As mentioned in this whine, I haven't seen many TESFics about Modryn Oreyn (there aren't too many about most of the "minor" characters at all TBH, but that's another project for another day).
He's such an interesting character to me: Bold, proud, ferocious. Intimidating until he likes you. He has a lot of unexplored depth, I feel. I also like that he's one of the few mentors in the game that doesn't die, or otherwise become inaccessible, at the end of their quest arc. Such that I feel he makes an excellent surrogate parental figure to the disaster-case of a Hero (and yes, I may be projecting slightly, apologies). So, in the vein of "this character needs more love; I'd better write it myself" I went ahead and did so.
Prompts: X, X, X. Each of these gave me ideas and helped direct the story, so thanks to their authors. I forgot to copy the links down at first, so I'm still missing the one about magical healing :(
Notes: I remembered halfway through that Dunmer don't worship the Nine, which is why Modryn switches at some point to thanking Azura. This is really bad consistency on my part, and I'm very sorry I forgot to do my research before hand. On a similar point, I have take extreme creative liberties with Morrowind's slave bracers - in game they drain magicka only. Hopefully the scheme Armand and Azzan employ doesn’t seem too out of character for them (please let me know if you disagree! Constructive criticism is how we grow).
Premise: Set some when after one has "finished" the game and the HoK/CC runs every main guild in Cyrodiil, Modryn Oreyn has been kidnapped by the remnants of the Blackwood Company. A ransom note is sent to the HoK/CC, and they set out to rescue their friend and Second-in-Command. All does not go smoothly.
Warnings: Torture, slavery mentions, grief, self-hate, moderate swearing (cannon curses; no f-bombs), disassociation, general fantasy violence, magical bindings, general injuries.
Post List: (This fic did get way out of hand. I was aiming for ~5k. It's 14,700. I cannot write short to save a life apparently)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Coda
Context: Modryn Oryen (or 'Fighter's Guild dad', as I think of him) needs more love. For more context, see my whine about this fic.
Warnings: Torture, slavery mentions, grief, self-hate, moderate swearing (cannon curses; no f-bombs), disassociation, general fantasy violence, magical bindings
Notes: I took extreme liberties with the way Morrowind slave bracers work. Please don’t yell at me.
(Gods this got huge; I’ll make a masterpost for all parts when they're up)
We tracked back through the complex of tunnels and caves, coming into the chamber with the crevasse. The fighting had slowed considerably by the time we arrived, only Bhos and Tabelle holding out on a raised ledge. We paused by the head of the bridge, scanning the scene. There were more bodies than I expected – evidently the Breton woman had more forces than I'd assumed. And there she was, being held at the edge of the cave, an orc standing over her. He turned and a wash of relief passed over me, nearly taking my legs out. Burz. I'd been certain the Breton was lying about leaving him dead in a ditch, but it was nice to see the evidence of his continued existence with my own eyes. I pulled out the potion Methredhel had given me and downed it. I was going to need everything I could now, I thought.
"Assassin, you're a mage, correct? Would you mind doing the honours," I said, gesturing at Tabelle and Bhos.
"Of course, reverend Listener," she murmured. She stepped forward, white light shooting from her hand to strike the Dunmer archer. Tabelle fell, paralyzed as frost tinged her dark hair white. No longer pinned down by Tabelle's fire, the fighters were able to take Bhos down with ease.
"Thank you," I said, passing the assassin and approaching Burz and the Breton.
"Boss!" Burz cried out as we approached. He straightened, looking over at Methredhel, his voice dropping to an angry growl. "What's the Guildmaster still doing here? This wasn't the plan."
"We hit a problem," the thief said, her response cool.
"Have you searched her?" I asked Bruz, inclining my chin at the Breton woman.
"Aye, boss."
"Did you find a key of any kind?"
At this, the Breton laughed. "Oh that's just precious," she said, smiling wickedly despite her bloodied and bruised face. "You finally figured out you can't leave here?" She spat blood. "We'll rot here together, you and I. I got rid of the key."
I could feel the horror taking over my expression before it morphed to anger.
"Boss, what's she talking about?" Burz asked.
"Where is it!" I yelled, flying forward. Burz caught me easily with one arm, dragging me backwards and away.
"Burz, let go. That's an order!" I yelled as I struggled. The Breton just laughed again, as two of our brother fighters stepped up to take Burz's place guarding her.
"Boss. You gotta calm down," the big orc said, keeping his voice low as he dragged me back further. "We didn't find any key. Tell me what we're looking for so we can search for it. What's it the key to, anyhow?"
"If I may, Sir?" The assassin stepped up to my other side. "The key we seek is to the slave band here. Our reverend Listener will not be able to leave this cave system with the band still attached, and it cannot be removed via conventional means."
