Dragonborn Ascendant (3)

“By the gods!” A woman gasped, hands going to cover her mouth as a cry left her lips. “Magnus, what happened to your face?!” Demanded her, rushing to my side even if there were dark looks thrown her way.

Her display of worry still made me tug my lips, a small smile forming on my face. “I’m fine, Carlotta,” I told the woman, shaking my head even as she tried to keep fussing over me. Really, if she didn’t treat me so much like a little brother, or worse, a son even, then I’m sure I would be getting the wrong impression from her actions.

Even so, however, I could still appreciate the attention of a woman worrying for my well being.

“You should have seen what I did to Mikael,” I told her and that gave the woman pause. “I hope he learns his lesson to not mess with you anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Magnus,” Carlotta slapped my shoulders, voice chiding. But whatever reprimand she had to me lost its effect with her relieved eyes. “Still, thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” I shrugged. “I would have done this to anyone.”

“I’m sure you would,” the brunette woman snarked back, looking at me from head to toe. She frowned. “Will you be leaving Whiterun?” She asked and I nodded.

“Aye,” I nodded, “Vilkas gave me a job to do near Rorikstead. Apparently some raiders have been harassing the villagers.”

“And he wants you to take care of them?” She asked, worry palpable in her voice. I didn’t voice my answer because we both knew that was exactly what I was going to do, and beyond that, my silence was already enough of a confirmation.

She sighed. “Please, be careful.”

“I’ll try,” I told her. “Well, I’ll be going now. It’s still a week long of travel from here to Rorikstead, even on horseback.”

“Of course,” Carlotta nodded, stepping back. “Don’t let me keep you too long if that’s the case. Have a safe trip, Magnus, and please, stay safe. Mila would be heartbroken if she hears news that you got yourself hurt.” She muttered.

I dipped my head to her, offering a short thank you to the widow before departing.

The trip to Rorikstead was a long one. I had bought a horse precisely because I knew becoming a Companion would mean I would have to travel a lot throughout the country, so having a means of transportation of my own would have been a great convenience. And I was proven right.

In the month and a half I have been training under the Companions and studying magic with Farengar, I made great progress with my skills and travelled more than once to distant places to get rid of bandits or to settle disputes down more often than not. It was a time of intense learning and gruelling experiences.

When I first tried to join the Companions, Kodlak had been interested in me, telling me he had heard good words from Farkas just the day before and was eager for a new member to join. Vilkas, who ate with the Harbinger at the time didn’t seem quite so enthused by the idea, however, and demanded I prove myself to him first at no objection from the Whitemane, which is how we ended up sparring on the yard outside Jorrvaskr.

I lost, of course. My bladework was poor, to put it lightly, and troll shit as Vilkas said himself. But at least I seemed to have enough talent - quite literally adjusting myself and improving my swordplay in real time - to be considered a good, if barely adequate, prospective member. Which is also why the Nord warrior spent hours and hours every day drilling sword stances in my mind, sparring with me till exhaustion and conditioning my body until I felt like a walking bruise ready to puke all of my guts out when night finally arrived. I was only thankful I had a mediocre Restoration spell in my concise repertoire, which allowed me to continue with this madman training for virtually my entire stay in Whiterun.

And there was also Farengar, someone that sometimes gave me a few books or scrolls, some of them even spell tomes, in exchange for doing some tasks in his place. That meant I was often made to enchant one thing or another if they were simple enough enchantments, or brew this or that potion, or deliver this thing or fetch that, or even find a solution to a problem. All things that, when compounded, were tiresome, but still leagues easier than whatever training I was doing with the Companions. It also didn’t hurt that I was in fact some sort of prodigy, a ‘savant’ as Farengar convinced himself. How else could I learn a handful of advanced Destruction, as well as an array of Alteration and Illusion spells that would take anyone else years to learn.

“Your talent for the Higher Arts is remarkable, Magnus,” Farengar said once, watching me as I went through the brewing of a potion found inside of an alchemy tome teaching how to do fortification potions. “Far beyond anything I have ever seen in my life. You should visit the College of Winterhold if you ever wish to deepen your understanding of magic as I’m afraid that, due to my duties as a court wizard, I would be a poor master to you and one sorely lacking the right instruments for teaching.”

“That is something I was looking into,” I told the man. “The College of Winterhold. I wonder how it would have compared to the Mages Guild, when it still existed, that is.” I hummed.

“Something we both would like to know, I’m sure,” the court wizard returned.

