Myths of Mundus: Dark Pilgrimage - Epilogue

Arlas
Arlas returned to Father Lorius and informed him of her decision, surprisingly her mentor made no attempt to dissuade her; he pulled her in and embraced her before helping her pack her things and arranging her transportation to the south. After packing, the two of them stayed up for hours, they talked nonstop over a glass of port as the Bosmer informed him of her adventures. Her tales didn’t exactly help the Priest with his doubts but he realised that she was a happier and stronger person than ever. The two of them spoke long into the night before retiring as Arlas crawled into her bed for the last time, she curled up and closed her eyes, dwelling on their last night together.

She almost didn’t want to go but knew that she had to as a traveller, she would see him again, she’d write often and think of him always.

The Bosmer left the next morning, after a tearful goodbye from Father Lorius, she left his arms and stepped out into the Imperial City as a different person, she was no longer Sister Arlas and was now Lianne Arlas, travelling healer and adventurer. She went to the White Gold Tower and spoke to Aube one last time, having decided what she wanted as a reward, the Imperial’s reaction didn’t truly convey his emotional response to her request but he executed it without hesitation.

By noon Arlas had hit the road, heading south, back to her people’s homeland.

Bologra Blackbeard
Bologra collected his weapons a week after asking for them and awaited patiently for Arlas’ return. As soon as she left his life, seemingly for good, he armoured himself up and took up arms and marched straight up to Morrowind to pick a fight with the first poncy knife eared house soldier that looked at him funny. He eventually found what he was looking for in Solstheim, where he challenged some soldiers of a Great House and ended up taking down scores of them before eventually becoming overfaced by their numbers. He was taken to the dungeons, where he was approached by one of senior members of the house, who informed him that they were quite impressed with his brute strength, skill and resistance to physical damage. He gives Bologra a mercenary job, which lasted around a week before he got bored of it and left.

He continued to travel from there, until he one day encountered a group of strange creatures patrolling the roads. Intrigued by their magma-like structure, Bologra got himself ready for a fight. Without any warning he let out an enraged cry and charged at the unknown soldiers, spit flying from his mouth and clinging to his beard, fingers wrapped tightly around his hand axe and a murderous lust in his eyes.

What happened from there is a tale for another day…

The Wolf Rises
After Lorwel’s defeat, the Silver Road became a peaceful place, where little happened. With the Ravagers gone and the nearby cultists dispatched, no threats remained in the area and not enough time had been granted for new ones to be established.

Taking advantage of the calmness of the region, a cloaked man walked along the road, a Nord with long, fair hair, who hung his head, concealing it in the dark. He marched along the dirt road. He kept his eyes fixated on the path ahead, until he came up to a hastily patched up wooden door.

Few knew what really inflicted this damage on it but he did as he was at the heart of all of this, when it began. The Nord felt the heat off of the lamp, hanging off of the window as he stepped inside, doing his best not to look at the inn’s sign as it swung triumphantly in the air, displaying the worst moment of his life as a moment of glory for weaker men.

Lars stepped inside Crovenhoft Inn; his hard heavy boots gave off a slight thud with each step as he slowly paced across the room. He got a great deal of intrigue from the patrons, who swiftly snapped their heads around to investigate the troubled looking warrior as he made his way over to the counter.

He stopped just short of it, resting his elbow on it as he leaned over and waited for some attention from the tavern’s owner, who was busy preparing something over the stove. He cursed and grumbled as he nearly cut his fingers half a dozen times, either ignoring or finding himself oblivious to Lars’ presence.

The Werewolf grew impatient and brought his hand to his mouth, deeply clearing his throat, hoping to get the Breton’s attention. This consequently startled the still quite jittery inn keeper as he turned around, immediately coming face to face with the second most unfriendly patron in the region.

“Y-You, y-you’re supposed to be dead!”

Lars just glared at him, furrowing his brow and narrowing his eyes.

“Am I now? Who decreed that I should be dead?” The Nord asked, seeming somewhat enraged at the prospect that his death is being treated as something that ‘should be.’

“W-Well… There’s been talk, about the Werewolves, all of them were found dead up at Crusader’s Rest. I… Didn’t mean to cause offense, I just… I just wasn’t expecting one of the Ravagers to walk through my door.” The Breton spluttered, bumbling and fumbling around his words as he tried to find the right ones to appease the enraged Nord behind the counter.

Lars strangely didn’t take offense to the title of ‘Ravager’ in fact he almost revelled in it. He was now a thing of fear, an urban legend, this gave him power, a sign of respect… no, better than that, fear.

“I know that, I was there… But the rumours are false; I was among the dead but not one of them.”

“Clearly…” The Breton uttered, feeling very uncomfortable

“So… Have you come here for a drink?” He followed up, nervously, gently rubbing his hands together as he felt a little ill all of a sudden. The Werewolf began to look around, seeming to be scanning the room with his eyes.

“Yes… I am rather parched, though I will also need a place to stay, whilst we recuperate…”

The Breton nodded, taking a bottle and tilting the glass as he poured the Nord a drink, however, he quickly fell silent and shot his head up, looking incredibly concerned by the vagueness of that last comment.

“Recuperate?”

“Yes.” Lars replied, politely but rather forcefully taking the drink from his hand and pressing it to his lips, taking a sip of it before lowering it down to the table.

“My people and I will need some time to gather, rebuild.”

“Your… People?”

Lars’ eyes slowly rose up to meet the Breton’s causing him to shrink and back away, silently clearing his throat as he began to squirm under the Werewolf’s icy gaze.

“Of course… Clan Ardwolf have been kicked back down to one man, many times before, we’ve even survived our own extinction.” He stopped to knock his drink back, slamming the copper cup down on the table as he slowly rose to his feet, causing the Breton to back off as he struggled to predict the Nord’s next movements.

“We are a family…” He explained as an aura began to take effect around him and he slowly began to alter, his body changing form.

“And like every family…

We are connected through blood!”

With that, Lars immediately shifted into an eight foot tall Werewolf, resulting in the Breton barkeep screaming and stumbling backwards as the Werewolf leapt up into the air and landed on top of him, every patron in the room either ran out of the inn screaming or drew their weapons and took their chances. The massacre ended with a harrowing howl, which echoed throughout County Bruma, signalling the Ravager’s return.