The Journal of Ralis Sedarys, Volume 19
Moving on to Solstheim next, chasing after vague rumors of this Kolbjorn Barrow. My patron seems confident we can find the Relics of Azhidal out here. I'm a bit skeptical, but so long as he pays well, I'll dig wherever the old coot likes.
Initial prospects look poor, to say the least. I was sure I had my map wrong at first, until it became clear that the place had just been lost to the ash. I'll dig out as much as I can, maybe see if I can recruit some of the local residents to help me out. I haven't seen anyone since I got out of Raven Rock, but I keep hearing conversations and whispers around me, so I just need to track them down.
The Journal of Ralis Sedarys, Volume 20
This excavation is going to be one of the harder ones, I can tell. Hired some diggers out of Raven Rock. They all said they were experienced miners, but I guess they're not used to running into trouble as they dig. In a place like this, you never know what was buried long ago, and have to be ready for whatever you come across.
In any case, there were some unfortunate losses when the sleeping dead weren't quite sleeping and weren't quite dead. Operation is stalled unless my friendly partner is able to find enough coin for us to hire some replacements. Maybe it's time to take up a collection from the constant spectators who gather to mock me.
The Journal of Ralis Sedarys, Volume 21
My invisible "friends" have kept it up, drawing closer. It took me a while to realize they were hiding themselves, but I figure it's out of shame. It takes a certain type of cowardice to spend all your time questioning a man's worth and value. You'd think they'd have the decency to at least let me sleep, but they persist even there.
As for the dig, we continue to stall out with the opposition from within the barrow. I had hoped the hardy people of this island would be able to deal with shuffling bones, but I appear to have overestimated them. I won't make that mistake again.
1st of Rain’s Hand, 4E 204
Mogrul walked in between the tents that were set up around the Kolbjorn excavation site. He was passing the many Reavers huddled around campfires, every one of them a mix of all kinds of armors and weapons. Most were Dunmer, some Nords, plus few Orcs and Argonians here and there.
All the bands answered his call, the promise of plunder and wealth clearly glistening in their eyes. As of now, there was at least fifty Reavers in the camp around Kolbjorn and Mogrul expected at least a score more of others to come. He needed a few more to take Raven Rock.
If he remembered correctly, Raven Rock was stationed by more or less thirty Redoran guards, many of them veterans. If those thirty Elves manned the Bulwark, Mogrul would need at least a ten times stronger army to have the chance to climb over the wall. But that wasn’t his plan. Why throw the Reavers at the wall only for them to be slaughtered? He had another way in.
The way he left, through the prison, was most likely closed after his escape, but there was still the way through the mines. If a large enough group was able to distract the Redoran at the Bulwark, a smaller band of Reavers could sneak right into the town and attack the guards from behind. Of course, it was easier to plan it than to execute it. These were Reavers, not trained soldiers. They didn’t even know where to dig latrines and so Mogrul had to shout a lot and even had to kill one of the idiots when they dug the latrine right next to field kitchen. Then there was the constant bickering. Reavers were a disorganized bunch, mostly relying on themselves to solve their own problems and a single day didn’t pass without a brawl or someone getting killed.
Mogrul passed a group of Reavers sitting at a table with tankards of alcohol and he frowned at them as he walked past. As soon as he turned his back to them, he heard this whispering, sounding like mockery, and he turned around. The Reavers were talking with each other, as if they were pretending they weren’t talking behind his back.
It was happening more and more. Mogrul passing groups of Reavers only to hear the whispering, but everytime he turned around, they looked as if they hadn’t said a word. Mogrul knew that he didn’t have much time, especially with an army like this. It was only a matter of time before they would turn on each other and so they needed a goal and that goal had to be achieved soon, because restless army is more than capable of eating itself from the inside out.
The Orc stopped by the tent, right in front of the entrance to Kolbjorn Barrow, and frowned at the dark hole in front of him. The Reavers around began whispering between themselves again and he quickly turned around and the whispers died out once more. Mogrul clenched his hand into a fist in frustration.
