The Last Slave Options

[Sir Radont]

A/N: I debated wheather or not I should post this one, it's the first fan fiction I wrote (it's not done yet either) and it's a little rough but what the heck, here's the first chapter. I have chapters 2, 3, and 4 done but I'm going to edit them a bit more before I post them so they don't seem so amateur-ish. Sorry about the length.


Part I—the Ghosts

It was an unusually cold night for that time of year. The two wood elf guards stationed outside the iron gate complained to themselves as they kept their night eye gaze on the tree line a hundred meters in front of them. They were guarding a slave trader’s base of operations in a clearing deep in a thick forest. The two cold guards, wrapped tightly in wolf skins with bows in hand and full quivers on their back, had only been hired a week prior to this night, but the slave base had been in operation for over a year. In that year the only people that had come knocking were people already cleared by the boss, and so the guards questioned the need to be standing in the cold, quiet night watching the trees sway lazily in a chilly breeze. They stayed there though, because that’s what the boss wanted and he was the one paying them for their services and a mercenary’s only loyalty is to money.

There were rumors spreading through the slave underground of Imperial soldiers attacking slave posts and shutting them down. One such rumor entailed a group of four Imperial soldiers known as “the ghosts” in the slave underworld because of the way they used surprise attacks to end a slave trader’s profession and then disappear into the night.

The rumor had one part right, there were four soldiers that made up “the ghosts”, but not all of them had imperial blood flowing through their veins. There were 2 Imperials in the group; the other two members consisted of a Nord and a Wood Elf. The ghosts were just outside the view of the bosmer guards, waiting, and watching for the perfect time to strike.

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It had been a good day for Hirdire, the pale skinned, tall and strong Nordic slave trader. He had had a wealthy Breton client buy a pair of Argonian slaves and he managed to convince him that he wouldn’t be able to get by without purchasing two nords as well. His conscience didn’t care about selling the lizard-like Argonians; to him they weren’t worthy to be citizens of Tamriel. The Nords, however, were different, they were his own people and he always felt a little guilty about selling them into slavery. Whatever guilt he felt evaporated like steam from a cooking pot as soon as he saw the money. One strong Nordic male would fetch him 3000 septims. A female would go for 2000, but if he sold them as a pair he could easily ask 8000 or more. And that’s what he did, he managed to sell the two Nords for 10,000 and the Argonians went for 1500 each.

“These are the strongest Argonians you’re likely to find,” he said, lying. To a Slave Trader, every Argonian is the strongest the buyer is likely to find. And so Hirdire and his two slave trading partners, Bjorin and Shadr, both Nords equally as strong as Hirdire, counted out their gold as they exchanged loud banter about the day.

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Nords are known for their strength, had Halldin not joined the Imperial Legion, he could have easily been a guard for the most fearsome arena fighters. Not that they needed guards, but Halldin’s size and stature would make the bravest warriors cower in fear and make the arena champion’s most powerful enemies think twice about crossing them. The Nord, leader of The Ghosts and master of any two handed blade, was crouched behind a boulder, occasionally peering around it to note any changes to the setup of the guards. He could only see two of them, if this was a typical slave trading operation the rest of the guards-for-hire would be inside the gate keeping watch over the traders hut and the slave cages. Halldin ducked back behind the boulder and glanced over to his left. Ten feet away, crouched behind a boulder the same size as the one just big enough to cover his massive frame, were Arronax and Radont. Both wore hardened leather armor with no helms and both gripped silver colored bucklers in their gauntlet clad left hands. It wasn’t the normal equipment carried by members of the imperial legion, but these were no ordinary Imperials. To Halldin’s right was Renwick, a wood elf marksman with his bow in hand and an arrow notched ready to deliver a lethal iron tipped message on Halldin’s command.

