User blog:Psychomantis108/Story: Myths of Mundus: Dark Pilgrimage - Chapter 13: The Hunter's gambit

Nair was tied to the central support beam in the tent and left there, like a rabbit caught in a snare, waiting for his captor to come and retrieve him. Unlike a rabbit, however, he wasn't so lucky to have had his neck broken, not yet at least, though he would be foolish if he believed that that wasn't going to happen eventually...

The Khajiit, who's upper lip still felt sticky from the dried blood that still clung to it, waited patiently to be dealt with as he didn't really have much choice. He couldn't move his hands at all and his claws couldn't even touch the ropes, never mind saw through them... All that he could do at this point was wait for Ymir to come back and see to him, praying that the Nord wouldn't live up to his promises of torturing him.

Kynareth's boots, what a crappy day this had turned out to be...

Nair hung his head and sighed heavily, this felt like he was living a joke...

"Hey, have you heard the one about the bandit, who was captured and tortured to death by one of the few people he didn't wrong during his career, the second that he retired? It's a real thigh slapper I tell ye..."

Urgh...

Nair's optimistic trail of thought was cut off as he heard the tent flap open, quickly prompting him to turn around as he saw the giant Nord enter his tent. Ymir seemed to live quite a minimalist lifestyle, not that he had much choice, being a nomad and all, still, all that he had was a creased up bedroll and a chest to keep his valuables in as well as a few battered swords, that were most likely kept for sentimental reasons or maybe he intended to sell them later.

Ymir stepped over to his prisoner, glaring down at him with an intense glare in his eye as he pounded the palm of his hand with a rock-like fist and a mad grin slowly swept across his face.

"I'm going to enjoy this..."

The Khajiit quickly looked up, his eyes full of fear and confusion as he did so, uncertain as to what was going on or why this was happening to him... He had killed Nord warriors but not recently and the fact that he had gotten Arlas and Bologra involved with this made him somewhat concerned and even more convinced that they had the wrong people.

"J-Just... Hold on a second, Ymir was it? I do not understand...

Who did I-We kill?" He asked, though it came out as a desperate splutter as he didn't want to anger this Warrior any further as he was already enraged to the point of instability and the last thing that Nair needed was to send him well over the lunatic fringe.

Ymir just stared at him, completely baffled by the fact that this Khajiit is bold facedly claiming that he has no idea that he had committed murder. If Ymir hadn’t heard otherwise from such a reliable source, he’d believe that this cat was innocent…

“Heh… You have no idea what you’ve taken from us, do you? You probably didn’t think anything of it, when that Pig-elf drove that axe into her head…” As Ymir spoke, his voice remained gruff but somewhat calmer, though it was somewhat obvious, even to Nair that he was just smothering a thick layer of sorrow…

“My… Our Angela. Wife of my Son and would be Mother of my first Grandaughter…” Ymir closed his fist and tightened it, quickly raising his hanging head as his eyes locked on to Nair’s opening his soul up to the Khajiit and showing him every conflicting feeling of pain and rage as he built up to it.

“I had hoped that I’d live long enough to lay eyes on my first grandchild, you people took that hope away from me… From my son and my people…” The Nord slowly stood up, clenching his fists as he gave Nair an irradiating glare, slowly moving his arm.

“You killed two of our clansmen and we aim to return the favour!” He roared, quickly slamming his fist into Nair’s left cheekbone, with enough force to shatter a brick wall.

Arlas and Bologra slowly emerged from the foliage, slowing down as they saw the outskirts of the camp…

It was a somewhat small camp, though larger than your average Cyrodiilic bandit camp, which usually contained one or two tents and two residents at the most, this lot were like a small army…

“Bologra? What do you make of it?” Arlas asked, quickly looking over to the Orc for a clue as to how she should handle this, she’d never been in a fight of this magnitude before and she wasn’t exactly confident in her own skills as a tactician.

“Me? You’re asking me?” Bologra asked, in amazement and a little bit of shock.

“I thought that you were the smart one…”

“Yeah and I thought that you were the Mercinary, a soldier for hire? I assume that you have more experience than I do…”

Bologra quickly turned his attention back to the camp and nodded, that made sense to him; he just didn’t expect it is all.

“Oh… Well erm…” The Orc cut himself off as he began to survey the camp up ahead, there he could see several Nords, aimlessly wandering the camp, with large weapons slung over their shoulders. They looked like they meant business, though there was only two of them that looked like they were patrolling and it would surprise Bologra if he was told that there were any more than ten people in the camp.

