All posts by Epicene Blue

Former journalist & editor, now a disabled gamer and occasional - when possible - gaming fanfic writer.

EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

Leave a comment

(ESO FanFic: Templar of Shezarr – Part 5)

Expect the Unexpected – Closed RP (Rusia Cassiana & Misto Thalos)
Locations: House of Reprieve, Hawke Manor

Rusia wasn’t quite sure what had pushed her to visit the House of Reprieve, especially considering how much hearing beautiful music still hurt her soul and made her think of her lost father. Maybe it was the new lute she’d bought and tried to play, only to fail miserably and lock back up in a trunk out of sight. Some part of her wanted to reclaim her love of playing and singing, but it was a part buried deep beneath the sorrow of her parents’ murder so long ago.

If mother isn’t truly dead though… Could father also be alive? Rusia shakes her head hard to kill that torturous thought. She didn’t even really know if her mother actually had somehow faked her death, then sent a Daedric assassin to try to kill her own daughter a decade later. The truth is they probably are still both dead and that wicked creature lied just to taunt me for some reason.

Trying to clear her mind of all the misery and confusion swirling around, Rusia takes in the beautiful exterior of the bard’s college called the House of Reprieve. Had her life gone on the path it should have, she probably would have wanted very much to go to a place like this. But although she had loved playing several instruments, and had a passable singing voice, she never would have been skilled enough to actually become a bard. Not that her mother would have ever allowed that anyway.

They might have been minor nobility, but they’d been directly down the line from some Duchess or other in Burma. Cavorting about the countryside as a traveling bard might have been something Rusia daydreamed about, but her real life would have been a much more mundane path of marriage, children, and polite rounds of boring conversation with her ‘ladies’ over tea. Long ago, she might have even been happy with that life. Now, though, the very thought made her cringe.

Reaching the entrance to the House of Reprieve, Rusia gently pulls open the door and steps inside. She immediately hugs the wall to her back as she surveys the room full of colorfully dressed figures wandering about and gathered around a stage nearby. She had been a very outgoing and social child, but after her parents allegedly died, no one had stepped forward to claim her. Some distant relative had laid claim to her house, however, and every other bit of belongings and income her parents had left behind. She’d been unceremoniously dumped at an orphanage, never to see her home again. 

Although the staff at the orphanage had been kind, it had been a place of training and discipline designed to turn out recruits for the mercenary company that served as its benefactors. Over time, Rusia had grown withdrawn in many ways. She was gregorious in battle, and often the first to strike a blow. Outside of combat, however, she preferred to stick to the companionship of only a very few close friends, and usually avoiding most social gatherings and parties. 

Rusia understood in her head that her feelings of anxiety stemmed from a fear of doing something wrong, and somehow losing people she liked or loved yet again. Her twelve year old self still lived inside her, always believing somehow it was her fault her parents had been taken away. Her heart, though, didn’t like to listen to her head. So she was still filled with anxiety any time she tried to step out of her comfort zone to go to new places, or socialize with new people. No matter how much she told herself it was stupid.

“Mm! Ah! So many people!” An altmer woman reclining on a couch nearby exclaims a bit loudly, as though startled by those standing around her. “Indeed,” Rusia mutters under her breath as she slides slowly across the room toward a woman serving drinks at a bar. “So very many people.”

“Good evening Miss Selanwyn,” someone Rusia didn’t see replies to the altmer woman. Rusia guesses the sleepy altmer must be Dean Selanwyn Coreiel, who had signed the House of Reprieve open house flyer she’d seen at The Rosy Lion in Daggerfall.

“EVENING!” Dean Selanwyn proclaims even louder. “Oh, oh dear. My nap was only supposed to be a short one.”

Rusia leans on the bar and orders a glass of red wine. The woman behind the counter smiles at her as she passes her a cup, as though she can see how uncomfortable Rusia is. She tries to smile back but just ends up mumbling a slightly incoherent ‘thanks’ and retreating back to a dimly lit corner with her wine. She misses part of what Dean Selanwyn said next, but catches the tail end of her words.

“Everyone, please! Interact with each other and explore!” Dean Selanwyn gestures toward the crowd. “Just remember the House rule, no armor!”

Embarrassed, Rusia looks down at her armor, which at least was freshly cleaned and polished, and blushes not very prettily. She didn’t realize there was a dress code for the establishment. She must have missed that on the flyer that had prompted her visit.

“You may change into more suitable attire upstairs, in our student quarters, or down here, in our actor’s changing room,” the Dean continues. Another guest also in armor – thankfully she wasn’t the only one – speaks up to protest the dress code. “Hm, I’m afraid I have nothing else…”

“To this end, you may borrow our house costumes,” Dean Selanwyn says expansively, waving a hand toward the armored man, “but do be gentle”

Rusia doesn’t hear what the altmer woman or anyone else says after that as she puts down her goblet on the bar and heads for the door to leave. Not being comfortable with changing into borrowed clothing, she decides to retreat back to her manor, thinking it might be best to try this whole socializing thing another time.

Rusia swerves to avoid a fierce looking Dunmer elf coming toward her like he is about to speak and hurries outside as quickly as she can manage. Once she reaches the courtyard, Rusia swiftly invokes the teleport spell to her house.

