» Wed May 18, 2011 9:08 pm Here's a little oneshot I wrote. It takes place in the Morrowind era, though I don't know exactly when and honestly, that isn't important. Suffice it to say that Vvardenfell is still very much habitable.
The pungent essence of the Bitter Coast was nothing new to Tedril. In fact, it was something he longed for. It allowed him to grasp on to the world and everything he knew and remembered. He had spent most of his life breathing the thick air of the swamps, and without it, he felt empty, without a purpose. Now, though, as he sat beneath the sprawling canopy of a tree, staring up at the sky through the thin cracks between leaves, he questioned whether the purpose he had was the one he really wanted.
A ragged burp from one of his companions to the right brought him out of his brief introspection. He glanced over at the Imperial, who was sitting against a different tree, a carefree smile stretched across his lips as he chugged a bottle of mazte. After another burp, the Imperial set down the bottle and leaned his head back, shifting his body to a more comfortable position. His chainmail armor clinked together, scaring off a raven that had decided to settle close to the lounging man and mer.
“Let me tell you, Dark Elf,” the Imperial taunted. “What your people lack in civilization, you make up for in your brews. I guess barbarism does have its advantages, hmm?”
Tedril ignored him. He had grown somewhat used to Procis’ abrasive personality by then, but not enough to brush it off completely. Instead, he clacked his fingers against his armor, which moaned from the strikes not unlike the bug whose carcass formed the cuirass.
“What? Nothing? Bah, I don’t know why I try with you anymore.”
Tedril sniffed. “Why do you do it, Procis?”
The Imperial glanced over at him and gave a short laugh. “Why do I do what? Insult you?”
“No, no, no,” Tedril said. “Why do you do… this?” He swept his arm out in front of him to indicate the loot sacks near them.
“Oh, that.” Procis straightened up against the tree. “Why does a kagouti hunt? Why does a guar graze? Why does a slave toil in the fields? It’s what I do. It’s what we do.”
That wasn’t good enough for Tedril. Those other things had reasons to do what they did, and the slave hardly had a choice. “But… don’t you ever worry? We kill people, Procis. Man, mer, or beast, we kill them. We rob their corpses. Don’t you care about the people you hurt?”
“No. If I wanted to worry about the people I hurt, I would have joined the Legion.”
Tedril sighed. This wasn’t going anywhere. He lazily pulled his pack over by him and reached inside, pulling out a canteen. He took a long swig, washing away the flecks of dust that had collected in his mouth during their stay beneath the trees. He finished and put the canteen away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“How did you get into this? How did you start?”
“What is this, an interview? Look kid—Tedril, is it? I could tell you my entire life story, but I don’t think it’ll give you the answers you’re looking for.”
“Try me. I’m curious.”
Procis sighed, audibly smacking the back of his head against the tree. “Alright, suit yourself. I grew up around Pelagiad. My father was a Legion man, very strict. He was trying to raise me to follow in his footsteps. I missed a session of combat training, I didn’t get to eat that day. I slacked off from my studies, I got locked in an empty room for a couple hours. I stayed out later than I was supposed to, I had to do twenty-five pushups for however many minutes I was late. It didn’t really soften me up to the idea of being in the Legion.
“To be honest, though, I think he missed my mother. She died giving birth to me, so he probably wanted to make sure her sacrifice was worth it. Heh, that sure didn’t work out the way he wanted.
“Anyway, when I was fifteen, I had finally had it. I ran away. I had to steal some stuff to make sure I could make it all the way to Ebonheart and buy my way off this island. I ended up breaking into old Mebestian’s shop. I had heard rumors that he smuggled Dwemer artifacts, and I knew they were worth a pretty penny. I didn’t find any, but I cleaned out his food supplies and all the gold I could find.
“When I was done there, I ran. I don’t remember how far I got, but I do remember I saw one of Vivec’s cantons off in the distance, so I decided I was far enough. I camped near a tomb. That was a mistake. When I woke up, I was being carted back to Pelagiad by some soldiers. I managed to break free of their restraints, and I made a break for it. They caught up to me, though, and there was a fight. I killed one of ‘em, but they managed to restrain me. They took me back and threw me in a jail cell.
“My father came to visit me once. Just once. He couldn’t even look me in the eyes. I knew he hated me, but I didn’t care. I hated the bastard too. My entire life with him had been a worse prison than I was rotting in right then.”
“So how long were you in prison for?” Tedril asked.
“Five years. Five whole years, and a bit of a sixth. My sentence was much longer than that, of course, but I broke out. I had been keeping in shape by doing sit-ups and the like in my cell. So one night, when there were few guards on duty, I used a lockpick I acquired from another prisoner to escape. I snuck around, raided the armory for a sword, and left. I broke into what should have been my house and stole some clothes, then high-tailed it out of there.”
A hiss carried down from the leaves above. Tedril glanced up; he had forgotten their other companion was up there.
“Sorry, Zahra. At any rate, I roamed the countryside for a little while, hunting nix-hounds and the like just to survive. Eventually I chanced upon a smuggler’s cave and cleared the place out. It was ironic, if you think about it. I was, unintentionally, doing the Legion a favor. But I managed to make a nice haul. I sold the stuff to someone I knew in the Thieves’ Guild. That was where I started. I’ve been doing this ever since.”