“Hmm… There’s two guys down there who will spot us, everyone else is sleeping, except for that guy, who looks like he’s in charge.” Bologra explained, pointing to ‘Hareld,’ was stood, carving a wooden block.

Arlas followed the trail from the Orsimer’s thick, green finger from the very tip of his left index to the man that he was identifying, she squinted in confusion.

“Is… He their leader?”

“Nah… More like a foreman or something, I wouldn’t even say that he’s a lieutenant. He ain’t the toughest looking guy down there; either of those patrol guys could tear him in half.”

Arlas nodded to confirm her understanding before turning her attention back to the camp, the patrols were pretty aimless and something told her that they weren’t very thorough…

“Hmm… Think that we could sneak up on them?” The Bosmer asked, quickly looking up to her Orsimer companion, who was already rising to his feet.

“We could but… Sneaking ain’t my style…”

“Wait… You aren’t suggesting that the two of us just run down there and take on an entire camp of armed bandits do you?” Arlas asked, hoping that he was joking, even that ‘foreman’ was twice her size…

“What? No. I’m gonna go down there and then you’re gonna hang back and be my support, you should probably arrive a little after me, to throw ‘em off. You might even get a good pot shot in.”

“So… Your ‘plan’ is to ‘improvise?’ Bologra that’s not a plan…”

Bologra grew tired of the Bosmer nannying him and quickly jumped to his feet, quickly rushing forward as he drew his hand axe, unthinkingly charging in. Finding herself to have no other choice, Arlas just kept her head down and tried not to fret as the Orsimer descended down upon the camp…

Hareld was immediately alerted by the Orc’s heavy footsteps and the rustling of the nearby foliage. He instantly jumped up to his feet to see the large, muscle bound Orc making his descent, prompting the Nord to quickly place his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Guys, we’ve got trouble!” He called, somewhat amazed that the idiots on watch hadn’t noticed him already, prompting them to turn around and look as Bologra came to a stop, bearing his sharp axe and his even sharper grin.

“Alright assholes, we… Erm… I know you’ve got one of mine in there and I ain’t leaving without him!” The Orsimer announced, trying to appear to be diplomatic on some base level, even though, honestly, he just wanted a fight.

Hareld just smirked, feeling like he had everything under control, there were more of them than there were of him and they also had Ymir as well. There was no way that this Orc would walk away from this; his people will finally be avenged.

“You’re awfully confident for a man who’s seriously outnumbered…” Hareld replied, with a smirk, glancing to his people as he did so before turning his attention back to Bologra.

“Heh… I’d say that we’re evenly matched…” Bologra countered, returning the Nord’s smirk as he tightened his grip on his axe, getting ready for anything.

“Heh… You have no idea, do you? Well, you were right about one thing…” Hareld stopped to brush some hair out of his eyes before meeting eye to eye with his Orsimer opponent.

“You will not be leaving here…”

As he said his piece, the Nord watchmen charged in, brandishing two large battle axes and roaring an earth shattering battle cry, prompting Bologra to get in his fighting stance. Though he initially intended to block the axe’s swings, he quickly realised that he was using a one handed weapon and that blocking the first heavy attack would leave him open to the second and a possible third.

The Orsimer instinctively ducked and rolled over as the Axe was brought down on him, cleaving through the air to his left, leaving the Watchman open to an attack on his leg. Bologra quickly swung his axe at the Nord’s calf muscle, breaking through the soft part of his armour and leaving a rather deep scratch in the calf muscle, that prompted his knee to buckle and for him to fall to the ground.

He then heard a tremendous roar as the other Watchman came rushing over to him, giving Bologra little time to react before the Nord’s axe was brought down on him. He quickly raised his hand axe to protect himself, causing the two handed weapon to bounce off, like it had just been struck against a brick wall.

“Sloppy…” Bologra grumbled before jumping up, using the Watchman’s kneeling companion as a step, so that he could leap through the air and drive his own axe down on his enemy. The Watchman gave out a slight scream before he was cut down by the Orsimer’s axe, quickly falling to the floor with a heavy thud.

Hareld wasted no time, seeing the opportunity to strike as he rushed in, with his iron blade at the ready, swinging it at Bologra’s abdomen with as much force as he could muster, hoping to kill or at least seriously wound the Orc in the process. However, he was instantly hit by a jolt of lightning, that sent him flying off of his feet and bouncing up the camp, into a nearby tent.