Burz looked over my head at the Breton assassin. "You know what it looks like?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "though I fear it will not be easy to find. We are looking for a small key, no bigger than this." She held up her pinkie finger for consideration.
"I bet she threw it in the crevasse," I said then, bitterness colouring my words. "The bitch said she got rid of it, right? If you were in her boots and wanted to keep someone you despised in some stinking cave for the rest of their life, how better than to lose the key to their escape in an unfathomably deep hole?"
My companions stared at me for a long moment as they weighed my words.
"That makes an unfortunate amount of sense..." Methredhel said.
Burz lowered his arm, and I turned back to the Breton woman.
"We may as well put her to the sword," I said, loud enough to carry. "If she doesn't know where the key is, then she's of no use to us. The stain of the Blackwood company needs to be wiped out forever."
"May I do the honours, Master?" Burz asked. I looked up at him. He bristled with anger, a deep-seated fury that seeped from every pore. "I can only imagine what she has done to you and Oryen, so you would be within your rights to say no. But I wish to claim her life in the name of our brothers murdered by her kind in Forsaken Mine." I glanced at our brothers on either side of the forsaken woman. They seemed to tense at the memory of that news spreading like wildfire through our ranks. I stepped away from him.
"The honour is all yours gro-Khash," I said. Our brothers took a prudent step away, as Burz advanced on the Breton, unsheathing his mace. The Breton looked wildly between me and him.
"Surely you're not going to allow this?" she said, alarmed. "I'm bound, on my knees. This is murder! What happened to your precious Fighter's Guild honour?"
"Should I remind you," I asked coldly, "that until my comrades arrived, you had me bound and prone, giving no appearance of remorse for what you did to me or mine? Don't confuse us with the Knights of the Nine. Fighter's Guild honour demands a life for a life. Unless you can give me a compelling reason to spare yours, then I see no reason not to continue."
The Breton's eyes flicked desperately around the room, finding no quarter in anyone's expression.
"The key!" she said. "I threw the key into the crevasse."
"Not compelling enough," I said. Burz stood over the woman, his mace held high.
"I can show you how to get down there! I remember where I threw it!"
"Hold!" I called. Burz looked across to me, and I shook my head.
"She might be of use yet," I said and turned away. The potion was wearing off and the flush of anger had passed, leaving me exhausted. "Castellan," I said, waving at the Battlehorn Castle Captain, "work with gro-Khash to find out what she knows and recover the key."
Castellan Athon clapped his fist to his chest. "Of course, Champion," he said and strode past me.
"'Redhel," I said, wavering on my feet. "Can you help them? I know your eyesight is pretty good, even without augmentation, and I seem to recall you like shiny things..." The thief turned from where she'd faced away from the imminent death, quirking a smile.
"I do like shiny things, yes. Prefer it when they're worth something. But for you, I will help them."
"Thank you," I said, head drooping.
"I'll send you an invoice later," she said, laughing when I rolled my eyes.
"And what about you, reverend Listener?" the assassin asked.
"I am going to sit down over there and possibly pass out for a few minutes," I said, staggering my way over to what seemed like a comfortable spot against the wall.
~*~*~
I woke to what sounded like a rumble of thunder, the floor shivering under me. I gained my feet, far more sluggish than I'd like, and hobbled over to where the Dark Brotherhood mage crouched, close to the chasm's maw.
"What happened?" I asked. She was scanning the depths of the crevasse.
"There was a rockfall close to the end," she said, pointing. Panic spiked through me, but the assassin hadn't finished, "I don't believe any of your people have been trapped or injured. I saw Methredhel dodging stones, but the fighters were at the other end." The assassin looked at me. "The thief moves well, like a dancer," she added. "It is poetry to watch her operate."
I grinned. "Last I heard she was available," I said and gave an easy shrug. "No harm in asking if she makes it back in one piece. Just don't expect to bring her into the family – she's squeamish."
The assassin gave me a serious nod. "Thank you for the advice, Listener."
There was a creaking of unoiled hinges then, and we both looked over to where a trapdoor on the further side swung open. The assassin stood as Bruz climbed out, Methredhel over his shoulder. We looked at each other.
"If you have healing, then go," I said. "They'll need you." The assassin nodded and hurried over.
"I got it!" Methredhel called, holding up her hand. Burz moved over to let the others out of the trapdoor, setting the thief down gently. I limped over, as Burz took the key from 'Redhel and let the assassin take over her care.
"What happened?" I asked.
"The Blackwood woman triggered a rockfall as she was showing your thief where the key might have landed. The Bosmer girl caught a rock and broke her leg, but otherwise, everyone is fine." He motioned for me to hold my arm out, and set to unlocking the damnable device.
