Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24510587-20190827231859/@comment-5543592-20190831141152

Cade heroically rode north in pursuit of Graicus through two days and two nights without sleep. “Ride Justus! Yah! Yah!”

The ground was a blur beneath them, the mountains and sky too. Snow fell.

Justus whinneyed, taking heaving, desperate gasps.

“Come on, Justus!”

The mountains drew nearer, and Cade knew that he had lost Graicus by now, he must’ve, but it wasn’t in him to stop.

Justus stumbled, chest billowing with each labored breath. The stallion began to slow.

“Justus, please!” Cade begged. “We are close, I feel it!”

The horse snorted and teetered, and Cade dove off to avoid being crushed when the animal fell over onto its side, taking great breaths. They landed in the snow with similarly loud thuds.

“Up Justus!” Cade stood, pulling at the horse’s reins. “Justus! Please!”

The animal did not budge. He lay his head in the snow, breath steaming. Cade plopped down on his butt next to the horse. He pulled off his gauntlet, and ran a hand through the animal’s mane. Justus breathed out, calming down. It’s heart was beating out of it’s chest.

“Good boy.” Cade cooed. “Good Justus. You did good. I will make us a fire and I will feed you sugar cubes.”

Justus did not respond. He was a horse. The animal snorted and lay it’s head in Cade’s lap.

Cade looked off towards the mountains, combing Justus’ mane. “I am sorry, Graicus.” He hung his head, long hair falling over his face. “I am a bad friend, I am sorry. I failed you.”

Daireg stood at the peak of Corten Mont, a far cry from where he had been a moment before. He stood on the wide brim of a volcano. Far, far below, lava bubbled. On the other side, far, far off into the distance, surrounded by savannah, was the city of Taneth. It was as Daireg remembered. Taneth was beautiful in the same way a sword was beautiful. Dangerous, edged, unbreakable.

“Welcome back!”

The warlord turned towards the voice. An elderly Redguard man sat cross legged nearby. A lute sat in his lap, and he plucked at the strings without talent.

“Finished with the Lau’ada business, are you?” He set the lute aside, and stood up, heavy robes enveloping him. “Let me tell you, I hadn’t been expecting that. I’ve battled enough otherworldly entities for one lifetime--it wasn’t what my week needed.”

Daireg said nothing at first, analyzing the situation. It was a moment before he spoke. “It weakened you.”

“It doesn’t take much to weaken me.” Diagna replied, stretching. The sleeves of his robe fell back to expose thin arms. “But I’m still here.” He looked out at the city. “Keeping watch. The city stands, as does Hammerfell. It is not my people’s first time experiencing the end of the world. They’re used to it by now. There’s always a candle in the wind, shining against the darkness. We must try hard to make sure it does not go out.” He looked over at Daireg. “I forgot who I was talking to. You don’t care about any of that. Well, let’s make this quick then, so that I can send you back off into eternity.”

He extended his hand to Daireg. “The sword, please.”

The Redguard did nothing.

Diagna gave Daireg an exasperated look. “Don’t make me force you. C’mon.”

When Daireg spoke there was a ponderous not to it. “I do not think you could.” He drew the sword, held it up before himself. “This blade has slain a god. It has been soaked in the magics of both constants. It has severed the bonds between worlds thrice. Do you think that it could do it all again?”

Diagna remained carefully silent.

“You grew weak in your arrogance.” Daireg said. “There are powers other than the Shehai. Ones without limits, without restrictions or clauses. Powers that are meant to be used.”

He leveled the sword at Diagna. “You’re afraid of it, aren’t you? Afraid of what it could do to you? What it could do to all gods?”

The mountain rumbled as a tremor shook it, and Diagna took a threatening step towards Daireg. “Even if that were so, you could not act on it. You are bound to the Shehai. You do as it wills.”

The words were empty to Daireg, and he approached, keeping the sword between them. “How long I have awaited this moment. To look you in the eye, and pay you back for what was done to me. To pay them all back. The Shehai is mine. The world will be beneath my heel. And I will bleed my retribution from those who wronged me. My ambition knows no bounds. You made a terrible, terrible mistake in assuming I would be your willing servant. That I would walk into Oblivion without resistance. For that, too, you will be punished.”

The look Diagna bestowed upon Daireg was one of infinite wisdom, of absolute certainty. “You have no idea what you’re suggesting.”

Daireg moved. His sword whipped out, the blade slicing open Diagna’s cheek. From the cut, blood trickled. The god slowly, disbelievingly, raised his hand, and touched a finger against it. He pulled it away and looked at his own blood.

Daireg smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “Don’t I?”

A month after leaving Duncroft Castle, the light was dim and Svieva was crouched over a growing fire, preparing her dinner, when she heard someone moving behind her.

“Come out.” Svieva called over her shoulder. “You’re doing a poor job of ambushing me.”