Ymir’s fist connected with Nair’s face, again and again, causing some major swelling around the Khajiit’s left eye as he took out day’s worth of grief and pain on his prisoner. The Nord’s anger grew more intense, fuelling his punches and making his hand heavier with each blow, making each punch more devastating than the last.

However, the Nord came to a halt; as he heard a shriek out in the distance, prompting him to turn around. He could hear a great deal of running, clashing of blades…

There was a battle raging outside that much became obvious very quickly…

“Heh… Looks like your friends took the bait…” He uttered as a dark grin swept across his lips and he slowly rose to his feet, shaking his bloody hand as he did so before marching across the tent.

He’d need his best tools for this job…

As Bologra rose to his feet, he noticed that three more Nordic tribals had descended from their tents, whilst Hareld rose to his feet, still writhing in pain from the recent jolt of electricity that had surged through his body.

“Th-There’s two of them! A mage as well!” He warned, getting a stern nod in acknowledgement as they ganged up on their green skinned opponent, brandishing their axes in the hopes of intimidating the mad fool.

The Mercinary’s pride knew no bounds and so, he quickly raised his own axe, in order to meet their gaze as a huge grin swept across his face.

“You call this reinforcements!? C’mon, where’s the real fight!?”

Hareld quickly stumbled to his feet, wiping his sleeve across his brow as he coughed heavily, finding himself to be quickly pushed aside by a much larger Nord, with long, shoulder length hair and a rough beard.

“All of you, stand down!” The Nord yelled, reaching up and drawing his axe as his eyes narrowed on Bologra.

“This one is mine…”

Without another word the Nord charged over to the Orc, swiftly swinging his axe towards Bologra’s torso, quickly prompting the Orsimer to jump back before bringing his own axe down on him. The Nord quickly raised his two handed axe, so that the two axe handles would clash, allowing the Nord to pull his upwards, catching the curved blade of Bologra’s axe, quickly pulling it out of his hand and flinging it over his shoulder.

Bologra stumbled forward as he felt himself be pulled, quickly turning to find himself getting a quick peck on the forehead from the haft before having the throat of the weapon smashed into his right cheek, sending him stumbling to the floor, to the sound of a thunderous applause and raucous laughter as the Nordic warrior loomed over him.

“It’s time to send you back to Malacath in pieces!” He yelled, quickly raising his axe as he got ready to bring it down on the Orsimer. Bologra looked up to see that he was next to the, now unconscious, Watchman for before and he immediately began to claw for the area around the sleeping Tribal’s torso…

C’mon… C’mon… He thought to himself as he desperately grasped at it, unaware of how close the blonde Nord’s axe was to his neck.

Gotcha!

Bologra snatched the unconscious man’s two handed axe and quickly rolled over, to meet the Nord’s blade, the two weapons clashed with a loud ‘chink’ before locking, the Orsimer’s impressive strength resulted in his one handed block holding the strength of two lesser men.

In spite of his initially impressed reaction, the Blonde Nord knew that Bologra was practically defenceless and that his strength would wane before his did as a result of this epiphany he began to increase to pressure, seeing that the blade was mere inches away from his face…

Bologra winced as he tried to pull his face away from the descending blade, quickly looking around for any form of advantage that he could use but considering that his only hand was on the defensive, he probably wouldn’t able to use it.

It was then that it hit him; of course, his hands weren’t the only thing at his disposal! The Orsimer slowly brought his leg up before stomping it down as heavily as he could, driving his boot straight into the Nord’s knee, causing it to buckle and for him to stumble back as he cried out in pain and shock, giving Bologra the perfect opportunity to rise to his feet and meet the Nord head on.

The Orsimer quickly placed his stump under his arm, getting ready to drive the battle axe down on his opponent, whilst he was recovering from the knee injury. He raised the axe over his head, admittedly not as high as he’d like it to be before bringing it down on him.

“No!” A voice cried out as Bologra’s axe clashed with another two handed axe, with a more ancient Nordic design to it, shielding the young Nord from the blow and prompting the Orc to look up to find himself to be face to faceplate with an elder Nord, with a milky eye.

Ymir was fitted with some fine armour, clearly Nordic design, given the two large horns growing out of the helmet. The Armour was black, with multiple carvings in it forming typical Nordic patterns, protecting the warrior’s head, save his eyes and mouth area.