"And the Breton?" I asked.
"She didn't make it," Bruz said.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I know how much you wanted to be the one that made her pay." The lock clicked and I felt the coldness in my belly retreat, the serpent of my magicka raising a sleepy head to taste the air.
"She got her comeuppance in the end," the pragmatic orc said with a shrug. "What do you want to do with this?" He held up the golden band.
"Bring it with us. I'll lock it away someplace safe. Who knows, it might come in handy one day."
He raised an eyebrow but made no further comment.
"Gather up the troops would you?" I asked. "I am more than ready to get out of here."
Burz smiled and gently patted my shoulder.
"Sure thing," he said as I turned away. "And Boss?"
"Yeah?" I said, pausing.
"It's good to have you back."
Context: Modryn Oryen (or 'Fighter's Guild dad', as I think of him) needs more love. For more context, see my whine about this fic.
Warnings: Torture, slavery mentions, grief, self-hate, moderate swearing (cannon curses; no f-bombs), disassociation, general fantasy violence, magical bindings
Notes: I took extreme liberties with the way Morrowind slave bracers work. Please don’t yell at me.
(Gods this got huge; I’ll make a masterpost for all parts when they're up)
The light had gone from the outside world by the time they'd finished with Modryn. He'd been right the first time, I thought. Without my pleas and desperate begging, the Breton woman had tired of him quicker than she'd tired of me. It didn't buy me a reprieve though. Elandril and Fa'nir dragged Modryn back into the cell, dumping him in a heap and reattaching his manacles. Then Fa'nir had backed out, and the Breton had entered. I thought about fighting, but that idea was quashed when the Bosmer put a dagger to Modryn't throat. The implication was clear, and I limped out, led by the neck like a dog. Elandril didn't move all the while I was winched up. Only when I was secured again did the Bosmer retreat.
The Breton paced around me, tapping her dagger on her chin. "You know," she said eventually, "I've been thinking. If you're so determined to stay quiet, why don't we make a little game of it? Let's see just how quiet you can stay. For every noise you make, I'll take it out of Oreyn's hide tomorrow. Understand?" She used the blade to lift my chin, icy blue eyes staring into mine, blazing with hate. "Hrm?"
I nodded, such as I could.
She gave me a winning smile. "Ah, you've got the hang of it already. Good, good." She flipped the dagger onto its edge and drew the blade along the underside of my chin. I closed my eyes, fighting down the whimper trying to escape. Then she began in earnest.
~*~*~
They'd left me hanging for the night again, nauseated from Fa'nir's ministrations, disoriented and dehydrated from blood loss. The cave was dark, only the faintest starlight reached us from the holes in the ceiling. Is it any wonder then, that when cold reptilian hands brushed mine, I jerked into full consciousness? The startled cry on my lips was stifled by that same scaled hand.
"Greetings, fellow thief," whispered a droll Argonian voice from behind me. "I trust you realise it would be well to stay silent?"
I nodded into the hand.
"Good," the voice said, and the hand withdrew. Something about that voice was familiar. It wasn't until the manacles dropped from my wrists with the tiniest of clinks, that I understood.
"Amusei?" I whispered.
"One and the same," the Argonian said. I felt his hands on the back of my neck, investigating the collar. "This one will be trickier..." He padded away from me, towards the cell where Modryn lay, sleeping. Yes, sleeping – I wouldn't countenance anything else. Another figure moved in the dark, beside the cell door, and Amusei whispered to it. Other shadows twitched to life in my periphery, and I twisted to see someone stood there, his long curved sword glittering in the faint light. Only a few people I knew carried swords like that – the Dunbarrow crew. I nearly cried out in relief. Plans E and F had arrived together. I didn't think to question what had happened to Plan D.
I hissed out between my teeth. Amusei and the second shadow paused in their whispering, said something more, then the second shadow broke away, coming towards me. It resolved into the form of a young Bosmer woman. She silently raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Methredhel," I greeted her. "Take the Dunmer and get out."
She shook her head. "My instructions are for both of you."
I bit back a scream of frustration. "Amusei says the collar is too difficult. Take the Dunmer, and come back for me. Please, 'Redhel."
She was silent for what felt like too many heartbeats, her face inscrutable in the dark. Then she gave a quick nod, and padded back to the cell, waving over the pirate, Zedrick, I thought. Another shadow, presumably Scurvy John, followed suit. They had a short conflab inside the cell before Methredhel trotted back out. She leaned in close enough that I could smell the leather of her armour and the lavender soap with which she bathed.