Halldin nodded and Renwick loosed his first arrow. Before it reached the guard a hundred meters away he grabbed another arrow out of his quiver, notched it, and started the second guards journey to the afterlife. The first arrow struck the guard between the eyes with enough force to knock him over backwards. The second guards first feeling was surprise, had he had time to have another feeling it would have been fear; there was a very skilled marksman out there and he had no idea where he was hiding. Instead, the only thing he felt was an arrow piercing his left eye and finding it’s final resting place in the middle of his brain. The guard collapsed in an awkward heap and Renwick gave Halldin a thumbs-up signifying that the guards posted outside were taken care of. Halldin leapt from his hiding place and sprinted towards the unguarded gate. Arronax and Radont followed him closely; they both unsheathed their swords and prepared for the inevitable skirmish that awaited them on the other side of the solid iron gate.

Grog-grabul, the orc warrior in charge of the mercenaries, didn’t enjoy being woken up every time someone heard something on the other side of the iron wall. He was the only one that could unlock the gate though, other then the traders themselves, and no one dared disturb them while they counted their money. Grog-grabul pulled himself out of his warm bed, picked up his longsword, and sleepily walked to the gate and unlocked it with the three other mercenaries in tow.

He was greeted by a left hook from the largest Nord he had ever seen, the blow knocked him unconscious and spun him around as he crashed face first onto the ground. The three remaining mercenaries jumped back and procured their iron swords from the leather sheaths strapped to their side. All three were Redguards, their dark brown skin matched the leather armor they were wearing. They were used to being mercenaries but they were not used to fighting as a group, and it showed. As Arronax and Radont came up on either side of Halldin, shields raised and swords ready to attack, the mercenaries moved back and away from each other. Halldin, Radont, and Arronax all charged at the same time, yelling as they did so. Radont reached his target first and swung his sword from over his head, using his momentum to power his swing. The mercenary side stepped and Radont rolled forward, avoiding the counter attack from his opponent. He jumped up and raised his shield to block the overhead swing coming from the surprisingly quick mercenary. He used the block to his advantage by pushing the Redguard’s arm up and away as he stepped in and put his sword straight through the heart of the enemy. Radont pulled his sword from the chest of the mercenary and looked up to see if his companions needed help. They were both looking back at him wondering the same thing. The mercenary that Halldin engaged was missing his head, and Arronax’s unfortunate sparring partner had his face bashed in by the Imperial soldier’s shield.

Grog-grabul woke up and wondered why he was outside in the cold night instead of in his warm, fire-heated hut. He rolled onto his back and the pain spreading through his head reminded him how he came to be lying on the ground. The nord that put him there walked over and put his foot on his chest and the tip of his blood stained sword was at his throat.

“Run, orc” Halldin said with ice in his voice. “Tell all the slave traders you find that the Emperor will not tolerate slavery and if they do not cease immediately their fate will be the same as the people you see scattered around you”.

Grog-grabul didn’t need to hear any more, as soon as Halldin sheathed his sword and stepped back the orc stood up dizzily and half-ran half-stumbled out of the fort and into the woods.

Halldin was as fierce a fighter that the Imperial Legion had, but he wasn’t a murderer and he would not kill needlessly. It didn’t matter if he was fighting orcs, redguards or high-elves, if they were no longer a threat to him, his soldiers, or his mission then they were no longer his enemy and they deserved to live. He wouldn’t always let them go free, most wound up in an Imperial prison, but to kill someone no longer a threat to him was just plain cold blooded murder and he would not have that on his conscience the rest of his life.

Hirdire, Bjorin, and Shadr heard the fighting going on outside and walked to the window to see what mercenary had offended another mercenary this time. What they saw scared them. Grog-grabul, who had a reputation of being one of the most ruthless mercenaries in all of Tamriel, was lying face down on the soft grass. The other mercenaries were either dead or in the process of becoming that way. The slave traders could only assume, then, that the wood-elf guards stationed outside had suffered the same fate. Bjorin moved quickly to the door and locked it, not that a locked wooden door would stand a chance against armed imperial soldiers, but he felt a little more secure hearing the click of the lock regardless.

