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The unease that washed through the room was obvious as was the sudden sour stink of fear from some of the more junior Blades. The thought of willingly entering Oblivion through waves of daedra was not one that came easy, not even for the Emperor’s agents.
"Thankfully to create a Sigil Stone takes a ridiculous amount of time, resources and knowledge." he continued, straightening as he placed the stones back into the crate. "Not only do you have to prepare a chamber of exacting specifications, but there are only two days of the year during the spring and autumn equinox that the rites can be undertaken. The rites themselves are extensive and time consuming and even the slightest error can render the entire ritual useless, but once created the stones can be stored indefinitely and are difficult to destroy."
"The trick and our key strategy to stop more gates from opening," Jauffre continued, "Is to track down these stones by tracking down the cultists and ensuring that no more can be created. The caverns at lake Arrius had two such chambers prepared and they had over forty crates in the storerooms. Each crate contained at least four stones but there were signs that there were more that had been recently removed. We have to go by the assumption that there could be any number of these things scattered throughout the Empire and the sheer numbers involved means that there are easily dozens of the ritual chambers hidden out there."
He gaze was as hard as steel as he looked over all of us sitting around the fireplace. "I have already sent orders to every Blade throughout Tamriel that their priority is to track down the cultists and find these chambers. With their recruitment location compromised they will struggle to gain more members and without the chambers they will be unable to create more stones."
"The worst news is still to come." Martin spoke up again, looking downcast at the news he was about the share. "We are in a race against time before the barriers between us and Oblivion fail and every gate that is opened hastens us to that end. It’s like poking holes into a sheet of mouldering fabric, with each hole the fabric becomes weaker until it simply falls apart."
"The biggest issue that we currently face is that while our brothers and sisters can track down and deal with individual cultists on their own, we have to rely on outside assistance to smash any cells that they uncover." Jauffre motioned to all of us again, pacing up and down in front of the fire as he spoke. "Every city in the Empire appears to have a dozen or more cultists working in a coven and we just don’t have the numbers to defeat them on our own. So far the outer provinces have access to resources or groups capable of offering the manpower needed. Skyrim and Morrowind are going to be the easiest to clear of the cult. Skyrim’s holds and the Companions are willing to lend us aid and with the destruction of Ald’Ruhn not only are the Great Houses offering aid but so is the Tribunal Temple."
He sighed heavily, rubbing at his eyes even as he tried not to show any form of weakness. "But here in Cyrodiil we are coming up short. I can’t afford to send any of you away with the threat of one of these daedra worshippers opening a portal outside our walls, and with the stagnation of the Elder Council I have no authority to utilise the Legion or Imperial Watch."
"What about Kaius and myself?" Viconia asked simply.
He nodded. "As capable as you two are, you can’t be in more than one place at a time. We need a group with the numbers to be able to assist our operatives everywhere they are needed and to do so at a moment’s notice."
"What about the Fighter’s Guild?" I added, feeling everyone else turn to look at me. For a second I paused at the attention before shrugging. "They sound perfect for your needs. There’s groups of them in every city and if there is one thing that they excel at its pest control."
There were a handful of chuckles from the Blades around me at my black humour and Jauffre’s face creased into a slight smile. "We don’t have the coin to put them all on the payroll."
"You don’t need to." Jauffre motioned for me to continue as my anxiousness increased at everyone’s undivided attention. "They trade in coin and reputation. If you can’t provide the coin directly but can assist them improving their reputation to get more contracts instead then I believe they will be willing to help. They have been falling on hard times as of late and now with everything that is going on they are going to be struggling as every sell-sword, caravan guard and retired legionary dusts their gear off and starts advertising their services."
"It sounds to me like you have an idea on how to improve their reputation." His eyes were amused now.
"I think if they were known to have the Heroes of Kvatch in their ranks that not only would the flow of coin improve but they as an organisation would consider helping killing off a few cultists from time to time. If not gratis, then at least in exchange for favours in the future."
"You’d join the Guild?" Belisarius mocked me lightly in good humour. "And waste all your potential with a group of thugs?"
