~Look away, look away, look away~
Mid Year, 195, Fourth Era
Whiterun, Skyrim
Skjor the Scarred
"Aye, that's them alright." He mutters low, looking out over the rocks they were crouched behind and to the relatively small hollow between two hills and tucked up against Lone Mountain. Not 'Lonely' Mountain, Lone. Apparently it was named after someone with the name Lone, either a Jarl or Imperial Captain, but he didn't remember the story at the moment. Something about killing orcs or daedra.
Before, it was named the Lonely Mountain, because it was the only mountain for several leagues, situated right between Rorikstead and Whiterun and dominating the space around it. The story sounded more and more stupid the more he thought about it, so he decided to stop thinking about it.
In the middle of the hollow was a rapidly assembled camp, walls made of stones stacked without mortar and old log spikes jutting from the earth. Within the layers of rock wall lay a few dozen tents of fur and leather rolls, with campfires crackling merrily and the faint smell of cooking dog meat rolling across the winds. The tents grew larger and larger until reaching the center, which held a pilfered Imperial command tent with symbols painted over with the image of a silver axe.
"More professional than I was expecting." The boy muttered by his side. "Patrols, walls, watch-towers, and big tents."
"Professional? There's not a single ward around their camp." The Elf muttered disdainfully. "A single battlemage would ruin them in short order."
Skjor found himself in the very unfortunate situation of agreeing with an Elf. "Half their number in archers up along that ridgeline could harass them without contest, forcing them out of their walls and into open battle."
"Then why… Ah, they have to stay hidden, campfires on an elevated position would make them too visible." The boy started to ask, before coming to a realization and nodding. "Illicit operations and all that."
"They'd be better off finding a cave to squat in." The Elf replied with a scowl, and Skjor nodded absentmindedly. A cave would provide better shelter from the elements for less material cost and less visibility. They must not have found any good ones nearby, at least, none that weren't already occupied.
"Maybe three-dozen tents, probably about as many armed men." Skjor began. "Axes and silver blades, a few of them have elf-arms now. Most will probably be lightly armored, and at least half will probably have bows for hunting. Best time to attack would be at night, hit them while they're sleeping."
"First priority will be the rescue of Lady Ador." The Elf dictated at them. "We can pick them off at our leisure thereafter, but she remains a potential hostage if we allow her to remain in their hands."
"We don't know what tent she's in, so we can't risk setting anything on fire yet." The boy reached up to start chewing on his thumb-nail. "We only have one bow with us, so we can't set up to start sniping. Mister Valion is still injured and I'm not grown yet…"
"You're overthinking it kid." Skjor shook his head. "You still have that magic ring?" He asked, drawing the Elf's attention with a condescending brow raised.
"Oh, yeah. Do you need it?" the kid replied, reaching into his shirt to pull out the poop-ring on its twine-necklace.
"Nope." Skjor responded, reaching forwards and pointing at a part of the camp. "See that section of the wall?"
"...Yes." The kid responded after a moment's look.
"We can see that spot from here, but there's no sightlines to that spot from the camp. You put on the ring and sneak your way around, dropping down along that tree there, and up against that wall. When you get there, me and the Elf will start attacking the front to draw their attention."
"Ah. You want me to creep in and abscond with her while they're distracted?"
"Aye." Skjor responded with a nod, leaving it unmentioned that it would keep the kid away from the bulk of the fighting. He didn't really care if the Elf died, but this way the kids would be far away from where the actual battle was going to be. "Girl's probably tied up in the main tent, or very near to it, not much sense in putting her anywhere else. Once you get her, creep out along the same path and make your way back here so you can watch the fight."
"If we fall, you're to run with Lady Ador, escort her to the Thalmor Embassy in Solitude, do you understand?" The Elf commanded harshly.
"Oi, stop bossing the brat around, that's my job." He turned a glare towards the Elf. "You might die here, but I sure as hell won't, not against milk-drinkers like these."
The Elf sneered at him, but didn't respond.
"I understand, on my word I'll bring her there." The boy responded with a serious nod, causing Skjor to grunt and the Elf to nod sharply.
"You need to grow more of a spine kid." Skjor grumbled. "You're letting the Elf barb you here."
