*Note: In this chapter, I have included a character based on the build, "The Nemesis" by Mason without permission. Mason, if you are reading this, please let me use this regardless, as I didn't know how to contact you.
Chapter Two: The Mer
The Nord ran like an antelope escaping from the jaws of a lion. The wind rushed past his brown braids and great beard, rustling them like some brown bush. Often looking back with frightened eyes, the Nord finally drew his breath to stop when he found an abandoned house; a common sight in Skyrim. Breathing heavily as he slowly made his way to the small house, a mess of logs and stone. The Nord had been running for a non-stop full thirty minutes, and his legs started to pay the toll, as well as his bad lungs. As he entered the house, he scouted the inside quickly, and upon detecting no threat, he sighed in relief as he drew himself up to an old, wooden chair.
‘Even if they find me here, so be it. I’d rather die a warrior’s death and make my way to Sovngarde than be taken a prisoner.’
He thought.
Looking down at his amulet, he let only his thumb and index finger touch the pendant, before grasping it in an iron grip with his hands.
“Talos be with me.” He whispered.
The man closed his eyes in overwhelming tiredness, like an old man finding peace.
That was when he heard the sound of footsteps.
The Nord’s eyes flashed open, and he clutched his iron waraxe and crouched behind the door. Through the keyhole, he could make out faint images of shining green-gold armor, and a single crimson figure.
The color drained from the Nord as he uttered under his breath.
“Vorador….”
The man slumped on the door, all hope lost. After a few seconds of blankness, he slowly took out a small, red bottle from his leather pouch, and closed his eyes, and drank the mixture.
The door burst open as the man’s hand fell to the wooden floor.
“Justiciar sir! It looks like he’s already dead.”
The high elf reported.
The crimson figure said nothing, as he dismounted himself from his horse and made his way slowly into the old, pathetic shack.
Once inside, the Justiciar looked down from his green, powerful eyes at the dead, limp body and spat.
“Coward Talos worshipper.”
“What shall we do now, sir? If I remember correctly, I believe your orders were to capture him alive, at all cost-“
“Valacar.”
With one word, with a single mention of the elven soldier’s name, he froze. He remembered something that had the power to determine his life.
“Y-yes Justiciar sir?”
The high elf wiped the invisible dust from his crimson robes with a vacant expression, then averted his gaze to the gold-green footman, now a small rabbit before a snow wolf.
“Since when did a mere footman high elf like you dare speak about MY mission?”
The soldier trembled in front of his Lord.
“I-I apologize sir, I simply meant-“
“Enough.”
The Crimson figure was no longer trapped in his dazed expression, and his eyes were golden with rage. He made his way slowly towards the soldier, with a deadly fireball in one hand.
“Not only were you not fast enough to stop our valuable source from suicide….”
He grabbed the soldier’s helmet and threw it away.
“You dare speak against me. That alone can be judged with death.”
The soldier screamed as the fireball was shoved into his mouth, steam rising from his eyes and ears, and the other soldiers looked away in both fear and disgust. They were reminded once again that the man they were serving was the devil himself. Failure was not an option.
Letting the burnt corpse of the soldier fall to the floor and wiping his hands on a white towel, the Justiciar turned to his horse, lost in thought.
“Where’s the closest village from here?”
“Sunhold, sir.”
“Very well. We ride on to Sunhold. There I will send a bird to my superiors of what has happened.”
The soldiers obeyed, as they dragged the body of the soldier into the shack, and began to prepare the fire spell to burn it down.
“Wait.”
Said the Justiciar.
The crimson figure marched into the shack, and looked at the Nord. Dead and lifeless, yet seemed at peace. He had escaped the Thalmor’s clutches and evaded torture that would’ve lasted him several lifetimes from a single high elf. The Nords had begun to fear him, as his methods were spread across the land through whispers.
Kneeling down, he grabbed the amulet of Talos on the Nord’s hand, and pried it off of his death grip. As he rose again, he threw away the string that was tied to the pendant itself, and put the pendant into his satchel.
‘That makes 343.’
He thought.
The soldiers started burning the house down the moment he walked out, a pillar of red behind him. He slowly got on his horse, and waited patiently for the soldiers to finish.
Sunhold wasn’t as big as a village as Solitude or Winterhold, but he knew better.
‘And besides,’ he thought.
‘If anything, it’s better than Falkreath or Morthal.’
Thalmor Justiciar Vorador the Vulture was an Altmer typical of his blood. He loved all things rich and golden, he loved power, and he hated the Talos worshippers due to their concept of ‘god’. He, like other high elves, could not accept the fact that a mere Nord could achieve godhood, a feat that had seemed impossible, even to the proud high elves. However, he admired the Nord customs, as well as their powerful warrior spirit. As a child, he would often picture himself in the great castles of Solitude, marveling at the blue palace in all its royal glory. Sunhold was no capital city, even far from it, but it had the warmth and the care of a normal Nord village, and it was pretty big. Larger than Falkreath. However, it was not just the warmth and care of a Nord village that the village was famous for. Sunhold was famous for being built underneath a dragon burial ground, which dwarfed Whiterun’s achievement of capturing the dragon Numinex in Dragonsreach. And perhaps due to the magic within the dragon’s very bones, the village was enchanted by the element of fire. All fire spells had their effect enhanced greatly, and the air was thick with magicka.
‘What a waste of resources to Nords who know nothing of magic…’ He thought.
Still, he was eager to find the village that even the most elite mages from the college visited regularly to investigate these magical benefits.
Vorador grabbed his horse’s leash and turned to his soldiers. They were ready for yet another hunt. Like a pack of wolves, he would lead them to their prey. No-one could escape from the justice of the Thalmor.
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