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"Is the cathedral reopened yet?"
Again he shook his head. "No, and it won’t be for some time. By the order of the Countess it is to be closed until further notice."
"Any explanation as to why?"
"Nothing official. "Carefully lowering his voice he glanced to the door at our backs, before continuing in hushed tones. "Unofficially, my "friend’ has told me that what happened in there hasn’t changed since the day it happened. The bodies haven’t been moved or taken for burial due to the current state of everything in there. Nothing had decayed and the blood is still as fresh as what it was when it was pumped from the arteries of the priests and acolytes. Even Carradil and the other mages are at a loss."
Turning I gave Viconia a pointed glance until she looked at me. Shrugging, she tucked some of her white hair back behind the circlet she wore around her forehead. "My money would definitely be on Daedric or some other form of what you would consider to be darker magicka. Someone was making a point and going to a lot of effort to do so."
"That’s also the consensus. There’s writing marking the central altar that has been written in the blood but so far no one has been able to translate it."
"Drow?" I asked Viconia, and she shook her head.
"Lloth doesn’t do subtle when it comes to dealing with cults and upstart gods. Even her followers wouldn’t have bothered within leaving a statement as such. A few impalements and a public immolation have been far more suitable and they wouldn’t have been so concerned with escaping without being seen."
"Speaking of people’s expertise." Suddenly interjecting, the letter opener was dropped on the surface of the desk with a clatter. Quickly but carefully, Azzan began rifling through drawers with wooden scrapes echoing through the room. "I have something I want your opinion on Kaius."
"Anything interesting?" I said, amused as he exclaimed as he found what he was looking for and lifted it from its storage.
"You will probably think so." He replied, placing the rolled up bundle of cloth on the desk and carefully unwrapping its contents. "Tell me what you think."
Leaning forward, I looked over the tiny collection of what first appeared to be sticks, until I realised what I was looking at was in fact a small collection of shattered arrows. Broken in several places, and made up of a handful of separate shafts, they appeared unusual and felt strange as I picked them up.
"Is this... Bone?" Viconia exclaimed as she too plucked one from where it lay. The eagle’s feather had been affixed to the end with what looked like some type of silk and it had been snapped two thirds of the way down its length. Like hers, mine was from a light brown substance that was definitely not wood.
"Yeah." I held up mine and studied it carefully. The shaft was from a single carved length of bone, whittled from a thigh bone or something similar. Instead of what I considered to be the normal pointed tip, the broadhead was wickedly sharp, carved into a sharp, flat V shape with a pair of razored tips that had been blunted and ruined from an impact. Whatever it had hit had left tiny hint of blood staining the grooves, and the shaft was broken midway. Instead of steel it had been carefully carved from flint and somehow treated with some unidentifiable substance to further improve its durability.
"These are Bosmeri." My words were met with a bobbing of Azzan’s head as I looked over the small collection. "Traditional make too. That’s unusual. I thought that most Bosmer use modern arrows."
"They are definitely Bosmer, and yes, usually they do use less primitive arrows. The Fletchers here in Anvil make a huge amount throughout the year and constantly export them to Valenwood. There’s some serious coin in that trade."
"Where did you get these?"
"Three days north there is a small settlement. The locals abandoned it as soon as they heard about the siege. A group of necromancers had taken up shop there, until someone using these arrows decided to kill them very quickly and very precisely."
"What were necromancers doing around these parts?"
"Well ever since the ban, those wanting to mess around with the dead have had to go into hiding. Anvil and Kvatch counties are the best places of late to hide out; plenty of dead, lots of elbow room and the guard are too busy running around after bandits and daedra worshippers to bother them." For a moment he looked like he had taken a bite out of a rotting apple. "There was almost a dozen of them in the town, complete with the usual assortment of skeletons, zombies and undead. Didn’t help them much though."
The letter opener stabbed in my direction and at the arrow in my hands. "That one you’re holding was pulled out of the mortar of the inn. Whoever had loosed it, had enough strength to draw a bow powerful enough to punch through someone’s skull and over thirty centimetres of rock and cement."
