Myths of Mundus: Dark Pilgrimage - The Ravagers

Chapter 11: A Fiend in Need
Arlas lay motionless in the dark as her wide eyes adjusted to the lighting or lack thereof. The moons shone through the window, illuminating her bedsheets and pretty much everything below her neck.

The Bosmer had wrapped herself up in her covers, finding herself to be quite cold, due to the mountainous conditions outside. She found herself curling up into a ball as she gently drifted off to sleep, occasionally being awoken by laughter and a round of drunken chants and singing before a booming voice, that shook the rafters scared them into submission, killing the atmosphere for the evening.

Bologra proved to be a useful companion, he was unorthodox, sure but as far as Priests go, she wasn't exactly a pin up example of the ideal priest. Everyone has their own way of doing things, with advantages and disadvantages...

She couldn't deny the Orc's skill in combat, him being like a mountain and pretty resourceful to boot. He also had a code of honor that she couldn't bring herself to agree with but couldn't help but respect.

Nair on the other hand, she didn't know what to make of... He wasn't as repulsive as his initial impression suggested, well, not as a person, for the most part but something about him seemed off. She wondered if she could trust him, if he was a snake, just telling her what she wanted to hear. Bologra seemed to get along with him as much as Bologra got along with anyone, perhaps he is the person that he says that he is.

Either way, the Acolyte would definitely keep her guard up and hopefully, Bologra will to. He always seems like he wants to get into fights, so she imagined that he's always looking for an excuse. Somehow, she took comfort in that...

Arlas sighed once more, turning her pillow around as she wrapped her arms around it and slowly drifted off to sleep, a small smile creeping across her lips as she enjoyed her first night of freedom...

It only felt like a moment but it was actually eight hours worth of rest before Arlas was awoken by an almighty crash and a burst of laughter. She quickly pulled herself up, listening out for further noises as her brain recovered from the shock of her rude awakening. Within seconds she heard another crash as another piece of furniture was destroyed, most likely over somebody's head.

Arlas slid out from under her quilt and sighed heavily, shaking her head as she left her quarters and got ready to face the first shit storm of the day.

Nine Divines, that Orc needs to be stopped... She thought, not so enthusiastically as she left the room behind her, snatching Jorane Lorwell's staff as she rushed on through to the main room, where she was immediately knocked to the ground as a Nord stumbled back and fell into her, crushing her against the wall.

Too frustrated to care, Arlas threw the man to the floor and marched in, gasping in horror as she saw another table go flying across the room at the ducking inn keeper and his patrons, who had taken cover, behind the safety of the bar.

"God Damn assholes, tell me where he is!" Bologra roared, snatching a chair and hurling it over the counter, it hit the ground with quite an impact but just seemed to rattle and didn't shatter on impact like the others.

"Someone, 'elp! He's destroying everything!" The Inn Keeper yelled from behind the counter, giving Arlas her cue to step in...

"B-Bologra! W-What the hell!?"

"Hey, Arlas? Good, glad you're here, I need more furniture!" The Orsimer informed her, automatically assuming that she would take his side on this as he picked up another wooden chair and hurled it across the establishment, this one just shattered against a wall.

Arlas watched as the last of the splinters rained down to the floor and shook her head, sighing heavily as she did so, stopping to look around.

"I think you've destroyed it all already, what the hell is wrong with you!?"

"It's Nair, these assholes took him and they won't say where!" The Orsimer snapped, oblivious to the fact that his statement rhymed as he was too busy trying to find more furniture to destroy.

"What and you think that the chairs have taken him!?" The Bosmer asked, trying make some sense of this madness.

"How do you know that he didn't take off?"

"These assholes made up some bullshit story about him taking off but it don't make sense, according to them, he took off without his sword or his coin purse.

Someone took him!" He explained, stopping to throw a small wooden stool, which flew across the room and vanished as soon as it hit the floor, he didn't have a clue where it landed.

"That doesn't prove anything, he could've gotten drunk and wandered off! Why did you start attacking these people, why didn't you come and find me!?"

Bologra just shrugged, hurling one of the smaller tables across the room, albeit this one was a lot harder for him to throw, being one handed and all, it landed with a thud and rolled across the room.

"One of 'em said something, don't remember what but it pissed me off! They took my Khajiit, they fob me off and insult me, this is the worst friggin' inn ever!" He roared, snatching another larch table and using his stump to support it as he flung it across the room.

"Are you sure that they know anything? Maybe they're just as clueless as we are!" She yelled over the sound of the table cracking in two and the clattering of table legs as they flew across the room.

"Erm... Well, they deserve it anyway for being assholes!" He grumbled, somewhat conflicted on his answer but still went ahead and snatched another piece of furniture, which Arlas quickly grabbed and lowered it to the floor.

"O-Okay, my friend's calmed down now!" She called, getting an odd look from the Orc, that wasn't remotely true, he hadn't even gotten to tearing the walls apart just yet.

"If you want him to stay that way, I suggest that you come out!"

Bologra frowned before realizing what she was doing, he'd never had the chance to play the Good Guard/ Bad Guard routine before and quite honestly, scaring the living shit out of these guys was something that appealed to him.

