A Skyrim tale - Vengeance and Redemption, Eilidh MacAuley's Tale Options

[PhonAntiPhon]

HELGEN

"What's your name, Elf?"
The shouts of soldiers and the clatter of weapons echoed around the windblown courtyard. Someone's discarded linen shawl blew between the legs of the small group of guardsmen standing lazily to attention beside an old and scarred desk set up in the middle of the wide space.

Behind this desk, holding a quill pen poised over a ragged sheet of parchment, sat a hard-eyed and angular woman of maybe 50 summers, bedecked in the regalia of a captain of the guard.
She sighed, and waved the quill at a soldier standing behind the prisoner.

With a grunt of acknowledgement the soldier lifted his spear and slammed the butt end of it into the small of the captive's back.
She fell to her knees on the hard dusty ground, sucking a pained breath in through between dirty, clenched teeth.
"Your name." Demanded the captain once again.

After a moment longer, the prisoner looked up at the captain behind her desk; regarded her with large, nearly black eyes set in a gaunt face framed by lank, straw-coloured hair from which protruded the pointed tips of distinctive Elven ears.

The Elf opened her mouth and said in a low, cracked voice; "Eilidh."

The Captain regarded her a moment longer.

The Bosmer - (who, incidentally smelt... well she smelt terribly, but she also smelt like a wolf or a bear; slightly "meaty" and "musty"; sour and rotten. All her kind did, it was as distinctive as it was unwholesome; a result of their twisted diet. And yet, the Captain had to admit to herself, she found this one more than a little fascinating) - The elf's face and body betrayed no small degree of history and hardship; thin she was and yet beneath the ragged sackcloth shirt her body was nevertheless sinewy and bowstring taut, the compact muscles hard and surprisingly powerful; at least one of her men had found that out the hard way when they had attempted to capture her.

Her skin was heavily freckled, beneath a layer of greasy filth, and marked by innumerable abrasions, pocks and marks of all shapes and sizes. She was heavily tattooed with any number of vulgar designs.
But it was her face, more than anything, that told of the hardness of her life until now, it's end.

The left side of the Bosmer's face was a mass of scarring, the damaged skin pale and livid against the dirt that covered her. Dark warpaint was smeared across her cheeks and the sockets of her eyes, which were black and moist; vastly deep like some animal's and rimmed with a livid red as of an incipient infection.
The woman's mouth was set in a thin hard line, the lips bloodless.

But enough of this.
She sighed, waved the quill again and once more the butt of the spear connected with the kneeling Bosmer, hitting her shoulderblade with a crack barely muffled by the thin material that covered her.
"ALL of your name, bosmer." She said, spitting out the last word like an insult.

"MacAuley, Eilidh MacAuley." Said Eilidh finally, her dry voice heavily accented.
The captain grunted in satisfaction and carefully wrote down the name on the parchment, poking out her tongue in concentration.
When she had finished she looked up at Eilidh again, saying; "So, bosmer, have ye anything to say in ya defence, afore I pass my judgement?"
It was a pointless question, and she knew it.

Eilidh knew it too.
"Téigh gnéas féin agat soith..." She hissed through yellowed and gritted teeth.
"Speak Imperial!" Snapped the Captain. Eilidh winced as the guard behind her applied his spear to her back once again.
She glanced hatefully at the woman behind the desk and then, a cold half-smile flickering across her lips she said; "Go **** ye'sel' *****."

There was an audible gasp from the men around her at this display of blatent insolence, and for a moment even their leader looked taken aback.
The Captain gathered herself.
"Even if you were not already dead, bosmer, now you are for sure..."

Silence held sway for a moment and Eilidh, naked but for the thin cloth shivered a little in the chill air blowing through the garrison's courtyard.
She ached all over, or at least more than usual. Her brains were pounding in her ears and her mouth had a dry and phlegmy taste in it. Her condition was not helped in any way by the fact that she had not had wine for some 3 days now.
More though, was the pain of what that pig of a legionary had done to her.