That wouldn’t be the only time he would nudge me to seek out to join the College, just the first. And he even seemed to apply himself more while teaching me, perhaps trying to persuade me to fully commit myself to the arcane arts, or simply to abandon the Companions with the promise of arcane knowledge and power.

I ended my first day of journey with a view to a distant Fort Greymoor, setting camp close to a pond in an elevation between two rocks. I was quite glad predators were rare on the plains of Whiterun Hold, otherwise I would have been worried about my horse. I named him Roach. Entirely unimaginative, I know, but I still thought it was appropriate to pay a homage of some kind. On my second day of travel I made some good progress, and would have made even more if it wasn’t for a pair of wolves that attacked me as they came stalking from the mountain south of the plains. On the third, I was already feeling somewhat tired of the constant horse riding, only finding reaching the intersection with the road that led to Falkreath Hold, which is why I was very grateful when I finally arrived at Rorikstead a few days later.

At long last some bit of civilisation, although the little hamlet couldn’t have more than ten houses, but they did have a tavern for the weary travellers to take a much welcome break from the road.

My arrival wasn’t much welcomed by all locals.

“This is an insult,” one of the elderly men grumbled, watching me with judgmental eyes. “Did we insult the Companions for some reason? Are we less worthy of their services than everyone else?”

Jouane, the other man sighed. “Peace, my friend,” he advised. “I’m sure the Companions had a good reason for this.” He tried to appease his friend, but was only met with a click of a tongue before the old Nord warrior grumbled something else.

Jouane sighed.

“I’m sorry for the display, young man, and I’ll ask you to forgive Rorik.” The grey haired Breton said, offering me an apologetic smile. He looked tired. “He hasn’t been the same in the past few years, and the raiders from the west have only made his mood even more foul. And I’m also sure the years and old wounds finally catching up to him haven’t made things any better.”

“Were you two on the Great War?” I found myself asking, and then almost immediately winced, wanting to backtrack from the question I made.

“Aye,” the man nodded, a bit more genuinely having seen my reaction to the insensitive prodding. His expression turned sombre a moment later. “I was a healer in the Imperial Legion, a skilled one, which is how I met Rorik. I saved his life. He had suffered horrendous injuries in a battle against the Aldmeri Dominion, and he was lucky enough I was the healer they sent to help the troops.” Told me the man. “We became fast friends afterwards, and since I didn’t want to go back to High Rock - there was no family for me there, no wife or children to receive me back -; Rorik decided to invite me to join him in his little farm here in Skyrim.”

“I see,” I hummed. “Not such a little farm anymore, eh?”

“Quite,” the healer chuckled good naturedly. “Which year were you born, boy?”

“182,” I answered, a small lie, but that was fine. He wouldn’t know. “I’ll be nineteen this winter.”

“Nineteen years,” Jouane breathed, shaking his head. “I still remember working the fields with my father at your age.” He sighed in reminiscence, a long look crossing his face. “Skyrim has always been harsher than other provinces…” he muttered.

“Right…” I cut him off before we could get too sidetracked. “About the contract,” I started. “Do you have any idea what exactly I’ll be dealing with? Where are these raiders coming from?” I asked.

Jouane shook his head, pursing his lips. “Sadly we don’t know much,” he said. “The only things that I can offer are common knowledge of this region, which may come to help you.” He offered and I prompted him to continue with a hand gesture.

“Rorikstead is located not too far away from the borders with the Reach,” the older Breton stated. “That hill on the other side of the road? The small plateau there is where Whiterun Hold makes a frontier with the Reach. Now, years ago there was an insurrection there, not long after the Great War. Markarth was overrun, taken from the inside by a group of people, the Reachmen, the original inhabitant of the regions before the Nords came and annexed it to Skyrim.”

“I’m guessing this rebellion was quelled since Markarth is still part of Skyrim.”

“You would be right,” the grey haired man nodded. “And many of the Reachmen were exiled, cast away in their own land. We call them Forsworn now, and they act little better than barbarians. Raiding, pillaging, murder… The forsworn have done it all, but they limited themselves only to the Reach, their homeland.”

“Not anymore, it seems,” I grunted, and Jouane sighed with a nod. “I’ll see what I can do, although you might want to appeal to the Jarl if things don’t change soon.”

“Aye, you might be right.” He conceded. “Let’s just hope you can deal with them.”

I ate a heavy lunch that day, filled with meat and fresh fruits. Venison stew, a bowl of vegetable soup and some apples, berries and grapes. It was a hearty meal, a feast, one could say, fit for a warrior the innkeeper noted with a nervous smile. I opted against drinking the strong but sweet Nord Mead in favour of a more bitter ale, it was a smoother drink even if the taste left much to be desired, especially when put next to the honeyed beverage favoured by the Nords. After I was done, I asked for directions from Jouane who pointed out a few spots where the Forsworn could be found before I equipped myself to depart.

