Chapter 3
He stared at the desk, which had been moved to the basement. The desk was full of different soul gems, and the floor was likewise littered with various books. The small room was dimly lit by a single candle. It reminded him more of an ancestral tomb than a normal basement.
Ciel’nn didn’t know what to think of it all. He felt a knot in his stomach as he caught the names of a few book near him—Boethiah’s Glory and Corpse Preparation.
What in Oblivion was Maltrys up to?
He was more interested in books about Nerevar Indoril, and the Ashladers. His favorite book was “Nerevar Moon-and-Star” but sadly, the young Dunmer never had enough time to read.
He shouldn’t be there, but he was—against his better judgement. The elder Dunmer was out, but then… his heart started to race in growing fear… as he heard footsteps.
The young warrior rubbed his chin, and tried to come up with a plan. They were enroute to Rorikstead, and ahead of them were five to six bandits. It would not take long before they would be noticed, not matter how they proceeded. Rangalen cursed under his breath— planning wasn’t his strong suit at all.
Watching the Nord pondering over their situation, Ciel’nn was getting bored. At least the weather was moderate, so he wasn’t freezing to the bone while waiting for Rangalen to make up his mind. “I could flank from the side if you’ll be the bait.” He threw the suggestion in the air, as he brushed a few dark strands of his hair aside.
He was certain he could do it, after all. He hadn't been in a fight for a couple of weeks because Rangalen preferred to be first into the fray, getting bruised up in the process. Ciel’nn had never witnessed such stubbornness in his life—then again, the man was a Nord. Stubbornness runs in their blood, Ciel’nn assumed.
Being bait? Rangalen wasn’t sure if he heard correctly, but they couldn't just stand there fiddling their thumbs. He turned to his companion, “Alright. Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to get hurt.” He spoke in concerned tone, but his excitement was audible. He’d get bruised up, but that wasn’t anything new.
“Sera,” Ciel’nn looked at the Nord, “I have done this before, only alone. They’ll be down before they even notice me.” he said, trying to assure the man. “If you’re afraid of me getting hurt, you should insult them the best you can.” The corner of the mer's mouth curled up in a sly grin. Then laughter came as he saw Rangalen’s surprised face. “Let’s do this, Nord. I’m itching for a fight.”
A short nod was all what the young warrior could do. This Dunmer was full of surprises—he knew Ciel’nn was an assassin, but having him fight against a group of fully armed bandits was something Rangalen couldn’t comprehend. He readied himself for the fight, and drew his sword out. The young warrior took the route towards the bandits, while Ciel’nn snuck from the side through the bushes and rocks, his own blades out and ready.
Rangalen marched towards the bandits. He wasn’t really sure if he could pull off the bait role, but he damn well would do his best to cause them all to keep their attentions on him. Coming close to the nearest bandit he said, “What’s this? Are you trying to rob someone or stand there like a damn ugly troll?” It wasn’t his best insult, admittedly.
The nearby bandits turned to him, drawing their weapons out, “Who do you call an ugly troll, whelp? Go to your mother, milk drinker!” the closest man said with a laugh, as the others followed in the laughter.
The young Nord felt his concern rising. He had to do better, but he didn’t want to be truly rude like the Dunmer had suggested. Rangalen, however, still had to do his best. “I can’t tell if you’re a man, or a damsel, or a Horker! Shorpans.” He pressed the latter insult, and it seemed to do the trick—the bandits were agitated, and charged at him.
Hidden behind the great tundra bush, Ciel’nn was so amused that he almost chuckled aloud. “Well, looks like you do have it in you, Nord.” he mused to himself, before he lunged towards the closest bandit, and slashed his poison-coated dagger into the small opening in the bandit’s armor. “You s’wit!” he hissed.
The man let out a cry, and tried to turn around to see who had stabbed him. All he saw was another blade coming at him, slashing his side of the head—the wound wasn’t lethal though.
The man felt a sudden pain, and he grimaced, dropping his war axe on the ground as he fell on his knees. Clutching his stomach, the bandit tried to yell, but he couldn’t get his voice to work. He collapsed on the dirt, mouth open as he still tried to warn his mates, but it was too late. The last thing he saw was the dark elf killing his friend.