Cursing as she arrives on the steps of Hawke Manor, Rusia berates herself for once again falling prey to her own inner anxieties. She contemplates going to sit by the pond and try to read herself into relaxing by candlelight, but just as she starts to take a step that way, Rusia feels the house wards ‘ping’ against her skin that someone else has arrived on the grounds.

“Now what,” she grumbles sullenly, putting one hand to the machete at her side. Rusia peers through the dim moonlight toward the entrance gate but it remains closed. She is pretty sure her steward, Lagrobt, is out for the evening, but the orc wouldn’t have set off the house wards anyway.

Keeping her blade ready, Rusia climbs the rest of the steps to the front entrance of the manor and slowly creaks open the door. Moving carefully inside, she sees a vaguely familiar figure standing near the entrance to the kitchen. From what she can determine in the dim light of a few lanterns Lagrobt had left on for her, they were not brandishing any weapons and were holding out their hands in a non-threatening sign of peace.

Rusia didn’t remove her hand from her weapon, but her gut tells her there was is immediate threat. She steps fully inside and lets the door close at her back. Whispering under her breath, she speaks the keyword to light the chandelier overhead so she can get a better look at her unexpected visitor.

“Um, hello? Can I help you?” Rusia says as she puts the foyer table and a chair between her and the mysterious guest. With the brighter light shining down, she recognizes the Dunmer elf who had gotten in her way as she was leaving the House of Reprieve. “Didn’t I just see you at the bard’s college?”

The elf raises his hands in a calming gesture. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you. And yes, you did.”

“Mmm, I’m not used to unexpected visitors,” Rusia said, tightening her grip on her machete. Especially ones that can just pop into her house through her wards with no trouble. “Is there a reason why you are following me?”

“Yes, actually,” the elf says, stepping toward her. Rusia sidles back and to the side instinctively, once again putting the table and chair between her and the intruder. “I saw you at the bard’s school, you didn’t look like you belong there,” the elf continues.

Rusia shakes her head sadly, releasing her blade to rest both hands on the back of the chair in front of her. “No, I suppose I didn’t look like I fit in at all.”

“You look more like a warrior to me,” the elf says inquisitively. He crosses his arms and waits to see how she will respond.

Sighing deeply, Rusia nods. “Uh, yes. Sorry. I’m afraid I’m not the best person for visitors. Please, um, take a seat if you like.” She follows her own suggestion, taking a seat in the chair she’d been formerly using as a shield, watching as the elf takes a seat across from her. “Yes, I’m a merc by trade. I was there for… personal reasons.”

The Elder Scrolls Online: Tamriel Unlimited_20190625143214

A loud meow from a nearby bench announces Hawke Manor’s resident cat has finally decided to acknowledge she is home and has a guest. Not that he cares about either of those things, besides thinking one of them might serve him dinner. “Not now Grimmy, I have company, I’ll feed you in a bit.” The large floofball makes an indignant sound, hops off the bench and wanders toward the kitchen in search of a snack.

The elf looks toward the cat with an odd expression, “Hmm, animal lover.” Turning again toward Rusia, he places his hands on the table and leans toward her to emphasize his next words. “Your business is yours, but I could use some help.” He exhales softly. “The Order wants to be all proper, but certain things need to be done now.”

Slumping back into her chair, Rusia lifts one eyebrow at the Dunmer. “I seem to be running into a lot of that lately. Helping people.” She cocks her head at the elf, deciding she will at least hear him through. After all, he’d already breached her house wards easily, so she strongly doubted she’d be able to toss him out unwillingly. “I’m Rusia, by the way, Rusia Cassiana, formerly of Bruma. And you are?”

The elf inclines his head at her, “Coldwater, and my home is long gone and forgotten.” Rusia thinks the elf means he is from Coldwater, not that he’s named that, but doesn’t get a chance to ask before the Dunmer continues. “But I’m not here about that,” he says, “I’m here about dragons.”

Well, that’s unexpected, Rusia thinks, although what else should one expect from an unexpected visitor? “Ah, dragons. I’ve heard rumors about these terrible creatures. But I’ve never visited the lands where they are supposed to be ravaging.”

Continuing to lean forward on the table, the elf speaks fervently. “There’s no suppose to it, they are in fact ravaging Elsweyr Northern to be exact, and all these nobles are sitting around doing nothing about it.”

The Dunmer slams his fist down on the table, making Rusia wince and nearly grab for her blade again. The elf sighs and leans back in his chair, placing his hands in his lap. “I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“I can’t say I approve of nobles doing nothing while the populace suffers,” Rusia tells the elf. “My family would not have stood by.”

No, she thinks, they would not have left the commoners to suffer alone. Her father would have brought everyone inside the walls of their estate to protect them, and her mother would have led the house guard and town soldiers to battle with sword and magic. Or, at least she thought they would have. She really didn’t even feel she knew her parents at all now after the revelation her mother might be alive and trying to kill her.

“Well anyways, the point is there is no pay,” the elf continues after a pause. “I’ve nothing to offer except a possible early death and there’s only so much I can do by myself.”

Rusia smiles wryly, thinking this has been one of the strangest weeks of her life and just getting stranger by the minute. “Something amusing?” the elf asks, a slightly dangerous edge to his voice.

“Frankly, that’s rather the story of my life lately I guess,” Rusia says, resting her head on her hands and studying the elf across the table. “Except the pay part, I usually do get paid. But at the moment, I owe someone a life debt and they won’t let me pay it to them,” she continues, raising one hand to touch a medallion etched with a bear paw at her neck. “So I need to pay it somewhere.”