Tedril swallowed. “I see.”
“Yeah.”
The leaves above rustled and the feline form of Zahra dropped down in front of Tedril. Her yellow gaze pierced into his eyes as she stared at him, crouched in a hunter’s stance. After a moment, she slowly twisted her head over to look at Procis.
“A caravan is coming,” she lisped, and scampered off up another tree, drawing her bow as she climbed.
Procis rose to his feet and drew his sword. “Well, here we go.”
“Here we go,” Tedril echoed. He moved out from behind the tree and down a short hill, where he hid behind a bush. He could hear faint murmurs of conversation from the rapidly approaching caravan. The whispers gradually grew louder as they approached, until he could actually make out snippets of conversation.
“…just saying, that’s what he told me. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I don’t think he’s ever lied to me.”
“Yeah, I know, it just sounds odd. Ah, well, it doesn’t matter. I just want to see my wife again. It’s been a couple months, since I got stationed down at Moonmoth.”
“I know what you mean. I haven’t seen my daughters in just as long. If I don’t have anything to trade, then I have no reason to travel.”
“I suppose that makes sense. It would only dig into your profits, wouldn’t—” The guards voice cut off. A gurgling noise cut through the brush as a solid, metallic thump sounded; Zahra’s arrow had met its mark. Suddenly, the man the guard had been conversing with screamed. Tedril heard a squeal as what he assumed to be a guar kicked around and struggled to get away. Tedril leaped from behind his cover and buried his sword deep in the creature’s throat. It thrashed, tearing a larger wound in its neck. He pulled the blade free and swung it up and around, cleaving the head from the guar’s body. It slumped to the ground, crimson blood pooling around its neck and flowing away from the road.
The man whipped around to stare, wide-eyed, at Tedril, and he got his first look of the man. The man’s chocolate locks belied his true nature; his red eyes and grey-blue skin revealed it instead: he was a Dunmer, just like Tedril. Tedril wasted no time in dashing after the mer, who had turned and began to run. His boots squicked against the ground, saturated with blood from the guar and guard. In moments, he had caught up and jumped onto the mer, driving him to the dirt. Tedril thrust his sword forward to stab the elf through the chest, but froze as needles washed over his body. He fell to the side, retaining his posture. The mer scrambled to his feet. From what little Tedril could see from where his vision was locked into the dirt, he saw a ring, glowing green, fastened to the elf’s finger. He was paralyzed.
The Dunmer stared at him, breathing heavily. Suddenly, he reared his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed, until he was out of breath. When he was done, he leaned down and planted his hands on his knees, heaving.
“Whew… You almost had me. I can’t believe I got out of that. I mean, I just… whew.” He rose to a fully erect position, reached into his shirt, and pulled out a dagger. He turned Tedril over, stood over him, raised his hands into the air, and-
The mer screamed for a second time as a sword erupted from his chest. Blood dripped down his clothes as he dropped the dagger and gazed down at the blade protruding from his heart. With one last motion, he looked at Tedril and fell to the side. Procis slid his sword out of the Dark Elf’s back as he fell. The Imperial waved his hand at Tedril and Tedril suddenly found himself able to move again.
“Thanks,” he wheezed, as Procis offered his hand and helped him to his feet.
“Not bad,” Procis commented. “You almost didn’t need me.” They silently dragged the body back to the others, where Zahra stood guard, making sure no one came along and no animal decided to feast on the corpses. Nobody spoke as they piled the bodies together and gathered everything worth taking: armor, weapons, potions, scrolls, food, and even a couple books. Everything was loaded into sacks and set under the trees with the rest of them.
“Well,” Procis said finally, “I think it’s about time we went to town and sold what we have. Everyone grab a couple bags.” Procis slung several over his shoulder and Zahra did the same. Tedril stood alone, staring at his blood-caked sword. He hadn’t bothered to clean or sheath it yet.
“Tedril? What are you waiting for?”
Tedril shook his head. “I-I-I can’t go with you. I-I can’t, I’m done,” he stammered. Procis’ bags fell to the ground, rustling as the objects within clashed against each other.
“It’s not going to be that easy, Dark Elf. You’re coming with us. I’m not letting you go.”
“I can’t go with you, Procis. This isn’t for me, this isn’t what I want. I swear, I won’t tell anyone about you!”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you joined me.” Procis drew his blade, still grimy with blood and flecks of flesh.
“Please, I don’t want to fight you.”
“Pity, you would have been a bit of a challenge.” Procis raised his sword to the sky, roared, and charged at Tedril. Tedril didn’t even think as he stepped to the side and swept his sword up. The blade was nearly wrenched from his hand as Procis landed on it, impaling himself through the gut. The Imperial grunted, his sword falling into the rusty soil. His eyes wandered over to Tedril’s. Their color was quickly fading, and they were nearly dull when he gave one last roar and slid to the ground.
That was that.
Tedril could barely feel anything anymore. He lifted his gaze to look at Zahra. The Khajiit simply nodded and scampered away, taking a couple bags with her.
Tedril slid down to sit in the dirt. He set his sword at his side. His eyes wandered first to the pile of bodies, then to Procis’ lifeless form.
Tedril put his face in his hands and cried.