Hers had been a hard life, she had had to fight every inch of the way barring a few brief patches of respite. She looked, she knew, every one of the 173 seasons that she had spent on this Gods-forsaken world.
During her time she had committed... dubious acts, both physically and morally, and yes amongst those had been the auctioning of herself, when money had been tight and survival the only factor.
But that was different, she had been in control; calling the shots she had run the game and come out the victor in those encounters.
Yesterday though, that had been something else entirely, that was evil even by her standards of behaviour. There had been a wrong visited upon her the likes of which should never happen.
Ever.

And then, out of the corner of her dark eye she saw him, standing just behind the guard Captain's entourage he was.
He was a big man, broad of girth; fat, sweaty jowls, and sallow oily skin. He was wearing a helmet and facing slightly away from her but she knew him; his stinking greasy body, his breath hot and sour against her, his little piggy eyes.
Oh, she knew him alright.
The blood in her veins ran cold as ice, her heart pounded against her ribs.

He turned then, and saw her.
His plump mouth spread open in fat grin, the thick lips pink against his pale cheeks. He pointed at her with a stubby finger whilst with his other hand he made a sign, the meaning of which was only too clear to the Bosmer.

The sound of the Captain's voice droning on - a litany of her crimes, chief amongst which was simply of having been born a Bosmer - had long since faded into the distance, to be replaced by one repeated thought:
"HE MUST PAY. HE WILL PAY."
Over and over and over, a cold and hard nugget of vengeance.

Had she been able, she would have leapt at him then and there even though her hands were bound.
Indeed, even as she thought it, her body moved of it's own accord, her mouth twisting into a snarl...

...Then hands grabbed her and lifted her roughly to her feet, through a red haze of bloody murder she vaguely heard the Captain's voice; "...for the crime of being an unwelcome element in the Imperial Province of Skyrim, for numerous

breaches of our laws, I hereby refer you for summary execution."

Her captors walked her across the courtyard to the block that sat lumpen and solid; bloodstained and chipped, in the centre of the courtyard. A mute symbol of oppression and arbitrary justice.
She passed him and their eyes met - his, mocking and leering and hers, hate-filled.
She kept her eyes on him as she was led away, maintained contact even as the tendons in her neck began to creak and ache.

Finally she faced the front, faced her future.
173 years.
He Would Pay. Even if in Death she made a pact with all of the Daedra themselves to send her back, He Would Pay.

173 years.

They forced her roughly to her knees, pushing her head onto the block.
Rage boiled within her.

173.
He Would Pay.

She sensed the headsman raise his sword.
1...
7...

The world exploded into roaring fire, and everything around her went insane.

-x-

This post has been edited by PhonAntiPhon: Mar 10 2014, 08:42 PM

[PhonAntiPhon]

TO RIVERWOOD - PART 4
A CHANGE OF HEART/ARRIVAL

Arriving back at the rock, she dropped the hammer and slumped down on the ground next to the bound and gagged Larellee. Leaning back against the cold stone she stared up at the sky, squinting slightly at the brightness of the light.
The wind from the night before had dropped somewhat now but far above her the clouds, white and cotton-like, scudded across the blue vault of the heavens, travelling on their endless journeys.
An eagle soared and circled, riding high on the morning thermals, scouting for food.

Eilidh watched it for a moment, as it soared and wheeled above her. Then she looked away, blinked, and said quietly; "Ai wush ai wuz lyke yoo, Mysta Eegul." She laughed softly, mirthlessly. "Buit ai'm jes a wummun, wi' a bodeh tha's fallyn' apar'..."
She shook her head as if to clear it.
Had anyone been observing her it would have seemed to them that for a moment a door had opened behind her black eyes, but then just as quickly had been shut again.
She looked down at the still body of Larellee, bound and gagged, and her face was once again set and hard.
"Noaw, wut shal w'doo wi'ye, yung mysee?" She said quietly.