“Oh? Whom do you owe it to?” the elf peers at her curiously. “A member of The Gray Legion, for saving my life recently. Their leader, Sindri.” Yes, that extremely generous, weathered Nord had gladly accepted her pledge to join and help his order, but he had refused to take on her life debt. He had simply wanted her to pass the kindness shown to her forward. Still, she felt she owed that life debt somewhere. Perhaps this might be a way she could pay it back, helping this stranger by putting her skin on the line.

“I see,” the elf said, considering her words. “I fear I don’t know them. But it matters little. All I truly care about is doing what I can without ruining the land and making things worse. Which is why I need steel. Magic and stealth alone won’t be enough.”

“Well,” Rusia says ruefully, “I can’t say I’d be much use against such fierce creatures as dragons. But it would certainly be an adventure to see one before it likely eats me.” If you are going to die a gory death, she thinks, at least you can tell people in the afterlife, if it exists, that you went down to a dragon and not some smelly merc or bandit dealing a lucky blow.

The Dunmer chuckles softly. “I can slow them down without tearing apart the fabric of nature, I just need someone to do the actual deed of killing them.”

“I don’t have a death wish,” Rusia says firmly.” “But I also don’t have much of a life either. I promised my father I would always try to help those in need.” She pauses, choking back the feeling of tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “I haven’t been very good at that lately. Maybe now would be a good time to try to fulfill that promise better.”

Rusia clears her throat softly before continuing, “I suppose coming seconds from death and having a perfect stranger rescue you for no reason except their own kindness is a bit of a kick in the teeth to get my act together and try to do some good in this world.”

The elf stands up abruptly, almost as if he heard something Rusia doesn’t. “Good, I don’t desire death myself. I simply wish to make someone proud of me too. So when you’re ready, use this to get in touch with me.” He sets an odd palm size device on the table. “Just speak into it and I’ll hear you. As for now, I need to be off.”

Standing, Rusia nods at the elf. ”Very well…” But before she can finish her sentence, the Dunmer vanished in a swirl of floating lights.

“Damn,” Rusia says to the empty house, reaching for the device the elf had left on the table. “I still don’t even know his name…”

THE LYNX & THE TIGER

MY FATHER’S HANDS

Leave a comment

(ESO FanFic: Templar of Shezarr – Part 4)

My Father’s Hands – Standalone Story (Rusia Cassiana)
Location: Hawke Manor, Reaper’s March

I find it hard to remember my father’s face now, over a decade after his murder. His hands though, I remember those as if they were my own. Perhaps because mine remind me so much of his. The long fingers, strong yet oddly delicate, equally adept at song or sword. Yes, our hands were so much alike, my father’s and mine. As we had been alike in so many ways.

I missed him terribly.

Sighing softly, I set down the lute I’d bought in a marketplace on Betnikh. I’ve no idea how the orc trader had come across such a lovely, sweet instrument made for human hands. Whatever its origin, he hadn’t appreciated how fine quality it was, and had sold it to me for far too little. I’d tipped him an extra coin anyway, to appease Sai, the alleged old God of Luck for such a terrific find. Not that I was terribly superstitious, but it couldn’t hurt.

As beautiful as the lute was, I still had not been able to bring myself to try to play it. Not since my father died had I played an instrument. Even though I could still hear the music in my head, I could no longer feel it in my heart.

Being from a minor noble family, I’d been taught music and dance from the time I could toddle around. By the time I was twelve, I’d played several instruments, and started to develop a passable singing voice. After my father died, however, I just could never find the joy in music again. It had always been one of the special things the two of us shared. My mother had been much more interested in weapon training and magic study than playing the latest compositions from Cyrodiil.

Mother, oh mother, are you still alive after all? Did you not die next to your beloved, my father, as I have believed ever since that horrible morning? When my childhood ended forever, ripping me from my home and throwing my future to the winds. Did you really send someone to try to kill me, so many years after I thought you gone?

Shaking my head, I tried to clear my mind of the dark thoughts surrounding the recent assassin attempt that nearly took my life. Picking up the lute again, I laid the lovely instrument in my lap, forcing my right hand to pluck the strings while the left gently adjusted the tuning pegs. The quiet, nonsensical notes clenched my throat as I fought back tears.

Closing my eyes, I could see my father’s hands twisting the pegs on his own dear lute. He’d called it Mariaella after his aunt, who’d taught him to play so many years ago. I’d never met her unfortunately, as my father had said we would have gotten along famously. Tragically, all of his family had died in a terrible sickness while he was away studying at the University of Gylim. Where he’d met Sergianus, his best friend, my god father, and the assumed murderer of both my parents.

Damn it. This is why I don’t play. Every time I picked up a lute, or a flute, or sometimes even just hearing a bard singing in a tavern, I can’t get the picture of my parents’ beaten, bloody bodies out of my head.

Regretfully, I slowly loosened the tuning pegs just slightly on the lute again. Never put an instrument back in the case with full tension on the strings if you aren’t going to play it again soon, my father had always told me. But don’t loosen the strings too much. You have to keep the tension in the neck in balance.

Balance. Something I struggled with every day. Balance between past and present. Balance between warrior and healer. Balance between life and death.

Gently, I eased the lute back into its soft leather case. Rising to my feet, I turned and carefully placed the lute back inside a large storage trunk. Out of sight. Where it would not remind me every time I saw it of all that I had lost. My music. My family. My father’s hands.