"Sharp words are not my enemy, I have no need to shield myself from them." The boy smiled, taking the length of twine off his neck and wrapping it once around one of his gloved hands, before slipping the ring on over. All at once, he ceased to be real and became a silent image. His scent simply disappearing from the winds, and grass no longer rustling against his clothing.
A distinctly uneasy effect, if Skjor was being honest.
"I'll be off now." The boy spoke with a nod, barely audibly beneath the muting of the ring on his finger. Skjor nodded in turn, and the boy crept backwards, down the hill some before beginning a northerly journey to flank the camp from the route Skjor pointed out earlier. Within a minute he was out of sight, which meant Skjor was no longer able to track him in any manner.
Skjor and the Elf sat in complete silence as they waited for the kid to get into position.
There was nothing in particular he wanted to say to the Altmer crouching next to him, and he imagined it was much the same from the Mer's perspective.
So the two males instead stayed completely silent aside from quiet breathing and the occasional rustle, taking in the camp set squatly in the midst of the hilly hollow and generally preparing their thoughts for the upcoming battle. Skjor made a note to not let himself loose until after the Mer had died, passed out, or was firmly out of sight. From the scents on the winds, it would be easy to disguise his whereabouts after the fact.
It was a good ten minutes or so before the boy appeared in their sights again, creeping down along the hillside and towards the walls in the gloom of evening and the shadow of the mountain. Skjor shifted his grip on his shield and adjusted his feet in readiness.
"He's approaching the walls." He muttered out, just in case the Mer had managed to miss it.
"I can see that." Apparently his words were unnecessary. "I can do little more than shoot from afar in my current state. The bulk of their arms will be falling on your shield, Man. You'll have to endure them long enough for my arrows to cut them down."
Skojr snorted dismissively, pushing himself up in time with the boy reaching the rocky perimeter. "Endure them? There's no need for that, I'll just kill them instead."
He threw himself over the rocky outcropping, letting his armored boots hit the sloped earth on the other side of the ridge and letting his weight carry him down in a grass-tearing slide. He stretched out his arms for balance, staying upright as he slid down towards the makeshift gate of the Silver Hand camp.
He heard the stretch of bowstring behind him, the Elf readying an arrow from his position on the rocks.
The slope eventually turned shallow, and he turned his heavy slide into a steady jog forwards, pulling out his sword as he approached.
Now, to get their attention.
He turned his jog into a stride, shoulders and feet heavy upon the earth, raising up his sword and shield to bash them together. The outermost sentries had spied him at this point, readying their bows and arrows for him. One, two, three…
He stepped to the right and raised his shield. Three arrows went wide, two more bounced off the thin plate of metal that covered the hard wood core of his shield. A few seconds before they'd shoot again. He took a deep breath.
And gave his best roar.
"HWOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!"
Their next arrows went wide, hands flinching from his bellow. The sound echoed through the hollow, once, then twice, before spilling out into the plains and carrying along the winds for another mile or more.
He lowered his head, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs once more, before setting his sight on the gates. Not more than a few planks nailed together and set up with twine. He squared his shoulders, ducked his head, raised his shield.
And started running straight at it.
Arrows went wide. His feet kicked up pebbles.
Arrows bounced off his shield. His feet tore up grasses.
Arrows bounced off his armor. His boots ripped up soil.
Skjor crashed into the flimsy plank gates, shield first, smashing straight through and barrelling over the two men on the other side attempting to brace the frame.
He let himself roll forwards, bouncing up and throwing himself forwards. His sword made a silvery arc, and cleaved a man's head from his shoulders. The scent of blood made his own heat up, and made his heart beat like a heavy war-drum.
He cleaved again, and another man died, legs separated from the body. Arrows bounced off his platemail, one punching through the quilted cloth about his biceps and sticking fast. A pinprick. He ignored it for the moment.
He'll see if he mops up this lot before Ragnar gets back.
—
~Pixieland~
Mid Year, 195, Fourth Era
Whiterun, Skyrim
Ragnar of Rorikstead
The immense bellow in the distance was almost certainly his signal to get a move on, but rushing recklessly ahead wouldn't be very smart. The ring only muffled him, it did nothing to actually hide him from view. Bilbo had it easy, short stature, quiet tread, and a magic ring of invisibility. Granted, he had to sneak past a dragon and not just a bunch of werewolf hunters, so he supposed it was a fair trade off.
