Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20150921221737/@comment-25828117-20150927023808

''Meanwhile... Deep in the Jerall mountains.''

The altitude was starting to make itself present. Slicing through cloak and wool alike, the wind got wilder. Which made the beige banners of Evermore, carried by his royal highness' bannermen, flaunt furiously. As did the cloaks of the breton men. Skyrim was here to deliver her icy kiss. You could see it on their noses, they had gotten red of the sheer bone chilling cold.

"How the Nords can even live here is beyond me." Was one of the many complaints that escaped the riders' almost frozen lips.

The horses, just as affected as the men, marched slowly but surely through and up the snow laden path that got them to a mountain pass between two ominous walls; A crevice. One of many mystery erosions that could be found along Skyrim's borders, some of which seemed so perfect that many superstitious folk believed they were caused by more than just the forces of nature that once were. Tales of wizards and trolls making the trek southward easier for themselves and so on.

Alain looked up at the entrance of this large formation.

"What do you reckon, Percival?"

A hint of uneasiness apparent in his voice.

'A hint' Percival was learned enough to catch; He knew his master well.

The older escort made his horse canter a bit more up-close to the formation. Causing a large looming shadow to fall on him. He peered into the distance, seeing the end of the long pass with his own eyes. Yet there was a small sense of doubt. The pass was quite narrow at places, they would have to go in one by one.

"Pass is quite narrow, my lord!" He reported back. His voice, echoing and lingering in the natural hall in front of him.

"But can you see the end?!" Alain asked in return.

Percival paused for a second, but he knew he had to answer truthfully.

"Yes."

Alain smirked. Good he thought. After which he gestured his men to follow him. All of them slowly making their horses move again, easier said than done, in this frigid weather. These horses were bred in the northern planes of Hammerfell, but those borders are known to be filled with Redguard bandits praying on Breton and Imperial 'trade route coin', so despite the cold it was perhaps indeed the smarter move to go through Skyrim.

Alain's white steed stopped next to Percival. The nobleman wondered why his escort hadn't gone in yet.

"Something the matter?" 'The given to laughter' Breton asked.

"It just seems too quiet, my lord."

This usual act of mild paranoia prompted Alain to relief some of his own stress, by means of a goodhearted chuckle.

"Oh, Percival. Just look ahead. Do you see any Orc hordes ahead?" He added, pointing into the pass he now saw was completely void of life.

"...No. My lord." Percival sighed annoyed, but then he spurred his horse to enter. Still cautious of any would-be dangers.

Alain continued to chuckle a bit, shaking his head slightly, as if to say: Oh Percival, you naive fool you. While forgetting the fact he was much younger and much less experienced. Still, royalty stood above an escort's sheer gut feeling.

As the riders entered one by one, the eerie sound of wind whistling against the rock formations (as often heard by cliffs) filled the air. The men made jests to ease the tension of their passage. Mooris told his infamous 'Fat Mathilde' jokes again. And even though they had all heard them hundreds of times by now. It still made them smile, chuckle at most. Everyone except Percival, who looked up at the edges of the crevice, looking for any sudden movements.

-

They were nearing the exit.

"So Fat Mathilde walked down a flight of stairs..."

The joke was interrupted by the sound of a 'crack' of sorts. As if someone had snapped a really thick tree branch in twain, or stepped on some broken ice.

The horses came to a standstill.

Alain demanded Percival what it was, but he was met with an aggressive "shush".

"We're not alone..." Percival declared to the men shortly after.

It made most men's hair stand on end. What were they to do. There were no moblings to hack down from the safe position on top of their fine Hammerfellian charge horses. Now, the danger was above them.

"What do we do?!" Alain asked with strained panic apparent in his voice.

Another crack, now right above the banner carrier behind Alain. The men looked up at the noise. Only to witness in horror a huge rock falling down, basically soundless until it met with the head of the bannerman upon which it caused a gut wrenching splash-filled breaking of bone and armor. The good man's head was completely caved in by the rock. Blood spattered all over Alain's face and cape causing him to wince in terror and disgust. The horse's back was also broken and it neighed in absolute pain while collapsing on the floor along with the dead body of the bannerman.

"Get out! Get out!!" Percival shouted from the top of his lungs.

By now, arrows were falling from the sky. whizzing passed and landing next to the men and their horses.

Alain spurred his horse forward. And, even though the way was narrow that didn't stop him from ungracefully pushing passed Percival. He needed to get out!

While the royal nobleman dashed for the exit of the passage, Percival got his Bow out, like many of the other riders and blindly fired their superiorly crafted bows up to the ledges of the passage. All the while valiantly moving forward through the hellstorm of arrows and falling debris.

Mooris was hit straight in the heart and was thus, promptly dead. Straight through his Evermore plated armor a rough iron arrow stuck out, embedded deep into him. He fell from his horse, which carried on regardless of any rider giving it directions.

Eventually, the bulk of the group made it out, miraculously. They had probably dealt with rookie bandits.

Percival was enraged. His furiosity was masked, just barely. But you could tell from his deep breathing he was pissed. He looked as if he could climb that mountain all by himself and slay whatever was at the top regardless of the odds. But, he had to make do with the idea he had hit some of the scum with his arrows. None of them had fallen forward into the crevice so a body count he didn't have, but his guess was at four dead. But he hoped he had gotten more... In all the confusion.

"Everyone stay calm!" He yelled at the men coming out behind him. Looking as if they had just been to Oblivion and back.

"We're through! We made it!"

"Mooris and Bertrand Didn't!" A young squire yelled in panic.

"No they did not! But we can't go back! This was an ambush and the scum clearly had the higher ground!"

"We should go back and kill them all!" Another less well armed and clearly, less noble man suggested bravely. Motivated by anger, just like Percival.

The escort sighed.

"Believe me nothing would give me more pleasure at the moment, but we can't!"

"Why not?" A sort of unanimous reply of the group followed.

"Because the King's nephew's gone!"

-

Alain dismounted his horse, or rather 'fell from his horse' on his hands and knees in the pure snow of Northern Bruma county. The blood on his face was still warm. It made him want to scratch his own skin off. In a state of panic he then tried to loosen his golden cape which was now splattered with a crimson red. A task in which he just barely succeeded. On all fours then he crawled to a tree against which he sat down. Feeling his heart pound in his chest and his limbs shiver. Paralyzed by fear he looked on down the path. The White-Gold tower loomed in the distance.