"Erm... Y-Yeah... Your furniture is safe!

For now..."

The Breton innkeeper peered over from behind the counter, only showing the top half of his balding head as he slowly rose to his feet, looking around at the trashed establishment.

"H-He... Broke my furniture!" He gasped as Arlas stepped forward and approached the counter, folding her arms and doing her best to hide her sympathies and look somewhat frustrated.

"You should be thankful that it wasn't your legs."

The Breton looked from side to side, sighing heavily as he did so before turning his attention back to the Bosmer.

"I would've preferred that, my legs can mend, without having to pay for them..."

"What about your neck? Would that mend?" Bologra sneered, getting the man to shiver a little as he backed away.

"I... T-Take your point..."

"Now, my Khajiit friend, what happened to him!?" Arlas asked, taking a step forward and striking the counter, with her fist.

"I... I only know that someone took him, paid me a good bit of coin for the room key, said that he had a bounty on his head and that he needed to face justice. N-Normally, I wouldn't think it so weird but he  didn't look like no law man."

"What do you mean?" The Bosmer asked, finding herself to be intrigued as she slowly raised her hand and brought a finger to her face, gently scratching her cheek.

"He dressed in furs, travelled with a group of other blokes, didn't look like they came into contact with civilization all that often but I'm not one to judge." The Breton replied, honestly, getting Arlas' attention as she folded her arms.

"They didn't tell me what they wanted with him or where they were taking him... I didn't ask, didn't want some barbarians trashing up my establishment." The Breton grumbled, lightly scratching his head as he looked around, sighing wistfully at his fallen furniture.

"Yeah? Well you should've worked on your hospitality, asshole..." Bologra snorted, not looking remotely apologetic, keeping his stance that the inn keeper had it coming.

Arlas glanced away and thought on it some more, barbarians? Maybe they were just bounty hunters, like Skyrim's companions... Maybe they were companions but that wouldn't make sense, not way down here.

Fighter's Guild? No... They'd identify themselves as such, surely and even if they didn't they'd come across as more civilized. Whoever these people were, they regarded the law highly, that was a start and they also knew of Nair Quicksilver's activities...

Either way, it was a lead, of sorts... Something to go on at least, if this was true, then Nair could already be facing the gallows by now, Arlas had to hurry up if she wished to get to him in time.

"Thank you, for your erm... cooperation." The Bosmer grumbled, feeling secretly ashamed at how much of a thug she came across as. Is that travelling had turned her into? An uncaring bitch, who keeps her angry giant on a leash and uses him to threaten others? Deserving or not, she still didn't feel right about it.

The Priest slowly turned around and made her way over to the front door, not wanting any more trouble. She stepped outside, too embarrassed to address the Inn Keeper further, she couldn't even find the strength to cave in an apologise for the damage that she and Bologra had done...

"I hope you find him..." The Breton uttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he folded his arms over the counter and hung his head, sighing heavily.

"Yeah... We'll be back if we don't..." Bologra grumbled, matter of factly, unnerving the Breton even more as he threw the door open and followed Arlas outside.

Chapter 12: Vengeance
The orange light flickered across the camp, glowing over Nair's eyes, forcing him to come to. The Khajiit's eyes slowly opened but retracted once again as flickering light hit his adjusting retina.

After a moment or two, he was able to sit up again, rapidly blinking as he tried to make sense of the world around him. He looked around to see that the flickering orange glow was a camp fire, at the center of a camp. The camp contained a dozen tents, most of which were well built, designed to keep the cold Skyrim air our, that could often be found in the Jerral mountains.

Nair looked up to see several Barbarian men, marching around the camp, each one clad in fur armour, with leather braces on their forearms. In truth, the armour just looked like a formality as all of the tribesmen looked tough as nails.

The group hadn't seemingly noticed Nair at this point, giving him a chance to come up with an escape plan. He'd have to be discrete, considering that he couldn't run on his ankle in its current condition.

Seeing no other choice, the Bandit slowly began to slither along the ground, moving along as slowly as possible to avoid detection. Nair's eyes constantly shifted back to the tents opposite him, to make sure that nobody was walking around the camp, who could spot him and prevent his escape attempt or worse, call the others.

The Khajiit made some degree of progress before feeling something heavy on his shoulder, slowly pressing down against his left bicep, forcing him to come to a stop. He looked back, knowing exactly what to expect and was not disappointed. Behind him stood one of the Nord tribals, pinning him down with his boot and giving the Bandit a confident smirk. The Nord had dirty, neck length, brown hair and stubble around his face, his features were somewhat on the boarder between sharp and a dull knucklehead look.

"Going somewhere?"

Shit... Nair thought as he glanced down to his restraints, no longer seeing a way out of this, he just smiled and shrugged.

"Can't blame a guy for trying..."

The Nord just huffed, returning his grin, though his was far more menacing.

"Oh no, we usually do a lot worse than blame people, who try to escape."

The Nord laughed as he snatched Nair's arm and dragged him up to his feet, quickly turning over to the tents.

"Ymir! He's up!" The Tribal yelled in direction of the furthest tent away from them, his voice was practically tingling with delight. Almost instantly, as if 'Ymir' had been waiting for this, the tent flap lifted up and the Nord in question came storming out.

