Paying a Debt Chapter 1

"I'm sorry, Nepos is not receiving visitors at the moment."

I frowned and drummed my fingers impatiently on a nearby stone pillar. This wench was proving difficult to bypass. "Listen, I nearly got my face bashed in by a mercenary, who said that the master of this house paid him to do it, so if you don't mind, I'd like a few answers."

"The lies rogues and vagabonds tell of my master are of no concern to us," the woman replied snobbily. "Now leave, Nepos is old and needs his rest."

"Uaile?" a wizened and tired voice called from within the house. "Let him in."

"But-"

"Don't worry my dear."

I shot a triumphant smile at the woman, before slipping past her into the house. The architecture in Markath never ceased to amaze me, tall grey stone lined with battered bronze, evoking thoughts of ancients long past and long dead.

Years as a sell sword will change a man, makes them tick different. I scanned the room quickly, two other servants tending the dinner tables and an old man by the hearth, counting the woman I had passed that made four. I could take four, maybe. But what unsettled me was that they were all Breton, and one of the servants especially, he had tattoos around his eyes like war paint. I'd seen the like before, I just couldn't place where.

The old man sat by the hearth in a simple old wooden chair, reading through a letter written on old, yellowed paper. His face was a mass of wrinkles, his eyes sad and tired. He had no hair save a bone white goatee. He folded the letter up as I neared him, but didn't turn to look. "I suppose you want answers?"

"Yes, old man."

"Nepos, Nepos the Nose."

He set the letter down and wrapped his arms up as if he were cold, despite being by the fireplace. I almost felt sorry for him, then remembered the mercenary he sent to beat me into submission. "Why did you send that thug to stop me?"

He remained silent. I asked again, "How about that murder in the market? Do you know anything about that?"

Nepos sighed. "I've been playing this game for almost twenty long, long years. Sending the young to their deaths. All in the name of the Forsworn. And I'm tired. So tired."

This wizened man did not seem like a bloodthirsty Reachman to me. "Why?"

"For Madanach, of course, the King in Rags."

"Rumour was that he had died," I said.

"Yes, but he lives!" Nepos finally turned to look at me, his eyes burning with passion now. "I don't know how, but the King in Rags lives, even if it is Cidna Mine, not just that but he sends me orders, to send the young to their deaths."

He sank back into the chair and bundled himself up in his fine clothes, his voice heavy with guilt again.

I asked, "And that means that you're Forsworn as well?"

He hummed in response.

"And the two servants tending the table as well?"

"And the maidservant you passed on the way in," he added.

I sank down and sat on a cold hard counter, aware of the hateful glares from the two servants who had paused from their work. What an idiot I was, a Nord going into a household of Bretons, one of which had sent a mercenary to beat me up.

I realised that my hand had slipped down to rest on the hilt of my blade, a nice Elvish blade I won in a bet. "Why did you tell me all of this?"

Nepos' tone didn't change. "What makes you think you're leaving alive?"

Time's up. I drew my sword and made for the door as I heard Nepos rising slowly to his feet. The nearest servant, the one with tattoos around his eyes, drew a dagger and raised it threateningly. I had a good chance against two servants, a maid and an old man. But four Forsworn was far out of my reach and jurisdiction.

He stabbed as fast as the arrow's flight, the blade shooting forward in an underhand arc heading to curve under my ribs. I hastily brought my dull gold weapon down and deflected the blow, before he struck again so fast that I couldn't even react, the dagger slicing through my hard leather armour and into flesh. I kicked him away, his body knocking aside the table he had been pretending to set.

I grabbed a bowl of fruit and threw it at the other servant, before turning for the door. The maid was up the steps, a blade in hand, ready to slip it through my bones and into some vital organ. I blocked a stab to my chest before tripping her up with my foot, sending her tumbling down the short flight of steps.

Nearly there. I only needed to get outside then the guards could help.