My whistle momentarily hid the surprise and further stab of unease in my guts. "Unless they fired it from point-blank range they would need a bow with over a hundred and forty pounds of draw strength."
"Huurwen said the same thing." He agreed. "She was the one who came across the village. It took her a few hours to thoroughly check the place out. Whoever had been responsible had been in and out and killed the whole lot of them in a very short space of time. Those arrows are the only signs of who was responsible and it took her a lot to find them. The "mancers had mostly been killed by arrows, but every shaft had been retrieved and even the arrowheads were cut out of them. Those who hadn’t been shot had been knifed."
"Plenty of cut throats then?" Smiling, I looked up at his serious face and my humour vanished.
"Not a single one." Shaking his head, the words dragged themselves from between his lips. "These were no amateurs. Cutting throats is messy and you can easily make a mess of it. Those few who were knifed were stabbed. Very precisely too. In the armpit, between the ribs or right under the ear."
The tap-tap-tap of a finger against the little hollow where his jawbone met his neck and ear left me nervously rubbing at mine. It in particular, was the spot that foresters were taught in the Legion to kill unsuspecting foes. A hand over the mouth, gripping tightly to cut off any scream, a blade would be jammed in deeply, severing all the major arteries and if done at the correct angle would also jam into the base of the brain. If not instantly fatal, it would leave the victim unable to scream, move or breathe and death would quickly follow.
"Knowing that most "mancers in Cyrodiil were once members of the Arcane University, I asked Carradil to have a look into it. This particular group had called themselves the Putrid Hand and had a particular interest in artefacts. Daedric, Ayleid and the like. Apparently the Mage leading them; Lien Valeth, had been booted out of the University for not only practicing necromancy, but also trying to steal a few things from the vaults."
"What happened to him?"
"Stabbed in the brain while taking a shit."
With unease crawling and worming its way up my spine, I remembered the tales I had heard during my time within the Legion. Foresters had their own campfire stories and the more popular and well known were always about hunters and individuals with similar skills to our own. There were those who were known of by every forester and were almost legends within the Empire.
"Rangers..." I breathed.
"Yeah. There’s some of them in the area, and they are keeping out of sight."
Snorting again, I handed back the arrow and folded my arms. "That goes without saying. There is a running joke in the Legion; If a Ranger kills someone in a forest, does it make a sound?"
Glancing between the two of them, Azzan shrugged his shoulders and Viconia simply stared at me.
"No. It makes a corpse."
Azzan sighed loudly and Viconia gave me a glare usually reserved for when I overcooked a meal or did something she found stupid.
"F’sarn helothannin’in xuil biu mal’ai..." She muttered darkly under her breath, sarcasm dripping from every word as she handed back her own arrow. "Who are Rangers? And are they that stealthy?"
"They are the epitome of stealth." Azzan replied before I could and gave me a wink as he did so. "They are the eyes and ears of Valenwood; the scouts, skirmishers and assassins. As the stories go they are also the guardians of the forests and of the Silvenar."
"They sound like the Blades."
Cutting Azzan off in mid breath, I returned the favour and Viconia rolled her eyes at us. "In a way. The Blades learned from, or at least they use the Rangers as an example to strive towards. They can travel unseen throughout the Empire but usually they never leave Valenwood except during times of war."
"Well Kaius... This can be classified as a time of war in a lot of ways."
"But not the kind of war that would result in Rangers travelling into Cyrodiil. At least not without a host of Warsmers at their backs."
"Rhano had one speak to him last week."
Involuntarily, my jaw dropped and I stared at him. "No way."
"You know Rhano. He’s many things, but he’s never been able to tell a decent story in his life."
I couldn’t help but agree. Rhano was a solid, dependable warrior but he wasn’t the most imaginative of individuals. "What exactly did he say happened?"