"Look, I’m no good for all this cloak-and-dagger stuff. I’m able to cut throats and kill unarmed cultists by the dozen but as for tracking them down in the first place?" I waved my hands in front of me hopelessly. "Some days I’d struggle to find my own arse unless I sat on my hands."
Viconia’s expression said that she doubted I’d be able to succeed even in that scenario and I made a point of ignoring her. "But killing rats and rescuing Khajiit out of trees? That I can do."
"And you Viconia?" Jauffre asked, turning to her.
"Sounds more exciting than sitting around her waiting for the end of the world." Her arms crossed in front of her chest as she leaned further back under everyone’s stares.
"Well it sounds plausible, and if I know Vilena and Modryn then they won’t turn down two new recruits with your fame. I’ll send a message to them tomorrow and let them know to expect you in Chorrol."
We continued talking for an hour or more, discussing details of the campaign against the Mythic Dawn. It would easily be a month or more before Martin could make any real headway with the Mysterium Xarxes or to find a way to track down the Cult’s leader. In the meantime, it seemed that Viconia and I were to be the newest recruits in the Fighters Guild, a fact that I knew would please Barz gro-Khash once he heard. It would be couple of days before our equipment would be ready and so we had some time to rest in comfort, to stretch out the last of our injuries and prepare for whatever the Guild would throw our way.
For a while we listened to the Blades, and to Martin and Jauffre explaining and coming up with further ideas to stop the machinations of Mehrunes Dagon and his followers. The idea of utilising the Imperial Tariff and Customs systems to track the use and trade of materials utilised in the cult’s activities and creation of Sigil Stones was snatched up eagerly by Jauffre. It was doubly effective when Martin stated that the key ingredient for nearly all of the rituals was significant quantities of Void Salts which their comparative rarity would make it easy to track and monitor. The Imperial Tax agents would become unknowing pawns in the battle against the darkness once Jauffre utilised some of his contacts and skill. Soon the word had been sent out to every corner of the Empire that Void Salts were now to be taxed and controlled in a similar manner as ebony and Dwemer artefacts. Reports of smuggling or purchases over a handful of grams would soon be finding its way to Jauffre’s desk where he could direct agents to investigate. It was confronting to know even the tiniest hints of how much power the Emperor’s Soldier-Spies could wield.
We stayed another two nights at the fortress, ensuring that our armour was repaired or replaced as best as it could be by the smiths. My chainmail hauberk was completely repaired and a new breastplate replaced the other punctured by crossbow bolts. Despite the weight I was no longer willing to rely on speed and agility alone for protection as what I once was. I would now fight with as much metal cladding my skin as I could without reducing my effectiveness with a bow and Viconia was similarly following the same ideas. While remaining as nimble as a dancer or acrobat she had ensured that a new plate cuirass covered her chest and an armoured gorget protected the spot where a bolt had punched deep. She would not fall victim the same way twice.
Come morning we once more were dressed and our horses saddled, feeling the chilly breeze from the snow clad mountains on our faces as we looked over the assembled Blades. Martin and Jauffre were in the group, thankful for our assistance and confident in our abilities but still uneasy with once again watching us ride off into the distance to an uncertain future. There was no doubt that we were fully capable of completing our mission to gain the assistance of the Fighter’s Guild but after what had happened to us both at the hands of the Mythic Dawn they were worried about what price we would pay. Neither Viconia and I said anything for the first hour as we travelled down the winding path in the direction of Bruma, instead choosing the company of our own thoughts at the task ahead.
It was nearly midday when we finally arrived at Chorrol, the autumn sun beating down and filling the air with the smell of the last ripening wheat fields as they were harvested. This would be the last we would travel by horse, which from our experiences it was not something that either of us would begrudge. Both of us were so used to travelling on foot by now that we found ourselves longing for it as we dismounted and handed our steeds over to the hostlers at the city stables for a handful of gold septims.