Nair's eyes widened as they clapped on the man, he was around eight to ten feet tall and though he looked incredibly old, with his long grey beard and long, white mane, that only covered the back half of his head, the man looked like he could kill a giant by punching it. Every muscle in his body was rippling, he had so many scars that his body resembled a map of Tamriel and his left eye was completely white, dull and milky.

The Khajiit somehow got the feeling that this Nord wasn't too happy to see him or if he was, it was because he planned to do something unspeakable to him. Either way, Nair found himself fearing for his own safety as he looked this Nord in the face as he slowly came to a stop...

A deathly silence fell over the camp as the two of them finally met, the other tribals were hesitant to even speak as they slowly re-emerged from their tents and watched the meeting of the minds from afar...

After a moment or two, Ymir approached Nair again, this time taking two steps closer, so that their faces were inches away. Nair could smell the rotting meat trapped between those piss yellow dentures of his and tied up in his beard but refrained from reacting to the foul stench.

Nair glanced around, looking for some indication as to who was supposed to talk next, after a few moments of awkwardness, he decided to take the initiative.

"Considering the trouble that you went through to get me here, I take it that I've been brought here for a reason." The Khajiit began, speaking somewhat confidently, despite his predicament.

"That you have..." Ymir agreed, placing his huge paws on Nair's shoulders, almost knocking him on his ass in the process.

"We don't take kindly to assholes, who murder our people! You, your bitch cannibal and your gimped Orc are going to learn that the hard way!"

"M-Murder!?" Nair gasped, gently backing away and scratching his head with a nervous grin on his face.

"My friend, I think that there has been some sort of misunderstanding. Myself and... my people, haven't even encountered any people along the Silver Roa-" Sadly for Nair, his explanation was cut short as a huge, barrel-like fist hit him straight between the eyes, knocking him on his back, knocking him flat out cold.

"Hareld? Take him to my tent... I want to deal with this one personally..."

'Hareld' the scraggy, brown haired man, who had foiled Nair's escape, gave Ymir a nod of respect before grabbing Nair's unconscious form, placing his arms under the Khajiit's as he dragged him off.

"The rest of you! Get yourself prepared, I want perimeter watch! His friends might come for him and if they do, I want it to be us who gets the drop on them, got it?"

The rest of the clansmen nodded and quickly wandered off, to return to their duties as Ymir turned back to the limp Khajiit as he was dragged away to his tent.

This is goin' to be a long night...

-

Arlas was knelt down, by the side of the Silver road, the trail lead them to the spot before it forked off to Chorrol. The landscape was a little more bare and barren as they got closer to the mountain's summit.

"Well?" Bologra asked, growing anxious to get moving as the night's air was making him somewhat eerie and ready for a fight.

The Bosmeri Priest slowly looked up and nodded, rubbing the dust and dirt from the road off of her fingers.

"Looks like they dragged him through here..." She uttered before breaking the path and rushing off, into the wilderness.

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.

Chapter 14: Sprung
Ymir's fist drove down hard into Bologra's right cheek, again and again as his crowded around him and continued to cheer at the barbarity. By this point, Ymir's Orsimer victim was barely lucid, his cheek was starting to swell up from the repeat beatings that his face was taking.

"Ymir!" Hareld called from the back, quickly finding himself to be ignored as his small plea for attention was drowned out by the cheering.

"Ymir, stop!" He insisted, stepping forward but his words fell uppon deaf ears, resulting in him having to forcibly stop his Chief, by snatching his forearm mid punch.

Ymir quickly looked up to his lackey, with a stern look, tempted to punch him so that he could go back to administering justice, however, he waited to hear him out.

"They're escaping, the cat's escaping!" Hareld informed him, prompting the elder Nord to glance over to his right at his own tent, where he immediately saw the silhouettes of his prisoner and his Bosmeri accomplice.

"Gods' blood!" He snapped, sounding both enraged and annoyed by this revelation as he quickly turned his attention back to the younger Nord before sighing heavily, ending on a slight growl as he dropped Bologra to the floor and pulled himself up to his feet, marching over to the tent as he got ready to punish the escapees.

Hareld quickly followed Ymir, as did another one of his people, leaving Ymir's son and two other tribe members to guard the half dead Orc as he recovered from Ymir's heavy handed beating.

Nair felt Arlas' hands wrap around his bicep as he was slowly pulled to his feet, he winced and swayed side to side as he felt the cuts in his face come to life, stinging like mad as he went dizzy from the blows to the head.

If he was anywhere else he would refuse to move and lie down for a bit as he felt close to keeling over but he knew that that would just lead to more beatings, for him and his companions. Nair had to push on if he didn't want to die in this place...

"C'mon... We need to get you out of here, get back to..." Arlas' reassurances paused as she quickly came face to face with Ymir himself, who stood as defiantly as a rock before her. The Bosmer couldn't help but silently gulp as her eyes met with his, seeing how void and vacant one of them was...