Pressing the tip of the letter opener into the desk, Azzan idly spun it by flicking the blade with his finger. "He was out scouting for bandit camps when all of a sudden this Wood Elf appeared out of nowhere. He says that one second he was by himself in one of the forests to the North of the Brina Cross Inn, and the next the Elf had appeared right beside him. Scared the shit out of him apparently."
"Did they talk to each other?"
"Not much. Rhano said that the Bosmer had simply told him not to go in the forests between Fort Wariel and Sutch as his safety wasn’t guaranteed."
"That sounds like a threat." Sighing to herself, Viconia stretched out and rolled her neck in an attempt to ease some of the tenseness from riding Ultrin.
"Rhano didn’t think so. He said that it was more like a friendly heads-up rather than an implied threat. The settlement full of dead "mancers is roughly in that area, and he seems to think that the Rangers are searching for something around there. Whatever their intent is, he didn’t get anything else out of the Elf. He told me that before he could even finish turning around or say anything the Ranger just vanished. Like "poof’..." He made a flicking gesture with the fingers of his free hand. "Gone..."
Chewing on the inside of my cheek I thought over the implications. "Did he investigate any further?"
"Nope. and so far he hasn’t had any intention of going back out there. That’s another reason why I need someone else experienced and willing to hunt bandits. His nerve is a bit shot after having that damn elf get the jump on him like that."
I blew out a deep, long breath and looked over at Viconia. It wasn’t visible to Azzan, but both of us were suddenly very uncertain about separating for any period of time. Going by the look in her eyes Viconia especially was feeling distinctly uneasy.
"What sort of timeframe are you looking at needing us here?" I asked, feeling her gaze burning into mine.
He shrugged again. "A week or two. Maybe more. Once we get a handle on the bandits and take out the more organised groups the guards and the guild will be able to manage the rest. Otherwise after what you both have been through, Anvil should be a bit of rest."
"How soon do you need us to start?" Soft but with a strange steel-like hardness creeping into her words, Viconia’s gaze moved from me to Azzan.
"How soon can you be ready?"
It was my turn to shrug, and Viconia looked between us for a moment. Almost imperceptibly she took control over feelings and apprehension, crushing them deep inside before nodding. "Tomorrow."
"Well, looks like I’ve got few rough nights ahead of me." Creasing my face, my smile hid my own apprehension as Azzan positively beamed.
"Excellent. I knew I could count on the both of you." He rubbed his hands together and carefully rolled up the broken remains of the arrows into the sheet of cloth. "I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning and give you directions on where our camp is and where to report to Huurwen. Otherwise use this time to get ourselves settled in again and ready. I know I feel better with you both back in the city, but please don’t do anything dumb while you’re here."
Nodding in both of our directions his grin grew even larger. "Try not to get yourselves in too much trouble while you’re here. There’s enough craziness in the area without you going looking for more of it."
It takes a certain amount of skill, not to mention will and discipline to be able to hunt or scout. Not many within the Empire would be capable enough or be able to survive on their own within the wilds of Tamriel. Certain races were more inclined or naturally gifted; the Bosmer, Khajiit and Argonians in their respective homelands were the supreme examples. The Foresters of the Imperial Legions however, as the Legions did with most things had turned simple skills used to survive or provide for one’s community and turned it into arts of warfare.
Even then, with years of training it took a specific skillset that was more than just physical to do what those living on the fringes of society accomplished on a daily basis. To be able to move unseen and unheard, to track by the merest traces of prints, disturbed foliage and limited spoor, and above all have the mental capacity and strength of mind to be able to handle fending for oneself in land that grew ever more hostile the further you trekked.
Foresters within the Legion were the eyes and ears of the Cohorts, and were responsible for a significant amount of the legionary’s diet. Usually hunting in tiny groups of two or three at a time for mutual protection, the foresters would roam around the main camps, hunting and bringing back whatever game they could manage to bring down. during times of war they would be the hidden scouts, seeking out the Legion’s foes and harassing them with loosed arrows from concealed positions or picking off sentries or the unwary.
