An arrow shot over Tarthas' head. A yelp erupted from his throat. It was early evening and the crickets hiding in the reeds near the stream adjacent to Whiterun's tall walls were chirping. But up ahead there was fighting to be heard. Not man versus man. No, there were huge roars, humane roars in a way, roars of agony. There were shouts as well, shouts to coordinate the bunch of warriors.
Tarthas beckoned for his sister in all but blood to follow his lead. As they came closer to what the sign said was Pelagia farm the picture of carnage and destruction started to form.
A giant, probably the height of three men and the breadth of two, was destroying the farmlands around Pelagia farm. There were about six warriors surrounding the giant. In the middle of the fray stood man in steel wolfish armour, black hair and black war paint around the eyes. He ordered attacks across the rest of the warriors. Some wearing the same armour as the supposed leader others wearing animal hides. A fierce woman had fired the arrow that had nearly hit the siblings. She had fiery red hair and green streaks of paint across her sharp facial features. They matched her rugged yet skimpy armour.
Tarthas and Keri-Anne each summoned a wolfish familiar and Tarthas grabbed his new bow. The ghost-like wolves charged at the giant. Keri had her sword and shield raised and with a yell was running towards the giant hacking at its tree stump of a leg. The giant swept his club across the ground trying to net as many warriors in the hit as he could. But with the leader's precise orders no one got hit. Tarthas shot arrow after arrow at the giant. Some missing. But most hit the giant in his chest like a pin cushion. The wolves both evaporated when the giant hit them with his left fist. There was no time to re-conjure them.
Tarthas heard a confident voice whisper in his ear. "Aim for its temple, no time to loose or your girl will be hit." He had a glimpse of the fierce woman's red locks from the corner of his eye.
The giant was readying to make another sweep with his massive club right at Keri. Tarthas focused and raised his bow. Pulled the steel arrow back. Breathed out and let loose of his grip to see the arrow zip right into the giants skull. The giant roared and the leader ordered everyone to get back. It fell like an old pine tree. It made the earth rumble and dust rise, making it hard to see what had happened.
When the dust began to settle and the grasshoppers continued their chittering the carnage became clear. Three of the warriors had fallen, broken ribs sticking out and crushed skulls. A few were staggering on their feet; they needed a healer fast. Among the wounded was Keri-Anne on her side. Tarthas rushed over to her. Her iron armour was heavily dented, probably having broken a rib or two, her shoulder was shattered and her arm broken. Her head was bleeding from the temple. She had gotten a heavy blow from the giant’s club. She was groaning in agony.
“You were too late kid. Should’ve shot faster.” The redhead said in a disappointed tone. She walked away tending with the rest of that warriors to their wounded.
“Wait!” Tarthas shouted. They all turned around “Go get me some luna moth wings and some juniper berries. Or garlic!”
“Kid, she’s lost, look at the breathing.” A dark elf in hide said.
Tarthas wouldn’t be swayed. “My mum is one of the best healers! And while you’re at it, you the nord girl in hide: get the priests of Kyne! You, dark elf, you can go catch luna moths! Has anyone got garlic!?”
An imperial in steel opened his knapsack and took out some garlic. Both the dark elf and the nord ran off in opposite directions. Tarthas knelt beside Keri’s broken form and concentrated on the basic healing spell, one that would close simple wounds, he concentrated very hard amplifying its strength to an unbelievable amount it was tiring and had very little effect.
“I need her armour removed!” The rugged leader came over and cut the leather straps holding the two parts together.
The dark elf was back with a cloth full of luna moths. Tarthas took out a mortal and pestle from his pack and grinded the garlic and the wings together in the mortar. It soon became a sticky paste green powder. He then took out an empty ale bottle, rinsed it with water from a stream nearby, then filled it and poured a bit of the powder in as well, swirling it to make sure that it was mixed properly. He rushed over, rested her on his knee and leaned her neck back so he could pour the solution down her throat. He let her drink half the bottle. Casting the basic healing spell again. There were very fast results. You could see the wounds closing, the bones slowly creaking back into place.
All the companions were watching with awe as all of the young girl’s bones were put back into place and the wounds were closed seamlessly. The priests of Kyne came over and started healing the other warriors. Tarthas didn’t realize; he didn’t loose focus once.
Most of the warriors were helping their companions but the redhead and the rough leader stood and watched Tarthas. An hour passed and finally the boy released the spell. Tarthas blacked out right after.
*****
Tarthas woke up in a warm bed. Candles in horn chandeliers attached to corners in the room lighted the room. The room was made of stone and supported by wooden beams and pillars that were carved in intricate ancient Nordic designs. There were no windows probably meaning he was underground. There were many beds spread across the rectangular room. The candles gave the wood and stone an orange glow. Tarthas saw that his armour and robes along with his pack and quiver were lying beside his bed.
He put on his chainmail and then the typical Nordic steel armour and then covered it with his mages robe, strapped in his boots and gloves and started looking around. The mage robes were typical college robes and because of the artistic, flexible and light design of steel armour of the nords made it possible to wear robes over them with making it too stuffy or impossible to move.
Mage robes weren’t just a simple fashion statement that mages wear. Yes, a typical mage wasn’t strong enough to wear armour, and that played a role on why robes, but the classical mage’s robes were enchanted to increase the users durability in magic, making them recover their magicka faster also having a larger pool to cast their spells. Some mage robes also helped the wearer excel in a certain school of magic, making it easier to cast spells of that school.
Tarthas realized that his sword and bow were missing he panicked for a minute. Then remembering his arsenal of spells. He carefully wandered out of the abandoned room. When he saw the gruff leader sitting by a small round table chatting to an older man, short, gray hair. They both wore the same steel armour. The helmet looked like a wolf’s jaw at the bottom and the gauntlets also depicted a wolf’s maw. At the sternum bone once again a little wolf head it had thick pelt under the armour, most likely also from a wolf. Tarthas decided to call it wolf armour.