By the time the midday bell began to toll we had found ourselves in the headquarters of the Cyrodiil Fighters Guild, presenting ourselves in front of Vilena Donton and her second in command Modryn Oreyn. The two of them presented imposing sights, both hardened by decades of mercenary work and having the scars and injuries to show for it. Vilena was close to Jauffre’s age and Modryn appeared to only be a handful of years her junior at the most, but despite their advancing age they still had bodies hard forged by combat. Vilena still possessed a frame that would rival a professional lumberjack and Modryn, while whippet thin in comparison had a similar strength and agility of an acrobat.
The messages that they had received from Cloud Ruler and Jauffre, as well as the good word that Burz gro-Khash had provided ensured that we were welcomed warmly, but there would be no preferential treatment. We were new inductees and would be treated the same as all the others who entered the guild and despite our fame as the heroes of Kvatch, and members of the Blades we would have to earn our keep, and the respect of the other guildsmen the hard way.
Unlike other adventurers and mercenary groups throughout Tamriel the Fighters Guild provided a specific service not only to those wishing to hire its services but also to its members. Members of the Guild would be expected to undertake any contracts received by the local Chapterhouses and would receive between 75%-90% of the agreed price. The rest would be provided to the Chapterhouse and the wider Guild to pay for everything from repairs of the houses, to pensions and stipends for those members who had served several years in the guild or who had received crippling injuries. Such an arrangement was designed to provide security to those who joined the Guild’s ranks but if there were no contracts then there would be no income and most members were only loyal to coin.
For the week that we stayed in Chorrol we spent most of our time either idle or training with the handful of guildsmen who were inclined in such a way. For most part we found that the Cheydinhal Chapter was very much the norm. Whenever the members of the Guild were not fulfilling contracts they were usually idling their days away or crawling into the bottom of a flagon. Only the most experienced or keen would bother with honing their skills and after spending so long with such professionals as the Blades we found ourselves missing their routines.
Modryn Oreyn was not one for resting on his laurels however. The aging dark elf found us shortly after dawn on the third day since our arrival and stated that he had found a suitable test of our skills. As was the tradition he informed us, the first contract any new inductees undertook would be done completely for free to determine their true suitability for membership. Our trial by fire would be a relatively simple one, a farm a couple of hours walk to the south east had been suffering goblin raids as the greenskinned menaces plundered the ripening crops. Our first contract would be to travel to the farm, stay there overnight and ensure that the Goblins would not be capable of continuing their theft.
Viconia grumbled somewhat about the apparent insult to her skills at something she considered akin to cleaning latrines but we both found ourselves marching onto the tiny farmstead in the forest before midday. The farm barely qualified itself for the name, a tiny stone-brick house and surrounding vegetable plots slowly losing the fight against the encroaching forest. The farm’s owner; an elderly widower by the name of Valus Odiil lived there with his two sons, both barely out of their teens and making a living from what little crops they managed to harvest and sell in the city. The old man was obviously concerned for his and his children’s welfare and as soon as we arrived both Viconia and I realised the reason why we had been provided this task for our initiation. Like nearly every farmer in Tamriel they barely had two wooden septims to rub together, and owning little more than the dirt under their boots no one else from the city was going to bother to help them. It was more than likely that if we hadn’t joined the guild when we did that both the old farmer and his sons would have either ended up dead at the knives and claws of goblins, or fleeing and leaving all their worldly possessions behind them.
Instead they found themselves rising from a sleepless night, opening the door to their hovel and staring at amazement as the better part of an entire goblin tribe was now fertilising their fields. Both Viconia and I had slaughtered the creatures in the night with little to show for it other than a fresh layer of gore over our armour and clothing and a few expended arrows. The total amount of the contract was a measly 5 gold septims, which represented a year or two’s worth of savings from the old farmer and his family. Their gratitude for not only saving their farm but for the way how I had told them to keep the coins and other rewards they tried to bestow on us. Viconia’s disgust at my actions dogged me for the rest of the return journey as I told her that I was going to provide Modryn the 5 gold septims from our own meagre purses and by the time we entered the city gate I would’ve sworn that I had a burnt patch on the back of my skull from the intensity of her gaze.