There were a few however that took these skills further, and showed enough ability to not only perform their duties well, but were capable of doing so alone. To be able to wander the wilds with no one but themselves to rely upon and going on patrols days or weeks at a time was a skill that was only found in one in every twenty foresters. These were the men and mer who would find themselves rising through the ranks from mere legionaries, most with their eyes firmly planted on the illustrious rank of scout-champion for each legion.
My skills had allowed me to rise to the rank of Archer-Prefect. This placed me in the position of being one of twenty within my local casta, and one of the few dozen within the 14th with the authority and skill to hunt and scout on my own, I was bar far one of the best. It did however provide me with a greater ability than most within the Fighter’s Guild and soon proved that Azzan had chosen a job well suited for me.
Foresters intrusted to solo missions were usually granted a higher level of initiative within the Legion’s rank structure and I looked forward to being entrusted with such responsibility during my service. The sense of freedom, the fact that I was simply given an order to accomplish a task with the choice of how to do so entirely up to myself. The more I thought of it though, the more I realised it was this same love of having a choice and freedom, combined with my personal initiative that left me travelling down the rocky path to desertion in the first place.
Ensuring that I was well prepared, dressed in my armour, wrapped in my minotaur leather cloak and carrying everything needed for a month of living rough I left Anvil and Viconia behind. Every pouch I had was filled with various items, my tiny travelling pack containing little more than dried rations and my compound bow was left for the most part, unstrung and locked within its leather travelling case. A pair of knives, both Sunchild and the Light of Dawn and twenty arrows found their way onto my person as well, all within easy reach but situated where they wouldn’t catch on passing branches or otherwise hinder my movement.
I was hollow, empty inside without Viconia by my side. The months that we had been together had left us unconsciously relying on each other more than what we had realised. Until the first night where I found myself sitting before my tiny campfire, I don’t think I fully realised how I too relied on her for support just as much as she did with me. It had nearly been half a year since we had first met, and we had gone from distrusting companions to lovers in that short space of time. What surprised me the most though was how beside loneliness I was also feeling a sense of freedom at finding myself alone and responsible for only myself.
Separating from Viconia was strangely easier, and yet harder than I was expecting. The pangs of loneliness ate away at me in the deepening shadows of the evenings and mornings when I made camp and maintained my equipment, but I was also highly focussed on my task and my surroundings. Only a fool or the inexperienced let their guard down in the wilds, and after surviving years within Vvardenfell and several dozen solo expeditions I wasn’t going to do any different. The Empire might have stamped its presence into Tamriel with paved roads, aqueducts and sprawling farmlands, but its hold was only tentative at the best. When you moved more than a kilometre or more from a road or village, nature ruled with an iron fist and Kynareth was an unforgiving mistress.
While my younger years, and my teenage life within eastern Hammerfell had forged my skill in hunting, it had been tempered and honed in the Legion. Morrowind, especially Vvardenfell was not a place for the unwary or inexperienced. Between the fauna that inhabited he fungal forests and the mountain ranges and the occasional corpus creature roaming the lands, it was extremely hazardous. That was taking into account the fact that numerous diseases were also rife through most of the animal population that didn’t include Corpus, and a considerable amount of the flora was also deadly to touch, let alone consume.
Cyrodiil in comparison was almost laughably safe, but only in the briefest of comparisons. It was a dangerous to assume safety anywhere in the Empire, as the line between civilisation and wilderness was extremely thin. In Anvil county, mountain lions roamed the land, forest trolls could be occasional encountered along the border to Kvatch and minotaurs were not unheard of. Closer to the coast the higher the chances of encountering dreugh became. The shelled monstrosities could be found throughout most coasts and rivers in Tamriel, and after my experiences around Khuul I had no intent of renewing my acquaintance with them.
The largest difference within Cyrodiil compared to Morrowind was the locals. For the most part they were not threatening in the slightest, whereas in Morrowind whether they be the local Dunmer disliking the presence of the Legion, or some of the outright hostile Ashlanders the only real safety was within a Legion Fortress. This time, the only hostile individuals were the ones I was tasked in tracking down.