The torso was mostly underlined with grey fur, save the chest that had a badge at the center of it, horrifically scuffed from century’s worth of wear and tear. Wrapped around the Nord’s midriff was another fold of Nordic steel, formed in the shape of an X across his body and two large, black pauldrons to match.

The Tribe’s leader showed little to no effort in his blocking, it all seemed so natural to him, like he was fighting a child. Bologra’s own strength waned as he tried to resist Ymir’s movements, obviously finding it difficult with just the one hand.

“You will not take my son from me!” He roared, quickly smashing the shaft of his axe straight into Bologra’s nose, repeatedly, forcing him to stumble back as his nose began to fountain blood, quickly mixing with his moustache and beard as it trickled around his lips.

The Orc quickly glanced up at the Nord, not even bringing his hand up to his face as he knelt down and took his axe, finding himself grinning, the pain, the barrage of Nordic Tribesmen yelling and cheering, eager to see him fail…

This was what he lived for!

Arlas threw Ymir’s tent flap up and quickly dashed inside, making sure that nobody saw her as she did so… She didn’t like abandoning Bologra like this but that Orc was tough as nails, resilient and most of all, a big loud mouth, that would make the perfect distraction, whilst she went in to retrieve the prisoner.

It didn’t take long for her to find Nair; the sound of his heavy breathing drew her to him, prompting the Bosmer to gasp as she rushed over to his side, immediately looking over the Khajiit’s facial injuries.

“N-Nair? G-Gods…. Let’s get you out of here!” She whispered, applying a healing spell to the left side of the Khajiit’s face as she did her best to bring the swelling down on his eye.

“Ar-Arlas? Wh-You came?” He asked, somewhat delirious from the beating that he just took, prompting the Priest to nod in acknowledgement, in spite of the fact that the Khajiit couldn’t see it.

“Try to hold still… We’re going to get you out of here. Do you think that you can walk?”

“I can… Try, I feel like a siege crawler fell on me though…”

“It won’t be far until we’re free… I’ll help carry you, Bologra’s here, maybe he can give you a piggyback or something…”

Nair, in spite of his injuries began to chuckle at that thought, he’d pay good gold for that experience, sadly this joy was short lived as he felt a surge of pain shoot through his face.

“Okay… I-I’ll make it… So long as neither of you make me laugh. Where’s Bologra?”

“Outside, doing his thing…”

“His… Thing?”

It was then that Nair heard the yelling of a crowd as two weapons clashed and several grunts and roars could be heard outside; a fight was definitely going on.

“Oh… Right…” Nair corrected himself, sighing heavily as Arlas began to work on his restraints.

“Arlas… Their leader, the old man? They called him Ymir? He’s crazy, tall and he punches like a giant… Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a giant! We need to leave as soon as we can!”

“Oh, don’t worry; I have no intentions of sticking around… As soon as you’re loose, I’ll give Bologra the signal and we can get out of here.” The Bosmer assured him as she sawed through Nair’s robes with his knife.

Nair gave her a slight smile before falling silent and turning his attention back to the ceiling, trying to figure out if he should say it or not…

“Arlas?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thank you…”

Bologra fell to the ground, with a hard thud and an ‘oomph,’ as the crowd continued to cheer, begging for his blood, whilst Ymir towered over him, clenching his fists, no longer using his battle axe as he’d discarded it some time ago as the thing just slowed him down.

“What’s the matter? Am I too strong for you? Would you rather have some of our women to beat on?” Ymir taunted, though his face and voice expressed his deep seeded hatred for the Orc as he watched him slowly raise his head.

“I-If they fight b-better than your pansy ass son… S-Sure…” He wheezed, earning himself a boot to the face for his trouble, which sent him falling to the floor.

“We’ll see how smart your mouth is, when I’m done pounding your teeth in Orc, let’s hope your beastly fangs can take more of a beating than your body!” As he finished speaking he knelt down over the Orsimer and drove his fist down on his face, pounding it repeatedly as his fellow tribals erupted into round of cheers and some applause as they watched the half dead Orc’s head roll from side to side in reaction to the Nord’s punches.

Ymir continued to beat on the Orc, building up more rage with every strike as his punches, that were previously inflicted on Nair were now being forced upon their true target.

This Orc took everything from him in the name of glory and now it was going to be his downfall…

Ymir was going to beat him to death.