The young woman was lying as she had left her, on her right side, her body curled up, restricted by the bonds that Eilidh had placed upon her. Her eyes appeared closed and her breathing was stable, if still shallow.
Her face though was caked with dried blood and her left cheek was swollen and bruised where Eilidh had struck her. Reaching down behind Larellee's head the Bosmer untied the gag and pulled it away from the woman's mouth.
The material was thick with blood and saliva and Eilidh felt it resist slightly as she pulled it away. Laying it to one side, she rummaged in her pack and pulled out the now nearly spent container of wine. She uncapped it and looked dubiously inside it, making a face.
It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Tilting Larellee's face with one hand she upended the container into her mouth with the other.
As the burgundy liquid entered her mouth and ran down her throat, Larellee spluttered and coughed, coming instantly awake. Eilidh sat back and drained the last of the wine. It was bitter but it was nevertheless potent.
Larellee spluttered next to her.
As Eilidh looked down, Larellee met her gaze and held it, her own eyes filled with hate.
Eilidh's eyes, black on black, were inscrutable and of themselves virtually impossible to read, nevertheless Larellee could detect no comfort or sympathy in the Elf's face which she saw now, beneath the blood and dirt and scars and pockmarks, was lined and worn and old and very, very tired.
It was the face of a woman who had lived a life both hard and unforgiving. At another time, Larellee might have felt a certain respect for that face, for its implied experience and for the hardships it had endured.
But not here, and not now.
Now there was only anger and hate.
She fought with her bonds, though still weak. Her face hurt her and the horror of what had so recently passed was still fresh and bright within her.
The Elf sighed and scratched at the side of her nose. Once, she might have been considered attractive, but the years had taken their toll.
"Wul." Said Eilidh. "Luhkes lyke ai'v saiv'd yer lyfe tuwyce, eh?"
Larellee glared at her, too angry for the moment to speak. Previously she had been genuinely scared of the Bosmer; now she had awoken from her swoon bound and gagged, she found herself simply too full of rage and spite and an overwhelming despair at what she knew had happened to her brother to even care about the Elf's motives or her own fate.
The Bosmer rubbed her nose again, grimacing, the skin around her nostrils looked red and sore. She settled herself more comfortably, her armour creaking as she moved.
"Wut pryce yer bra's lyfe, eh, Larellee?" Her voice was soft now. "Doo ai saiv ye tuwyce, mebbe therea, oar fowar?"

Larellee could scarce believe what she was hearing.
"What price...?" Her voice was shaky with anger. "What price? You [censored] murdered my brother, you... you stick a knife in him and you..." She gasped for breath, her mouth hurting, her voice slurred by the swelling of her cheek and lips. Ÿou expect it to be some kind of... of debt that you pay off by saving me?" Larellee spat blood onto the earth, struggled against her bonds again.
The Bosmer watched her for a moment, then drew her blade.
"Ai'm nae moar respoans'bul fer yer bra's deyath then thoas wuluves wuz fer eetyn' hym." She said matter-of-factly, There was no need to elaborate, it was obvious from the look on Larellee's face that she had understood exactly what Eilidh had meant and that she knew now the ultimate fate of her brother.

Eilidh shrugged.
"Wul, wut di'y'espec'?" She looked at Larellee, pursing her lips, then she moved towards her with blade held out in one hand.
Larellee's eyes widened further and she tried unsuccessfully to move away from the Bosmer.
"And... and I suppose you'll not be responsible for killing me now?" She said, attempting with all of her might to keep a sudden shaking from her voice.
"Nae." Replied the Elf. "Nae yff'n ai kyn healp ytte." She paused, and then her face took on a resolute expression.
Larellee swallowed her fear, bared her teeth.
"Do what you will, Elf, I care not anymore."

++++

The young woman closed her eyes and Eilidh could not help but smile. Leaning forward she cut the bonds between Larellee's hands and her feet, leaving both still bound to themselves.
Putting her knife away she pushed Larellee up into a sitting position, her back against the rock. Larellee let out a shuddering breath and blinked, the threat of imminent death receeding slightly.
"Hoald stul..." Said Eilidh, grasping Larellee's chin with one hand, whilst with the other holding the woman's bound hands down upon her thighs. Larellee winced as the Bosmer inspected her face, and none too gently. Her strength was frightening, her fingers vice-like.
"You're hurting me!" She squealed.
"Ai dinnae thynke ye'll dye." Remarked Eilidh, ignoring her. "Lest nae frae tha'." She poked at Larellee's bruised cheek with a finger.
Larellee shied away from her, but the Elf merely pursed her lips and grunted. "Wul, ai thynke ye'll lyv. A' leest fer noo."
Letting go of Larellee's face, she sat back on her haunches.

