-Coast of Haafingar-
The northern Ghost Sea shimmered under the bright moonlight; the iconic shadow of Skyrim's prized arch, ingrained until the end of times upon the tranquil waters. Directly opposite from the coast they stood on, once flawless steel armor now patrolled the Solitude Docks, scraped, cut, and stained with bright crimson hues. Each night the same routine, the guards would switch at nightfall, and change once more at sunrise. Never for a second leaving the docks unguarded; one had to wonder why?
sat uncomfortably on a tree stump, delicately oiling his large Nordic blade with great care, making sure to not have too much in its various and contorted crevices. He enjoyed cleaning his weapon, he felt as if it purified and cleansed him of each death that he added to his count.
The air held a bitter nip at the Nord's ears, in turn, he pulled up his fur hood, and tightened his thick and supple Sable cloak around his body. The cloak, much like his sword, was a part of his identity. Never was he without one or the other. In fact, most people knew not his name, but the sable that was attached to his back. His hands moved in a practiced and memorized routine. It normally took him fifteen minutes to oil the sword with much more care than most swordsmen would use. Today though, things were different. He needed to be finished so that he could begin his trek.
A deep scornful voice cut through the midnight silence with the same message it carried five minutes earlier, "Elric, we must be going. I need to speak with my contact in Raven Rock within three days. At this pace, we'll make it in seven. Lest' of course you hurried up your damnable sword cleaning.."
The Nord chuckled silently as he turned around and faced the Redguard.
"Three days is all we need. The horses are swift, believe me. It will take us two days of travel at the most. Then simply a few hours to reach Solstheim. There's truly no hurry, Cirroc."
"No hurry?! This meeting is essential to ensure the Guild's grip in Morrowind. I can't arrive fast enough."
"Perhaps, but have you considered the fact that Morrowind differs vastly from Skyrim both politically and geographically? None of your men could survive a night in Solstheim's wilderness."
Cirroc scoffed, "Oh, and you can?"
Elric wiped the sword one final time with a small rag before answering," You know I have talents no one working with you could even hope to possess. They mean little to me, yet essential for survival? Curious how it works sometimes, hm?"
"Nevertheless, I must see this land for myself. Now back to my original question, which you've not answered since we departed from Markarth; Why are you in need of Solstheim?"
For a long time, the Nord did not answer, allowing silence to fill the void between them. He knew though, it was an inevitable answer he would have to give him.
"I am travelling to find someone. Master of the Telvanni House, Neloth was his name. He has a theory regarding the heart. I spoke with someone else, an old member of the College in Winterhold. He told me he was in possession of it. Unfortunately, he was most incorrect. Neloth believes it is scattered over Solstheim. I must head to Tel Mithryn to find out for myself." A sneer crept upon his face, only for a mere second, but it was enough for Cirroc to know this was not the whole truth.
Finally convinced his sword cleaning was thorough enough, he sheathed it within a black leather scabbard adorned by a single flawless emerald on each side. Silently, he stood up, stretching his back before attaching the sheath to a sash reaching across his back and chest.
With a loud sigh, he approached the two horses hooked up to a small tree and easily allowed them freedom from their chains. Sable climbed unto the saddle, and reached for the reins. With one gentile whip, his horse began striding at a slow walking pace. Cirroc soon led the trek, partly because he was impatient upon his arrival to Raven Rock. Mostly due to his superior knowledge of Skyrim, though.
They kept to the northern coastal border of Skyrim for the rest of the day. It became colder; much colder once they crossed into The Pale. Plants around them seemed to hang as if they had died. With the exception of the occasional wolf pack, nothing seemed to inhabit this area. They ate little, the occasional fruit, but nothing that would require both of their hands or any preparation at all. Their sole focus was arriving at Windhelm as soon as possible. Luckily, with so little animal life, nothing thought to attack them. Once nightfall loomed not far ahead, they travelled deeper into the Pale, no longer by the shoreline, now looking for a warm area to camp.
Clack! a strange sound came from their right; a sound amongst the forest of the Pale. Elric's horse turned his head, alarmed; it scanned the forest grounds and after an uneventful search, resided. Cirroc threw the core of an apple he had finished eating at the spot where the sound had come from. A scaled figure moved slightly out of view, into the night behind them.
Elric slid off his horse, and pulled its rope around a tree, before tying it safely. Cirroc glared at him, "Please, let the lizard be! We have more important things to do. Get back on your horse."
Elric shook his head and urged himself through the darkened forest. He unsheathed his blade, and held it with both hands at his chest. Nordic Carved Boots crunched detritus beneath him, surely giving away his position to whatever lay hidden. He could only see about fifteen in front him, before the scenery faded to a pitch black setting. A large creature approached him from behind; instinctively, Elric spun around and cleaved diagonally through the person.
A scream of pain brought him to the realization of what he had done. He reached for his knapsack to find a potion, only to realize it was back with the horses. He began muttering to himself loudly, in a state of urgency. He ran back to the horses. Sure enough, his knap sack was there. He searched through it, and quickly found a healing potion. In that instant, a cry followed by a loud snapping noise came from a few meters behind him.
Elric ran back, to find the area empty. He could not find blood nor the body. As if nothing had ever happened. Elric surveyed the area around him. Nothing moved, everything was surprisingly tranquil. A large, scaled hand reached for his throat from behind as another pointed a blade steadily. The Nord threw his body backwards sending him and his assailant tumbling towards the ground. He quickly rolled off of the Argonian's limp body, and stood up, his sword in hand. A flash of luminescent purple light came from the Saxhleel, as it disappeared. its outline hardly visible. Elric swung in rage in hopes of a least piercing his opponent. Only due to his wide attacks, he managed to slice through a thin slice of the Argonian's arm.
The lizard glowed with a dim blood red aura, and began running away, in a frenzied state. With a bitter smile, Elric trailed behind the lizard, and kicked it to the ground. He kneeled down in front of it, and pushed the blade through its back, with both of his hands bound to the pommel with great strain. Once more, spades of moonlights shimmered through the long thick branches acting as a stage light focused on Elric and his fallen foe.
The Nord sheathed his blade delicately into its scabbard as he analyzed the corpse that lay before him. The armor it wore was of a dark gray leather-like material, similar to the color of the Argonian's scales, but much more dull. Coursing through the chest, various large grooves crept throughout. Above this, a small copper broach resembling a ship's wheel was pinned firmly.
Elric removed the broach carefully and studied it, before palming it within his hand. Travelling back, all he could think about was food. Not of his fallen companion, or his attacker, but food. When Elric arrived to the site where his horses stood, he dropped the broach into his knapsack, and unpacked a small one-person fur tent.
He set it up quickly, with a bed roll within. Only a few feet away he had placed some left over firewood to keep him warm throughout the night. He reached for his knapsack, unintentionally causing to fall on the ground beside him. With a sigh, he pulled out a piece of stale bread and took a long satisfying bite. He could hardly wait to arrive in Solstheim. The food was so much better there; Boar meat, Ash grown foods, and of course Sujamma. The foods reminded him of his time in Raven Rock, but each tasted better than what was grown in Skyrim.
The only drink that could possibly hope to compete against Solstheim's brews, was Snowberry Ale. Elric always made some before any travel and made sure to keep it cool throughout. Luckily, Skyrim's temperatures completed that with ease. The Nord took a long sip of the sweet ale before laying his weapon directly next to his bedroll in case a stray bandit or lone animal might happen to venture too close. The mere thought of Raven Rock, brought an infamous warmth he reveled at each time. A warmth that pulled him back to Morrowind.