"Alright, here's the plan," she whispered into my ear. "The disreputable gentlemen will take your Dunmer to a prearranged point, while you and I wait for the distraction. Then we'll see about the collar. Can you run if needed?"
"Probably not. Got any potions?"
Methredhel nodded against my face. "Your mage friends are very useful," she said. Before I could ask what she meant, the Bosmer was pulling away and I could only wonder at her words. How did she know about my ties with the Mages Guild, and what did she mean by 'the distraction'? Then she was pressing a vial into hands that shook so fiercely she had to uncork the bottle for me and help me drink. A flush of sweet, iron-flavoured magic washed through me, though I gagged at the sensation of bones growing and muscle reknitting. Methredhel swiftly put her hand over my mouth to stop the noises, and to stop the potion from coming back up.
"Better?" she asked as my tremors stopped.
"Aye. For now."
She gave me another quick nod and stepped around to look at the collar's lock. As she did so, I watched figures emerge from the cell. The pirates carried Modryn between them in a queen's lift while Amusei raised a hand, signalling that their part was going well, and they would continue. The four soon disappeared around a corner of the cave. Yet another shadow, clad in leathers as purple as the night, detached from the wall to follow them, and I realised with a start that the Dark Brotherhood were here as well. Plan D was involved with E and F? What the hell was going on...
Things only got more confusing from thereon. After what could have only been a few minutes, but felt like hours in the watchful dark, I heard a commotion coming from the left – the opposite direction that the pirates had taken Modryn. Methredhel was quick to take action as soon as we heard it, loosening the collar and allowing the chink of the long chain to be hidden by the sounds of combat.
"'Redhel, what's going on?" I asked as she took my hand.
"I'll explain later. For now, we run." So saying she took off, pulling on my hand. I was not nearly as fast as either of us would've liked. I hobbled and limped along behind her, seeing sparks each time I put a foot down, willing the adrenalin to hide my pains.
By the time we caught up with Modryn's escort, my vision was wavering, and I felt flushed and freezing at once. Stabbing pains radiated from where the slave band bit in around my arm.
"Amusei, Yinz'r," Methredhel hissed. The two Argonians took one look at me, and in tandem scooped me up. If I'd had the strength, I probably would have protested. Once I was in arms, our group took off, while the sounds of battle still raged elsewhere.
We'd nearly made it to the last chamber when the pain in my arm became unbearable. The two Argonians took one step too far. My entire body spasmed, my arm feeling like someone had plunged it in lava. I clawed at the band, screaming. Someone slammed a hand over my mouth as the Argonians retreated along the corridor, dumping me on the floor.
"What do we do?" I heard Scurvy John ask. I shook off the hand, trying to catch my breath.
"Get the Dunmer out of here," I growled.
"But-"
"Do it!"
There was a pause. Then, "Yes Captain," he said, and I heard them walk away.
Methredhel crouched down beside me. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.
"It's this band," said the assassin crouched on my other side, as she lifted my arm. "I saw one in Pelgaliad last month. It's used to keep slaves from escaping. If they get far enough from the key, then..." She gestured at me.
"It's just another lock, right? I'll just-" Methredhel was interrupted by the assassin catching her hand.
"You cannot pick an enchanted lock," she said. "We have to find the key, or our dear Listener will never be able to leave."
"That gods damned Breton woman probably has it," I said, scrabbling at the walls. "Help me up." The rush of anger filled my veins like fire, giving me strength I would pay dearly for later.
"Listener, are you sure-"
"Yes! 'Redhel, what other potions do you have?"
The Bosmer started a little and flipped a belt pouch open, fishing out a handful of vials. "Ah. I used the Detect Life and the Nighteye... There's another two Healing, a Shield, an Invisibility, a Fortify Fatigue..." She looked back at me, as I leant heavily on the assassin's arm.
"Give me the Fortify Fatigue," I said. She looked worried as she handed over the potion. I gripped it tightly – I'd save it for when it was desperately needed. "Now get out of here, both of you."
The thief and the assassin shared a look.
"Respectfully, Listener, no," said the assassin. "I don't know about our thief here, but my orders are to bring you out alive. In the state you are, you will die, be it from a blade or blood loss."
Methredhel nodded. "Aye, mine are close enough to that. Sorry, Guildmate, but we're coming with you."
I looked between the two of them. The assassin was resolute, just enough jut of the chin, thought her eyes were anxious. Methredhel just looked annoyed with me, as she so often had when I was new to the guild and clumsy with it.
"Fine," I grumbled. "I need a blade." Smiles lit up both women's faces, and a pair of fine steel daggers appeared in their hands. I tucked the potion vial in my bandeau and took both.
"Stay stealthy," I told them. "The bitch is likely to be wherever the fighting's thickest. Who are they fighting, anyway?"