Before I had reported to Huurwen I had made the decision that I would only hunt at night. Normally, and to most individuals the night was impossible to track or hunt except for the nights where the moons were full. To me however I had every intention of using my vampiric side to its advantage, not only to learn more about myself and control my abilities but to give myself every advantage I could in such an undertaking.
I had found Huurwen in the Guild’s camp, looking extremely tired and haggard from a fortnight’s scouting. As a result, she was extremely glad for the reprieve that I represented. Between herself and Rhano, they represented the only two within the guild who had any real skill or experience in tracking. A such they had been busy the past three months. The weeks of living rough, moving carefully throughout the county and their nerves constantly on edge had sapped their strength and will. For Rhano, his breaking point had been when a Ranger had made a complete mockery of his skill and ability. Huurwen hadn’t reached her point, but judging by her twitchiness and red-rimmed eyes it wasn’t too far away.
They had been effective though. Two dozen fighters leading three or four dozen fresh recruits would patrol the roads, while the handful of skilled hunters would go out to all the likely hiding spots. Known Ayleid ruins, ancient abandoned Legion forts, caves and mines, and abandoned farms and villages were all checked and rechecked. At any time that recent activity was found it would be followed and those responsible scouted through stealth as much as possible. If they were anyone suspicious or related to the groups of bandits, the scout would lead a squad of fighters to where they were hiding. Well over a hundred individuals had been taken prisoner, and half as many killed as any resistance was not tolerated and punished harshly.
After such a solid effort in eradicating the bandit problem of the county, those that were left were the hard-core elite. In the full tradition of Gaiden Shinji Himself; the best techniques were being passed on by the survivors. Huurwen believed that there were only one or two groups left, but these were the most hardened, toughest, well equipped and stealthy of them all. At least one group was the last of the marauders from Hammerfell, and two were Nordic Raider bands. They were continuing to make their presence felt, as despite the way that they were being hunted they had chosen to continue their actions. Several caravans had been attacked or even wiped out entirely. For the most part handfuls of individuals were left robbed on the side of the road or destitute after everything of value had been taken away to their camps. It seemed that anyone who resisted were being slain and left as warnings for the Guild.
Within the first week I had managed to track down one of the raider bands, deciding not to lead the fighters to their camp where they resided. I fell upon them in the night, using my vampiric abilities to the fullest and slaking my growing thirst. My role for the Guild was a perfect opportunity to test myself and above all, learn my breaking point. A growing portion of my conscious mind had decided to ensure that the slaughter that I had wreaked upon the Blood Coven would never occur unless I explicitly chose to do so.
To hunt prey, whether it be animal or human, or to scout out areas required more than just the ability to move quietly or live off the lands. It required a certain strength of will, the keenness of more than just sight and being able to remain vigilant at all times. There was also two ways of moving through the wilderness. Quickly, or quietly. To be able to dart through the land like a shadow being chased by the light, or being able to move as quiet as a ghost. As a vampire and at night I could do both, leaving no trace of myself as I moved with all the speed of the damned. Those that I sought could only choose to do one or the other. Whichever method they chose didn’t help them as I could hunt by more than just what tracks they left. By smell I could find their essence on the wind, and as I got closer I could hunt them by the beating of their hearts.
Within the shadowed depths of scrubland, a rocky gorge cut through the undulating landscape. A tiny stream had been making it way for untold centuries through the rolling hills and over the years of its existence it had sliced deep into earth and stone. It was a quiet, unassuming place that most would have walked past without ever knowing of its existence, and I would have easy done so if I had not been tracking a group of bandits. They had been responsible for two separate attacks on caravans and travellers in the previous two weeks since I had started scouting. Each time had been messy, and left several families bereft of more than just their money and goods. These particular bandits represented the last of the marauders from Hammerfell and had proven themselves to be very good at what they did.