Hirdire and Bjorin cowered unarmed in a corner opposite the door while Shadr crouched under the only window in the plain looking room. The only furniture in the room was the table where they counted their gold and that wouldn’t make a very good hiding place. They heard the doorknob turn as the soldiers tried to enter, and then with a solid kick the door flew off it’s hinges and crashed into the wall next to the frightened nords. The three soldiers ran through the new opening and surveyed the room. They immediately noticed the two nords cowering in the corner and to their left was Shadr, now standing with his back to the window.

With no immediate threat in sight, Halldin sheathed his sword and spoke forcefully to the three slave traders: “You are under arrest by order of the Emperor for the buying and selling of slaves, all of your possessions now belong to the Empire, your slaves will be set free, and you will hand over your ledger.” As he spoke Shadr casually put his hands behind his back and slowly pulled a dagger out from under his shirt. Arronax noticed the suspicious movement and turned to walk towards him with his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. As he took his first step the glass window that Shadr was standing in front of shattered and he jumped as if an unseen animal had bitten him. Halldin drew his sword as he spun to face Shadr. The dagger slipped out of the shocked nord’s hand as he staggered and fell forward crashing onto the wooden floor. In his back was an arrow and three seconds later Renwick entered the room with bow in hand.

“I came in through the gate to see if I could help, I saw this guy take out a dagger” he said as he nudged Shadr's body with his foot, “I had a shot so I took it”.

“Good work, Renwick” Halldin said as he sheathed his sword and turned to face Hirdire again.

“Where are your slave keys?”

Hirdire reached into his pocket and procured a key ring with two keys hanging from it. This he handed to Halldin who gave it to Radont.

“Go release the slaves and get them ready to move out.”

Halldin walked over to the table and opened a book that was near the edge. “This is your ledger, correct?”

Hirdire nodded. Halldin flipped through some pages, each page had 20 entries on it and each entry included a date, the name of the slave that was sold, the name of the buyer, and how much each slave was sold for. Halldin closed the book and picked it up, “Time to go”. Renwick and Arronax exited; as Bjorin was standing up he asked, “Where will we be processed?”

“Ebonheart” Halldin said as he extinguished the candles.

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Ebonheart: Imperial stronghold and busy seaport on the Island of Vvardenfell in the province of Morrowind. The entire city was constructed of thick grey stone. From the Imperial fort to the docks that stuck out into the water like two fingers extending from a hand, visitors were hard pressed to find any kind of wild growing vegetation in the city. A large black marble statue of a giant sea serpent greeted the ghosts, the newly freed slaves, and the former slave traders as they stepped off their boat and onto the solid stone docks. The entourage made its way north through the city heading towards Fort Hawkmoth, once they arrived the slaves were processed and given citizenship and the slave traders were locked in individual cells to await trial and eventual execution.

“Congratulations on another successful raid, Halldin”, said Casius, the highest ranking Imperial on Vvardenfell. He was an older Imperial with graying hair that almost matched the bricks used to build the fort he was in charge of. He wore the standard blue and gold armor of the Knight of the Imperial Dragon and always kept guards nearby with a rank no lower than Knight Bachelor. He was important and he knew it, and Halldin was disgusted by it. It was a little overkill to have a pair of Knight Bachelors following him around in one of the most secure forts in all of Tamriel. If anyone was able to get close enough to make an attempt at an assassination then the two guards might as well be paper shields. Halldin knew there was a better chance of surviving an attack by a group of werewolves than trying to take the life of the Knight of the Imperial Dragon, but Halldin had to respect the rank.

“Yes, sir” he said, giving the minimal amount of respect he could get away with.
“I didn’t accomplish the mission alone, though. Congratulations are in order for Arronax, Renwick, and Radont as well”.

