6:05AM, 10th of Frostfall, Lakeview Manor
The tingling minty odor wafted in from the dining room. Corvus had always enjoyed mint, although it didn't seem to grow around Bruma. Sometimes, when he was a boy, the local alchemist for the Mages guild in Cheydinhal, an Altmer named Eilonwy would give him peppermint in a clay pot. He adored it, the smell and even the taste. A smell that always made him nostalgic.
He sat upright in his bed. The linen sheets, trailed all across the floor. He frowned, recognizing the smell. It'd been such a long time since he'd had it. Cocking his head to the right, he spotted his master's bed had already been made, extremely tidy, with not a single crease or wrinkle. This tended to transpire, with the Altmer's scrupulous behavior. On top of it, lay a leather bound journal. Vorian's notebook.
Standing up, he reached upwards, and bent back, before heading down the staircase to his left, and entering the dining room. The Khajiit had returned now making breakfast, and even at this early morning hour, still with a face mask. Curious figure, that one. The Saxhleel, oddly, was not present. Luckily, Vorian was. The old and still aging elf sat at the far side of the long dining room table, munching on scrambled eggs, as well as fresh horker meat. How'd they get horker meat out here? The nearest vendors were all the way in Falkreath, was it truly worth the effort?
Without facing Corvus, the Khajiit spoke, "Sit, please and be patient while this one makes breakfast. Scrambled eggs are good, yes?"
"Yes, scrambled eggs are fine." replied Corvus, scuttling over to the chair across from his master's.
Vorian looked up from his meal, "I take it you've had a replenishing sleep?"
"Indeed, I have. These beds are more comfortable than ours, back at home." answered the mage.
Vorian hid his frown best he could, "You know that I try my very best to get us the best of supplies. Lately, I've even been buying iron from our local smith, and transmuting it to gold, before selling it. I promise, when we return to Bruma, I'll have a better living situation for us."
Corvus' master smiled. A rare thing for him to do. Most of the time he had a bored expression, but then, most of the time Corvus was practicing magic, and not doing very well. It was good that he could have a conversation that wasn't strictly about magic.
"Here's your breakfast, monsieur. If this is not to your liking, let this one know, yes?"
Corvus nodded, and took the silver tray from the Khajiit. It struck him suddenly that he didn't know his name.
"Excuse me, sir. What is your name?"
The Khajiit fidgeted before answering, "Dar-Quomed." said the Khajiit as he sat took off his robe and placed on the chair. Beneath his robes, he was wearing an brandeis blue colored doublet, over a white cotton shirt. On his hands he wore scaled bracers, an item that the young mage had not noticed earlier.
Dar-Quomed promptly went to a small closet behind the dining table, and began removing items. Four small Ebony daggers, one ebony bow, and a quiver filled with ebony arrows. The quiver he slung across his chest. with the bow, he did the same. Two of the daggers, he carefully placed within a small compartment under his bracers. The other two he left untouched, on the dining table.
"What are those for?" asked Corvus, curiously.
"This one is going to the north with Tsleexith. So are you, no?" answered the Khajiit, glaring at Vorian.
The Altmer scowled "Yes, we are headed to meet a friend of mine. Though I'm sure you already knew that."
"It was protocol. Looking through your journals was to keep this Khajiit safe."
"Really? Then tell me why you had to copy it down, and while you're at that, explaining how a Khajiit such as yourself can speak so well."
"This khajiit is a historian, what you were searching for is ground breaking, I must find it. I am sorry, but I will. As for your second question, I've lived much life in High Rock, although Southern Argonia as well. This one has studied many languages, fluent in our common language, as well as Jel and Elven."
"How about an arrangement. You don't know where it is, and I do. We seek protection and supplies for our journey. You have them. Follow us, but offer us these small security benefits. I cannot, however, promise that you shall have the organ."
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11:15AM, 10th of Frostfall, Kagrenzal
The unique chamber, was among the most impressive he'd ever seen. Even while trapped in the cylindrical golden cage, for four days, the beauty of Dwemer creations truly showed. Just outside the cage, a man wearing a full set of Ebony Armor stared at him. It was much too late to do anything. He had seen what happened to the others here. Each one disappeared, one by one. Each one, screaming a blood-curdling grind-like shriek, just before they vanished.
The young man curled up against the long brass bars that kept him from his escape. His face had become white. He knew what was coming. The man would open the cage, and kill him, as he did the others. The bars uttered a shy squeak, as the door opened, and the man stepped inside. Peering into the area where his eyes should have been, all he could see were dark soulless voids in his helmet.
The man gripped his sword tightly, and slowly pulled it out of his ornate scabbard. The blade gleamed, reflecting the little light in the room, causing it to bounce off of the bars and head towards the center of the cage. With a screech, the doors closed behind him. In shock, the man turned around. Ysmir saw his opportunity. He threw himself at the armored killer, tackling him to the ground. With ease, the ebony clad warrior, rolled over, and pushed the Nord back against the wall.
A light appeared in the center of the cage. The man studied Ysmir carefully. Ysmir had onyx hair, bright copper eyes, and a rather pale skin tone. He wore the clothes of a noble, a gray doublet, a white shirt now covered in dust and dirt, and a pair of fine black trousers. How did this boy get here, to the wing of the executioner? A noise began growing from the light as it spun around the edges of the bars.
What was that horrible noise? thought Ysmir.
His back became frozen, and felt as if someone trickled cold water upon his spine. The warrior too, became angered, placing his hands on his helmet's ears, attempting to block some of the sound. Within seconds, the ground beneath them slid open, and they fell down hundreds of meters in rapid descent.
The man's sword was now flying down in the air, the ebony covered man's helmet had slid off, revealing a Nordic man whose face was actually that of a brutish man. Coiffured hair, and fair skin. Although his features were block-like and his head shaped much like a square. Ysmir attempted to grab the sword, as it spun uncontrollably. Failing, the blade cut a shallow yet long gash, measuring from his palm to his elbow.
His eyes shut immediately, teeth gritted as he winced the final two seconds down into the depths below. As he opened his eyes, they stung in pain. He swam back up, blood flowing into red clouds mimicking smoke all around him. He saw the man had fallen before he had, half of his body visible, the rest covered under a large rock.
A glimmer appeared out of the corner of young Nord's eye. A silver sword, resting in the sand before a tunnel. An escape! Ysmir lit up, and swam as quickly as he could to the shore. He eyed the cuff of his linen shirt, and cut it neatly with his sword. Then, with careful positioning, he wrapped it around a majority of his wound. Unfortunately, he'd be little good to defend himself, with his sword hand injured.
Beyond, within the cave, he could hear clicking, and in a small light on the cave wall, he could see the figure of a hunched elf eating something. Finally, an escape back to his homeland.
