crimson blood. The Imperial reached the top of a hill, now overlooking the ruin, his eyes scanning carefully the horizon. He paid only minor attention to the sky, more to tell the time than anything. This old fort wasn't his camp site, just a stopping point. He might find some food here, but otherwise this was just a minor obstacle.
  5. The bandit looked a bit stunned and watched as Wolfen killed the troll and continued on. After Wolfen had already gone a little ways ahead he seemed to snap out of his daze for a moment to call, "No, not the trolls, something else! Something worse than a troll...you shouldn't go that way!" After a moment he seemed to lose interest in giving any warning and swatted the air. "Oh Divines, forget it, I'm not sticking around here. If he wants to get killed, let him." He took off in the other direction with the utmost haste. If the man didn't hear him and got ripped apart as well, then that was Wolfen's problem.


    Faulklin snarled with annoyance even as he descended the stairs of the furthest-back tower with brisk steps, stepping over a body here and there with little heed, the ends of his cloak swiping over them and no doubt collecting blood, but he'd have to wait to wash it out.

    Damn it all, I am NOT returning to Dawnstar just to say, "Hey, guess what? I lost my target, got any leads?" I'm going to rip that recruit to shreds when I meet him, there won't be anything left. Nothing at all. Honestly, why did Nazir even recruit this No-Show idiot if he can't even find the locations he's supposed to rendezvous at? I thought they were only after the best. Then again, with his missed target, he was starting to look like less than the best all of a sudden. I'll get both of those idiots, the target and the recruit, if I have to chase them all the way across Skyrim.

    Of course Nazir had never mentioned that his targets had a bunch of trolls in cages when he'd briefed him, which had proven a bit more troublesome simply because he hadn't been expecting it. His arm still pained him but he ignored it, it wasn't as though the wound would kill him anyway. With a huff of annoyance he brought his sleeve up to wipe away some of the blood that dotted his face, even as he exited the stone doorway of the tower and spotted a human figure below, narrowing his single eye and approaching with an air of superiority about him, almost as if he was silently chiding "I'm better than you". Really it was almost comical considering his small size and appeared age.

    "Hey, you!" He barked, not the least bit hesitant to approach. "Who are you?"
  6. Wolfen didn't slow. He pointed idly over his shoulder, aiming into the woods. "You missed one. That way. That's not the style of the Brotherhood, or have they lost their touch along with their Listener?" He didn't slow or anything, walking straight ahead with no apparent care, barely even passing an eye over the bloodstained youth. He recognized the terror in the bandit now. This was a Brotherhood assault, a hit, and so long as he didn't get in the way, Wolfen shouldn't be troubled. His raspy, yet feminine voice seemed bored, as usual. He had a long way before Solitude.
  7. Faulklin narrowed his single eye as the guy spoke to him, particularly calling him out as the Listener of the Brotherhood. He supposed it wouldn't be an unusual thing by now for some people to know him, at least a little bit. Granted there were a lot of assassin's in the brotherhood, he in particular had made quite a raucous with his biggest hit, that of the Emperor, a couple of years ago. He supposed word would get around, but he still didn't like it. Idly he pondered how bad it would be to just stab and/or rip this guy apart, but Nazir tended to make a stink when he went outside the Hit, unless it was associated bandits that no one cared about conveniently going missing.

    "I don't remember asking you for any opinions on my work," he spat, single eye snapping. Despite that he was relatively small and unassuming, there was certainly something intimidating about his attitude and the look in his eye. It brought him great satisfaction when he got to see the unnerve that even some big, burly men got when dealing with him. Others, like Nazir had been at first, completely underestimated and belittled his abilities, but he'd quickly shown himself a force to be respected, at least as far as his skills went. If not for his particular...talents, as Astrid had once called them...he would've definately led a much different and probably more trodden-on life. "But if you want to keep talking, I can show you just how much touch I have with my job on you." He stopped just in front of him, glaring upwards harshly through brown-and-blond bangs.

    Of course the guy just had to be taller than him too, but if he kept up the taunts he'd probably find out how quickly that could change, be it the teen decided to cut his legs out from under him or resort to more hidden measures that he tried not to use very often. After all, it tended to attract too much attention, but out here in the middle of nowhere, he was sure he could get away with it.
  8. Wolfen stopped, looking down at the odd teenager. "Out of my way. You'll lose your target at this rate. Besides, you can't handle me. Neither could any of the other Brotherhood." He wasn't moving, his hands not even going toward his weapon. He was the definition of calm, though his muscles were tensed, ready to act if his possible opponent made a move. "Oh, and since you asked, I'm Wolfen. Satisfied?"
  9. When the irritating guy actually stated that Faulklin couldn't handle him, Faulklin actually laughed cynically under his breath, his single blue eye intense, as if taking that as a personal challenge. " 'Can't handle you'? I think you'll find I'm not at all like the rest of the Brotherhood, but if you really want to test that theory, I'd be happy to oblige," he growled, narrowing his single eye, feeling the small feathers on his shoulders, which were hidden beneath his clothing, bristle upward as his shoulders tensed slightly.