As for Modryn, he and all the other Guildsmen watched with something resembling disbelief and awe as I simply strode inside, dropping the pair of sacks on the floor near the front entrance that left some of their bloody contents to tumble out onto the floor. Just over twenty leathery heads were packed into the sacks and showed the grim and bloody total of our actions over the previous day. As I handed over the five coins from my own purse I ignored Viconia’s dark expression at my side and watched Modryn’s face as he used a considerable amount of will to keep his face neutral at the pair of stinking sacks at our feet.
With a few more days it was obvious that we were no longer going to be of much use to the guild remaining in Chorrol. Contracts around the region were almost non-existent but there were plenty of other chapterhouses that would benefit from our assistance. So on the sixth day of pour arrival Viconia and I found ourselves sitting on a pair of wagons heading south, being little more than glorified caravan hands as we made our way to the West Weald and the City of Skingrad.
The region around Skingrad was one of the richest and most prosperous within all of Cyrodiil. The extensive fields of wheat and grapes and the dozens of wineries as well as mines hewing precious metals out of the rock ensured that the trade travelling from the Port of Anvil towards the Imperial City was well met through the county. The food grown in this region alone counted for a significant portion of the supplies keeping the heart of the Empire alive and most of the silver septims circulating through Cyrodiil originated from not only the mines, but the mints and metalsmiths of the city.
In such an area however the wealth also attracted those who coveted it. Bandits were common, as were goblins, ogres and various other threats that came to cut their own slice away from the rich flesh of the county. Where this would serve to be a significant issue for almost anywhere else in the Empire, Skingrad was ruled by an extremely capable, if reclusive Count who did everything in his power for the lands under his rule. Between fostering strong relations with the local Legion Forts and outfitting a professional force of citizen-soldiers and guards, Skingrad was one of the quietest and most heavily patrolled regions outside of City Isle. Unfortunately this resulted in few proper contracts for the local members of the Guild who had become increasingly lazy until they were even defaulting on the few contracts that came their way.
The city was clean and well maintained, but the local Chapterhouse was not. Cobwebs hung from walls; most still containing their original inhabitants and the few pieces of equipment that still remained in storage was beginning to lose their campaigns against the encroaching rust. Where most other guild houses had in excess of two or three dozen members, the Skingrad Chapterhouse had less than ten, and most of these lived out of the local taverns and inns than doing anything resembling work. For most part they acted as bouncers and local muscle for merchants and craftsmen, otherwise they were a considerable thorn in the side of the city guard with at least one arrest for drunken behaviour or brawling every week.
For once both Viconia’s and my emotions aligned perfectly and both of us were disgusted with the state and bearing of the local guild and its members. While not solely their fault none of them had even so much as lifted a finger to better their situation. They were all content in drinking their days away and it was only a single trio of the guild who seemed to have any form of standards or professionalism. Ah-Malz the argonian, local-born Imperial Fadus Calidius and a young Bosmer Archer calling herself Parwen were the only three who seemed to have any sense of importance and duty. As a result, they would only rarely be found within the city or the guild, but instead spent their time hunting the various goblin tribes that were in the habit of infesting every cave and dark crevice to be found. We met them briefly between some of their hunts, exchanging our mutual opinions of the other members of the guild before going about our own businesses.
For the first two days we found ourselves with little to do but hang around the chapterhouse and train against each other. Being alone with Viconia was becoming more and more distracting as the days progressed as I found it more and more difficult to put aside my growing attraction to her. As the relations between us seemed to warm noticeably so did the way we interacted until I was certain that she was purposely acting in certain ways or doing certain things that made my stomach clench almost painfully. Whether it be a hint of proximity during training where we found ourselves closer than what would be expected for swords practice or a sudden touching of fingers when we passed something between ourselves, I found myself increasingly infatuated with my Drow companion.
What made it worse for me is that she obviously knew my growing feelings and acted upon them in a sultry, seductive way that only made things worse. Not having any experience with women was not helping me in the slightest and even a glance or half smile from her was enough to fan the flames of attraction that were growing stronger with every passing day. It was almost a relief when a runner arrived at the guild with word of a new contract at a settlement to the northwest of the city. A handful of farms and homesteads were suffering raids from an unknown source and all of the available members were contracted to head there, discover the cause of the raids and stops them by whatever means were necessary.