"Some fellows from the Fighter's Guild and a private force from up the road," Methredhel said. I frowned, forcing the thought to the back of my mind. There was too much going on to get distracted by that coincidence.
The three of us padded back down the corridor with Methredhel in the lead. With every step we took towards the fighting, the better I felt, as though the enchantment wore off the closer I got to the key.
Context: Modryn Oryen (or 'Figher's Guild dad', as I think of him) needs more love. Set way after the game has been “completed”, and the HoK runs nearly every corner of Cyrodiil. Inspired by a bunch of Whump prompts that I didn’t save and now can’t find :( For more context, see my whine about this fic.
I sat in the quiet of the University's council chambers, reading through a report prepared by one of the magisters about the potential of an Ayleid ruin close to Cheydinhal. They wanted money for an expedition, of course, and had outlined a reasonably decent budget. Included in the said budget was a Fighter's Guild fee, for mercenary protection. I rubbed at my forehead, wishing I'd taken my pile of paperwork to the Mystic Archives to work on. This Chamber was always so dark and stuffy, not to mention claustrophobic with the huge table taking up the majority of the room.
I turned my attention back to the report. I'd need to pass this on to Burz gro-Khash for him to find members willing to hang around a bunch of researchers. Sometimes it was useful running most of the major guilds in Cyrodiil. Other times it was a pain in the neck.
I'd thought that life would slow down after the Oblivion Crisis ended. If anything I was busier than before. Between the piles of paperwork that had stacked up at the University and the Fighter's Guild headquarters in Chorrol, performing my duties as Listener, and the weekly matches I had scheduled at the Arena, I hardly had time to keep my alchemy shop going, not to mention the monthly trips to the door in Niben Bay... I sighed. At least the Thieves guild and Priory of the Nine ran themselves.
I closed my eyes for a moment, head resting in my palm as I leant against the table, dreaming of those far-back days when I'd been free to roam across the West Weald as I pleased, collecting alchemical samples under the warm cerulean sky. Oh the bliss of a soft perfumed breeze, the wheeling songbirds-
"Arch-Mage?"
I sighed and opened my eyes.
"Raminus," I said smiling at the brown-haired imperial. "What can I help you with, my friend?"
"This just came for you, Arch-mage," he said, handing me a slip of paper. I frowned. It was a grubby slip of paper, unsealed by wax, and only 'Champion of Cyrodiil' written on the front.
"How by?" I asked.
"Someone from the Black Horse Courrier dropped it in," Raminus told me. "Said they were asked to bring one to every city. Someone really wants to get hold of you."
"Indeed," I said. "It must be urgent then... Thank you, Raminus."
He nodded his acceptance, turning to straighten some item or other, while I unfolded the letter.
'Champion', (it read, the handwriting scratchy, the ink dark red)
We have Modryn Oreyn. If you want him back alive, you'll come alone to Broken Promises Cave as soon as you receive this letter. Do not dally! We will kill him if you do not show your face within a week of the above date.
- The Blackwood Company’
I hissed, jerking back on my seat. The Blackwood company still lived? No, no, it couldn't be... And they'd taken Oreyn. Spots danced in my vision. My bittersweet Lieutenant was in danger and I had to save him.
"What? What's wrong?" Raminus asked, looking up at me in surprise.
"I- Oh Gods. I have to go." I stood up too fast, tipping the stool backwards.
"Arch-Mage?"
"I'm sorry Raminus, I- I have other business that needs my urgent attention."
"But Arch-Mage..." Raminus gestured to the piles of paperwork yet to be done. "Some of these have been waiting for your approval for months."
I squeezed my eyes closed, clenching my fists in an attempt to get myself under control.
"I am truly sorry," I told him. "This is a matter of life and death. One of my subordinates in another guild is in danger." I walked over to him, clasping his shoulders. "Please understand. I would do the same if it were you in need of help."
His eyes flickered over my face, then he nodded. "Of course, Arch-Mage." He reached up and squeezed my hand, a worried furrow across his brow. "Please take care."
"Thank you," I said, bowing my head in relief. I backed away and pointed at the piles of papers.
"That one is all approved and signed," I told him, pulling on my pack. "That one has items still to be considered, and that one," I pointed at the largest, "is still to do. I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise."
"With everything still intact," Raminus added.
I nodded. "With everything still intact. I promise."
He nodded. "Gods' speed."
~*~*~
Halfway along the bridge to the Imperial City Isle, my brain caught up with me, and I slowed my headlong flight to certain doom.
