The Discord of Skyrim
Chapter 1: Cities in Ruin
Markarth
1
Gaul eyed his target with distain. How could one man simply decide to kill, with no thought, no care for the consequences. The pigs name was Marcus Ortarc, a farmer who had recently let the corrupt noble disrupting his homestead savor the taste of a sword in his neck. Some may view Marcus as the hero who fought back, the man who would take no more and would stand up to the noble imperial oppressors! Gaul saw through this, he saw the chaos this would bring. After all, Skyrim, the pigs intended destination, is the perfect example. The Stormcloaks who believe in a righteous cause bringing unnecessary chaos to Skyrims people. Not to mention the Imperials, who let the chaos breed and fester in the first place.
Marcus had entered Skyrim through Falkreath and moved up to the reach after hearing about the troubles Helgen supposedly faced, unaware he was followed the entire way. Marcus passed a hunters camp, with Gaul in pursuit on a parallel hilltop. The crossroad up ahead is the perfect place to strike he thought to himself. Gaul charged up ahead to the crossroad and began preparations. He stripped off his imperial armor and dumped them into a bush. He had made it into Skyrim, he did not need it for now. He donned a roughspun tunic, laid on the ground and moaned and wretched as if he were in pain, knowing that Marcus, the so-called hero, could not resist. He was right.
“You right there, friend? Do you need help?”
Marcus hurried over before Gaul could reply and once again stretched his coarse guttural vocal cords asking
“Hey! Do you need help!?”
Gaul stopped his groaning and simply replied “Yes, please.” in his rehearsed smooth voice.
“Ok then!”
Marcus helped Gaul to his feet, and looked dead into the eye of Gaul, unsure how to react. He was expecting a beaten down, toothless slave that got lucky enough to escape. Instead a strong jawed, stubble laced; overall good-looking man with a full set of teeth greeted him.
***
“What was with all that carry on? You don’t look hurt!”
Once again, exercising his practiced, rhythmic tone of voice Gaul explained
“It’s my leg. I tripped and hit it on those rocks over there, had to crawl over here just to be noticed”
Gaul retreats into holding his leg as if it were actually hurt, resisting the urge to jump the gun on this anarchist. There had to be no stupid chances taken.
“Well, why were you running down a bumpy stone hill with no shoes then? You asking to get hurt! Were you running from something?”
“Yes, atop the hill I was hit by an imperial courier who thought I was following him. I managed to get him good in the chest, urgh..." Gaul feigned pain "but I’m not sure if he kept on my trail”
Marcus thought of how convenient this situation really was. An imperial courier, delivered to him on a platter! There would be no way the Stormcloaks would refute him.
“I’ll check it out, stay here, lest you want to be hurt!”
Marcus turned around but the minute he had placed one foot forward, Gaul struck.
With lethal precision Gaul brought a concealed dagger up and around to Marcus` neck, merely pricking him with a poison, while at the same time placing his foot around Marcus` foot, and taking him off balance, slamming his pig hide into the ground. Marcus was catatonic, paralyzed…. perfect. Gaul stripped Marcus of his clothes and moved them away. He took his time dealing with Marcus.
First he cut the hand, which Marcus used to inspire chaos in the first place. Then he rested the blade on Marcus` neck and intimately drawing the cold unforgiving steel across his throat, the job was completed. Gaul dragged Marcus limp body behind into the bush where the imperial armor lay. Gaul put Marcus` clothes on, wiped his blade clean in the dirt and then on the bottom of his shirt. He turned to the bush, let a luxury smile onto his face, and walked north-west, towards the city of Markarth…
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