An arc of pain shot out across my back. I spun around and saw the servant with tattoos around his eyes holding a dagger dripping with blood, triumphant. I realised where I had seen those tattoos before, coupled with that wicked and insane grin, just put a stag helmet on his head and he'd be identical to the savages in the hills.

I swept my blade across and the thin metal arced through the man's stomach. He fell back in pain, crying out as he clutched his stomach, revealing his fellow servant and Nepos close behind.

I readied my weapon and was prepared to kill both of them if I had to, before I felt another jolt of pain from my leg. I looked down and saw the maid had buried her dagger up to the hilt in my upper thigh, using the handle as a grip to pull herself up. I cried out in pain, before my other boot found a place in her face. She let go of the dagger and I hastily pulled it out, staggering for the door, grabbing another bowl of fruit on a stone pedestal and throwing it blindly backwards.

I fell through the doors, literally, sprawling out onto the stone pathway and nearly falling over the edge. My sword clattered to the floor. I shouted, "Guards! Forsworn!"

No one. Not one living thing at all seemed to be in the streets, the markets were empty, the guards were not on their patrols. Even Yngvar the Singer wasn't in his usual spot leaning against the small bridge. Why in Oblivion would the streets be empty at noon?

I grasped weakly for my blade, before a boot kicked it over the edge, the golden blade gleaming in the noon light as it spiraled into the lower levels of the city. The servant knelt over me and held his dagger to my throat as Nepos stood over both of us.

"My boy, I am sorry to say that we cannot leave anyone who is not Reachman or Forsworn and knows of our operation alive. You were not the first, and certainly will not be the last."

Nepos stared down at him over his large nose, sheathing his dagger. "Make it quick, Tynan."

Tynan smiled at me, baring strangely sharp canines. "I'm going to enjoy gutting you, Nord. After what you did to Morven and Uaile, it's only fitting."

I muttered, "Come on, mate, we got off on the wrong foot. We can work this out."

He let the blade fall lightly against my chest, tracing a circle where my heart was. "We'll start here."

I struggled weakly, feeling my blood seeping out slowly as I lay on the stone. Tynan grinned for a moment longer, before raising his dagger, muttering, "For the Old Gods."

He hiccuped. Or at least I thought he did. There was the sound of something thudding, then he made a strange 'hic' noise before dropping his dagger and falling forwards onto me. I groaned as his body slammed into mine, then noticed the arrow in his back, a thin wooden shaft with red fletching. A shadowy figure stood right behind Tynan, a dark bow in hand.

Nepos yelled out something but I couldn't make it out, before charging forward with his dagger raised. The figure easily sidestepped, grabbing the front of the old man's fine robes and pulling him forward and letting him fall off the path. His scream was shrill and loud, but it didn't last long.

I pushed Tynan's body off and saw the shadowy figure sheathe its bow. The figure bent down and asked, "Can this one stand and walk?"

I coughed, the effort racking my body. "What does it look like?"

There was a shout in the distance. Great, now the guards show up. The figure seemed distressed, shaking its head, before it bent down and helped me up. "Lean on this one."

I nodded weakly, grateful for this strange twist of fate. The figure was actually a head shorter than me, but solid and limber. It quickly led me down the path and away from the shouting of the guards. The air seemed to be growing harder to breathe.

"Do not fall into the dark sleep, this one is not yet there."

I struggled to stay awake. The servant must have poisoned his blade, or maybe the maid. The figure tried to lead me down one of the flight of stairs, but I slipped on the rock and rolled down, knocking my head against stone and earth.

As I lay at the bottom of the stairs, my head lolled to the side and I saw the figure racing down the steps towards me, and another person at the top of the stairs, this one wearing the signature helmet of the hold guards, clothed in the green and chainmail wrapped cuirass of the guard of Markath . He held a shield and sword and seemed very, very angry. I didn't really see that much after that, besides the dark.

I don't dream much nowadays, I just have memories. Times in the past when I was with my brothers in arms, times I had failed. Sometimes I felt that maybe I had died and my eternal punishment would be to watch my failures again and again, knowing they would come but unable to prevent them.