“Ah yes, of course, of course, what a fine raid it was for the four of you” he said hastily, “did you manage to get the log book?”

Halldin handed him the leather bound book.

“Good, you are to report to Fort Monmooth at once, repair your armor and weapons there then take 2 days leave.”

Casius turned and walked away before Halldin had a chance to respond.

From Ebonheart they took a short trip north to the city of Vivec and from there they rode a silt strider to the city of Balmora. The city was nestled in a valley with a large mountain range to the west and hills to the east. Down the center of city flowed the Odai River, lazily making its way south and then turning west towards the sea. Balmora was guarded on the north and south sides by high walls with a single entrance in each wall. On the east side of the city was the main residential area where the middle class citizens lived. Three bridges connected the east and west side over the small river. The west side housed the mages, fighters, and thieves guilds as well as various shops for traders, booksellers, blacksmiths, and a tavern.

Upon arriving the ghosts could hear the sounds of a busy city: a blacksmith banging out his latest sword or piece of armor, shoppers bartering with merchants, and various citizens chatting about the latest news. The four soldiers would be there soon enough, right now they had a short walk east over the hills to Fort Monmooth.

The four of them went straight to the blacksmith upon arriving to get their armor and weapons repaired and battle ready. They could fix it themselves if they were on a mission, but the Imperial blacksmith would be able to take his time and do a more complete job of it over the next couple days. Next they went to the barracks to change into their common clothes then met outside the fort and walked back to Balmora.

“You don’t really like Casius do you?” Radont asked Halldin over a pint of ale at their favorite tavern.

This surprised the big Nord; Radont wasn’t usually one to talk much. He would rather have his Imperial steel long sword do the talking for him, although he preferred a Katana to the blade he was issued. His father had been in the Imperial Legion and insisted that Radont learn how to wield a blade at a young age, and so he was the most deadly of the ghosts when he had a two-handed Katana to do his talking.

“No, not really” was Halldins reply.

“His father is rich and owns a couple ebony mines and since the Empire needs ebony, well, Casius used his dad’s influence to move up the ranks unchecked, and unchallenged. Lets hope we don’t have to fight any wars soon.”

Just then Nalik, an Imperial archeologist, stepped through the door and scanned the dimly lit room. He spotted Halldin sitting with the other three soldiers and hastily weaved his way through the crowd to the table.

“Halldin, I thought I might find you here” he said as he pulled up a chair.

“What did you dig up this time?” he asked, looking up from his drink. He could always tell when Nalik had found something, the archeologist would become fidgety and talk with his hands.

“My team and I found a complete set of Dwemer armor buried deep in a cave in the Bitter Coast region” he said, pointing west. “It’s enchanted, but we don’t know what benefits it will give the wearer, would you mind putting it on and swinging a sword around a bit?”

“I’d be happy to help, where is the armor now?” He asked, genuinely intrigued.

“I put it in our new training building here in Balmora, it’s right along the river on the east side of town.”

Halldin got up to leave and Arronax spoke up “I’ll go with you, I could use some training against an enchanted opponent”.

The armor was unremarkable, just a dull gold color that pulsed with magical energy. Halldin started putting it on while Arronax donned a full suit of iron armor, complete with a closed face helm.

Halldin slid on the helm to complete the enchanted set and immediately went to his knees. He screamed and grabbed his head as he fell forward. Arronax walked toward him “Halldin?” he said with wonder and concern in his voice. “What…”

Before he could finish his sentence Halldin jumped up and grabbed him by the neck, liftim him a foot off the ground. Arronax struggled but it was no use, Halldin’s grip was too strong. He took out his dagger and tried to stab Halldin in the arm but the blade shattered against the armor. Halldin laughed, then spoke with a deep voice that seemed to come from the very pits of Oblivion: “FOOL! Your weapon cannot hurt Ballgore…!”