Bleakwind Bluff was an ancient Nord tower now abandoned and ruined; rising atop of an outcrop of rock. It was the better part of a day’s walk uphill from Rorikstead, with open view for the sentries at the tower to watch any and all creatures climbing the open plateau. Across a valley to the other side of the hill, however, there was another peak jutting out, one at a higher elevation than the tower. There was a camp there, hidden between the rocks, set up by a pair of vampires and their trio of thralls that all became hostile as soon as they noticed my arrival.

Getting rid of them was simple, only taking a few swings of my sword. None of them were anything particularly protective like armour, only furs at best in the case of the thralls, and the vampires themselves wore almost completely conventional clothes, which as expected didn’t prove themselves resistant to stop the sharp edge of a blade. It was a bloody business that one, done quickly and without making too much noise, allowing me to safely spy on Bleakwind Bluff.

The tower certainly wasn’t abandoned, that I quickly realised. The sun would be setting only a few hours after I got to that ledge, and from my position I could see a few strange lights inside the tower as well as moving shadows. A fire had been lit, though I could not clearly see anyone inside. I still knew there would be people. Three at least.

In the valley there was a road, a path of beaten dirt cutting through it, and another one a bit more hidden that climbed to the tower.

I made my way down.

After that I made a pause to rest and eat a beef jerky and drink a mouthful of water from a skin pouch. The sun was already setting then, and behind my back when I began my ascent to the outcrop.

There was a forsworn on the stairs, someone I ran through with my sword as I charged quickly in the hopes of not alerting the others. I waited with bated breath, straining my ears in search of any noise that could indicate my presence had been noticed, but after five minutes of silence, I decided to move on. Significantly more cautious too, although the steel plated boots and armour could still make noise on occasion, even when there were thick furs underneath it that muffled the sounds the clicking metal could make. Thankfully, there were no other forsworn on the stairs.

But, that unfortunately didn’t mean there weren’t forsworn anymore.

“Rrraaaggghh!” Howled a man, swinging his axe wildly at me.

I jumped back, not even attempting to parry the blow that whistled only a foot in front of me, cutting through air with fury.

“Intruder!” Yelled the man.

“Fuck!” I growled, avoiding another swing. I stabbed with my sword but the man stepped back in time to avoid it, and so I followed, pressing with a downward slash.

I needed to be quick here, I had to end this fast.

“Aarrgh!” The forsworn warrior cried as lightning crackled from my hands and bolted directly to his chest. He spasmed as if having a seizure, crying in agony as his knees buckled. He wavered for a moment, and I saw in that moment a flicker of fear behind his eyes.

No protest left his mouth, only a pained, wordless grunt as my blade came down another time digging on his neck and snapping a collarbone.

Blood gushed from the corpse that fell limp to the ground and I stared for a moment at the dead body before rushed footsteps snapped me back to attention. Another forsworn came rushing from the tower and I doused him with fire until he ran back screaming. I followed him closely, intent on clearing out the tower before allowing me to relax.

My world was drowned in flames.

“Aaaggghhh!” I roared, feeling the fireball burn, though thankfully my armour still protected me from the brunt of the explosion.

There was a cackle and my eyes snapped to stair where a hagraven cackled. She was a hideous looking thing, a cross between a woman and a beast, a hag and a crow. Her arms were long and thin, gangly, and her legs were bent unnaturally like an animal’s, and her feet were talons like a bird. She smiled maliciously, sure that her spell would be sufficient to kill me.

She was wrong.

“Die!” I yelled, gritting my teeth before I rushed back at her.

The old crone gasped, eyes widening in surprise before she desperately stuck out a hand from which a gust of air and ice shot forward.

I bit my lips, pushing through the coldness and the biting winds, feeling my muscles burn.

Another fireball came, hitting me on the chest and I screamed another time, almost losing my footing with the staggering impact and following explosion.

But it wasn’t enough to kill me.

“Yargh!” I roared, throwing caution to the wind and forcing myself to push forward just for another step before I could offer the hagraven a side slash.

My sword swang, blade moving like lightning and striking true. The witch howled, clutching her stomach in a futile attempt to hold her innards before another overhead strike shut her for good.

I stumbled, feeling myself sting and burn, slipping on the stair of the old tower and falling to my knees. “Fuck!” I cursed, casting a healing spell.

“Fuck!”