Arlas, thinking quickly, conjured a spell in her left hand and blasted it at the Nord at the center as she pulled Nair away from the fray. Before them both appeared Dremora, who quickly saw that he was in a warrior's camp and knew who his target was. He drew his axe before moving in for the kill, Ymir quickly responded by snatching Hareld's shortsword and running the Daedra through, not even giving it a chance to get a single strike in before sending it back to whatever depths it was plucked from.

The Nordic tribal then turned to Arlas and began to march over to her, prompting the conjurer to have to think on her feet. She could use a destruction spell but most of the ones that she knew were so inept, that they would probably just piss someone like Ymir off. Arlas also knew that she did not want to engage this man in combat and would prefer to just flee with her life.

Arlas quickly summoned a Clannfear as well as a flame atronauch, both of which appeared behind Ymir's back and proceeded to attack him. The Clannfear charged, straight into his back, smashing his shield-like crest head into the Nord's lower back as the Atronauch got a fire spell ready and fired it at the Chieftain, just as the Clannfear knocked him to the ground.

The flames flew over the Nord's head and hit the fabric of the tent, almost instantly igniting it as it did so, setting the tent ablaze. In spite of the intense fire, that had now been created, Ymir seemed much more focussed on Arlas and Nair, becoming more enraged at the fact that they had damaged his tent.

The Nord charged forward, instantly finding himself to be blocked off by Nair as he defiantly stood between Ymir and his Bosmeri companion, a brave but fruitless act as Ymir just punched him in the face, knocking him aside and allowing Ymir to snatch at Arlas' throat. He grabbed the Acolyte, wrapping his giant fingers around her neck as he lifted her off of the ground, staring up at her with an intense glare of hatred as he watched he kick and struggle as the life was squeezed out of her.

Arlas' eyes quickly shifted over her summoned creatures, the first of which was cut down by the large axe of one of Ymir's men, whilst the other one was heavily distracted by Hareld, who appeared to be attacking it with his dagger. The scene played out with a blurry filter as the young Bosmer's eyes began to water as she struggled for breath and to resist the pain of having her larynx crushed.

With Nair unconscious and her summoned creatures overwhelmed, Arlas saw that it was up to her, she had to make the difference at this point as nobody was coming to save her. Figuring that it was all or nothing, the Bosmer put her last ounce of strength and will into a lightning spell, which she slowly began to form in her hand, the spark crackled against her fingertips as she rolled the ball of energy around in her palm and after a few moments of it charging, she eventually discharged the spell, aiming it straight forward, into Ymir's chest.

The lightning singed the Nord's chest, sending an unexpected jolt through his body and causing him to stumble back as he dropped Arlas to the ground, where she landed with a thud and proceeded to heavily cough and splutter, writhing in pain, whilst Ymir, shook off her spell.

Arlas looked up, just in time to see her fire atronauch get cut down by a large tribal's axe, casting it back to Oblivion once more and giving Hareld and his companion the chance to turn back and join Ymir in the slaughter.

Ymir himself just threw off the burden of the pricking burn on his chest, with a sharp 'roar,' casting his arms down to his side as he got Hareld's sword at the ready, hoping to drive it through Arlas and finally finish this fight.

"Your Orc is Dead and your Khajiit isn't far from joining him! You should give up, whilst I still plan on killing you quickly!" The Nord barked, causing Arlas' eyes to widen at the news of Bologra's death...

Glancing to her right and seeing Nair, she began to see how hopeless this situation had become, Nair was close to being dead, the only way that she could survive this was if she bolted for it, right now but even if she did and got away with it...

No, she couldn't leave Nair to die and she couldn't leave Bologra unnavenged. They would either have a victory or Arlas would die trying, there was no other option!

"I'd rather take my chances..." She replied, hoarsely before blasting a lightning bolt straight up at Ymir's face, however, the Nord was expecting it this time and quickly and effortlessly sidestepped, bringing his boot down on Arlas' face and knocking the Bosmer on her back.

"Was it worth it?" He asked, slowly bringing Hareld's sword up, with the point dangling over her chest, ready to dive it through her heart. Arlas was oblivious to this as she lay on her back, wincing and rolling her head from side to side as the world ebbed and flowed around her and she faded in and out of consciousness...

As Ymir finally got ready to end this game and avenge his daughter-in-law and grandchild, he immediately heard the pounding footsteps of a eight foot tall, 300lbs, seriously pissed off Orc as he charged into the tent and immediately went for the Nord, tackling him to the floor.

Ymir landed with a heavy thud on the ground, finding himself unable to prevent his fate as he only had two or three seconds to react to the Orsimer's supposed resurrection and his counter attack. As the Nord Chief opened his eye, he immediately felt the familiar sting of Bologra's iron fist being brought down on his face in a similar fashion to the beating that he had inflicted on the Orc, less than ten minutes prior.

He glanced up to see that the Orsimer's face was a bloody mess, with fractured, possibly broken cheeks and a definitely broken nose but Bologra, being the warrior that he was more angered by this than hindered. He felt the Orc's hand strike his face multiple times before his lackeys could step in.

Hareld stepped in once more, brandishing his knife but quickly found himself to be hit by another of Arlas' lightning bolts, sending him flying back across the tent, landing inches away from the flame.