His silent boots carried him forwards along the flank, behind their tents. His own lack of noise made it quite easy to hear what was going on around him, nothing to get in the way of his ears. Mostly rapid boots and sleepy shouting as men were rushed awake and moved to grab whatever weapons they could to confront the men at their gates.
They really should be grouping up more and getting shield-walls and firing lines ready, but that was a digression. No men surprised in the night made sound tactical decisions on their own.
He resisted the urge to hum a sneaking tune, mighty as said urge was. This was a matter of potential life or limb here, and sabotaging himself in such a manner could wait until he was strong enough to afford it.
He pressed himself low against the earth as boots stomped past, visible in scant torch and moonlight. The night sky was incredibly bright here, full of stars and constellations, no artificial glare from the earth to drown out their glimmering. It was honestly entrancing to look upon.
The boots passed, and the shouting to wake up their fellows went with it. He pushed himself up and began a sort of crouching bound once more, no need to worry about sound letting him move much faster.
He had to get rid of this ring after this, it was entirely too convenient. A Knight shouldn't be sneaking around except in times of great need, and this ring would encourage many bad habits in him. He was simply glad he didn't have a bow right now.
A visible sightline, he crept low to the earth again and let a single eye peer out.
Clear. He threw himself across and out of sight once more, attempting a sneaky roll but failing to consider how much his shield weighed. It was good that he was already out of sight and mostly silent right now, otherwise this would be a very embarrassing slip-up.
He deliberately ignored the heat on his face as he picked himself up, quickly starting forwards again and towards the largest tent in the camp.
If he had his wits about him, that was where this elf-girl was being held. It's always in the tent at the end of the camp, and if it isn't, then it's in a very obvious spot in the middle of the camp. That's how these stories went.
The tent was weighed down at the sides, quietly he walked around the edges of the heavy leather affair, looking for the loosest stones and keeping an eye on his surroundings. The tent was practically pressed up against the far wall of the mountain, which means he only had to worry about a few angles here.
It had been set up to be very defensible, which meant it was currently very easy to sneak around in while keeping an eye on the rest of the camp. He could only see the 'command' yard, so to speak, from here. Tables with maps on them, a campfire with a pot of stew, a few nearby tents, a few bags and backpacks laying about.
He pressed himself up against the rocks, letting his black cloak shroud him in the gloom as he watched figures emerge from the tents. Silver Swords on their belts and helmets being rapidly strapped on.
He heard another distant howl-roar from Skjor, which made him reflexively swallow. It was hard to describe how the noise bounced around his ears, only that it was a distinctly unpleasant feeling.
He wasn't expecting it to be actually intimidating, but it managed that somehow.
"One of those f*cking wolves." One of the men snarled out, reaching over to pick up a shield. "Defend the girl, that monster will rip her apart if it gets up here."
"Don't play me for a coward, Torvan. You defend the girl, our brothers need me down there." The other man snarled, pointing a harsh finger at the first.
"A little girl is not the Thalmor Shan!" The apparently named Torvan replied, pointing his own finger at the man. "Stuhn is f*cking clear on matters like these. We captured her, we're not letting her die to a monster! Not in our care!"
Shan grimaced harshly for a few moments, before stepping forwards and clapping Torvan on the shoulder. "Skin that bastard, got it?"
Torvan nodded, returning the firm clap before lowering his visor and jogging down the slope, towards the front of the camp.
Shan stood still for a few moments, clenching a fist, before hefting his axe. Curiously, the blade had been made heavier than normal with the addition of another hunk of metal, bound to the head with straps of leather. A fragment of Wuuthrad, from what he could tell.
The man took up a position in front of the campfire, resting both hands upon his axe-head and looking out to the rest of the camp. He was otherwise still, simply listening to the distant sounds of violence and crackle of the campfire.
Ragnar briefly realized that he was going to have to kill this man. It was a curious feeling, not like nausea in his gut or ice in his veins, but some other sensation that he couldn't quite place.
Like many things, he ignored it.
He unlatched himself from his hiding spot, quickly creeping forwards and drawing his blade from its sheath on his back. It had to be on his back, because it would touch the ground if he wore it on his waist. Using an adult-sized blade as a child was a difficult path, but would be completely worth it when he was grown and able to use greatswords one-handed.