Someday, perhaps, I could find the joy again. But not today.

EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

FINDING A NEW LIGHT

Leave a comment

(ESO FanFic: Templar of Shezarr – Part 3)

WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE

Finding a New Light – Closed RP (Rusia Cassiana & Sindri Khan)
Locations: Port Hunding, Stros M’Kai & The Gray Legion

A pool of crimson slowly spreads out from beneath Rusia’s body, pumping sluggishly out of the thin but deadly deep wound in her side left by her mother’s assassin. Blood rising in her throat from her punctured lung chokes off her breath, plunging her oxygen starved brain into a chaotic stew of nightmares and memories.

So this is death, she thinks, as images from her past twist and intertwine with visions of lost futures in the blackness of her unconscious mind. So many faces. The ones she has loved. The ones she has lost. The ones she has sent ahead of her to early deaths by her own hands. Above them all, behind every other ghost, she sees the shadowy figure of her mother’s face. The mother she had thought was dead and burned, murdered with her father by their best friend in a shocking betrayal that had left her a penniless orphan with a minor title and no family.

Perhaps the Daedra lied, was the nebulous thought she tries to hold onto. But then how had it known her mother’s name? Caecilia. The origin of the name meant ‘blind one’, but apparently it was she who had been blind. She’d been twelve when she’d found her beloved father and wonderful, kind mother dead in their bedroom early one morning. They’d been beaten and bloodied almost beyond recognition. But her hair, I knew that hair, Rusia thought as the images in her mind began to break apart and fade away into the darkness. My hair. Those auburn red, wild strands always wanting to curl. She’d buried her small hands in her mother’s long, wavy hair, weeping frantically, curling into a ball next to her dead parents.

She hadn’t noticed for several minutes the other person in the room until he’d made a soft sighing sound that startled her out of her grief. Her mother and father’s best friend, Sergianus, standing frozen in the shadows by the east window, staring at a bloody mace held across his palms. She’d screamed and fallen backward off the bed where her parents’ bodies lie soaked in their own blood. This seemed to break through whatever had been holding Sergianus locked in place, staring at the weapon that had murdered her parents. He’d looked up sharply, meeting her eyes with a look of pure and endless rage, and taken a step toward her. She’d screamed again, and heard the distant sound of multiple pairs of footsteps running up the manor stairs in response.

Cursing softly, Sergianus had tucked the mace into his belt and put one hand up to his lips in the gesture for silence. With a swirl of his cloak, he’d turned and jumped out the window at his back. She’d run to the window as one of the maids and a member of the house guard ran into the room, but by the time she’d stretched on her toes to look down, Sergianus had vanished. Three stories off the ground and he’d just disappeared, somehow teleporting away in mid air.

Rusia tried to hold on to the memory, to her anger and need for revenge against the man who had torn her life apart. But even that was drifting away now as she plunged closer and closer to death. She had so many questions still. Why had he done it? Was it true her mother really was alive? And if so, why did she want to kill her own daughter? And why did she have a pet Daedra assassin doing her dirty work? But none of those questions mattered now as the last spark of her life dimmed. All that was left was the dying.

……………….

Sindri is walking by the side of the Screaming Mermaid tavern in Port Hunding, Stros M’Kai. Suddenly, an enormous burst of light explodes from behind the tavern like nothing he’s ever seen before. Out of the light, a strange, blue-skinned creature comes running, half on fire. The question flashes through Sindri’s mind… Is that a Daedra???

Before he can even react, the creature pops out of existence. Unable to resist his curiosity, he runs behind the tavern where the light had now faded away. Scanning the darkness, Sindri spots a young woman in tarnished armor sprawled on the ground, not moving. He can see even in the dim light of the moon she is moments from death and needs immediate, serious healing.

This day had been just like any other for the stout Nord who somehow managed to go from land to land everyday. In the moonlight Sindri’s grey metallic armor and black leather straps gave off a strange, soothing glow.

Upon noticing the female he quickly ran to her side. With deep controlled breaths he remained calm before checking her over to make sure he could move her.

” C’mon lass. It ain’t gonna end here for you. ” The stout Nord said before touching his Pendant of Ursa, a portal opening beside them to The House of Gray.

Quickly and carefully Sindri picked the woman up, attempting to not harm her even further, with a fee steps they were through the portal and the warm air of Craglorn bore down upon them as they stood outside the grey brick home.

……………….

A sharp jolt of pain flashed red through the darkness, followed by the swirling sensation of movement. Rusia had given herself to the inevitability of death, but something was keeping her on the very edge of life. A light was growing between her and the blackness beyond. Part of her resented the intrusion. She longed for peace and an escape from the horrors of her past and the tortuous questions of her present.

But she had always been a fighter. She didn’t have it in her to stop now. She gripped onto the light and refused to let go.

Time was meaningless in the between place her mind lingered in. But slowly, she began to feel new sensations from her torn and abused body. A clean, soothing, wave of tingling warmth spread out over her, followed by the rush of sweet, cool air into her lungs. The sharp, overwhelming pain in her side diminished to a dull ache.

Rusia moaned softly and tried to open her eyes but the effort seemed impossible. The soft murmuring of voices floated by her. One in particular cut through the dimness.

“You’ll be alright lass,” the voice said gently. “You can rest now. Best thing for you. Get some sleep, it’ll help the healin’.”