"B-ogra!" Arlas slurred, still recovering from the boot to the face as she tried to warn the Orsimer about the second warrior, who swung his axe down, diagonally, aiming to decapitate his opponent and save his chief.

Thanks to the heads up, Bologra quickly threw himself down to the ground before snatching Hareld's sword and quickly bringing himself up to his feet, where he anticipated the Nord's second attack. Predictably, he ran forward, timing a vertical strike, to be brought down on Bologra's head, hoping to split his crown in two.

The Orsimer ducked his head and rolled to his left, narrowly avoiding the blade of the weapon before he eventually cut upwards and managed to slice through the Nord's armour. Though the Watchman's armour was rather Strong, Bologra's sword arm, being fuelled by rage and desperation outmatched it and the Nord was cut down.

Bologra panted as he watch the last of the Tribals fall, quickly realising that there was no time to lose, in spite of the agony in his face. He quickly looked over to Arlas, who was shakily bringing herself up to her feet, snatching her staff and using it to support herself as she rose up from the ground. She gave Bologra a nod to show that she was okay to travel before looking over to Nair, who lay unconscious at her feet.

"You'll... Need to carry him..." Arlas croaked, realising that even in his weakened state, Bologra could quite easily carry a single, skinny Khajiit.

The Orsimer just nodded before kneeling down and picking up the sleeping cat, throwing him over his should as he struggled to stand.

"C'mon... Let's get outta here..." He panted, quickly finding that the fight had been beaten out of him and if that didn't bring him down, the exhaustion would. He glanced over to the raging fire, behind them, prompting him to decide that now as was definitely the time to leave. He pushed Arlas forward as the two of them marched over to the front tent flap, hoping that others weren't waiting for them...

Just as they reached it, they heard something clatter behind them, prompting them both to turn around, to see Hareld charging towards them with his knife. The Nord had hoped to sneak up on them but kicking that bit of clutter on the ground forced him to change tactics and he instantly charged forward, hoping to knife one of the adventurers in the back. Arlas stepped forward and quickly conjured a lightning spell in her right hand, that she blasted straight into Hareld's chest, for the third and final time that evening.

The Nord flew back, straight into the support beam at the center of the tent, the force of which caused it to fracture and bend, causing tent to go lopsided as the Nord bounced off and landed with a heavy thud on the floor. Bologra's eyes widened as he saw the supports weaken and quickly pushed himself and Arlas forward as they left the burning tent behind them, just leaving it in time before it fell and became a bonfire.

At this point, Ymir's son, followed by the remaining of his two guards, quickly rushed across the camp to his Father's aid as he saw the tent collapse as the three prisoners left. He immediately found himself to be overcome by grief-driven rage and immediately charged in towards the group.

Arlas glanced up and saw him, prompting her to immediately conjure up two flame spells in her hands as she unleashed them on the ground in front, creating a firewall between the group and the Nords and giving them a head start as they fell back into the wilderness, desperate to get away from the barbarians.

After losing track of the amount of time that they spent running, Bologra and Arlas came to a stop as the Bosmer doubled over and began to pant, clearly exhausted from the ordeal.

"Wh-We're... Gonna have to stop soon, find a cave... Rest for the night..." She insisted, finding herself to be too weak to run anymore. Bologra couldn't help but agree as he glanced around, looking for any kind of shelter for the group.

"Right... First thing's first though, need to cover our tracks, so that they can't follow us..." The Orc insisted, wiping his hand across his brow as he checked his back for Nordic pursuers, so far they were in the clear but they both knew that the Nords wouldn't let this drop.

"R-Right..." Arlas agreed, quickly bringing up a conjuration spell in her left hand, this shouldn't be too tricky...

"Lars!" One of the Nords yelled as he and his fellow Watchman began to dig through the rubble, trying to pull the white tent sheet off of the Chief's collapsed tent. This barely got a reaction out of Ymir's son, who didn't expect to find anything.

The Nord Watchman sighed as he stood up and backed away, glancing up at the tent as it burned, it was no longer salvageable, even if Ymir was alive right now, it wouldn't be possible to reach him, with the field of cloth that he was buried under blocking their way, stuck in place due to the wooden support beams that were jutting out of it.

The Tribals all sighed heavily and backed away, turning their heads in both shame and grief as they 'enjoyed' the spoils of their defeat and the flames engulfed the collapsed tent.

The three Nords came together, as the two watchmen backed away from the blaze and Lars got up and moved to the front and the three of them found themselves to be paralysed with pain and grief as they watched their chief's tent burn to the ground.

However, unbeknown to them, something was slowly moving under the sheet, stirring from side to side. The emerging entity remained unnoticed, until it began to emit a low growl as it began to adjust to its surroundings. This prompted the Tribals to look up, incredibly surprised as they slowly saw something rise up from under the sheet, growing to be around four foot tall before eventually stopping as it got stuck under the incredibly restrictive sheet.

The lowly growl quickly erupted into a enraged snarl as it tore its way through the sheet, slicing through it like a sword trough tissue paper and reducing the cloth to a shower of tiny fragments as the ten foot tall creature burst out.