He would need big weapons for the big things to come.
"W-what's going on!" The tear-worn voice of a little girl cried out from inside the tent, making Ragnar instinctively freeze. He quickly realized that he was now on a time-limit, and sped his sneaky advance.
"Nothing! Go to sleep girl!" The man called out roughly, clearly without patience to console a prisoner in such a stressful situation.
"L-let me go!" The voice cried out again with terrified ennunciation. Ragnar threw himself forwards.
"I said go to slee-" The man turned, roaring at the tent-entrance.
Ragnar's eyes locked onto his as his blade stabbed through the man's side, bursting out the other end with a spray of blood. Less than he had been expecting, if he was being honest.
The man staggered back as Ragnar ripped the sword out. He attempted to speak, but only wheezed through the new holes in his diaphragm. He wasn't dead yet.
His sword went through the correct motions, swinging down and cleaving into the man's neck. Relatively unarmored compared to the rest of his body, clad only in the lightest armors and getting ready to sleep for the night.
The sharp steel nearly decapitated the man, leaving a sliver of tissue for the head to flop about on as the corpse collapsed, blood spilling out upon the camp ground.
He ignored the corpse for now, focusing on it might jeopardize the entire reason he was here. He turned to look at the tent, striding into it and keeping his sword low.
There, tied to the central post upon a fur sleeping bag, was a little girl in a warm, fluffy dress. Probably no older than twelve, looking terrified and face covered in the puffy-red of past tears. A very pitiful looking creature, this elf-girl was.
She looked like she was about to cry again, so he interrupted her. "Pardon, would you happen to be Lady Ador?"
That cut her short, making her open and close her mouth for a bit, before reaching up to wipe her face with her dress-sleeves. "I-um… y-yes, that's me."
He smiled widely. "I'm Ragnar of Rorikstead, a knight-to-be. Would you like me to rescue you?"
Tears came out silently, and she hiccuped once before responding. "Y-yes please."
She was polite for a traumatized kid. Ragnar made his way over to her, glancing back to make sure no one was coming. Coast was clear for the moment. He set his sword down and pulled out his boot-knife. "Here, let's get those ropes off." He waited for her to extend her hands towards him, taking hold delicately and quickly sawing through the twine.
He needed to not traumatize her any further, else this extraction would be much more difficult. A panicking civilian was much harder to wrangle, from what he knew about the subject.
Her wrists were sore from the bindings, so he let the brief flare of restoration magics fill his hands, holding them over the barely-an-injure long enough to catch her attention and distract her from everything.
"Here." He whispered, reaching up to pull the ring off his finger and holding it out to her. "It's a magic ring. It'll protect you if you wear it, can you do that for me?"
It took an unfortunate amount of time for her to respond.
"O-okay…" She reached out, grabbing the ring and slipping it over her finger, instantly becoming quieter and thus slightly less annoying. Hopefully that would prevent her from giving away their position with her sobbing.
"Have you ever had a piggyback ride?" He asked.
"N-no, I-I've never touched a piggy." She responded, letting him gauge how effective the ring was. Also letting him reaffirm that kids were adorable at times.
"Here." He turned around, and patted his shoulder, before holding his arms a bit up. "Climb on, arms around my neck and legs around my waist here, I'll carry you out of here." This would keep his arms free for fighting, and make sure this wouldn't be a slow escort.
Her ascent onto his back was rapid, and her weight was more than light enough for him to handle. He was confident that he carried smithing tools heavier than her. "Not so tight around the neck, I need to breathe too."
She pressed her face into his shoulder, clinging on like a newly discovered jungle cat.
Hostage secured, now to make his way out. He stepped through the tent, glancing at the corpse as he passed. Briefly, he paused to consider it, sheathing his sword and reaching down to grab at the hilt at the body's waist.
He pulled out a shining silver sword. Something he'd need for future questing.
He glanced at the corpse again.
Much to his unpleasant surprise, he felt nothing. He pressed his lips together, before moving along, feet carrying towards…
That part of the camp was on fire.
He turned and started down a different path in the camp, towards a different outer-edge than that one.
A monstrous howl rang out in the night, and Ragnar gripped the silver sword tighter.