The voice calmed her restless attempt to wake, and Rusia allowed herself to ease her grip on the light that now surrounded her, keeping the darkness back down in its place. With a quiet sigh, she drifted down into the gray cloud of comforting, safe sleep. Thankfully, without dreams.

A soft glow woke Rusia from a long, untroubled sleep. She still felt a bit drained, but otherwise well. A slightly odd tingling lingered just under her skin, which she recognized as a unique reaction to the aftereffects of healing magic. The pain in her side was gone.

Cracking open her eyes, Rusia found herself tucked into a comfortable bed, with the soft light of morning streaming in through a nearby window. She wasn’t sure if it was the morning after she had been attacked or days later. There was no way to tell the passage of time. Lifting off the blanket covering her, she sat up slowly, pivoting her legs over to rest her feet on the ground. Someone had removed her armor while was unconscious and stacked it nearby, clean and polished.

More than one night then probably, Rusia thought. If someone had time to go to the trouble of cleaning and fixing up my armor. This didn’t surprise her. She’d had powerful healing spells and potions on the field of battle that granted almost immediate recovery. But she’d never been this close to death before, and likely whomever had healed her hadn’t felt she needed to be on her feet immediately after.

Glancing down at herself, Russia found her body had been similarly scrubbed and dressed in a long, cozy nightgown. A little feminine for her taste, but she appreciated that at least they hadn’t left her in a strange place stark naked. Reaching one hand under the gown, she felt her left side where the dagger had pierced through almost to her heart. Nothing remained of the wound except a small, thin scar. Feeling it made her head spin with all the questions she now had battering away in her mind about what had happened, and why. Later, she thought, later I will have to think about my own mother allegedly trying to assassinate me, but not right now.

Her stomach suddenly reminding her loudly she probably had not eaten in quite some time, Rusia looked around for her clothes but didn’t see any sign of them. Considering the state she’d been in even before the attack, she wouldn’t be shocked if her rescuers had just decided to burn the whole lot. She thought briefly of just grabbing her armor and teleporting back home right then and there, but that would be incredibly rude to the person or persons who had no doubt saved her life.

Rusia decided since her rescuers had already seen her naked when they cleaned her up, they wouldn’t be too dismayed by her trying to find the kitchen of wherever she was in sleeping clothes. Just as she was about to rise and go on a quest to find something to fill her rioting stomach, she heard the door slowly start to creak open. Instinctively, she reached for the dagger usually hanging from her side, only to realize she had no idea where her weapons even were.

Standing quickly, Rusia put her hand on a pitcher of water resting next to the bed, the only thing within reach that might be used as a weapon. She didn’t think it probable that those who had saved her from death would try to kill her, but she’d just learned a very valuable lesson in being far more careful around strangers. Not that a water pitcher would likely be very helpful, but she had once killed a bandit with a large salmon after being caught skinny dipping in a stream.

I’m just constantly begging to get myself killed aren’t I, Rusia thought as she tightened her grip on the water pitcher. The door swung fully open to reveal a stalwart Nord man, built like a stone fort, and holding an incredibly welcome plate of bread, cheese, and fruit. Rusia couldn’t help it. She grinned, loosed the water pitcher, and sat back down on the bed as the man stepped forward and introduced himself.

……………….

” Hey lass, good to see you’re already up and ready to kick someone’s ass. ” The man said placing the platter beside the bed on the table.

” You’ve been out for a few days. Heard the floor boards Creek so I figured you woke up, you must be hungry. You had a pretty nasty wound. I took the liberty of cleaning your armor and weapons, repairing what I could, as for your clothing. The damned things were covered in so much blood I just threw em out, but don’t worry. I took measurements and went to town, I have some new clothes all fresh n’ ready for you from the tailor. ” Sindri said giving a kind smile.

For such a large imposing Nord he certainly was kind and very generous. His years of battle within the war had left their marks on his weathered face.

” Now I know what you might be wondering, who am I, why did I bring you here and what not. My name is Sindri Khan, and you were closer to death than an eighty year old guar. ”

……………….

Reaching greedily for a hunk of bread from the platter brought in by the Nord, Rusia let herself relax as much as she possibly could in the company of a stranger. This was certainly the most welcoming anyone had been to her in a very long time. The bread was fresh, soft on the inside, with just the right slightly crispy outside texture. She almost moaned aloud at how good it was. If she had a terrible weakness, it was well made fresh bread.

A polite cough interrupted her bread-induced revery and she swung her attention back to the battleworn Nord. “Thank you, ah, Sindri. I am honestly shocked to be alive. You have my abject gratitude for saving my life.”

Rusia tried not to blush over devouring the bread like an animal in front of her rescuer. “Uh, and thank you very kindly for the food. Obviously, I am indeed famished.” She eyed the rest of the food on the platter longingly but getting the answers to a few questions would be more fulfilling at the moment than putting more food in her grumpy belly.

Glancing over at her neatly stacked armor, Rusia smiled shyly at the Nord. “I also owe you a thanks for taking care of my things. I’m afraid I’ve been, um, how do you say… Out of sorts lately and a bit of a mess..” Her smile faded and a dark shadow passed over her face. “Which is partly why I ended up nearly bleeding out behind a tavern I guess.”