There, at the center of the wreckage, stood an incredibly tall, muscle-bound werewolf that stood panting on the spot as it stared down at its subjects, with its one good eye as the other one was milky. Ymir, who had transformed into one of Hircine's beasts, observed as his people examined his new form before he threw his head back and let out a drawn out howl that echoed throughout the region.

Chapter 15: Refuge
The Wilderness of the Silver Road had died down, the animals returned to their serene state, reducing the constant chatter of birds and small creatures to a deadly silence once more, where only the crickets and the owls picked it up again.

It was in the midst of this wilderness, in Red Ruby Cave, that Arlas' group dwelled, recovering from their recent encounters with Ymir's group. Both Nair and Bologra had recieved quite a heavy beating and Arlas herself still felt her head ringing from the boot to the face that she had recieved mere hours earlier.

The three of them sat in silence, sleeping as they were all too exhausted to keep watch, they had a big day ahead of them tomorrow, if they wanted to make it to the cave on the boarder and if they did? They would need to get their strength together and assuming that Ymir's camp had a high amount of casualties, the group had several hours to recover before sunlight. If they moved out at the break of dawn, they would be able to reach the boarder and hopefully see this thing through, long before Ymir's people had collected themselves and were able to attack.

Arlas' eyes slowly opened the next morning as she found herself coming to, her head slowly pulled itself upwards as she winced at the crick in her neck. She was thankfully facing the Cave's entrance or else she would have thought that she had gone blind, since the cave was pitch black inside.

The Bosmeri Acolyte could see the door, at the end of the long, dark tunnel, presented to her inside a purely white boarder. She slowly rose to her feet as she felt her shoulder blades and back ache, from being pressed against an uneven, rock hard surface all night, she rolled her neck around and rubbed it as she finally brought herself upright.

The Bosmer accidentally knocked a stone, with her foot as she stretched, causing it to crackle as it moved along the stone floor, prompting Bologra to jerk awake, startling her and the Orc as he glanced around and tried to make sense of the situation.

Uppon seeing that it was a false alarm, the Orsimer just brought his hand up to his face and ran it down shaking his head as his tired eyes adjusted to the light or lack thereof. The Bosmer couldn't help but feel guilty, Bologra needed his rest, after last night's ordeal...

"Sorry... I didn't see it." She whispered, referring to the rock as Bologra slowly sturred in his place, stretching and yawning loudly.

"Nah... It's fine..." He uttered, rubbing the back of his head as his senses came back to him, taking his turn to wince as he had to deal with the stiffness, the pain of the rock and wounds on his body, from the beating he took last night.

"We need to be up soon, if we wanna get there by noon..."

Deciding that, the Orsimer slowly pulled himself up, supporting himself on his remaining hand as he did so, which was surprisingly just as strong as ever. Arlas couldn't tear her gaze away from him as he stood up and proceeded to rub his stump in the palm of his hand as the phantom pains shot through his forearms, they had been incresingly prevalent since his fight with Ymir's tribe.

"How is it?" Arlas asked as her eyes fell on the stump on his arm, causing the Orc to glance up and shrug at her.

"Hurts like hell lately..." He grumbled, raising his head so that his eyes met Arlas' before he sighed.

"I think I banged it a few times, during the fight or maybe it's just all that excitement earlier's making it flare up, I dunno."

"I don't think that it's normal to be running around the hills, fighting Nords, four days after having your hand cut off." Arlas commented as she approached it, taking a look at the stump herself as she tried to see if the wound had reopened, thankfully it hadn't it had been successfully cauterized and healed shut with a healing spell. In fact the stump had seemingly folded shut quite nicely.

"Heh... Good thing I ain't 'normal.'" Bologra huffed, sounding quite proud of that fact as he always did like to go above and beyond, when it came to combat. Arlas smirked and shook her head, she could agree with that statement, Bologra was bizarre, even for an Orc as the few she had met were somewhat more disciplined, not as tough and nowhere near as fun.

"Can you still feel it? Like before?" She asked, letting go of the braced arm and letting it fall back to Bologra's side before taking a step back, feeling like that was the only way that she would be able to  see his face. He nodded as soon as it came into view...

"Sometimes, still in the habbit of reachin' out for stuff with it. Thankfully I haven't forgotten in any fights yet, don't think my ghostly hand will be of much use in the middle of a fight." The Orc ended on a chuckle, earning himself a small smile from Arlas, which quickly faded as she looked a little guilty.

"Y'know... Lorwel said that he'd fix your arm, once he was free." She pointed out, hoping to make the Orsimer feel a little better about it, though in truth she was skeptical of how much they could trust the Daedra's word.

"You believe that?" Bologra asked, immediately, as if he was reading her mind.

The Bosmer's concentration was broken and she quickly glanced up to him, pausing for a moment to think on it before shaking her head.

"Well I'm not sure what to think, whether that's true or not, that means that I have to stay on his good side, if I want my hand back. I think I'd rather have one free hand than have both of them belonging to some Daedric Asshole, if my hand isn't gone? Then you can be damn sure that he's going to make me beg for it, hell, he'll probably make me  beg for it even if it isn't.

He then sighed and brought it up again, glancing down at it as he stared longingly...