There was a silence between the two women, then; "Are you at least going to untie me, if you will not be killing me, too?" Larellee asked softly.
"Aye." Replied Eilidh, then raising an eyebrow she said, "Tho' w'mus' cum tae an araynjmunt fust."
Larellee looked at the Bosmer curiously. "What arrangement?" Her question was full of hostility and deep distrust.
"Wul noo." Eilidh got up and walked over to a small tree stump, sat down on it facing the other. She sat, legs apart, wrists resting on her knees.
"Wul, Larellee, 'tis lyke thus..."

Larellee found herself listening with increasing disbelief as the Elf laid out what she called her "proposal".
In short, it went thus: Eilidh knew full well that the now ex-kitchen maid would not last half a day if left alone in the wilds and so she, Eilidh, would accompany her to Riverwood, and see her there safely.
"Ai ow ye tha' mutch..." She said.
There were people there who would be able to help Larellee get back onto her feet and get to wherever she needed, or at least close. Not through any affection that the good people of that township had for Eilidh, Larellee was made to understand, but more from the fact that she presented such a pathetic sight that in Eilidh's view they could not help but show her the very same charity that the Bosmer so generously was.
Larellee was just attempting to work out the sense and meaning of this when Eilidh hit her with the quid-pro-quo.

In return for the Wood Elf's goodwill, Larellee would refrain from mentioning that the Bosmer had a hand, however inevitable and for whatever reason, in the death of Atticus. Further, Eilidh would gladly untie Larellee and escort her to said settlement provided the latter gave her word that she would "neetha exkayp noar wul ye proov a hyndrens tai mai proegresin'."
If Larellee felt that she was unable, or unwilling, to commit to this then Eilidh would reluctantly be forced to leave her bound here, where she now was.
"Ai'l nae doo ye ynne, tho'." Observed the Bosmer. "Buit a mitey numba o'otha beesties myte..."

It was more than clear to the younger woman that the Bosmer's concept of "responsibility" was at best occluded and that even the supposed offer of "help" was nothing more than a thinly-veiled piece of blackmail.
Larellee sniffed, spat blood from between her swollen lips. The pain in her face was still very present, but the muzziness in her head had disppeared, to be replaced by a cold clarity drawn from some hitherto unknown well or spring within her mind.
Eilidh had finished, and was clearly awaiting a response to her offer, which she equally felt was one that Larellee could not afford to refuse.

After a moment, Larellee spoke.
"It seems to me." She began." That you think that I have little choice in the matter, certainly as you see it.
"Either I stay here, bound, and await an evil fate; or I accompany you, honour-bound to silence, to Riverwood and... who knows what?"
She paused, keeping her eyes on the Bosmer, who staring inscrutably back at her, her hard and angular face expressionless. The breeze ruffled a few strands of her diirty yellow hair, and she brushed them aside with a hand.
"What's to stop you from murdering me on the way, " continued Larellee, "or from having me "looked after" in Riverwood, or maybe selling me on to the first soldiers you come across so they can sate themselves upon me for a few gold in your pocket?" She sneered. "What's to stop me from accompanying you and telling the first person I see what I know of you? Will you slit my throat?"
She rested her head against the rock, her black hair falling about her shoulders; closed her eyes a moment. There was silence between them.
"No." She whispered. "I will stay here, I think." She turned her face to Eilidh, opened her eyes to look at her. "After all, what have I left to lose? All I have left is my integrity, and should I follow you I will lose even that. No, Bosmer." She sighed, her eyes wide and moist, "I will take my chances here, and be true to myself."

The wind rustled in the sparse trees around them, above, birds, silhouetted against the sky, circled and called to each other.
The Bosmer was silent. The two women held each other's gaze, then Eilidh looked away off into the distance, chewing thoughtfully on her tongue. Finally, she turned back to Larellee.
"Wul," she began slowly, "Ai kunfaiss tha' ai didnae aspek tha'." She held a long-fingered hand out to Larellee.
"Buit ye hae me rong, Larellee, thus tyme." Her harsh voice was quiet, thoughtful. "Ye're rite enuff ai spose, buit noe tha' yff'n ai wuz gonnae doo ye ynne ai wuid hae dun so afor noo, oar mebbe jes' lef' yez fer th'wuluves.
She raised an eyebrow, Larellee nodded slightly, the Bosmer had a point.
"Ai'm a haard bytch rite enuff." Eilidh continued. "Buit ai'm nae a Fukkyn' Bytch. Ai wuid nae sayv yez jes' tae doo ye ynne laita."
She stood up, came and squatted close to Larellee. Her skin, beneath the freckles and cheap ink, was a mass of scars with fresh injuries to show from her efforts earlier. She pursed her thin lips, sniffed.
"Neetha wuid ai sea yez cum tai haarm atte th' handz o' anutha."
Larellee snorted.
"Hah! But you'll leave me here to die if I don't do what you say! For all your talk, you don't care, do you?!"
Eilidh looked away.
"Do you?" In that moment, Larellee understood something.