With that he threw Arronax through the solid stone wall and out onto the street. Arronax stood up dizzily and saw what once was the leader of the ghosts, and his best friend, levitating away over the mountains. As a crowd started to gather, Arronax collapsed to the ground and his surroundings faded into darkness.

[Sir Radont]

Part III: Sympathy and Vows

Sounds of battle coming from outside his Balmora home caused the old archeologist’s eyes to snap open. Leaping from his soft bed Nalik hastily threw on a random combination of clothes from a wooden dresser and grabbed a steel mace he kept nearby. Flinging the bedroom door open, he moved quickly down a short hallway to the top of a flight of richly carpeted stairs. He stopped abruptly when he saw a dirty skeleton waiting for him at the bottom with a long blade in one hand and a shield strapped to the other. A skeleton in Balmora… in my own house? All attempts of rationalization failed as the surprised Imperial stared at the abomination. The undead warrior almost seemed to laugh as it effortlessly navigated the stairs towards the gray haired, mace-wielding target. Nalik swung first and smacked the skeletons shield with a resounding gong. The intruder stumbled backwards from the surprisingly powerful blow. Nalik swung again and connected with the shield a second time, knocking the skeleton off its feet and causing it to tumble backwards down the stairs.

The Imperial was quick for an old man and descended the stairs in an instant. His powerful steel mace smashed the grinning skull into fragments with a satisfying crunch. Nalik moved with haste to the front of his well furnished home. The front door was hacked into small splinters and he could see citizens of Balmora running in chaotic patterns outside. He stepped through the broken doorway and was greeted by the most horrific scene to ever pass his eyes and register in the darkest recesses of his brain. Outnumbered Hlaalu guards wearing bulky, heavy, gold colored armor were hopelessly trying to hold off a tide of undead pouring relentlessly into the city. He watched in horror as unarmed men and woman were cut down where they stood, some dying instantly while others were left to scream in agony during their last minutes of life.

“Citizen!” Yelled a guard rounding the corner of the house, “We have to abandon the city, make for Fort Monmooth and get as many people as you can to follow you.”

Nalik nodded and sprinted down the stone, blood-stained road. As he ran across the bridge he glanced over the side, the Odai River ran red from the blood of the fallen as mangled bodies floated lazily, almost peacefully, down the slow moving river. The archeologist yelled to as many people as he could as he ran by, urging them to the fort.

Twenty scared and confused citizens escorted by seven exhausted guards were the only ones to arrive at Fort Monmooth. The rest of what once was the great city of Balmora lay slaughtered in the streets, the ground drank their blood as the legion of armed skeletons trampled them underfoot further desecrating the sacred town. The survivors were quickly ushered into the fort, the doors shut tight and locked and the Imperial archers on the battlements were ready, their steel gaze pointing to the west. Nalik sat in a wooden chair in disbelief, some survivors wept for the fallen while others tried to comfort them, the remainder sat in an unblinking daze unsure whether they should feel rage or oppressive sadness.

Halldin watched from a distance, a menacing grin spread across his helmed face as the city was abandoned. The attack on Balmora was a statement—a warning, when Halldin wrested control of Vvardenfell, and eventually all of Tamriel, none would oppose him –none but The Channeler. I do not fear the weakling Arronax or his blade; his death will mark the end of Imperial rule. Halldin strode through the streets of Balmora admiring his new city and laughing at the wounded citizens cries for help.

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The euphoria that had accompanied the escape from their rock encased cells was waning now. Instead of running triumphantly down dimly lit corridors the three Imperial soldiers stepped hesitantly through a maze of rocky tunnels. The only light they had was a lantern they took from a storage room that had also housed their armor and weapons, but not their packs. Their ebony helms were strapped to their sides to give them better visibility in the darkness and they clanked noisily against their armor encased thighs with each step.