"Still wish that I could use it though... Like, make it useful again, maybe make it into a club or something?" The Orsimer asked, quickly looking to Arlas for advice, surprisingly she wasn't very knowledgeable, when it came to the topic of psychotic improvised weaponry.

"I... Th-Think... I can help... with that..."

The two of them fell silent as the faint voice grew louder and the faint shuffling of Nair's footsteps grew closer, prompting them to turn to him in surprise. They weren't expecting him to be on his feet any time soon, if not ever again.

"Damn... You're tougher than you look Cat, hell, I was certain that you were a gonner..." Bologra blurted in surprise, getting a slight chuckle from the former bandit as he shook his head, grinning.

"Your concern is... Heartwarming, my friend..." He replied, raising his battered face to reveal that his left eye was yellow and the area around it was purple with swelling.

"B-But this one is... No stranger to a beating, t-takes more than a f-few punches to bring Nair Quicksilver down..." The Khajiit's voice was hoarse and slurred, non surprisingly, everything he said came out in a faint rasp and his breathing was quite long and drawn out, it echoed throughout the caves.

Arlas' relieved smile somewhat fell at this, finding his life to be somewhat tragic that this became something that he aclimatized to. She wished that they could do more for him, for his pain but there was little that could be done here...

"Well, as good as that is to hear... You really shouldn't be on your feet, we need to get you to Bruma." Arlas insisted, realising how much of a miracle it was that he was on his feet to begin with.

"Aye, I agree... I'm in no condition to be fighting werewolves but I did overhear Bologra's predicament and I believe that I can help."

"Oh?" Bologra asked, raising an eyebrow as he folded his arms, grinning. This should be good...

"Yes... Well, the thing is? I grew up in a small village, Boarderwatch? Well, there we had a number of families, Khajiit, Argonians and a retired Imperial Guardsman, who's own people couldn't stand him.

I think it was the racism, the man was so... racist, every Argonian was 'scaleback' this or 'baby eater' that and every Khajiit was a 'rug' or a 'scrote licker' or something..."

"Heh... 'Scrote Licker...'" Bologra chuckled, getting a frown from Arlas, though she shouldn't really have expected anything better.

"Yes, I was rather fond of that one myself. Sometimes I passed his house on purpose, just so he'd yell it at me. You'd think that a man who hated Argonians would move to... Bruma or Chorrol or something but Jaufree was an incredibly stubborn man."

"So? What does this have to do with my hand?" Bologra asked, sounding both baffled and annoyed by Nair's rambly and irrelevant story.

"Yes, yes... I was getting to that... You see, the man was a former Imperial Legionairy, who lost his hand, like you.

Maybe that was the source of his hatred? Forever embittered by the loss of his true love..."

"Why'd they keep him around if they hated him so much? I mean, there were more of you than there were of him, couldn't you have him thrown out on his ass?" Arlas asked, her choice of language got Nair to raise an eyebrow before giving her a meak smile and a shrug.

"Well, he was harmless and he was also a seasoned warrior...

If anything attacked the town, he was always the first to draw his weapon and investigate and he was probably the best combatant out of any of us.

That and some believe that he was in league with skooma dealers.

Either way, it doesn't matter, he was better with us than against us, so we let him stay."

"The point, get to it!" Bologra snapped, through a growl that slipped through gritted teeth as he rythumically tapped his arm, tempted to finish off what Ymir started at this rate.

"Sorry, well... You see the man had an arm brace, like yours and our blacksmith was able to fit it with a blade, you know for shanking your enemies. I figured that you could use something like that, to give you an upper hand in your next battle..." He then paused as he reflected on what he had just said, sighing heavily.

"No pun intended."

"Hmm... Well, that does sound better than just lettin' it hang by my side..." He thought, stroking his thick, black beard with his remaining hand as he remained deep in thought.

"Too bad we don't have a blacksmith though..." He concluded as he lowered his hand to his side again, shrugging.

"No but you could go to see the one in Bruma, when we stop by... If we stop by..."

The two mer fell silent as they turned to face eachother, realising that he wasn't conscious, when they formed their plan, though their plan was incredibly loose.

"We were hoping to reach the boarder today and get the axe, we'll leave you in Bruma and collect you on the way back." Arlas explained, giving Nair the somewhat sadening news.

"Ah... I see, I presumed, that since you were both so injured and exhausted that I'd have a few days to recover but considering that I owe you my life, what little I have of it left, I feel somewhat honorbound to see this thing through. We should go up and get the Axe together, whilst Ymir's bunch are getting their acts together..."

"Ymir?" Arlas asked, having not heard the name before, she quickly realised that Ymir must be the old man but she was unsure as to how Nair could know that.

"Yeah... I heard one of them call him that, there was another guy, Hareld. Long hair, younger looking one?"

"Oh, him? Yeah, I shot him with a lightning bolt... Several times." The Bosmer replied, releasing a slight smirk as she did so, remembering the young Nord bouncing down the encampment. She wondered if he'd survived being burried under that tent, since, in spite of him trying to harm her friends and her, she couldn't hold it against him enough to wish death uppon him.