Come morning of the third day we found ourselves making our way towards the tiny hamlet of farmers hovels half a day’s travel away with the remaining guildsmen in tow. They were a sorry looking bunch; poorly maintained arms and armour matching their owners who only seemed ready for the march after dunking themselves in buckets or water troughs. The five of them were pathetic in the eyes of Viconia and myself and after weeks of spending time with the Blades and my years in service to the Legion I felt sullied in their presence. Even after hours of marching they struggled to simply walk in a straight line, eyes crossed and heads drooping as the eventual hangovers were sweated out of them in the warm autumn sun.
"It is days like this that I wonder what gods I have annoyed to punish me so." One of our new companions murmured as he sweated profusely under a helmet that was obviously too large for him.
I glared at him with enough venom that would’ve put a veteran centurion to shame but the Bosmer didn’t notice it. He was far too busy staring at his feet as he scuffed them through the gravel underfoot. "Days like this leave me thinking the same thing."
He slowly, and with eyes glazed from the force of his hangover lifted his head and looked at me, completely oblivious to the sarcasm and irony dripping from my voice. So far there wasn’t anything that I saw as redeemable within Maglir or his compatriots but we had been contracted to head out as a group and so I found myself stuck next to him as Viconia led the way. Typically short like the rest of his wood elf brethren, he appeared unusual in a way that he was clad in heavy plates of iron that were ill-fitting and worn not from extensive use but ill-repair. Unlike the rest of his kin he seemed to prefer to wear heavy armour and wield a sword and shield than a bow and leather. So far during the journey he hadn’t seemed capable of discerning my dislike of him and his misplaced belief of his superiority and self-worth. Instead he spoke incessantly about how much we were going to be paid and how he hoped there wouldn’t be any real work involved.
The others with us were very similar. A collection of individuals as varied as their equipment and hailing from almost all parts of the Empire. A Dunmer, Breton, Argonian, Khajiit, and Altmer trailed behind and other than our membership in the Fighter’s Guild there was little in common between all of us, especially between them and Viconia and myself. Even Viconia’s usual self-serving, haughty attitude paled in comparison to theirs and I came to the realisation that when a Drow calls you arrogant and egotistical you have a problem.
We were walking into the tiny hamlet in the depths of the West Weald. The great forest was over a day’s steady march north of us, and Skingrad’s towering spires of belltowers and battlements were fading on the horizion to the south. There was little in this region than gullies and rocky outcroppings, but the rolling hills and streams allowed wheat and other grains to be sewn with regularity. Dozens of tiny villages such as this one dotted the landscape. Some were little more than a collection of hovels located together for mutual support while others were growing into towns and were home than more than just farmers and their families.
This village however was little more than a collection of mudbrick huts surrounding a tiny village square and a tavern. There was nothing here for the inhabitants other than the surrounding farmland that faded into the midday haze and now that danger had entered their lives there were very few that could be found tilling the fields as we made our way into the village.
Eyes crowned in suspicion and distrust followed our armoured band. Visitors were rare outside of the handful of merchants who arrived with their wagons brimming with goods and the sight of several armoured and armed fighters in their midst did little to assays their fears. Only the knowledge that they were too poor for the attentions of bandits kept most of them staying rather than fleeing into the ripening fields of wheat.
"Greetings good sirs." Called out a voice and a hunched figure of one of the village elders hobbled over to us. "and m’lady."
Viconia gave him a gaze that would’ve frozen most with hesitation as she mentally tried to determine the old man’s greeting. After a moment she decided that it was a sign of respect rather than a veiled insult and relaxed slightly.
"I certainly hope that you are our foretold assistance." he continued, leaning on a cane of weathered redwood and looking over us all.
I nodded, stepping forward and cutting off the others as they tried and failed to gather enough of their thoughts in their drunken and hungover minds. "We are. We’re with the Fighter’s Guild."
His crestfallen expression was sudden and I found myself wondering just how badly the local chapter’s reputation must be if a community such as this knew of it. "Ah... I see. I’m not one for looking a gift horse in the mouth but we were all hoping for the Milita or guard."