I was behaving like a rookie, panicking and playing right into the kidnappers' hands. This wasn't smart, and I should know better. What I needed was a plan. Some contingencies wouldn't go amiss either. Modryn would never forgive me if I got us both killed without at least warning the other chapter heads. I stopped and pulled out the note, checking the date. I had four days. More than enough time to gather what I needed and ride to Anvil, then 'show my face' and, I hoped, save the day once more.
I started walking again, slipping through the Temple district backstreets to avoid the Temple of the One, and into the Waterfront. Once there I headed directly to my cosy shack, finding out parchment and ink to scrawl a quick message to Burz gro-Khash at the Cheydinhal chapter. I kept it cryptic:
Yr attendance req. at Anvil. V urgent! Come at once.
- yr Guild Master
I didn't want to risk mentioning the problem in case the missive was intercepted. Who knew what disaster that might bring... My note written, I took a moment to water my flowers. The action was calming, allowing my mind to drift to different possibilities. I scribbled a few more notes, and left the shack, donning the Cowl of the Grey Fox as I approached Dareloth's house. I left the extra notes, and some coin, with Armand. The Redguard knew better than to question the strange requests of the Fox, and choosing members for covert letter-delivering couldn't be as strange as some things Corvus had tasked him with in the past.
That done, I ran the message for Burz across to the Black Horse Courier office, handing it off to Ra'jiradh with a sizable amount of gold and the request it left with all haste. The Khajiit assured me, for the sum I'd left, that he would get one of his brothers to deliver it personally. I thanked him, my spirits lifting already, and hurred onto my next task: retrieving adequate protection.
I knew the kidnappers would want to take all my items the moment they had me, and I didn't intend for my precious weapons or armour to fall into their hands. No, I had to look as harmless as possible. Which meant I had to travel to Battlehorn Castle, on the outskirts of Chorrol, and get the robes of Turning.
Context: Modryn Oryen (or 'Figher's Guild dad', as I think of him) needs more love. Set way after the game has been “completed”, and the HoK runs nearly every corner of Cyrodiil. Inspired by a bunch of Whump prompts that I didn’t save and now can’t find :( For more context, see my whine about this fic.
Warnings: Torture, slavery mentions, grief, self-hate, moderate swearing (cannon curses; no f-bombs), disassociation, general fantasy violence
Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5
The sun was setting over the Colovian Highlands, as I approached Broken Promises Cave on foot. Burz had sent some of our best scouts to find the place, discovering it not far from Chorrol. They'd reported that there was a camp just outside the cave, so I'd left all my gear at Battlehorn Castle, and told Shadowmere to go back to Fort Farragut. The last honey-gold rays were sinking behind the Highlands as I walked carefully forward, stomping on anything that looked like it might make noise. I was clad in the Spellturn robes and Bladeturn Hood, a set of rich-looking red and gold robes designed to disarm my would-be captors, while still protecting me. Nestled in the small of my back, hidden in the folds of the robe, was the Blade of Woe. I was trying my hardest to look like some rich fop who didn't deserve their reputation. Small and weak. The more they underestimated me, the better for the plan to work.
I walked forward, trying my hardest to make noise, and not sneak. After years of training, a habit like that is hard to break. I thought back to my last meeting, after Burz's scouts had found this place. He hadn't been on board with the plan. Even Maelona had thought I was crazy. It was hard to dismiss their criticisms – this was a bad plan. Burz had wanted to charge in with a group, take Modryn by force and leave the way we'd come. I'd argued my way was better because we had no idea what was waiting on the inside. I didn't want them to hear us coming and kill the grumpy Dunmer before we'd gotten to him. I thought if I could convince them I was alone and unarmed, they'd let Modryn go. Burz was waiting with a team to collect him. Then I'd wreak havoc and leave their heads on spikes on my way out. If I made it, then great. If not, Maelona had my Will, and Modryn was Guildhead. Modryn would be angry at me, sure, but I'd be too dead to hear him.
"Who's there?" I heard a rough Nord voice call out.
I took a few breaths before I replied, quelling the urge to slink back into the shadows and put the Blade in his back.
"I'm the Fighter's Guildmaster," I called, walking up to the camp, my hands raised. "I heard you were looking for me. Seems you found a friend of mine, and I'm here to collect him."
"Yeah, well. We'll see about that, won't we?" The blond approached me, his blade out. Behind him, a Bosmer sniggered.
"Doesn't look like much," the Bosmer commented. "You sure you're the one who defeated Mehrunes Dagon?"
"Yes." Gods, but I still hated it when people brought that up. Even after the catharsis of the Dark Brotherhood's missions. I took a breath. "I've come for Modryn Oreyn. You can see I'm alone and unarmed. I'd very much appreciate it if you could bring him out for me."
