» Thu May 03, 2012 3:09 am Ashina Zelaku is a typical Dunmeri warrioress: quick to anger, quick to learn, and quick to love. Born on her feet to a camp of outcasts, she enjoys a comfortable but meagre existence as the adoptive daughter of a lonely ashkhan, struggling to prove herself as a more suitable war-leader than his disabled heir-presumptive, Aidan-Sar. But there are clouds billowing on the horizon. Not only is there the prospect of factional infighting within her own tribe, as well as all-out war with its warlike neighbours and the rapacious Great Houses, but the ground beneath her feet is warming: some suspect that Red Mountain, the ancient bane of Chimeri kings, is waking from its four-thousand-year slumber, and may be about to tear her insular world apart.
Reddening Skies
There was an Imperial patrol in the distance, snaking its way through the Ashlands beneath a hot summer sun. They were sweltering in their steel shells, the steaming black earth boiling the feet within their boots. Sweat gushed from their eyes and ran like salted rivers down sizzling cheek. Dry mouths hung limp, and matted hair dripped. Rancid fumes clung furiously to decrepit nostrils, and, in the distance, the mud-coloured conurbation of Ald’ruhn - now ruined - flickered in and out of vision.
A young woman watched them from a rocky outcrop. Her red eyes swiveled in their sheltered sockets, staring out of the slit in her woollen patou. Behind her, a band of raiders sat. Hulking husks in folds of fur, they hovered idly on their haunches, waiting for her to issue instruction. Taking orders from a woman was not something that they were accustomed to, and she could feel it. She felt their gaze at her back. She knew she had to prove herself. Those Imperials had armour - metal armour - that would placate them. But how to get it?
She could simply trade. But what would be the point of bringing soldiers? And, out of all the ways to improve her standing within the tribe, that was the least effective - and the least fun. It was also less beneficial in the long run, although she’d better not let her father catch her saying that. No; an armed ambush it would be. But there were still options. Would she steal some armour and dress her men up as simple brigands, or deserters, or would she dictate that they fight with honour? Would she even kill the Imperials? Maybe she could take them prisoner, and release them in exchange for ransom? Selling them to some outcast encampment as slaves, perhaps, and then telling their commanding officer exactly where they are - for a small fee? And, then, telling the outcasts that the Imperials were coming, again for a small fee? So many options; so many possibilities. One annoying gulakhan, breathing at her back.
“Assama,” she greeted. He planted himself beside her, and clapped an arm around her shoulder. “I thought I told you that we were getting too familiar. We had to stay apart, for the sake of the tribe.”
“You did. I came to see how you are. Is that so wrong?” He offered her a swift peck on the cheek, confident that the soldiers weren’t looking. She declined.
“Yes, yes it is. If every man who’d shared a yurt with me wanted to check how I was, I’d have a damn army here.”
"You do," he smiled. “And I’m not just any man. I’m a family friend.”
“That makes it worse, you s’wit!” She clenched her hand into a fist, and felt flames lick at the finger-tips. She needed to work on her mastery of magic. But, for now, she had an itinerant busybody to deal with. She cast a glance back at her men. She saw that they were chatting and chewing on cud in sheltered corners. They did not know, nor care about her plight. Yet. “Go home!” she hissed. “Go home, and stay there until the ashkhan summons you!”
“Ha!” he snorted. “Getting your dad to keep me in check?” She threw her head back in frustration, letting the steam gush out of her flared nostrils. “You are a hoot. Why not tell him the truth, Ashina? I guarantee it will be easier for both of us in the long run.”
“Yes, well, I know what your guarantees mean, don’t I?” His face creased.
“Not this again - I already told you...!”
“Not now, Assama! I told you - go! If my father found out about us, he’d have you gutted like a fish.”
“And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“At this moment in time, I assure you it would make me ecstatic. Now, please, leave - the tribe wouldn’t be all too impressed with you if I told them that you let an Imperial patrol slip through my fingers.”
“Pah! If your father was going to gut me, he’d have to do it to half his inner council, too. I’ll leave you to work. You just let me know if you want to mix business with pleasure.” He picked up his trails of fur, adjusted his sash, and walked off into the distance. Her soldiers cast their disparaging eyes upon him, watching in total silence as he left their presence. It was a sight to see, her bondsmen instinctively flocking to her cause even though they knew nothing of the fight. If they did, she wondered, would they be so quick to judge? She thought so. But, in these fractious times, it was difficult to tell. None could be relied on. Not even her sworn men. She’d have to be more careful. With that, her mind turned back to politics, and she remembered that one sure step on her path to domination lay before her: the Imperials.
They’d moved on a stretch, and were now crossing the bridge above the glowing foyada. Their banners were up, which she took to mean they expected to come within sight of camp soon. She looked up, and saw a tumbling fortress of cloud bowling towards her, its mighty bastions branded red by the setting sun. A raid now would be too dangerous. She vaunted aloud, bring down a curse on the head of the interloper. But that wouldn’t build her career. She had to accept, this time she was going home empty-handed. But she would find another way. She had to.