The soldiers walked single file through a narrow passage with weapons drawn. They had not seen anyone for what seemed like hours. Arronax led the way with Renwick following, Radont kept a wary eye behind them, looking for pursuers. They turned a corner and were greeted by another rocky narrow tunnel that stretched out of the reach of the lamps light. Arronax fought the urge to let his shoulders slump in frustration and despair, instead he pressed on resolutely down the tunnel with the other two soldiers following close behind.

Arronax almost walked right past the door before stopping abruptly, causing his trailers to scramble in order to avoid crashing into him. The door was made out of rock, blending almost invisibly with the surrounding tunnel. The only distinguishing feature was a dull iron handle covered with rust sticking out of the rocky wall. Arronax held the light up as if trying to discern more about what was on the other side by looking closely at the handle. He couldn’t and backed away looking at Renwick then at Radont. The soldiers returned his gaze, waiting for his decision.

The new leader of The Ghosts put his gauntlet clad hand on the handle and turned, the door swung quietly inward into a large cavernous space. The three soldiers walked through greeted by flickering light coming from torches mounted around the walls. It wasn’t a lot of light, but enough for Arronax to put his lamp on the ground in order to explore the area with the protection of his shield.

“Can you see anything, Renwick?” He asked, letting the elf move into the cave.

Renwick flicked his night eyes around the room noting the landscape, “Looks clear.”

The cavern had a circular shape with rocky crags sticking out of the ground in random places casting shadows for potential enemies to lurk in. One such enemy hid in a deep shadow near the door the soldiers had just entered from.

“I don’t think there are any other exits here,” Arronax remarked as he finished his exploration of the cave.

“I found something,” Radont called out. He had walked around one of the larger rock formations and was standing in a shadow holding the lantern.

Arronax and Renwick circled the rocks and looked where Radont was pointing. There was a bedroll wedged between two rocks with tattered clothes scattered around. Someone or something had been here before, though it was impossible to tell when the occupant would come back, if they planned on coming back at all.

A feeling of dread slowly crept over Arronax causing him to shiver slightly.

“We should get out of here.” The other two soldiers nodded, the same feeling had come over them as well.

The soldiers rounded the rock formation and headed for the door when they were stopped by a sultry female voice behind them.

“What’s the rush?”

The Ghosts spun around and looked frantically into the dim lighting.

“Who’s there?” Arronax demanded.

Renwick’s trained night eyes saw her first, a slim feminine figure slowly walking towards them out of the shadows. Arronax and Radont saw her at the same time as she moved into what little light there was in the large cavern. She was a Breton, a natural magik user, with straight dark hair that hung to her shoulders; a black robe hugged her figure, accenting her curves and giving a look of royalty. She swayed slowly up to the soldiers now standing shoulder to shoulder, purposefully giving them time to drink in her beauty.

“My name is Mabrelle—are you lost,” she asked suggestively when she had finally stopped in front of the trio of soldiers.

Arronax swallowed hard before replying, “N-No, I- I mean yes, well, we’re looking for a way out, yes.”

She smiled and walked slowly around them as she talked, “Is that all you want?”

Her hand brushed against Radont’s exposed neck; it was cold—unnaturally cold.

Arronax answered again when she was back in front of the group, “We could use some healing potions…” he said as he tried unsuccessfully to avert his gaze to the rocks.

The attractive Breton laughed, showing her white teeth.

“I can do better than healing potions,” she said seductively, flashing another smile.

Renwick snapped out of his daze long enough to notice two of her top teeth were longer than the others and came to relatively sharp points.

“VAMPIRE!” He yelled, notching an arrow and firing. Mabrelle hissed, moving in a blur as the arrow bounced harmlessly off the opposite wall. The soldiers looked around frantically searching for the vampire. Renwick’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the cave looking for movement. Arronax raised his shield and squinted into the darkness holding his blade with a white-knuckled grip.