“You alright, boss?” he heard Slitter and faced the Dunmer coming towards him.
Mogrul shook his head and rubbed his eyes, then quickly straightened. Can’t show any weakness now. They’re like pack of hungry wolves. Show them your throat and they’ll tear it out without hesitation. “What’s the mood, Slitter?”
The Dunmer shrugged. “They’re restless, but the promise of plunder still holds them in check. Had another brawl today, one of them ended up with a knife in the eye.”
Mogrul bared his tusks in anger. “Idiots. At this rate they’ll kill each other before we even march on Raven Rock.” He snorted and rubbed his chin. “Who are we waiting for?”
“Pretty much just the bands from Haknir’s Shoal and Gyldenhul Barrow now,” Slitter narrowed his eyes in thought. “The men say they were delayed by a blizzard or something.”
“For their own sake I hope they show up soon,” Mogrul grunted, rubbing his eyes again. He didn’t sleep much these days, his mind filled with dreams and nightmares when he closed his eyes. But he suspected it was because he had too many things on his mind. “And Ralis?” he asked about the Dunmer in charge of the excavations at Kolbjorn.
“He and the miners mostly keep to themselves.”
Back when Mogrul and Slitter showed up, Ralis immediately gave Mogrul what they already found in the barrow, mostly items enchanted by Ahzidal himself - Ralis kept saying it like Mogrul should know very well who he was talking about but the Orc had no damn clue. What mattered was that the items could throw a nice sum if he could find the right buyer.
The strange thing was that when they showed up, there were no miners around and Mogrul hadn’t seen them the entire week the Reavers were setting up camp. Ralis said that they moved their camp into the barrow itself, which for some reason bothered Mogrul. So he sent Slitter into the barrow and when the Dunmer came back, he reported exactly what Ralis had said earlier.
“Food and supplies?” he asked Slitter all of a sudden, realizing he had been silent for too long. The Dunmer also watched him with this strange look, almost as if he was thinking which was near impossible when it came to Slitter.
“Last I counted, we still have food for more than a week. For fifty people that is. Once the remaining bands show up we’ll leave anyway, right?” Slitter then paused for a second, tilting his head to side. “Well, the food might last longer actually. With the Reavers killing each other and some disappearing-”
“What?” Mogrul’s attention immediately jumped on the last bit. “Disappearing? Still?”
“Well, it’s mostly one or two each day. Deserters no doubt.”
It started very soon after they arrived. A few Reavers just disappeared in the night, one drunk even swore they were dragged into the Barrow. But that seemed unlikely to Mogrul, because Ralis and his crew cleared the excavation of any draugr they encountered, and if there were any left, they would have to go through Ralis’ crew first - and they saw nothing.
“Something smells wrong here,” the Orc murmured.
“What do you mean, boss?”
“Just think about it. Ralis down there in the barrow, along with his miners. But no one actually has seen any of them since we came here - except you, of course. Why are they down there? Where do they get food and water, because I certainly haven’t seen them take from our supplies,” Mogrul thought out loud, because he just couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was very wrong.
And then the damn whispering all around me! he cursed silently.
“So what, boss? Do you want to check it out?” Slitter raised his eyebrows in surprise and then shook his head. “You feel like killing something, don’t you?”
“I do,” Mogrul murmured and motioned for Slitter to follow him, both entering the barrow. They followed the narrow corridor, everything illuminated by candles, torches and braziers.
Mogrul shruddered as he walked past the alcoves with long dead bodies wrapped in cloth. He never liked Nord barrows, with dead bodies and urns with organs everywhere. There was something sinister and unnatural about such funeral rites. Nords were fools. With so many undead everywhere, they just couldn’t just learn a lesson from that and burn their dead, no they kept doing what they were always doing. Tradition for the sake of tradition.