The older man called Tarthas over when he spotted him. Tarthas walked forwards cautiously, not sure what to make of it. The man made him feel at ease but the ruff leader was unnerving.
“Let’s have a look at you, boy. Tarthas right?” the boy nodded “Strong posture, and he has proven he can handle himself in a fight, and when wounded. But how’s your sword arm? I know you are quite nifty with a bow. Or so I have heard from Aela, our best huntress.”
“Surely you can’t accept him?” the rough man said. Tarthas thought that he was confused who was the leader here. “He’s a Breton! Short, frail, mages! Not fighters! Sure he can use a bow. But he was using magic and he summoned wolves!”
“Wolves in combat isn’t so different to us, Vilkas, is it? And battle mages are great warriors. The latest Grand Champion in the Cyrodiilic arena was one, the Red Warden or something? Or so I’ve heard. Great matches those in the Arena, makes me wish Skyrim and Cyrodiil were still on friendly terms. Ever since Ulfric is High King, we have lost contact with the rest of the Empire and stand on the edge of war with the Empire; Ulfric is trying to sign a treaty with Hammerfell to wage war. This is going nowhere.” He sighed.
These people were the Companions, a faction of warriors that sired many heroes and had brought the Nords to the mainland of Tamriel and had banished the snow elves. Now they were the most respected mercenaries I Skyrim.
“Uhm, sir, about my sword arm, I need a lot of training still, I can’t even beat my adoptive sister.” His eyes widened and he looked around, “Keri-Anne!”
“Don’t worry, the girl is safe and resting in Kyne’s temple. You did a great job with that healing. The acolytes and priests summed up she didn’t need much more than serious rest. Vilkas, bring him up to the yard and test his mettle.”
“But where is my sword?”
“It is up in protection and care of Eorlund Gray-Mane. He’s out of the yard, up the hill at the Skyforge. Ever been to Whiterun kid?”
“Not really. I’ll find my way.” Tarthas walked off, out the door and up the steps to the mead hall that was known as Jorrvaskr. Jorrvaskr is the mead hall of the Companions where they rest, and feast while telling bold tales and drink mead. Feasting on the hunted meat or the latest beast killed. Now it wasn’t very full just a few of the Companions sitting around chatting in different groups. Jorrvaskr is shaped like an upside down long ship shaped into a building.
In the yard there was the clanging of metal on metal as people sparred and the swishing and cracking of twigs and straw as dummies were being hit. Twangs of bows from archers. It looked all very military, except that each wore the armour that they deemed fit and it wasn’t all organized it was a bit more casual, if that is the right term. There were others drinking mead in a chair giving advice.
Tarthas walked round the building up the steps up to the Skyforge.
The Skyforge is a huge hot furnace with red coals keeping the place warm, shaded and sheltered by a statue of an eagle; it’s wings enveloping the area. Eorlund was sitting behind a whetstone sharpening a steel sword. He had long grey hair, and a beard, ironically like a mane. His bare chest and arms were strong, thick and toned and covered in sweat and coal dust.
Tarthas nervously cleared his throat. He started feeling sticky from the heat radiating from the Skyforge. “Legendary sir Gray-Mane. I would like my sword back. I need it for, erm, training.”
The blacksmith stood of and towered over Tarthas. Nords were naturally one of the tallest races in Tamriel, Bretons being one of the shorter races made them quite different in stature. “Ah, so you are the young Breton that I smithed the loner’s sword for, and the bow. Fine pieces of work, one of my best. Though my never my best, that broke years back through rotten luck.” He turned around and got from a workbench the sword and the bow, along with Keri-Anne’s sword.
“This sword, of your friend. It is unique in its kind. Akavirii in make, yet straight this is quite strange. Have you heard of the Akavir boy?”
“No sir.”
“Akavir is another continent on this world we call Nirn. It has many different races, just like Tamriel. One of them was a race of men who now seem to have disappeared. This race of men came to Tamriel looking for someone known as the Dragonborn according to the prophecy they had. They became known as the Blades, many joined their ranks and adopted their weaponry and smithing techniques.
“Their designs are oriental as most like to call it, sharp enough to cut through dragon bones, some claim, but strong and flexible. Artistry. These oriental blades are disappearing, and only the long sword curved ones remain known as Katana’s and some Dai-Katana’s ones you could wield with two hands. But this one is straight and shorter, but still got the same design principle.
“Utterly amazing. Let her look after it well. I’m also smithing her some steel armour in the mean time because I heard it was broken. I don’t wished to be paid, Companion’s don’t pay for my work, and I do it with pride. Now go off to your training, may your blade stay sharp and you strikes swift.”
Tarthas ran down the steps to see Vilkas waiting for him. He looked agitated. Then again, he always did. He turned around and walked to a clearing in the yard, Tarthas followed close behind.
“Now whelp. Hit me with a few swings of your blade. Don’t worry I can take a hit.” He raised his shield. Tarthas spread his legs and lifted his blade; he hit the shield from the right, then quickly twisted his wrist and hit the shield from the left. Tarthas jumped back gripped the sword with both hands and went down hard; making a clang that ran through the whole yard. But Tarthas didn’t stop there; he kept hitting the shield from different angles.
“Alright! Enough whelp. Lower your sword. I will be your tutor, so will Farengar, the court wizard. You have potential, but you’re like an untempered sword, you need rigorous hammering and sharpening to turn you into a real weapon. Welcome to the Companions kid.”
I hope you enjoyed, comments would be appreciated.
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