Radont was barely able to leap and roll out of the way as a blurred shadow screamed past him. It turned quickly and came at him for another pass. Renwick made a quick judgment and dove for the figure as it ran towards his fellow soldier. He judged wrong and missed, grabbing only air as he tumbled to the ground. Radont was just righting himself when he was knocked off his feet again, landing hard on the rocky ground.

The vampire quickly moved towards Arronax, leaping at him with her mouth open and hands out. He deflected her with his shield and sent the temptress crashing onto the ground. The Imperial soldier tried to jump on her to pin her down but the robed figure rolled effortlessly out of the way. She’s toying with us, having fun before she turns us Arronax thought as he stood again.

Another attack sent him reeling but he didn’t fall, instead he regained his balance and charged at the slim figure. The vampire simply stepped casually out of the way, laughing. But in her attempt to wear out Arronax she had forgotten about Radont. It wasn’t the first time an enemy of the young Imperial had done it, but it proved to be just as costly a mistake for a vampire as it was for an enemy soldier. Radont leapt out of a shadow and grabbed Mabrelle around her slim waist, bringing the Breton to the ground with him. He stood lifting the vampire and pushed her light frame easily against a rocky outcropping with katana drawn and gauntleted hand around her neck.

All three soldiers were breathing heavily as sweat dripped from their faces like rain.

Arronax caught his breath and spoke forcefully, “How do we get out of these caves foul demon?”

The vampire looked dreamily into the eyes of each soldier hoping for sympathy but found only a steel gaze staring back at her. Her eyes turned cold.

“Follow the tunnel you were on before you came in here, it will lead you to the surface.” She said with a bored tone.

“Where is Halldin,” Arronax asked.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the vampire replied truthfully.

Arronax didn’t believe her, “You are undead; you should know where he is. Tell me and you will die quickly and escape your tormented state.”

“I am not undead,” she refuted, “vampires are just diseased people—like werewolves.”

Renwick spoke up: “Is there a cure?

Mabrelle nodded slowly and let her gaze fall to the floor, she spoke in a sad quiet voice, “I have given up my search for it, I had hope at one time but that’s gone now. All I have left is a thirst for blood and nightmare filled sleep. I am hated and feared everywhere I go, an abomination to life; if you have pity you will destroy me.”

“Be careful, Radont,” commanded Arronax, “she may be planning more trickery.”

Radonts eyes locked with the bright blue eyes of the vampire. She reached down and took his hand in hers. He could feel the coldness of death through his gauntlet as she slowly lifted his hand and blade to her neck.

“Please…” she pleaded, a tear forming at the edge of her eye, “for me.”

For a brief second Radont saw humanity in her eyes like a ray of sunlight stabbing triumphantly through a black menacing storm cloud.

“No. I won’t… I can’t do it.” Radont said, releasing his grip around her neck and sheathing his sword. “There is a place northwest of Suran called Bal Ur, you will find your cure there.”

She smiled at the young Imperial as a single tear slid down her cheek, “I wont forget you—or your kindness.”

Radont returned her smile as he turned and walked back to where Arronax and Renwick were standing.

Arronax clasped him on the shoulder, “It was a good choice Radont—you will make a great leader someday.” He turned and headed for the door, “let’s move out,” he commanded. The three soldiers walked through the door and continued down the narrow tunnel with renewed vigor in their steps. Mabrelle vowed silently to the walls that she would find Radont again after she found her cure.

The Three members of the Imperial Legion walked a mile down the tunnel; turning sharply to the right the path began to ascend slightly. After another three hundred meters the soldiers came to a wooden door set into the rocks. Arronax was hesitant to open it but resolved that there was no other way to go but through. Opening the door the trio of soldiers were greeted by a warm sun and fresh Vvardenfell air.

They were in the grazelands still, but it was the end of their journey through the rolling grass covered hills. Stretched out before them like a mirror for the gods was the Sea of Ghosts. Small waves lapped lazily at the white shore as mudcrabs slothfully moved over the sand.