The campsite was proof of this. Hidden in the depths of the gorge, it nestled into the cliffs under whatever overhangs were present and ensured they couldn’t be seen by someone on the hills. The density of the trees in the area guaranteed that unless you knew exactly where you were going, you could walk past one or both of the entrances without knowing. The creek itself was little more than a trickle, but provided enough fresh water for the band and a handful of opportunities of food in the form of frogs, ducks and other various creatures who came to drink. It was highly defensible with the two narrow openings in the rock faces and the thickets ensured that both entrances could be watched by bandits without being seen themselves. As a result, they had managed to hide from the ever encroaching guard and Fighters Guild, travelling out every few days to restock their supplies and waylay another hapless caravan or travellers.
Masser lit the darkness with its baleful eye, staring down across the landscape as I slid through the shadows. The nights were growing colder even this far south, and while nearly every centimetre of skin was hidden from sight I could feel the chill across my eyes and forehead. Wrapped in my cloak, face hidden behind my mask, hood and coif I merged with the night even without the use of my vampiric abilities. The darkness was pulled away from my eyes and I could see as well as I could in the middle of the day, and every step I made I barely made a sound or left a trace of my passage. Those that I followed while skilled, were quickly running out of luck. They had no defence against a creature that could see in the dark and track them by the smell that they left on every tree or bush they brushed past.
Still... It had taken me the better part of four days to follow them further into the depths of Anvil County. Their path had wound through the forests and over the rolling grasslands and several times I had lost their tracks as they clambered over rocks and followed creeks and streams. Even without my cursed nature I would have been able to track them down eventually, but every crushed twig and indentation of an armoured boot was starting to make me uneasy. They knew that they were being hunted and had actively been taking measures against it. Without the assistance of the vampire I knew that I would have been hard pressed to catch up as I had. Two things were concerning me more and more with every minute that passed. The first was the more I caught up to them, the more I found myself sure that I wasn’t the only thing or being hunting them. The second was that with every step I found myself closer to the area that Rhano had met the Ranger and had been warned to stay from.
Sliding through the undergrowth, hunched over and stepping very carefully, I looked about the maze of brambles and shrubs that were between me and the entrance to their camp. The cliffs were sheer and jagged, rising from the stream to the top of the slopes fifteen metres up and where the hills had once joined was a four-metre-wide gap where the stream had sliced through over thousands of years. Only a skilled climber or an alteration mage would hope to be able to traverse that rocky face, and as a result it was the perfect spot for an ambush or sentry. Normally, once I got this close to an encampment I would return to guide the fighters and the militia back, but there was something wrong. Like a splinter lodged in one of my gloves I could feel it niggling away at me, irritating my flesh until I felt irritated and sore. I knew that this was the camp that I had been looking for, and somehow that those who lived there were present.
Thick and still faintly smelling of minotaur, my mask was briefly pulled down and I sniffed the air. My face was taut in the darkness with the vampire rising to the surface and lending me its enhanced senses. Normally such a location in a hollow in the land between enormous slabs of earth would entrap the usual smells from camps no matter how permanent or temperory. It was another factor of their campsite that showed their experience of living off the land and hiding from potential enemies. Being in a position where the breeze couldn’t blow the smell of cooking fires was beneficial and I had been doing the same thing over the past fortnight, only lighting fires in hollows where the smell was less likely to travel and the flames weren’t visible.
The smells from this particular site were familiar; rendered animal fat that had been used to grease leather and chainmail, bodies that had gone weeks or months without the touch of soap and the faintest hint of a latrine somewhere within the gorge. It had been smells that had led me after my quarry for most of the day and evening but there were additions wafting on the breeze.
Coppery and mouth-wateringly, I could taste blood on the wind. It had been a smell that I had also followed in the first day of pursuit after they had killed a handful of the trade caravan they had raided. As the days progressed and they washed the gore off their arms and chests or it otherwise dried or flaked away the smell had faded, forcing me to follow in more traditional ways. But now as I crouched in the shadows, I could taste blood. Blood that I knew without a doubt was still mostly fresh.