Shaking her head to put the assassination attempt out of her head for the moment, Rusia looked the Nord steadily in the eyes to emphasize her next words. “As I said, I’m eternally grateful for the rescue, and I firmly believe in repaying my debts. In this case, that’s a life debt. So you can consider my sword yours to command as you might need sir. Although yes, I would be quite curious who exactly I’d be giving that pledge to, and yes, where exactly we might be.”

……………….

” Aye lass, eat all you want. We have enough food. ” Sindri said to her, giving a kind smile. His eyes focused on her own.

Slowly he sat down on a chair across from her. He stroked his beard slowly before speaking.

” Currently you’re in The Gray House. The main base of The Gray Legion, we work to aid the refugees of this futile war. I was a soldier within The Pact, I’ve sent the bloody sides of it all. And I just want to help those who cannot help themselves. “

Sindri spoke as if The Gray Legion was his pride and joy. His eyes sparkling with excitement at the mention of it.

” But you do not owe me anything, I do not hold things against people. You are free to leave or to stay. It is purely your choice. ”

……………….

“… And that’s how I ended up joining this Gray Legion,” Rusia told her steward. “I swear, Lagrobt, I can’t even keep track of all the madness that’s happened in the last week. “First the attack, then being rescued by this Sindri person, joining the Gray Legion, then joining these Mistvel Mercenaries, and then that debacle at the House of R? Bard’s College last night.”

Leaning back in her chair, Rusia inhaled the deep, rich scent of a coming storm through the open sides of her manor’s main watchtower. She loved to be up here whenever she could. It was just so open, and so quiet, but still protected from the worst of the weather even when it did get nasty. She’d stay here all night if she could, but there was just so much to do. She sighed deeply, dropping her head into her hands.

“Sounds like you are in need of something stronger than that tea you’re drinking honey,” Lagrobt said, rising to grab a bottle of fine brandy sitting on a sideboard near the table. He poured a generous portion into her half empty mug and sat the bottle down next to her. Taking his seat again across from her at the table, he pushed a plate of ginger cookies, Rusia’s favorite, closer to nervously restless hands.

“Stop fretting and eat, you’re too skinny.” He frowned at her, wiggling his eyebrows and making his classic ‘terrible orc face’ until she finally picked up a cookie. He kept making it until she ate half of it and finally cracked a small grin around the rest of the treat in her mouth.

“Lagrobt gro-Nolob you are going to make me choke doing that!” Rusia said after she swallowed the last sweet bite. Waving her crumb covered finger at his face, she downed a large gulp of brandy and leftover tea to clear her throat. “Anyway, sorry I haven’t been around very much! Hope all has been well on the home front.”

“So you told me all about this terrible attack — I can’t really believe you dead mother is involved! — and being rescued by this Sindri from The Gray Legion, but you also joined a new merc guild and for some reason tortured yourself by going to a Bard’s College for… you don’t even know why?” Lagrobt paused dramatically and leaned toward Rusia across the table. “And you say someone followed you back here and breached your wards and invaded our house all uninvited?”

Rusia grabbed another ginger cookie and slowly nibbled on it, making Lagrobt wrinkle his prominent nose at her to continue. He never could resist a story and he hated to wait, so she delayed as long as possible in contuining until he looked just about ready to murder her.

“Well,” she said with another grin. “That’s just a whole other story now isn’t it?”

MY FATHER’S HANDS

LOST HAWKE

Leave a comment

(ESO FanFic: Templar of Shezarr – Part 2)

WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE

Lost Hawke – Character Intro (Rusia Cassiana)
Imperial, DragonKnight, Daggerfall Covenant
Current Location: Port Hunding, Stros M’Kai

“I used to be a Templar,” she mumbled soggily into her cup, waving vaguely at the barkeep for another dose of Old Clear-Eye Whiskey; the most oxymoronic name for a liquor ever created. “But that was before…”

Razzaq, the Redguard chef roped into bartending duties that evening, pointedly ignored both her mumbling and her request for another drink. He had a firm policy about how drunk strange women with swords were allowed to get in his establishment and she’d definitely reached that limit. Especially considering this one looked rough even before she started downing liquor. Her blue & silver armor might have once been expensive & possibly even of Noble origin, but now it was a filthy, dented, gashed up mess. He didn’t want to know where all those dark, russet colored stains came from.

Pushing a greasy strand of bright, auburn hair out of her face, the woman dropped her forehead onto the bar with a long sigh. Razzaq winced as her dirty skin came in contact with his freshly wiped counter. She might have been pretty, the degenerate, if she’d been clean. Not beautiful, but tall & willowy, with a face some might call strong, or handsome, or even striking in the right light, if one was being generous. Right now he wouldn’t touch her with a 10 foot pike, even if he wasn’t of an entirely different persuasion anyway.

Groaning slightly, the woman crossed one arm over her face, trying to block out the flickering candlelight hurting her eyes, while continuing to mumble out loud to no one in particular. “That was before they all left me. All gone now. All gone.”

A rustling beside her made the woman instinctively drop her arm and slide her hand down to the pommel of a wickedly curved machete hanging at her side. Her dulled blue-green eyes attempted to focus on the stranger who now occupied the dingy, red velour covered chair next to her, but they weren’t behaving very well. She thought she glimpsed a brief smile coming from the darkness of their hooded face before they turned to order a cup of mulled wine, but everything was a bit too blurry to be sure. Encased in a voluminous dark gray robe, she couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman, although from their shorter stature & general shape, she guessed it was likely either a short human female or maybe a Bosmer. Not that she particularly cared at the moment. She would rather they just go away, whomever they were.