This time, I dreamt of before I first became a sellsword, I was only seventeen, just after I ran away from home and joined the Stormcloaks. We were a sight to see, a band of soldiers wearing sapphire blue armour and helmets pulled low over our eyes. We would sweep into the legions of the unfaithful Imperials, slicing down soldiers left and right.

That night we were stationed at Fort Greymoor. It was a quiet night, as usual. We'd been on the job for three weeks now and the threat of Imperials seemed like a far off dream.

I should've been on the battlements, looking out for the gleam of Imperial armour and swords. But I was down in the courtyard, drinking and laughing with my shield brothers and sisters. But I was leaning against the door to the Fort interior, I would have a clear view of the battlements and the open gate. I could've done something.

Uthbeorn threw a bottle of mead at me, the black-briar sort. I drank it like a child with milk, the mead quickly soaking my brain and coaxing it into inebriation. The night was cool, the drinks were good. This was the last day we would spend at this dull Fort. Tomorrow we were back on the front lines.

The hardest part about the dreams were the faces, their gods dammed faces. Haleth smiled at me, throwing a sweetroll into the air and catching it on his tongue. Rea spun her daggers like juggling pins, her face immortalised into a grin of joy and exhilaration as her mead addled body expertly caught the blades again and again. Orn had worn his helmet on the wrong way, only half of his mouth open in joy visible. The rest of them were frozen in other poses and expressions of happiness and revelry, forever trapped in my mind.

I saw something through the gate. It was the darkest hour of night, just moments before the dawn, and everything beyond the fort fell into shadow. But down the path through the gate was something glinting in the lantern light. The suspicion would always tugged at my gut, the same as the first time I had seen it. Then another shadow on the battlements, almost like a ladder. I dismissed it.

I was the only one with a view of it, I was the only one who could've warned them, given my brothers and sisters warning enough to muster a defence and beat back the attackers. The first arrow caught Orn in the side of his lopsided helmet, sticking out the hide and metal armour. The exhilaration of the night disappeared in an instant and we fell into silence. Orn's smile still remained as he fell off his chair and lay unmoving on the ground. The next arrow struck the table, shattering a bottle of Black-Briar in Shod's hand.

We tried to raise our shields to defend ourselves, but the Imperials had taken up positions all along the walls, firing from all directions. I was shot in my sword arm and in the chest, falling backwards and given a nice view of my shield siblings being cut down. After the first few volleys, the legionnaires had an easy time mopping up, charging through the gate, their centurion leading the charge clad in shining steel and red cloth, his face hidden behind a plumed helmet with two dark eyeholes.

Rea was stabbed from behind, the sword forcing its way through her armour and ribs, Shod got slashed across the face, Haleth faced off two soldiers for a while, before an arrow struck him between the eyes. Ginnarr had the sense to make a run for it, but the Centurion grabbed him by the neck and easily impaled him.

Uthbeorn, our brave captain, wielded his war hammer and managed to slay three soldiers before an arrow got him in the leg, then a second in the shin. Even after that he killed another legionnarre and held the rest at bay, until the Centurion got to him. Uthbeorn's head rolled.

They thought I was dead and threw me with the rest. I lay under the surface of the pile of bodies. Bodies of men and women I knew and loved. Most of those around me had been killed so quickly the smiles hadn't left them. When they set the pyre and turned their backs on me I found the strength to pull myself out, staggering into the wilds. The legionnaires didn't look back, and didn't see me.

Waking up was something other people might hate, but it was something I loved. I sat up on the bed, hard stone, customary of Markath, and rubbed my eyes as the images of the smiles of my dead brothers and sisters left me. I looked around, stone everywhere, so I'm still in Markath.

There was a table near the bed, and on a stone chair next to it sat a hooded figure clad in brown armour, like leather but not made in the traditional fashion, lined with strange pouches and pockets. The bow I had seen him wield the day before lay on the stone table next to an assortment of strange vials and flasks. The figure was embroiled in some task or another. He did not even notice me as I got up.