"Yeah, that ain't happening just yet," the Nord said. "You'll come in with us first. Otherwise, how do we know your fighter buddies ain't just hanging around the corner there?"
"Alright," I agreed, "That's fair."
"Elandril," the Nord said, "you stay out here. I'll take the Guildmaster to see the Boss." He turned to me, the tattoos on his face looking like dark wells in the lowering light. "And you, get to walking." He gestured with his sword that I was to go first. I gave him a curt nod, walking into the cave.
I saw the pressure switch a mile off, even given the low light and guttering torches creating moving shadows. The Nord made me walk ahead, which was just as well for me. I stepped to one side, deliberately catching the edge of the plate as he fumbled to light a torch. A chain rattled past me as I pushed back into the cold rock wall. The Nord gave a surprised grunt. In the fallen torchlight I saw the Nord on his back, rivulets of fluid flowing down the tunnel as the spiked log swung back past me.
Normally I would feel a twinge of remorse, looking at his broken body. But these people had stolen someone dear to me. They brought this catastrophe down on themselves. I turned away, resuming my walk down the tunnel.
The tunnel opened out into a sunken cavern, where three more goons awaited me. Two of them sat on rough stools around a campfire, while another lay on a bedroll against the wall. I stopped in the doorway. They didn't look like an elite fighting squad – morals or no – just a regular group of bandits. Their equipment was nothing to write home about, and I saw none of the Blackwood Company's custom cuirasses. They also hadn't noticed me, at all. Once again, I fought down the urge to saunter over and introduce the sharp edge of the Blade of Woe to their soft jugulars. It would have been easy, sure, but I wanted to make sure they had a compelling reason to let Oryen out of here in one piece once they had me. Murdering my way inside wasn't going to help that. The Nord had been an accident. I walked to the edge of the dip and kicked a stone over the edge. It rattled down, causing the two at the fire to jump up. Weapons were drawn, the Dunmer woman training an arrow on me as her Redguard mate slowly approached.
"Excuse me? Yes, hi," I said, "I'm looking for Modryn Oryen. I got a note telling me he was down here."
"How did you get in here?" the Dunmer archer asked.
"Your Nord friend was kind enough to bring me in."
"Yeah, and where is he?"
"Seems he forgot about that little mace trap," I told her. She swore at me in the Dunmer tongue but quieted when her companion waved at her to hush.
"You're the Champion of Cyrodill?" the Redguard asked.
"Yep, that's me."
He seemed to do a double-take.
"Right, sure," he said, and glanced over his shoulder, addressing the Dunmer woman. "Tabelle, wake up Fa'nir. Send him to tell the Boss our prize has arrived." He turned back to me. "Alright then, Champion," he sneered at the title, "why don't you come down here nice and slow, and we'll take you to see the boss."
I gave him a tight smile, walking slowly down the incline. The Dunmer woman, Tabelle kicked the sleeping Khajiit, never taking her eyes – or her arrow – off me.
"Hey, pussy-cat. Wake up. Go tell the Boss we got company," she said.
The Khajiit hissed. "Tell him yourself-" he began.
"Fa'nir," the Redguard snapped over his shoulder, "go do it now."
"Pah," Fa'nir spat, "this one is a warrior, not messenger boy. This one is a mighty hunter, above you petty prey." He continued to grumble, his tail lashing side-to-side even as he climbed out of the dip and vanished into another tunnel.
"I should just put an arrow in this n'wah," Tabelle said, venom in her eyes. "Save us all some time."
"No," the Redguard said. "this n'wah has crimes to answer for." He walked around behind me, placing his blade tip between my shoulder blades. "Get moving, cur," he said, jabbing me. I nodded and began to follow after the Khajiit.
We walked through yet another tunnel, coming into another cave. I took the view in with a sweeping glance. A crevasse stretched through the middle of the cave. On the near side, standing at the head of a bridge over the crevasse, was a Breton woman, decked out in a Blackwood Company cuirass. On the far side was a mining crane, the jib swung out over the crevasse. From it hung a slate-grey form. Fear welled in the back of my throat, bitter and bilious. The Redguard prodded me forward and I complied, as the orange Khajiit stepped up next to the boom, his claws teasing at the rope holding Modryn aloft.
"Hi," I said, as the Redguard pulled me to a stop a half-dozen feet away from the Breton.
"So," said the woman, "you're the hero of Kvatch?" Her lips turned up in a sneer as she looked me up and down.
"Yep, that would be me," I said. I glanced over to Oryen. He hadn't stirred at all. "You mind if I check my man's still alive?" I asked. "Wouldn't want to give myself up for a corpse, you know?"
"By all means," the Blackwood woman said, giving me an allowing gesture.