"They were otherwise indisposed." I replied, looking over the growing collection of individuals as they gravitated towards our group and providing the handful of introductions.
"I’m Joocator Hofinus, village Aedile. I suspect that the situation here is the usual for you. Crops have been destroyed, and there have been deaths. Something has come during the night several times this past month and has been leaving devastation in its wake."
"How many deaths?" Maglir murmured, looking distinctly unhealthy while lifting his helm and scratching under the padded coif underneath.
"Six so far. Amrsek and his family were killed two nights ago and their home destroyed. There was barely enough left of any of them to bury."
I looked over the elder with an appraising eye and saw the old injuries up his bare forearms and the slabs of muscle that had not quite dissolved from age. He was strong from years eking an existence from the unforgiving soil but the arms showed scarring consistent from many years wielding a sword. Like many who served in the Legion he had been pensioned off upon receiving a grievous wound and allowed to return home to live out the rest of his years. The enforced limp spoke of an injury to the leg or perhaps knee that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He too was gazing over our sorry looking band of sell-swords and obviously wasn’t impressed at what he saw. The state of their equipment and the manner of their bearing was enough to ruin what little opportunity we had with first impressions but thankfully he seemed to be more confident with Viconia’s and my own appearance in the group.
"Anyone have an idea of what is responsible?"
He shrugged, shaking his head and leaning more heavily on the cane. "I have my suspicions but nothing solid. Whatever it is it is strong enough to splinter an oaken door like matchwood and pulp a grown man into an unrecognisable paste."
I tried and failed to ignore the concerning muttering from the other members of our party and Viconia and I shared a slightly concerned glance that was mirrored by the dozen or so farmers and assorted family members gathering around us.
"Well, I guess someone better show us where the latest "attack’ occurred. Maybe we get lucky and they left some form of tracks."
In a small group the elder and other locals lead us a short distance from the central village to one of the several satellite farms surrounded in a sea of wheat. The smell of the ripening crops was a heady earthen scent that was unfortunately marred by the taste of death and blood that surrounded the ruined farmstead.
The walls still stood but the roof had caved in on itself in places where the walls had been breached by some incredible force. The door was little more than splinters and I found my gaze heading to each location where someone had died as my vampiric senses allowed me to detect the patches of dried blood. Most of the farm was ruined, wagons upended, windows shattered and great swathes of crops simply ripped from the ground in twisting and random patterns for dozens of acres.
Unease and nervousness was also evident on the breeze and a sizable portion that reached my nose was unfortunately from my supposed comrades in arms. Viconia thankfully gazed over the devastation with no change in expression or even the slightest hint of discomfort. After her upbringing in the Underdark and a brief jaunt into the depths of Oblivion a ruined farm barely rated a mention.
"So this happened at night?" I asked Joocator, gazing about and slowly seeing the patterns of movement where several large creatures had made their paths through the farm. Whatever wasn’t ripped out of the ground by the roots had simply been trampled into the dirt.
Joocator followed beside me as I walked through the devastation, watching as I knelt down over certain items of places to get a closer look. "Yeh. Everyone heard the screams and what sounded like fighting. By the time a group of us had managed to band together and make it out here it was already over."
He pointed to the ruined fields with his cane while sitting on a mostly intact barrel laying on its side. "For the past fortnight the outer fields have been suffering similar raids, but this was the first time that it happened so close or to any of the buildings."
I ran my hand over the ruined doorframe of the hovel and noted how the thick wooden beams supporting the roof had been snapped in the centre by a blow of inconceivable force. Whatever had made entry had been too large to fit through the door and had battered its way inside to kill those huddling within. "Did any of the family survive?"
The grief that filled those who had followed us was understandable in such a tiny close knit-community. Those who had died would have more likely than not shared blood with others in the village and the loss of family members was never easy to bear.
"None were spared. Amrsek and Rasheille had four children, their youngest not even a year old."
My fist clenched so tightly that my leather gloves creaked and I knew that the gesture was not lost on the village elder. "Is there any caves around the area? Sightings of trolls or ogres?"