Razzaq dropped a goblet in front of the stranger within seconds, while continuing to offensively ignore her weak hand gestures for more whiskey. Giving up on getting another drink, the woman considered just attempting to work a teleportation spell and try to get home without accidentally teleporting to the wrong destination again, and waking up the next morning in bed with a Seadrake. The thought seemed like a more difficult quest at the moment than taking on one of those massive dragons rumored to be terrorizing the Khajiit homeland of Elsweyr. Solo. While armed with a broom and a chamber pot. The floor was starting to look like a reasonable alternative destination.

“A Templar you say?” A strong and slightly amused voice prodded her from the brink of passing out right there in the middle of the Screaming Mermaid and embarrassing herself even more than she already was. “You certainly don’t look like a Templar now.”

A flush of anger roared into the woman’s ears as she snapped upright again, nearly falling off her stool as a wave of dizziness spun through her head. She faced the stranger, blinking rapidly while attempting to focus on their mostly hidden features. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I wasn’t just a Templar, I was the chosen Templar of…”

The woman’s mouth snapped shut suddenly and a brief look of clarity passed over her eyes. “Nevermind. You wouldn’t understand and I really don’t care what you think.” She laid her head back down sideways on the bar, her check pressed into the cool wood next to her mournfully still empty cup. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not a Templar anymore.”

The voice was softer this time, more soothing. “I’ve never met an ex-Templar before. I thought that was kind of a lifetime sort of thing, no?”

Her words slurred both by alcohol and half her face being flattened against the bar, the woman sighed, “I suppose yes that is how it is supposed to be. But I couldn’t do it anymore after… After I lost them all. I just couldn’t anymore. How can you be a healer when you couldn’t save the people you love? How can you be a leader of light when you can’t even keep your own family together?”

The stranger’s eyes sharpened slightly as they leaned in. “Your family? Poor dear, what happened to them?”

A wall that had been eroded by drink and exhaustion crumbled a little in the face of the stranger’s seemingly kind attempt to engage her. The woman drew herself upright again, pushing her shoulders back and steadying herself against the bar with one hand, while the other shot up to touch a small medallion hanging around her neck. A light rose within her eyes, making them almost glow with an unnatural and slightly disturbing shine.

“They were the Band of the Hawk. They saved me. They rescued me after my parents were killed. You never knew a more noble group of people, even if they were mercenaries. They took me in as an orphan, as they did many other orphans of war. They raised me and trained me, gave me a purpose and a family to replace the one I had lost.” Her shoulders slumped, and she fell forward again, resting her head in her hands. “And then they left me. They left me alone with no one.”

Leaning even closer, so close they could have rested an easy hand on her shoulder, but didn’t, the stranger crooned gently to her. “Oh that sounds terrible dear. I’m so sorry.” They paused to slowly push their goblet of wine over in front of her empty cup. “Please have this, I am not really very thirsty.”

The woman grabbed the wine eagerly and downed half of it in one long gulp as the stranger continued to offer their condolences. “How terrible for a young woman to lose two families in such a short lifetime. Although, haven’t I heard of the Band of the Hawk?”

Touching her medallion again, the young woman took another long drink of the stranger’s wine. “Maybe. There are some out there riding under that name, I think. They may call themselves that, but I don’t know them. They are not my people. They are not my family. All of them are gone.” Raising her eyes to the ceiling as if she is striving to somehow connect again to the spirit that once drove her as a Templar, the woman braced herself against the bar with both hands as she continued.

“I looked for them. To try to find those that vanished. To see if any had survived after the orphanage & our home base of Whitehawke in Stormhaven was leveled by the daedra. But it was if they had never existed except for me… And the bodies of those who didn’t make it. I looked for a long time for anyone else who might be left. Then I put down the mantle of a Templar and went to study with the Dragonknights.”

She looked down at the stranger once again. “After all, if I couldn’t save the ones who died in my arms, and I couldn’t find any of those who had vanished, what good was I as a Templar? How can you be a Templar anymore if you’ve lost your faith?” The woman’s hand strayed back to the hilt of the razor sharp & impeccably clean machete by her side again. “Turns out I’m a much better killer than healer I guess.”

Shifting on their chair again, the stranger moved in so close their knees were pushing into hers like a pair of lovers. “Yes, yes. You’ve always been a killer, haven’t you Rusia?” the stranger whispered under the noise of the tavern’s loud, drunken patrons. “Rusia Cassiana isn’t it? Originally of Bruma?”

Rusia jerked backwards from the stranger at hearing her name slide out of their mouth, but they grabbed her arm and pulled her back close again so hard she nearly lost her whiskey & wine filled stomach at the jolt. Her machete trapped between her leg and the stranger’s, she tried to reach for the dagger tucked into a sheathe on the other side of her sword belt. With a hiss, the stranger grabbed both her wrists and yanked her in even closer.

Weak from too much liquor and too little rest, Rusia struggled against the surprisingly strong grip of the diminutive stranger. They held her tight though, and after they whispered a few words she didn’t understand, she found herself slumping helplessly against them. Her befuddled mind tried to open her mouth and yell out for help, but she couldn’t even grunt in protest of the stranger hauling her upward off her chair. Somehow they had rendered her nothing more than a limp doll they could drag around at their leisure, despite the protections against magic she had imbued in her armor. All of it happened so fast, she still couldn’t even process what was going on.