    Before he could follow through on any threats or promises, depending on how one looked at it, he turned his head as he heard the hoofbeats of his horse approach and then dance in place, offering up a whicker as Shadowmere tossed its head as if to encourage him to climb on and give chase to their target. After a muttered complaint and a few foul expletives under his breath, he shot a last glare at the guy who introduced himself as 'Wolfen', whirling off to the side towards his horse.

    "No, I'm never satisfied, that about sum it up for you?" He shot over his shoulder. "But luckily for you, I have a reward to catch, and unfortunately your head isn't going to put any coin in my pocket." Really it wasn't just about the coin, he would really love to rip the guy apart and send his innards scattered across the ground for the scavengers to eat, but he really didn't want to get some sort of lecture about being careless and losing his target.

    Plus that idiot saw my other form, going to have to kill him before he spreads it to every corner of Skyrim and send the whole damn Imperial legion on a hunt for the "monster". He conceded ruefully, that taking more priority at the moment. Either way, he'd get the satisfaction of a kill.
  10. Wolfen smiled, giving a small wave to Shadowmere. He knew the horse, had even ridden it once, and still carried a small scar from his fight with it. That horse would never die, it seemed. He'd thought it was dead when he cleaved it's head off, but apparently it just reformed somewhere else. He wondered idly if the beast remembered him, although he was wearing different armor now. Before, he'd worn Legion armor and his face had been exposed. This time, he wore full steel plate and had his face covered.

    Whatever the case, he started off, pausing at an overturned crate and collecting some spilled food. He didn't hunt if he could help it, so this saved him the trouble. With his dinner (a nice, plump veal steak and some apples), Wolfen continued his trek. The sun was starting to set, and he still had a few hours of travel to go.
  11. Faulklin snarled angrily as he trodded along towards Riften, his search having not gone at all how he wanted.

    He had ridden all the way to Ivarstead, which really wasn't far by horse but only to find no one unfamiliar had so much as passed through there since the day before, which meant his target had gone away or around Ivarstead at some point between there and the bandit camp. Already in a bad mood, he had been tempted to slash someone's throat then and there just for the satisfaction, but that would only create more problems than it would solve. No, he needed to find his escaped target rather than be wasting time dodging guards after earning a public bounty on his head, huffily going on his way and backtracking, hoping to pick up a trail from there. A dead skeever, two wolves, and a frostbite spider later, he came across a couple of Vigilants of Stendarr, which proved to be no help at all. When he happened upon a Dark Elf mercenary off to some location, asking her had turned up nothing either, and already in a bad mood and wanting some answers, he pressed and threatened until she drew her weapon. It had been relatively easy to lop her head clear off after a few traded blows, or attempted blows anyway, the irate teen feeling a measure of satisfaction from that though it wasn't enough to quell his agitation.

    He still had a target to find and a lecture to avoid.

    He took east through the woods, hoping to find something that might lead him to his target, but other than a wood elf that foolishly attacked him from the cover of the trees and bushes there was nothing to be found. By the time night fell he finally found his way to Riften, muttering a few nasty complaints under his breath as he dismounted and entered the city, ready to call it quits for the day and making his way directly to The Bee and Barb, flopping down into one of the chairs at an empty table against the wall, making it a point to sit where no one could get behind him and waiting a short burst for Talon-Jei to approach him.

    "Welcome to The Bee and Barb, m'lord. What can I do for you?" The argonian questioned, gazing at him through tawny eyes that pierced the darkness of the room with ease.

    "Something hot and satisfying, I don't care what, just something." He all but barked, scowl creasing his face. The argonian seemed unphased by his attitude.

    "Certainly." As he went off to fill the order, Faulklin's single eye surveyed the tavern with minimal interest in his surroundings, but enough attentiveness to take note of who was present, hoping in vain to see the face of his target among the crowd.
  12. Wolfen had reached his momentary destination. It surprised him slightly how empty it was, only a few skeevers present. He lay on a stone bed, his armor still on, thinking over the night. He'd seen Shadowmere again. By his sources, Shadowmere was the personal steed of the current head of the Dark Brotherhood, some woman named Astrid. Yet here was some man, barely more than a boy in appearance, galloping about on that Daedric horse. Could the Brotherhood have been altered? Were they stronger or weaker now? He gave a small scoff, thinking about Nazir. He was definitely dead. That man was a wizard with swords, but he hardly wore armor.

    Wolfen couldn't escape the thought of the assassin, who for whatever reason was clinging to his mind. His target had obviously been that cowardly bandit. It put a small smile on his face to think that he'd never get the satisfaction of ending the man's miserable life. After all, Wolfen had met the man again, in a much worse situation than the first time. He'd watched, even admired the killing tactics of the two Ice Wraiths. The man had been barely alive when Wolfen had come across him, begging for help.

    In a way, Wolfen had helped him. The Ice Wraiths had been dispatched, at least. But the man was going to freeze to death, and Wolfen had left him there, only half a mile from where the wretch's original camp had been. Stupid fool.
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