"No caves as such, and there hasn’t been an ogre in this region for several winters. There are stories of goblins to the south and east but we haven’t seen any around here. The thing that gets to me the most is that their bodies weren’t eaten or otherwise touched. They were simply pulverised and then left where they had died."
"Well, that rules out trolls and ogres then." I rubbed my jaw and looked around. Too much time had passed since it had occurred to leave any smell of whatever was responsible, even to my enhanced senses.
Viconia however was picking her way through the detritus, studying the wreckage and the ground around the farmstead while the rest of our party seemed content to stand back and leave it all to us.
"Do you breed cattle or oxen here?" She asked, kneeling down in amongst the torn and crushed wheat stalks a few metres from a shattered fence.
There was a shake of the head from Joocator and a few of the other farmers. "We don’t have the money to raise livestock, and the soil around here is better for crops."
She looked over to me and motioned. "I think you should look at this abbil."
In the ruined ground where countless stalks of wheat had been forcibly ripped from the soil there were crushed indentations that for the most part left no clue to whatever had caused the damage. However, in the recently churned earth there was less than a handful clear tracks that made me feel strangely uneasy and confused in equal measures. Shaped like an oversized hoof, the prints appeared to be little more than tracks left behind from any regular breed of cyrodiilic cattle except for their obvious and overwhelming difference in size.
"So a herd of cattle came through and trampled some peasants to death." Maglir muttered, drawing looks of unbridled anger from the villagers around us. "So much for getting paid."
I turned and stared at him until he returned my gaze. "How many legs do cows have?"
He shrugged. "Four of course."
"Can’t you see that these tracks only come in sets of two?"
His face suddenly paled in a combination of the heat, his increasing hangover and the insulting tone in my voice. "Of course I can."
"Well then, you shouldn’t have any problems with seeing this as well." To the gasps of those looking I pressed my hand into the base of one of the tracks, my splayed fingers not even touching the sides of the enormous indentation.
"Minotaurs." One of the nearby farmers murmured, making a quick sign to Kynareth with fluttering fingers. The sense of fear was suddenly evident from all involved as they looked at the devastation around them.
"How much is this contract?" Maglir suddenly blurted, looking even paler than before.
"Two Hundred and Fifty gold septims." I replied, seeing the nods from the handful of villagers around us.
The Wood Elf openly blanched at that and the handful of other fighters suddenly started sharing mutual curses and oaths. "There’s no way I’m sticking my neck out for that measly amount. Not against minotaurs and not if I have to share it!"
"Our contract, you miserable cretin is to assist these people!" I snapped, my raised voice making everyone flinch back and ghosts of a smile play across Viconia’s and Joocator’s faces. That is what we are contracted to do!"
"You ever faced a minotaur?" he spat in reply, looking at my expression as I didn’t respond. "I thought not."
"Have you ever faced anything more dangerous than a fly?" Viconia replied with a voice that could freeze a lake. Maglir may have considered getting into a verbal sparring match with me but a single glance from the Drow was enough to stop him momentarily.
"Minotaurs are no joke. It takes at least a team of five to take one down and they are never found alone!"
"This one is not going to end up as paste." Hissed Ja-Bhizaka, the Khajiit member of the group and the others nodded in agreement.
"So you’re just going to default on this contract instead? Like all the others you have defaulted on?" my anger was growing and I could feel the strange tingling sensation growing in my cheekbones.
"If you care that much, then you go!" the short wood elf rose up to his full height which still left him looking upwards to face me. "The contract’s yours. It’s not worth it for what we’re getting paid, and I have a family to consider."
Throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the village several hundred metres away he stared both Viconia and I down. The others in the party had already turned away and were laughing and joking much to the growing anger from the farmers. "We’ll be in the tavern once you come to your senses. Don’t expect us to be there come tomorrow if you decide to go and attempt suicide."
He too turned and followed the others, shuffling and swaying slightly as they left us and the small collection of villagers amidst the destroyed farm.
"Fine!" my voice was little more than a growl as I shouted after the retreating fighters. "To oblivion with all you pox-ridden sons of camp whores!"

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