I recognised this place, one of the rooms at the Silver-Blood Inn.

The figure got up abruptly and picked up his bow, slipping it over his shoulder. The figure said, "This one suggests you rest and recover."

That voice. I'd heard that drawl before, from the sleazy trading caravans outside cities. "You're not human are you?"

I got my reply soon enough. The figure didn't turn but a long white tail sprouting from the base of the figure's spine revealed itself.

"You're a Cat?" I asked in surprise. "What are you, with the caravans?"

"No," the figure replied in indignation.

That voice was still a bit off from what I had heard before. "You're not… male either, are you?"

"Does this one look like one?" The voice carried a hint of amusement now. The Khajiit turned and even though her hood hid much of her face it was apparent by her figure that she was a she.

I reached down to my side for my sword as always, but it wasn't there. I cursed and remembered how that servant had kicked it over the edge. She noticed this movement and said dismissively as she turned back towards the table, "Do not bother. Khajiit could have killed you long ago."

I made for the door quickly. "Thanks for saving me and all, but I have to meet an associate."

"Might this associate's name be Eltrys?" she asked in her strange Khajiit voice.

I paused in my steps. The cat continued, "A body was dragged from the Shrine of Talos yesterday. Was that where he would meet this one?"

I wasn't prepared to answer this strange cat, heading out the open doorway. I paused when I heard the shouts.

"I've never seen the man!"

I leaned against the corner and listened. Kleppr, the inn keeper, was embroiled in an argument with someone, definitely not his wife. It sounded Nord, probably a guard. Kleppr repeated, "I have never seen that man enter my inn."

"Are you sure about this?"

I peeked out around the corner and saw two guards at the bar counter, arguing with Kleppr. His family was acting busy, doing chores around the inn. The patrons were silent and kept to their tankards.

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm sure. Now if you don't mind, I have an inn to keep."

The guards did not give up. "A Nord, maybe twenty to thirty years old, fair haired and armoured in leather. Are you sure no one remotely like that entered this building?"

"For the fifth time, yes!"

This was bad. After what had happened with Eltrys, I wasn't sure it would be wise to reveal my location to them, and I was never that silent an individual when it came to sneaking.

"Trouble?"

I nearly jumped out of my skiin. I turned to the Khajiit standing behind me, arms crossed, with a full quiver and bow on her back. Her hood had been pulled back and revealed her face, covered in soft white fur with pale greyish accents. "Let Khajiit guess, guards searching for you?"

I didn't bother answering, just returning to my position at the corner to try and find a way out. I sensed the Khajiit looking over my shoulder. "So Khajiit was right."

"Just help me out before Kleppr talks."

"He won't. He is paid well."

"Just help me out of here, will you?"

"Might, for ample compensation."

I looked back at her, whispering, "For what, you saving my life?"

She hissed back, ears flattening backwards and baring her teeth. She poked a finger on my chest, pushing me back slightly. "For ruining Khajiit's Job, Nepos was my mark and this one had to go and muck it up, yes?"

I shook my head, disregarding these words. "Just get me out of here, you'll get your compensation when I'm safe."

"We will see."

The guards were getting angry. They threw the bounty at Kleppr, saying, "We'll have to search these rooms."

One guard entered the room on their left while the other stood watch outside. From the guard's vantage point he had a good view of the whole inn. I asked back, "So you have any ideas how to get me out?"

"If this one was Khajiit, he might be able to leave unnoticed, but he is not, he is so big and fat and heavy-"

"Ideas, Cat."

She hissed again and was silent for a moment, before pressing a vial into my hand, "Drink this and meet Khajiit outside the gates. She will be paid extra for this."

"Fine, fine."

I held up the vial to the light. It was made of clear glass and had some strange, thick purple liquid inside that flowed around viscously. I grimaced in disgust. "Are you sure this is going to help?"

No answer. I looked back. She was already gone.

The guards had finished the search of the first room and were moving to mine. They were close enough that I could hear them talking among themselves. "So why're we looking for this guy anyway?"