The vampire within my soul; the beast was troubled though. While tantalising and leaving me licking my lips in anticipation it was not a smell that was entirely welcome in the night. Especially as I didn’t know of the cause of it. As my beastial instincts rose to the surface of my mind I could feel my anxiety growing with the fact that other than the smells I couldn’t hear or see any other signs of life within the area.
Frogs croaked their chorus from the gurgling stream dribbling through their rocks, and crickets called from various places around me. Far off, the sound of wings reached my ears despite how to the uncorrupted and mortal the noise was impossible to discern. The owner of the deathly silent wings hooted to its mate further off in the night and as it looked for prey in the form of a mouse or woodland creature I moved towards my own.
Gliding through the relatively narrow space where the stream emerged from the gorge I would have normally returned to the shadows but my own instincts knew that there was no threat in the form of a watchful guard. The scent of fresh blood grew stronger as I moved into the gorge itself, along with the other scents of individuals making a home for themselves in the wilds.
Within metres of the entrance, I found the first of the marauders, lying face down in the dirt. The coppery smell was overwhelming as I hunched down over the body, seeing the way that blood was leaking out of the armour around the throat. Fifty metres up the gorge the hint of a fire crackled softly on the edges of my vison, providing no illumination to show the way that the bandit was no longer among the living, not that I needed light to see.
I rolled the body over, seeing the way that death had come for the bandit in the single stab wound under the ear and that the blood had barely had enough time to dry. The most concerning thing about the whole situation was the way how the vampire within me was not interested in the blood. It was more interested in the sights and sounds and smells of the gorge, and that did not bode well.
His jaw was clenched, bruising around his throat where someone had choked off his mouth and windpipe before stabbing him in the head. Even though he had been the sentry placed to watch the entrance to the gorge, someone had managed to make their way past him, come up from behind and kill him without being seen or heard. Not even the steel plate armour that he wore, or the chainmail and leather he wore underneath had been of any benefit. Even with surprise on their side his killer was unable to defeat the armour and so had bypassed it completely.
With the tips of my fingers I felt into the corpse's throat, feeling how the cool air had already taken most of the heat away from the dead man’s flesh. It was yet to steal all traces of warmth from the core of the body which meant that he had died only in the past hours and that whoever was responsible was in the area.
Clenching my knuckles in my gloves until I could hear the leather creaking, I rose up from the corpse, rubbing at my jaw through the mask. The entire gorge would have been deathly quiet if not for the sounds of the creek and the various animals and insects that lived in it. In fact, the only sounds that announced a human presence at all was my soft breathing, the cracking of a dying campfire and the thundering of my pulse in my ears.
The entire camp was dead. Fourteen Redguard marauders, all highly skilled and experienced had been left as dead meat on the ground. Some would have been veterans of the numerous conflicts and skirmishes between the Crowned and the Forebears, one or two may have been Legion Deserters like myself. It had done them little use.
Tiny and ramshackle but built with comfort in mind, the campsite was well-worn and had been put to good use during their time in Cyrodiil. In an overhang of the cliff face, canvasses had been erected to further build a space protected from the elements. Rough bedrolls had been set up, along with a couple of crudely built seats made from sawn logs. Close nearby some rope had been suspended between two trees to allow their clothes to dry after laundering. A pair of campfires had been erected further along the gorge, where wooden stands had been erected for the smoking and drying of meat. Overall I was surprised at how cosy of a home they had made for themselves.
There was no sign that they had let themselves grow too unwary in their comfort. A couple of barricades had been set up in places to allow them to fend off attacks, but these had proven to be useless in the face of their sentries being stabbed to death. As I stepped into the feeble firelight I could see that whoever had been responsible had first taken out the sentry, and then had surrounded the marauders.
Besides the two sentries guarding both ends of the tiny stream and the entrances to their camp, the others had been killed from afar. Waiting until they were perfectly ready, the stealthy killers had taken their time, infiltrating the camp before falling upon the unsuspecting bandits.

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