"You've no intention of leaving me, have you?"
The Bosmer was silent, still. Sensing she had the upper hand, Larellee raised her head and pressed on; "You can't bring yourself to let me die, and yet you can't risk me getting in the way or exposing you if you take me along." She smiled, though not with her eyes. "We seem to have arrived at a tipping point." She rested her head back against the boulder. "Have we not."

Eilidh stared silently at her for so long that Larellee, looking into those black and unblinking eyes, began to worry that she was wrong, and had overstepped the mark.
Finally however the Bosmer spoke, and her voice was quiet and perhaps wistful. "Ai wuidnae 'banden ye tae yer fayte, nae." She sighed. "Ai wuidnae leev yer heyar..."
She shook her head and looked away. "...Ai dunno..."
Standing then,she drew her knife. Taking a step closer she knelt once again and in two smooth movements cut through Larellee's bonds. Standing up and taking a couple of steps back she said, "Ye're free." She sheathed her knife.
"Stai oar go, oar cum wi' me." She kept her eyes on Larellee's face as the other woman, now free, winced and massaged her wrists and ankles. "Doo wut ye wul..." He voice tailed away.

Larellee cocked her head to one side and looked searchingly at Eilidh, genuinely unsure as to how to respond. Given her experiences of this hard-nosed Elf thus far, Eilidh's sudden volte-face had thrown her completely. Still. a decision had to be made and if it came to it, the Elf had been right about at least one thing; there was only one real path to take when it came down to it.
"I'll come." She said. "For good or ill. I can't stay here, you're right about that much."
She hoped that she would not come to regret her decision for despite the Bosmer's sudden seeming change of heart and for whatever the reasons, trust was not even close to being a word that could be used to define their relationship.
It puzzled her though, nonetheless, this strange change of heart.

Eilidh nodded once, briefly, in acknowledgement. Then shaking herself as if awakening from sleep she stepped over to her pack. When she spoke next she seemed almost back to her old self, at least as far as Larellee knew her.
"Wi'd bust b'gowyn' then. 'Tis stul sum ours Tul Riverwood, an ye hae nae bootz." She gestured at Larellee's feet with her chin as she shouldered her pack.
"Ai'l trie tai mek th'path an eezee wun..."
Picking up the warhammer, she turned to face north once more, looking into the scrubby trees.
"Cum thenne, Myssee, yff'n yer cummyn."

++++

Riverwood is a modest settlement located on the eastern bank of the White River, as it flows northwards from its source in the highlands. Nestled in the forests below the permanent snow-line, it is primarily a logging town with a few houses, an inn, and a general store.
It is a quiet and unassuming place for the most part, and its residents largely keep themselves to themselves.

All of this was lost on Larellee however as she stumbled through the town gates behind Eilidh later that day.
The sun was westering, casting long shadows as the grey of evening grew stronger, the darkness beneath the surrounding trees and the eaves of the houses deepening.
For all of her assertions that she would go easy, Eilidh had set a punishing pace from the off, heading ever north and barely pausing except on the occasions where Larellee, her bare feet cut and bleeding and her legs shaking, staggered as if to fall. Several times it happened and yet always the Elf was there holding her up, albeit with a "tut" and a curse.
They had avoided the roads and headed down through the scrubby trees and rocky ground to the more lush lowland woods with their lichen-covered trunks and grassy roots, and colourful flowers strewn round and about.