A small wooden boat was overturned on the shore, the soldiers walked to it looking for an owner. Whoever may have once called this vessel their own was nowhere in sight and probably left the boat for the elements. Arronax, Radont, and Renwick heaved the boat over and pushed it out into the water. The two Imperials and their Bosmer companion stepped in carefully, the boards creaked and whined at the weight of the soldiers but held and managed to stay floating.

“This isn’t a boat,” remarked Renwick dryly, “It’s a concoction of wood that someone managed to throw together after too many ales at the tavern.”

Arronax chuckled, “It beats swimming with the slaughterfish, my friend.”

Renwick shrugged and nodded agreement. “We should stop in Dagon Fel for supplies before we go to Crul.”

Arronax agreed, “Good idea, it’s just a short hop to an island off that way,” Arronax waved his hand in the general north direction.

The town’s outskirts consisted of small wooden shacks that were banged together quickly—fishing villages were set up the same way all over Vvardenfell. What separated Dagon Fel from the rest of the smaller fishing tows was its center; it had large two story buildings that housed an inn, a blacksmith, a tavern, and other general goods stores.

A cool breeze blew through the town as the soldiers arrived. They marched quickly to the general goods store. It was a warm place with a Breton merchant behind the counter who stared nervously when the soldiers entered. His wares were arranged neatly on wooden shelves and consisted of a small assortment of potions, a few low quality weapons, and a smattering of common clothes.

Arronax was the first to notice the nervous stares of not just the merchant, but all the patrons of the small store as well. Their eyes darted about as if they held some dark secret that they wanted the soldiers to know but were afraid to speak it. It was strange, but Arronax couldn’t be bothered with the eccentric nature of this fishing town.

The Imperial walked up to the merchant, “I’m looking for healing potions, do you have any in stock?” He asked politely.

The merchant nodded and reached under the counter with shaking hands. He procured four bottles from a cupboard and set them on the wooden counter. “Will that be all?” He asked weakly.

Arronax nodded and noticed the merchants eyes dart to his right. The soldier looked to where the merchant had glanced and saw to his surprise a robed Dark Elf that he had not noticed upon entering.

It was Dronos, the same Dark Elf that had captured them before.

Arronax and Radont unsheathed their weapons in a flash of ebony while Renwick trained a notched arrow at the smug Dark Elf. Dronos put his hand firmly on the back of a female Wood Elf’s neck and urged her forward staying behind her for cover. With his free hand, Dronos created a fireball and held it close to the trembling Bosmer’s face. The Wood Elf whimpered but complied, moving forward as tears welled up in her brown eyes.

“Drop your weapons and the elf will live,” he said fiercely.

Arronax glanced around the room, then stared at the dark elf with narrowed eyes.

“You wouldn’t dare…”

Dronos smiled wickedly and pushed the elf forward. A fireball leapt from his hands and consumed the elf, killing her instantly. Some patrons screamed, others stared in slack-jawed disbelief. Arronax took a step towards the dark elf but he quickly grabbed another victim, stopping the Imperial in his tracks.

This time he held a male redguard, another fireball danced in his hand. “You choose, Arronax. Drop your weapons and I poison him slowly, come at me again and I’ll burn him.”

Arronax was speechless; he lowered his sword but didn’t drop it.

“Fool,” Dronos said, burning his second victim.

“I don’t have time to wait for your answers.” He said grabbing a Breton female.

“How many will have to die, Arronax? How many will fall before you listen? Their blood is on your hands.”

“What do you want?” Arronax asked through clenched teeth.

“You know the answer to that question, Imperial,” Dronos snapped, “take me to Stradyn and she doesn’t get burned.”

Arronax looked with compassion at the struggling Breton but remained silent.

She looked at the imperial with tears streaming freely down her cheeks, “Please, don’t let him kill me…” she pleaded.

Dronos tightened his grip, “Do we have a deal?”