They took a sharp turn to the right and Mogrul froze in his place. Right in front of him was lying one of the Reavers, his throat slashed open, a pool of dried blood covering most of the floor. “What the shit?” he murmured, kneeling next to the corpse. “Slitter? Is this one of the missing Reavers?” he asked, turning around.
He only saw Slitter hitting him with the pommel of his sword before the barrow disappeared in darkness.
He slowly opened his eyes, the world around him spinning at a terrifying speed and he felt like throwing up. He could feel something hot pouring down his forehead and nose, but he couldn’t reach for it because something was holding his hands. He blinked several times, his sight clearing a little bit, the world slowing down and he recognized that he was being dragged by two Dunmer, each holding him by one arm.
And one of them was Slitter. “Slitter!” Mogrul hissed. “Are you crazy? I’m going to rip your arms off!” he growled, but Slitter wasn’t responding. His eyes seemed glassy and blank, as if whatever was behind them it wasn’t Slitter.
Mogrul looked around and he could feel his blood freezing in his veins.
It was a huge circular room, the ceiling almost five steps high. Everything was lit by braziers on the walls and the dancing flames illuminated the floor, which was covered in blood and red runes. Too much blood. There were bodies on the ground, their throats cut wide open and Mogrul recognized few Reavers, but most of them were miners.
There were other people in the room too, Ralis’ crew, all wearing strange masks. They were positioned in a circle around the center of the room, chanting something all over again and again. Like a ritual.
“I’m going to kill you all if you won’t let me go!” Mogrul growled, trying to break himself free but Slitter and the other Dunmer held him firmly. “I will kill your families and then I will kill you!” he shouted.
The chanting became stronger and the whispering Mogrul had heard earlier intensified. But now it was inside his head, echoing in his skull.
Two cultists then came into the Orc’s view, dragging a Reaver just like they were dragging him. They brought the Reaver to the middle of the room and one of the cultists stepped forward, carrying a ritualistic knife. The Reaver was straining in their hands, the chanting reached a whole other cadence, making Mogrul’s ears ring from its intensity.
The the knife came down, opening the Reaver’s throat and they let all the blood flow on the floor, where it was disappearing through the gaps.
Then they began dragging Mogrul to the center of the room.
He began kicking with his legs, growling and shouting, saliva flying from his mouth. “No! Damn it! We can make a deal! I’ll give you anything! Let me go, just name your price, damn it!” he screamed as they brought him in front of the cultist with knife. “Please!” he begged, all his dignity doused in the fires of hysteria. “Don’t kill me! Please!”
The whispering became louder.
The chanting became stronger.
The knife neared Mogrul’s throat.
He could now make out the words in the chanting, suddenly understanding it.
The whispers turned into a cacophony of screams.
The blade was on Mogrul’s throat.
He could see the eyes of Ralis Sedarys behind the mask and he wanted to scream. Let out all the defiance left in him, all the rage at the world’s injustice, because this was not how it was supposed to end. Not for him. He deserved more!
The cacophony in his head made his ears ring, a single word, repeating over and over.
Ahzidal.
The knife stopped and Ralis Sedarys cocked his head to the side. “You have been chosen,” he said and Slitter dropped Mogrul like a sack of potatoes.
The Orc wasn’t alone. The screams now switched back to whispers, but not mocking words uttered in spite, but soothing words, a soothing voice, like a mother reading a bedtime story before sleep. Comforting him. Giving him purpose.
He was chosen.
To serve.
Comments
Hehe, now I'm imagining Mogrul in that... submissive... position. Probably wouldn't sit well with him~
Hehe, now I'm imagining Mogrul in that... submissive... position. Probably wouldn't sit well with him~
Why are Orcs always get chosen?
Why are Orcs always get chosen?
Are you angry because he didn´t die a horrible death, Kaiser?
Are you angry because he didn´t die a horrible death, Kaiser?
I just thought he might lose a finger or a tusk or something. Karma, y'know.
I just thought he might lose a finger or a tusk or something. Karma, y'know.