Shawk stepped inside the warm gloom of Dragonsreach, pillars lined the entrance hall each one a canvas for Nordic carvings, the fine yellow carpet lead the way up the hall beneath hanging iron chandeliers displaying a comfy orange glow. A stone pit sat in the centre of the dining area, radiating more light and unleashing a friendly crackling sound that echoed through the room, two long oak tables ran parallel on either side of the hearth, rich, glossy food sat on various plates releasing mouth-watering aromas to those nearby, only a few people sat at the table, a handful of stuck up nobles and a raven haired Nord woman in steel armour. The Jarl sat at his throne, his Dunmer house-carl stood protectively at his side her steel sword held loosely in her hand whilst the Jarl Balgruuf the Greater and his steward Proventus Avenicci were engaged in a heavy discussion with a blonde Nord in studded armour cradling an iron horned helmet in his arms. Shawk slid a wooden chair out from under the table and collapsed into it, holding his head in his hands he thought over the troubling words of the letter he’d received moments earlier, the shock was yet to wear off and Shawk shakily raised a silver goblet to his lips and gulped down the Alto Wine, it left a bitter taste in his mouth and offered none of the comfort Shawk had once gained from alcohol.
Shawk saw the Nord guided off to the east wing of the room into the court wizard’s room by the Jarl, he rose quickly to his feet and moved quickly towards Proventus, unstrapping the werewolf’s head from his back and dropping it at the steward’s feet, “By the eight Tolgan!” The steward exclaimed, “You’ll give me a heart attack one of these days.”
“Jobs done.” Shawk replied bluntly.
“You’ve done Whiterun a great service Tolgan; I can’t understand why you won’t just accept the title of Thane!” Proventus laughed.
“I’m not really a people person,” Shawk muttered, “the reward now Proventus?”
The steward rummaged inside his pockets and pulled out a gold ingot, “I can get you a coin purse if you want but this should fetch you a couple of hundred septims.”
“Only one hundred,” Shawk corrected the steward, “I’d also like to sell Breeze home and tell you I’m gonna be gone by nightfall and I probably won’t return.”
“You’re leaving?” Proventus gasped, “I remember the first five years you lived in the hold; everyone was betting on how many days before you moved on in search of new adventure and danger, after ten years I pretty much assumed you’d be Whiterun for life.”
“I received a letter from an old friend, seems I’ll be heading north. I’d like 3,000 septims for the house and all decorations within; I’ll clear out what I plan to take with me and the rest you can sell off.” Shawk said.
“This is all very sudden, you’ll be missed you know Tolgan.” Proventus said quietly, “You’ve done a lot of good for the hold.”
“Thank you Proventus, I need to go and pack now, farewell.” Shawk shook hands with the steward before collecting his septims and gold and leaving Dragonsreach.
He walked down the steps leading back to The Wind District, the sun was high in the sky and its midday rays had dispelled the earlier harsh winds, he passed the statue of Talos barely regarding the absence of Heimskr’s preaching; his mind was elsewhere. He passed the once magnificent Gildergreen tree ignoring a poor orphan girl begging in the dying tree’s shade and walked onwards down the steps to The Plains District, he passed the old women he’d seen arguing with the Battle-Born’s earlier she was holding onto her stool to hold her frail, shaking form and floods of tears spilled down her cheeks, Shawk carried on walking until he reached his house, sliding a key into the lock he creaked the door open and entered.
The house was very bare, there was little decoration as Shawk had no desire for luxuries, cobwebs hung from all corners and wooden stairs were suffering from serious rot, an open box sat near the door containing the complete collection of Herbane’s Bestiary; Shawk’s only possessions other than weapons and armour, slowly creaking up the stairs Shawk entered the first room on the left, a wooden desk sat tucked against the furthest wall with a collection of short blades sat on top and a steel weapon rack was bolted to the neighbouring wall housing all kinds of brutal weapons, closest to him stood a mannequin that usually held the armour Shawk was currently wearing, it stood now clad in nothing but an olive cape. Shawk swung the cape onto his shoulders and slid two Skyforge Steel short swords into his twin scabbards, he looked at his armour briefly, he wore a hardened leather vest with various reinforcements and studded pads, a brown burlap hood was held in place on the armour by a leather pad fastened to the front holding hooks with three different amulets donned upon them, a slight trace of a sleeveless red shirt was showing at the shoulders of the armour matching the red and white of the sash tied around his belt, his abdominal muscles were protected behind a steel plate that also held the twin sheaths that now held his short-swords. His legs were left mostly unprotected; he wore rugged black trousers with imperial steel boots and two studded leather reinforcements at his thighs that completed his armour.