The stranger held her up with one arm around her waist while they threw some coins on the counter for their drinks. “Apologies for my friend here, I’m afraid she’s rather a sloppy drunk. I’ll make sure she gets home before she ends up taking a nosedive under one of your tables and you have to call the Watch to be rid of her.”

Razzaq looked at both of them with a suspicious furrow between his brows, but grabbed the coins and nodded as the stranger turned to guide me through the crowd & out the tavern door. Anyone who might have witnessed the entire encounter likely would have just thought they saw two lovers have a brief moment of quarrel before the sober one decided to drag the drunk one away. The stranger had orchestrated the whole thing very carefully. Rusia should have known much better than to allow herself to get so trashed outside the safety of her heavily warded home.

Home, she thought to herself groggily as the stranger bumped her though the door of the tavern, down the stairs and around the right side of the building. Not really home. Just a house. A house on the Strid River in Reaper’s March she’d bought & decorated with what was left of the Band of the Hawk’s emergency stash. She’d hoped at first she might find other survivors of her mercenary family to fill the empty rooms. She never had. Now it was just an echoing reminder of all she’d lost. And yet she had never been able to let it go. Well, she contemplated as the stranger moved her off the main street and down into a dark alley, no use worrying about it now because she was probably never going to see it again anyway.

Pushed and pulled by the stranger, her will quashed by the stranger’s magic, Rusia was dragged through a stand of palm trees and around to the unlit rear of the tavern. Finally, the stranger stopped, one hand propping her up by the chest against the back outside wall of the Screaming Mermaid. She noticed the body of a freshly killed wolf lying nearby. Soon she would be nothing more than it was, an empty, rotting bag of meat. A random and sad place to die, she thought. Not in battle or in your own bed, but in the piss smeling, rat crawling back alley of some nowhere town. One more time she struggled to free herself from the compulsion laid on her, to understand how and why she’d ended up here. As the Stranger pulled a long, incredibly thin glass dagger from under their cloak, she managed to croak out one word through dry lips.

“Who?”

She couldn’t really see it in the darkness behind the tavern, but Rusia almost felt the stranger smile again as they stepped forward to press their body against hers. Even that close, she still couldn’t tell if they were male, or female, or anything other than human shaped and about a foot shorter than she was. The stranger looked up at her, their eyes glinting with a strange reddish tint out of the darkness of their shadowed face.

“Oh dear Rusia, it has been my honor to track you, to follow you, to wait for you to fall to your own weakness. So easy it was to slip a catalyst into the wine that would allow my spell to work against you from the inside out when you thought your magicked armor would keep you safe. A bit disappointing though that the end of my chase was so anticlimactic. Ah well. But you didn’t ask about any of that did you? No, you asked the most important question. Who?”

The stranger pressed the tip of their dagger against her side, just at the seam in the side where the thin blade could slip between the two joined halves of her armor. Just in line with her heart. At least it would be quick, or so she thought. Gently wiggling the blade to pass through the armor seam, padding, and shirt underneath, the Stranger pressed the dagger against her skin so softly it felt only like the tiny pinprick of an ant at first.

“My name, dear girl, is unimportant. And I was not told it was yours to know before you die. There is another name, however, I was told to make sure you hear before the last breath passes from your lips.”

All Rusia could manage was a soft gasp as the stranger slid the paper thin dagger ever so gently through her skin and muscle, maneuvering it perfectly between her ribs like a hot knife through butter. Then she choked as the blade punctured her left lung and moved inward. She swore she could feel it now hovering a hair’s width from her rapidly fluttering heart. All the fog in her mind from drink and lack of sleep had melted away, leaving her with a painful clarity in the last moments of her life.

The stranger paused in their glacial execution, rising on their toes to whisper into her ear. “Please accept regards from your mother. Caecilia said to give you her love.”

Shock coursed through her body as Rusia heard her mother’s name. The mother she thought had died alongside her father in a murderous betrayal by their best friend when she was only twelve. She felt the stranger tense to drive the dagger into her heart at last, and sent up a last desperate arrow of sorrow in her mind to the God she had abandoned when she turned away from being a Templar.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lost my faith. I’m sorry I couldn’t save them. I’m sorry for whatever I did that turned my own lost mother into my murderer. Please take me back into your light as I pass beyond. Please let me find peace.

Rusia shut her eyes and waited for the final strike as blood rose up from her pierced lung and cut off her air.

Then everything exploded.

The most brilliant light flared outside of her closed eyelids and some incredible force shoved Rusia sideways away from the glass dagger embedded in her body. She fell, hard, onto the reeking pavement as the light flashed over her and the stranger, who had been thrown in the opposite direction.

As the harsh glow faded, Rusia opened her eyes one final time to see the stranger struggle to rise from the ground, their hood askew, a look of abject terror on their newly revealed features. Not a short female or a small Bosmer male at all but a stunted, blue-skinned Xivilia. It must have been wearing an illusion to keep her and others from realizing what it was, even with the concealing cloak and hood.

Her mother had sent a daedra to murder her.

Rusia’s eyes fluttered closed again as the Stranger hissed loudly at something behind her, turned, and ran out of the alley like it was on fire. Which, she thought as the world faded to black, it actually might have been. A smile ghosted her lips as the darkness descended.

FINDING A NEW LIGHT