"Thonar says that he might be a threat to our arrangement with Madanach, so he wants this man's head."

"That's all?"

"Don't try and go against the Silver-Bloods. That Breton up at the Shrine did, and look what that got him? Pine box, six feet in the dirt."

I scowled and uncorked the bottle, the foul, acrid tendrils of stink finding their way into my nose. I'd never dealt in alchemy, the work was too mundane for me. I tipped the potion over a bit and the sludge didn't even flow out. Another scowl. I was beginning to wonder about my chances in a fistfight against the armed guards.

"Ugh! What is that smell!" The guards were obviously reeling back from the far spread might of this horrid potion.

My heart thudded in my ears as I heard them draw their swords. Seeing no other choice, I held the potion over my open mouth and after a moment, the sludge dislodged itself from the vial and fell as a whole into my mouth.

First impressions? Disgusting. It tasted like rat poison and wolf kills several weeks old, mixed in a solution of raw sewage and yak shit. My throat burnt and I wanted to hack the sludge out, but I forced it down. Doubling over in pain, I groaned just as the two guards appeared in the doorway.

I lay curled up in a foetal position at the foot of the first guard. He could easily apprehend me, or stab me if he liked, but he didn't even pay me any attention, looking straight ahead. I felt another groan coming up and immediately placed my hand over my mouth and realised that I couldn't see my digits. I could feel my skin as my hand cupped over my mouth, but there was nothing there. I raised my other hand and saw that it was also unseen. This changed things.

I rose to my feet and would have been nose to nose with the first guard, but he didn't even realise I was there. He muttered, "I was sure I heard something, like someone groaning."

From my experience, potions didn't last long. I pressed myself against the wall and squeezed through. I heard the second guard say as I tiptoed towards the inn door, "But that smell, Kleppr, did something die in this room?"

The innkeeper scowled, "Something's about to die there."

Leaning against the door, I pushed it open a crack, before someone opened it from the other side. A dark skinned man in fine clothes and a full beard, Endon the silversmith. He carried his child on his shoulders and paused when he saw the guards, quickly leaving the way he came. I seized the moment and slipped out just as the metal doors slammed shut.

The Sun was soft and mellow, and I realised with a start that I cast a shadow, faint and wavering, but it was still there. A guard leaning against the side of the city gate saw the wavering and indistinct shadow and rose, cocking his head.

I cursed and ran for the gates. Another guard saw and followed, sprinting after me. He shouted, "Hold there!" A wheel barrow full of raw cuts of meat rolled across my path, pushed by a Nord merchant. I cursed at Hogni out loud as I tripped over the wheel barrow, sending the meats, and myself, flying.

For the second time in two days, I found myself on the ground with a figure standing over me. Except this time it was a guard. He drew his sword and pointed at my crotch.

"Speak! What use would one need for an invisibility spell?"

I looked down and saw his blade pointed at my precious parts, calling, "My face is here, genius!"

He cursed and pointed his sword at my face, still invisible, "So? Speak?"

Another guard joined him, followed by the two from the inn. One of them held up an empty vial, my empty vial. "We found an empty potion in the inn."

The other guard took the vial and immediately thrust it back, "By the Nine, what sort of foul poison was kept in that?"

The last guard calmly took it and sniffed. "I know this smell. Vampire Dust. A rare ingredient in alchemy, used only in a few potions."

The first guard said, "Let me guess, invisibility potions?"

No answer was needed.

I let my head fall back and hit the ground. Soon, my body became visible again in all its glory, buried under several dozen goat legs, chicken breasts and a horker loaf. The guards jumped back in surprise, before two of them roughly grabbed me by either arm and lifted me up. "What in the name of the Nine do you think you were doing?"

I groaned as they pressed my arms behind my back and started pushing me forwards. "You idiots, I'm not at fault, it's the Forsworn!"

One of the guards made his way to the front and faced me. "You think Thonar doesn't know that? We had a nice deal going on between us and Madanach until you came along. Now we'll have to pin all the recent murders on you, silence witnesses, bribe merchants, work, work, work."