The young Nord was fighting against three bandits, and it was difficult to keep them at bay. His shield had blocked most of the strikes, but he had still gotten a few hits on his sword arm. These bandits were determined to end his life. Rangalen witnessed the bigger bandit rising his two-handed sword in the air, then suddenly grimacing as in pain, turning around to see his assailant.
By instinct the young warrior stepped away from the group, still in a defensive stance, focusing on the other two. Rangalen dared to flash a grin at them. “Come on then!” He changed his stance, and slashed out with his sword. The two remaining men weren’t as tough as their bigger friend, who was still struggling for his life. He dealt with the one in front of him while Ciel’nn took the other as his own target.
The young warrior had found his confidence as he saw how elegantly his Dunmer friend used his blades. Rangalen never had seen such balanced blade dancing— it was mesmerizing to watch.
Sheathing his blades on his belt, Ciel’nn caught the Nord staring at him. He tilted his head slightly. ”What?” He asked as stepped over to a corpse to check the loot—they would need some gold, after all. “I take it you haven’t seen how assassins work before?” Ciel’nn murmured without looking, and stood up. “Only ten gold.” He finally turned to the Nord.
“Hey, what does ‘Shorpan’ mean?”
“What?” Rangalen said, emerging from his trance. He wasn’t sure if he heard correctly. It was clear the Dunmer asked something, but what exactly, the young warrior wasn’t sure.
“Shorpan. What it does mean? It made them rather mad.” Ciel’nn asked again, pulling his hood over his head, then tugging his hair strand behind his ear. They would need to get moving soon—daylight was getting short.
“Ah! It means that person being that is being targeted isn’t worth calling themselves a Nord, or son of Shor. It’s a rather rude insult.” The young warrior explained, rubbing the back of his head. “I've never seen such blade fighting before.” As a matter of fact, Rangalen was impressed by his mer friend’s fighting abilities.
“I’ll keep it mind. But we should move on. These bandits didn’t have much on them.” The mer spoke as he started to walk. “You need to be rougher with your swings, or they won't take you seriously.” Ciel’nn looked ahead of them – the path seemed to be peaceful, but if they encountered more bandits, he would be ready.
The Nord was ashamed of his fighting skills—he knew he wasn’t an experienced warrior yet. Maybe he should have stayed at Windhelm for the army training. It was just hectic to live where almost everyone hated the Dunmer, and generally everyone else who wasn't a Nord. Rangalen had decided that he wouldn't put up with Jarl Ulfric’s ideals...
No, he wouldn’t return unless it is utter necessary. He glanced at the Dunmer ahead of him—maybe they would form a good fighting duo later. Only time would tell.
They arrived at Rorikstead before nightfall, and there were a few Stormcloak guards patrolling. “There have been sighting of Imperial spies lately. Better report, and stay safe on the road.” One of them said, mainly to Rangalen, when he and Ciel’nn approached the Inn.
“They weren’t good spies, then – if they were seen.” Ciel’nn spoke in a low tone, making his throat ache in the process. He hoped the spies had met their deaths by facing some ferocious saber cat. The guard didn’t even look at him, nor did the Dunmer want any death glares on him.
The young warrior wasn’t thrilled, but it was a safer place to rest. He glanced at Ciel’nn when he made the comment on the spies, and nodded. “Do you think they will have work for us? We need more gold for food.” Rangalen asked thoughtfully as he opened the door for the mer.
They spent the following night in separate rooms, although Ciel’nn couldn’t get much sleep. He kept staring the wooden roof, and listened the quiet talk of two Stormcloaks guards. It seemed there was a lot of activity from the Imperials, and that the Thalmor were involved. Ciel’nn had seen those taking prisoners from worshipping Talos.
At times his thoughts backtracked to the Dremora Lord. He pondered how long it would take him to come back, and try to kill him again. The idea brought a shudder through Ciel’nn’s frame. He didn’t want to feel that gauntlet choking him ever again. Shifting to his side, the Dunmer tried to get some sleep, still listening to the quiet talk from the main room.
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