"Glad he got what was coming to him..." Nair wheezed, doubling over and clutching his gut as he shook his head, viciously.

"Nair... You can't travel, you can barely stand. We need to get you to Bruma, to the healers there, it'll be warm and the Priests can help tend to your injuries."

"I'll... Be okay, for a few more hours." The Khajiit protested, softly, much to Arlas' concern.

"No, you won't be and even if you were, anything could happen. We could get held up, we could get attacked, those Nords could track us down again and that's ignoring the fact that we're in the coldest part of Cyrodiil, heading even farther north.

We're getting you to Bruma, where we're going to stay for a few hours and recooperate, get re-equipped and get ourselves some potions before heading up to the cave. We'll get a decent night's sleep and set off first thing tomorrow morning, with or without Nair, if we have to go without you, we'll pick you up on the way back."

Bologra stepped in, finding himself to be both amazed and incredibly annoyed at this change in plan, he stood between the Bosmer and the Khajiit, folding his arms.

"Wait... Hold on, I thought we were going to get this axe today. You tellin' me we've got to piss the rest of today away, because the..."

"Scrote licker..." Nair suggested, helpfully.

"Scrote licker woke up early!"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." Arlas replied, shortly as she glared at the Orc, finding herself to be somewhat frustrated at his lack of empathy for his comrade.

"Look, we'd be lying if we said that Nair was the only one struggling right now, you were almost beaten to death and I took a boot to the face, last night and we've barely had any sleep since. We need some time to recover, we need some time to recover and get back on our feet before heading out, just one day is all that I'm asking for, okay?"

Bologra remained silent, tempted to keep the argument going but he saw her point, even he wasn't feeling great and if there was a troll living in that cave, then they would probably be done for. They being Nair and Arlas of course, Bologra would still probably beat the shit out of the troll but he wouldn't be able to protect the others as well.

"A'ight..." He agreed, sighing heavily as if he was abiding by something abhorent, which he was really, never shying away from a challenge and whatnot.

"You can have tonight but tomorrow? I'm getting that axe, whether you people are ready or not."

"Fine by me, that's all I ask." Arlas replied, giving the Orsimer a slight smile before turning back to Nair.

"Will you need Bologra to carry you?"

"Ah... No, I think I'd rather keep my dignity intact, if that's alright." The Khajiit replied, sheepishly, giving Bologra a grin.

"Okay, we'll slow things up a bit for you, don't be afraid to ask us to slow down if it's getting a bit much, okay?"

"Sure, though you should remember that I've recieved a good kicking and haven't aged sixty five years, I should be alright."

"Good... Let's get to Bruma before we're all as old and ugly as 'Ymir.'" The Orsimer cut in, impatiently, wading past them and marching to the front door, quickly prompting Arlas and Nair to grab their stuff and follow him out.

"I don't think that you're that far from being there, my friend." The Khajiit mocked, getting a smirk from Arlas as she walked along beside him, appreciating the fact that Bologra just opened the door and let it fall back in front of their faces, though it was done out of carelessness, not malice, so she couldn't really complain.

"Y'know... You're surprisingly a little more talkative this morning." She pointed out to the former bandit as she opened the door for him and let him stumble through, seeing that Bologra had already begun his ascent.

"Hmm? Oh, well, I suppose it's because things aren't as awkward between us... Y'know? Mind you, saying that, it is only two days ago that I was holding you at sword point..."

"You mean 'two days ago since Bologra kicked your tail back to the path and then saved it from a werewolf.'" Arlas corrected him, with a mischievous grin, getting a slight chuckle out of the cat as he scratched his head.

"Yes... Isn't that what I just said?"

"Fair dos..." The Bosmer shrugged, not really knowing what to say to that as she glanced over her shoulder and saw how far away the cave had gotten already. The group had seriously veered off course, whilst fleeing Ymir and his people, it may have confused them even more.

"I'm surprised that you came back for me, to be honest... Given how we met and how little I grew on you people before I was taken, I honestly didn't think that I'd see you again, whether I survived or not..." Nair explained, hobbling along a bit as his injured ankle began to flare up again, making the Khajiit feel more accident prone than ever.

Arlas smiled, giving him a slight shrug as she did so, still following Bologra as they drew in closer to the road.

"Well, I wouldn't be a very good 'Queen' if I left you to... Ymir, now would I?"

"Ha, I suppose not. Though most Queens usually benefit from their husband's demise, in terms of power and wealth as well as the respect of the people."

"Even Bandit Queens?"

"Especially Bandit Queens, in fact, they're the worst kind. Poisoning their beloved's food and drink, stabbing him in bed, real treachorous sorts..."

"All of that stuff's too obvious though, now if he was to wake up to find that he was trapped in his tent, alone, with a conjured Dremora..." The Bosmer replied as a scheme formed inside her head, getting a faint chuckle from the Khajiit before he stopped to compose himself, getting the Accolyte to stop as well, to make sure that he was okay.

Nair quickly dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand before pulling his back up straight a little, keeping his broad grin.

"We'll make a bandit Queen out of you yet..." He smirked before hobbling onwards, north along the Silver Road, towards the Nordic City of Bruma.