"Hey," I yelled. "Bearclaw. You still with me, you rotten fetcher?"
"Master?" Was his surprised response. I saw his head lift, too far to make out any other detail. I waved to him, and I can only assume he glared. "You stupid, ancestor-less s'wit!" he yelled out, his voice strained and breaking. "By the Nine, I will thrash you for having come here! You imbecilic gutter trash-" Fa'nir shook the jib and Modryn cut himself off.
I turned back to the Blackwood woman. "Yeah, okay," I said. "He's fine." I held my hands up. "You can see I've come here alone and unarmed. I've told no one of my whereabouts. So how about we keep this civil? Me for him, like the note said. You've got me, you don't need him anymore. Let my man walk out of here under his own steam and I will happily stay here in his place."
The slow, poisonous grin should have clued me in, but I was somehow still surprised by her words. "Was that the deal?" she asked. "I don't recall saying anything about letting either of you go. Although, if you're so sure you don't need him..." She waved a hand, and the Khajiit plucked at the rope holding Modryn aloft with his claws.
Panic spiked through me. "Wait!" I yelled, lurching forward. The Redguard grabbed the back of my robes, yanking me back. Tabelle aimed an arrow at me.
"Just say the word, muthsera," she hissed. "And I will drop this n'wah in a heartbeat."
The Breton held a hand up. "No, this murderous cretin is to remain alive for the time being."
"Let him go," I growled. "You have me. I demand you allow him to leave-!"
"You demand?" The Breton laughed at me. "You are in no position to demand anything."
I could feel the situation slipping quickly away from me. I reached back, as the Breton continued her tirade, my fingers closing around the hilt of the black dagger.
"No," she said, her eyes alive with hatred, "I think I will keep both of you. Bleed you in front of each other, so you can share my pain-"
I took my moment then, yanking out the Blade of Woe and twisting to plunge it deep into the redguard's neck. He backed away with a cry, and I crouched, following up with a fireball to his face as an arrow went whistling overhead. The Dunmer archer would keep taking potshots, but I trusted the robe's enchantments to protect against them. Instead, I spun and ran at the Breton woman. She ducked to the side, slashing at my back as I passed. I felt the sting as the robe and my skin parted under the blade, heard her cry out as some of the damage was returned to her, kept running over the rickety bridge towards the far side.
The Khajiit was waiting for me, a sword in his hand, as I reached the other end of the bridge. I sent a frost bolt his way, forcing him to duck aside and let me pass by. I turned, dancing backwards as he thrust his sword at me, then dove in to press a wounding spell to his chest. He howled as cuts opened up around my palm-print, and I grinned, feeling the life transference close up the wound on my back.
Two arrows hit me as I danced backwards again. I yanked them out and the Khajiit's life-force closed the wounds.
"Fetcher!" I heard the Dunmer archer curse at me. "Why won't you die!"
I turned, sprinting over to the mining crane. Modryn was cursing at me in the Dunmer tongue, as I heaved at the lever, the gears grinding and sticking. He was almost around, I could almost pull him over, when his eyes went wide.
"Behind you," he yelled, a fraction too late. I felt something hit me in the shoulder. I faintly remember screaming, as whatever it was cut through sinew and bone, to bury itself deep in the wooden boom, pinning me there. The pain made my vision white out, just for a moment, then the adrenaline surged and I heard Mordryn yelling my name. I turned my head to find an elven bade curving from my shoulder. I reached back, fingers grasping uselessly as I failed to find purchase on the blasted thing.
Modryn was calling my name again. I looked up at him, distantly noting how battered he was.
"Heal me," he said. I whimpered, and reached out, channelling a healing spell through the faint touch. It wasn't as much as I'd like, but he was prettier at least. Footsteps and a mocking laugh sounded behind me. I craned my head the other way to see the Breton woman approaching us slowly. I grappled again desperately with her sword. Blood-slicked fingers slipped from the blade again and again, as I started to panic.
"Now, now, my pet," she crooned. She was close enough that I could feel her heat on my back. She reached around and stroked my cheek. "I think that's quite enough playtime, don't you." I took a breath, lowered my hand, moving it backwards.
"Good, good," she murmured. "Isn't that better, pet?"
"No," I growled, and released my Wizard's Fury into her. The roar and snap of the spell took up my whole world for an instant, black spots dancing in my vision, as her scream sounded behind me. The scream turned from pained to anger in an instant. I knew it wouldn't do much – maybe if I got out of this, I'd practice my destruction spells a bit more – but it was enough to piss her off. I shared an apologetic grin with Modryn. The Dunmer rolled his eyes as footsteps rang behind me. Something hard hit the back of my head, and the lights went out.