By this time all had become a pain-filled shambling blur for Larellee.
More used to hurrying between kitchen and dining-room, she was neither mentally- nor physically-equipped to deal with the rigours of wilderness travel, particularly given the events of the previous twenty-four hours or so. For all of her attentiveness when Larellee stumbled, Eilidh appeared to largely ignore her and the younger woman was left to stagger on with barely time to take a breath and certainly none for a piss. Eventually, unable to stop and afraid to ask Eilidh for a break, she was forced to release on the move, grimacing as the hot and acrid-smelling liquid ran down the insides of her legs to her feet, mingling with the grime and dirt that caked them.
In the back of her mind she came to muzzily believe that the Bosmer, having been unable to bring herself to do her in in any other way had resolved to simply let her expire from weariness, and that the only reason why she kept picking her up as she fell was because she wanted to ensure she was as exhausted as possible before the end.

So it was that the pair arrived at Riverwood, Larellee panting and running with sweat despite the chill of the air.
The Gateguards grudgingly let them through, though they observed them both and especially Eilidh, with deep suspicion.
Only once they were through the gate did Eilidh turn and, grasping Larellee by the elbow, she guided her towards the Sleeping Giant, Riverwood's inn.
"Ye leev th' tawkyn' tae me, myssee, k?" Said Eilidh. "Ai'l sourt uz owt, 'm frenz wi' th' barmun." She grinned and winked, though this was largely lost on Larellee.

Inside, the inn commons were dark and musty, smoke from the large central fire drifted lazily about the shadowed roof-beams. The place was empty except for a couple of dark forms sitting at a table in an unlit corner, and a blonde haired woman of middling years cleaning a table by the bar. She was wearing a low cut burgundy coloured dress which revealed her ample decotallage. Whilst not exactly fat, her body was certainly large enough to fill the obviously too small dress to near breaking point, certainly around the belly. Still, she was pretty enough in a motherly way.
She looked up as the two women entered the inn and came into the light.
"Gods!" She exclaimed, her voice husky. "What are you doing back here, MacAuley?!" Then, noticing for the first time the younger woman hanging from Eilidh's arm; "And what have you done to that poor girl?"
Putting down her damp rag, she bustled across the rough-planked floor, holding up the hem of her dress with one hand.

"Orgnar!" She called over her shoulder, "Orgnar! Get out here this minute!"
Stopping in front of Eilidh she gave the Wood Elf a withering look.
"You've a nerve, Eilidh MacAuley, showing your face hereabouts after what you done!"
"Delphine!" Exclaimed Eilidh brightly, ignoring her, "'Tis bin awyle!"
"Not long enough." stated Delphine flatly, turning her attention to the now rapidly wilting Larellee. "And just what have y'done to this one?"
Eilidh looked hurt.
"Ai'v reskyood her, an' brort her heyar. As ai pormuss'd her ai wuid." She explained.
Delphine tutted. "A likely story..."
She manhandled Larellee away from Eilidh, ferrying her off to one of the rooms that lay to either side of the main commons.
"Come on poppet." She whispered. "You're safe now. What did that horrible Elf do to you?"
Eilidh rolled her eyes and blew out an exarsperated breath. "Fuk me, ye trie tae doo a fayva...!"

Just then Orgnar arrived, a bear of a man clad in leather trousers and a grubby apron, he nonetheless contrived to look somewhat sheepish upon seeing Eilidh. The Bosmer chuckled evilly.
"Orgnar! hae's tha pekka?"
"I should have you run out!" Hissed the barman, his chin thrust forward, whiskers bristling. Pointing in the direction taken by Delphine and Larellee, he continued; "I don't know what part you played here Eilidh, but there's bound to be mischief afoot if you're involved! However, " he shook his head, "I'll not see you thrown into the street again, leastways not 'till we've got this sorted out."
He gestured to a door behind the bar.
"You can sleep in the stables. Use the trough to bathe yourself." he made a face. "Preferably sooner!"
Eilidh pouted, an incongruous look on her hard face. "Aaw nae yer bed Byg Mun? Ai wuz lukkyn' fourwords tae rappyn' masail' rown' suthyn' hot..."
Orgnar growled at her, though his cheeks flushed nonetheless.
"Awryte!" Eilidh held up her hands. "Gi'yuz a flaggen o' roobee an' ai'l b'yonne ma wai owt bak..."

-x-

This post has been edited by PhonAntiPhon: Apr 22 2014, 05:50 PM