Raising his palm to his bald head he stroked it softly, feeling all of his scars left by the vampire thirty years ago, they criss crossed across his skull and looked like an ice wraith had attempted to chew on his head, he also had a large ‘S’ shaped scar slithering down the side of his eye and ending above his chin. “You look like shit Shawk.” He whispered to himself before proceeding to tighten the straps of his leather gloves, packing a satchel with several vials of blood. He stopped at the door; taking one last look at his home before creaking open the door and leaving.
Shawk walked slowly down the winding path leading steeply down the hill to the stables, he now had a rugged hide pack trimmed with ice wolf fur strapped tightly to his pack, it rattled with various potions and oils he’d bought from Arcadia’s cauldron, he’d spent most of the money he’d received for the werewolf contract and the sale of Breezehome combined to buy ingredients to craft the most useful potions all of them exotic and rare in Tamriel. Shawk walked towards the carriage driver now asleep and snoring loudly on his rickety wooden cart, raising his hand to shake the man awake Shawk suddenly became aware of a presence behind him, turning slowly he saw three men dressed in dark black robes with crimson red hoods, the men had black handprints painted onto their faces, “Dark Brotherhood.” Shawk snarled viscously, “don’t you know when to give up, a contracts not worth your life.”
The three assassins moved to box Shawk into the middle of their circle; they had him surrounded, “This isn’t about the contract, this is personal.” The assassin directly in front of Shawk grinned before launching into a viscous whirlwind of attacks.
Shawk had no time to draw his weapons so he was forced to fight with his fists as a pugilist. He blocked the first assassins attack throwing his weapons clear of the fight before spiralling around and clutching the wrist of the assassin behind him, he tightened his grip crushing the bones within the assassin’s wrist and kicking him into the carriage, turning to face the remaining two assassins he was met with a steel blade slashing towards him. He blocked the sword swing but the first assassin lunged forward tackling Shawk to the ground and wrapping his sweaty palms around his throat. Darkness began to shroud Shawk’s vision and he desperately clawed at the assassins eyes until he felt a warm sticky liquid run down through his nails and down his hand, the assassin screamed in agony and the strain on his lungs weakened as the assassins grip loosened on his neck, he kicked the assassin off him but as he jumped to his feet he felt the cold shiver of steel pressed firmly to his throat as the other assassin stood triumphantly beside him, “It’s over Shawk, we found you.”
Shawk desperately tried to figure a way out but the other two assassins were on their feet, the first one cradled his crushed wrist whilst the other blindly stomped forward blood dribbling from his darkened, empty eye sockets. Shawk knew he was out of options he looked for help but looking up at the arch he’d earlier seen a guard stationed on he now saw a trickle of blood running down the stone and the carriage driver was somehow still sound asleep on his old cart, nobody else was in sight. The blind assassin blocked any exit and the other assassin with the crushed arm pressed a sword to his spine then just as Shawk prepared for one final effort he heard a familiar low growl and a yelp as the blade at his back disappeared, the assassin with the blade to his throat stepped backwards in shock before a brown form leapt onto him tearing at his throat, seizing the moment Shawk darted out gripping the blind assassins throat in his gloved hand and crushing it in a single squeeze. Shawk stood over the bodies of the three assassins and looked to his saviour, the brown hunters dog that he’d run off into the forest that morning, “Looks like I was wrong about you.”
Shawk smiled whilst stroking the dog, he examined the dog more closely it had strong muscular legs under its shaggy fur and looking closely aps the dopey ears and nose Shawk saw the keen eyes of a hunter, the sharp teeth of a fighter and the cunning mind of an assassin, its tail brushed along the floor sweeping back and forth as a means of detecting what was behind it and its drooping ears prickled at the slightest noise, “Can I get you and your hound a ride Tolgan?” A voice yawned from behind him.
Turning Shawk saw the carriage driver awake and rubbing his eyes oblivious to the events that had transpired whilst he slept, “One way journey to Windhelm.” Shawk said, returning to his usual rude manor.
“Are those bodies?” The carriage driver squealed.
“Dark Brotherhood assassins,” Shawk spat, “Can we get going before I decide my bloodlust isn’t sated?”
“Y-yes right discount price, fifty septims for one of your rank s-sir.” The carriage driver whimpered.
Shawk threw him a coin purse with three times the fee he’d asked for before stepping up into the back of the carriage and planting himself on one of the splintered benches, the dog leapt up with him and lay down at his feet burying its head into his boots. “Never seen you with a dog before Tolgan, what’s it called?” The driver queried as the carriage set off.
Shawk thought about his time in the Witch Hunters, he’d owned a faithful war horse that travelled with him wherever he went; it had disappeared that day thirty years ago and Shawk thought it be fitting to name his second pet in honour of his first. “It’s a he, his names Roach.” Shawk said, the traces of a smile touching his cheeks.
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