The mountainside they were on was steep, and he appeared out from behind a boulder. He had a wiry build, and scraggly beard and head of hair. Two swords were belted at his waist.

“Oh, this isn’t an ambush.” There was a simpering, permanently smirking affectation to his voice. “I’m much sneakier on an ambush. No, this… well, I wanted you to see me coming.”

Svieva raised a brow, turning to face him. She cocked her hip out and put a hand on the pommel of her sword. “Not awfully bright of you.”

The man canted his head at her, something like a bird, and shook it side to side. His face was angular, like an axe-head, and his cheekbones were gaunt. He set his hands on his swords and drew them slow, savoring the moment.

“I heard you were a good.” He explained, holding the swords at his sides. The one in his right hand was long, the left short. The blades were oiled and honed to a razor edge. They belonged to a man who knew his trade.

Svieva drew her own much simpler sword halfway, ready to meet an attack. He showed her his teeth, pleased.

“I wanted to see… how good.”

Svieva drew completely and swung in an underhanded first strike, jumping across the boulders and quickly closing the distance between them in a lunge. The man leaned out of the way and it whiffed air. She pivoted, inhumanely fast, struck down at him on the backswing. He raised his short sword in a lazy parry and kneed her in the groin. It knocked her backwards, and she raised her sword to parry the expected retaliation.

It didn’t come.

“Experienced.” The man tittered, overjoyed. He stood back from her, not pressing the offensive. “I’m pleased. Talent and skill aren’t always enough to make the fight.”

She lunged with a stab aimed for center mass. The man slapped it towards the ground with the short blade, and her own momentum carried her into the swinging pommel of his longsword.

There was a crack as her teeth split. Svieva ignored it, ramming a shoulder into his stomach, and swinging upwards, trying to catch his hamstring. He let her knock him backwards, out of the path of her sword, and dropped his head to meet her’s with a headbutt.

There was another loud crack as her nose broke. She hit the ground this time.

“Can’t read what I’m gonna do, can you?” The man taunted, circling her, swishing his swords about playfully like toys. “You Augments, best at the game until someone doesn’t play by your rules.” He tsked.

Svieva spat out a glob of blood, grimacing with annoyance. This was not close, by far, the worst pain she had ever felt. She dug the point of her sword into the earth and used it to leverage herself to her feet.

“Oooo, she’s got heart!” The man cackled, turning to face her, twirling the swords in his grip.

Svieva narrowed her eyes to slits. She climbed up onto one of the taller rocks, and he climbed up to match her.

“C’mon then.” He waved with the short sword for her to come at him. “Let’s see what you've got.”

Svieva set her jaw, held her sword in high guard, and advanced. The man met her and he struck at her gut with a long, reaching stab. She pirrouteting around it, slashing in an arc, and he parried it with his short sword, turned towards her, parried a second slash with the long sword. Their feet stepped about the boulder from edge to edge, more often than not balancing over open air. She kicked him in the stomach and slammed her pommel down on the crown of his head. He ducked his head to the side before the second blow could land, and shot his elbow up to strike her on the chin.

She took the blow in stride, keeping up the offensive. Stab for his chest--he blocked it with the edge of his sword, replied with a wide angle swipe for her neck--her sword came back up to slap it aside, her parry turned into a quickly executed eviscerating slash.

He caught it on the hilt of his longsword, locking blades with her. She tried to pull her sword free and he turned with the pull, spinning around her, balancing expertly on the boulder’s edge. The sword tore from her grip, spun off into the rocks, and the man planted his feet. They were face to face when he buried the longsword through her chest. The length of the blade burst out her back, coated red.

“Kismet.” The man smiled. “You were killed by Kismet.”

Svieva gasped once, frantically searching his face in her death throes.

“You were a loose end.” He continued. “Business this, business that.” He pulled the sword cleanly from her breast, and her body thumped unceremoniously onto the stones.

Kismet sheathed his swords and held up his hands conversationally. “You understand.” He paused and inspected his nails. One of them had cracked.

“Oh, she got me.” He chuckled. “First time for everything.”

Kismet climbed the rocks back up to her campsite, searching it thoroughly. She didn’t have much. Provisions, purses of gold. A diary filled with information, but nothing that was useful to him: reports of werebear sightings, accounts of lycanthrope attacks. She had been close to finding whatever it was she was looking for. The notes marked her as desperate, but confident. Kismet sighed. How boring.

“More’s the pity.” He tossed the journal into the fire. When he climbed back down he retrieved her sword from where it had landed, and stuck it through a leather band at the rear of his belt.

“If only I had a third hand.” Kismet joked to himself, returning to the road. There were more on the list, more boxes to tick, people to kill. Business was good. Her horse was hitched at the bottom, still saddled. It was how he had spotted her.

“Easy, girl.” The blademaster said, swinging up onto the mare’s back. “You’re Kismet’s horse now.”

Svieva’s body lay where it fell. It rained that night and the mountain floods washed her away.