I snarled, "You're corrupt bastards, the lot of you."

One of them shouted from behind, "A life sentence in Cidhna would do you some good. Someone shut him up!"

The guard in front of me raised his shield even as I shouted, "You sons of maggots, your fathers were lepers and your mothers were rabid rats, you-"

The shield slammed into my face and I fell into the sleep again.

I didn't get a dream of my Stormcloak days, thank the Nine, but what came might have been worse. It was a few months after I had staggered away from the pyre of Greymoor. I had been taken in by bandits, five of us in all.

Ingar grunted and threw a war hammer at me. I smiled and asked, "And what in Oblivion am I supposed to do with this piece of garbage?"

"It's a hammer, it'll do."

I threw the hammer back and he caught it easily. I realised that it was unusually polished for such a rough wrought weapon. Ingar smiled slyly. "Suit yourself."

The five of us huddled together around a campfire outside a ruin, what would be our latest raid.

Dhargosh, the old orc, spun his blade around as he muttered, "Retire someday… maybe get myself an island…"

I realised that it was not his usual orichalcum blade, this weapon gleamed in the firelight and seemed as reflective as still water. He scoffed at me and said, "If I were you, I'd take the hammer."

I shook my head. "I fight better with a light weapon, my sword."

He pointed his gleaming blade at my steel one, "That won't do you much help in there."

I frowned. This was strange. Ansil was polishing her dagger. She would normally be carrying a fancy glass dagger, worked like a charm against anyone with their back turned, but today she had a blade that shined and gleamed.

"What the hell's going on here?" I asked. "What's up with the weapons?"

"They're silver, my dear new blood."

The leader of their group revealed himself, stepping into the light. A former legionnaire with a long brown beard and a heavy brow. He wore less armour than all of them, nothing but a hide cuirass, and had a new weapon himself, a long sword of silver. He smiled, "I got them special for this raid."

Guillerm drew his long sword and pointed it into the ruins, "These weapons are the best edge we have against the protectors of the treasure we seek."

Everyone knew the stories of silver, and the powers it held, mainly as a ward against daedra and demons, or as bane against the undead. I paled at the thought. "We're facing… draugr?"

Ingar guffawed. "I wish we were."

Guillerm spoke, "Our treasure is guarded by vampires."

I fell back onto my seat. Other bandits was what I had bargained for, draugr and living dead were my limit, vampires' were in a league of their own. They were creatures of near mythical might, feeding on their enemies' blood and strength, or maybe enthralling them to serve as portable blood bars and sevants till they fell dead from exhaustion.

Ansil laid her hand on my shoulder. "Come on, we're a team. Together, we can take these living dead and get the treasure."

"Our treasure," Dhargosh growled.

Brave words, but I had no doubt at the first sign of danger they'd all bolt, except maybe Ansil.

Ingar had sheathed the war hammer and held out a hand to me, "Come on, we've got a treasure to raid."

I took it.

I woke up in Cidhna Mine, sore and bruised. I was lying face down in the dirt. I spat out a mouthful of dust and tried to rise to my feet. A strong armoured hand grabbed my upperarm and pulled me up. "Get up, worm."

I came face to face with an orc. She wore armour wrought of steel, with a similar axe swinging from her side. She scowled at me, and I realised that all my gear had been removed from me and I was clothed in nothing but a rough tunic and rags. The light from the entrance to Cidhna Mine shone through a gate behind the orc. She shoved me back, deeper into the mine. "Move it."

We came to another gate and she spun me around. "Here in Cidhna, there's no resting to wait out your sentence. Dig you share of ore. Am I understood."

I looked at her, slightly dazed, "I shouldn't be here."

"Keep telling yourself that. Open her up!"

The gate swung open and I was shoved through, stumbling onto a raised wooden platform and nearly falling off the other side. I looked around at my new home, a large cave with three passages, one on the left, the right, and another straight ahead. This one had a gate over it and a huge orc stood guard next to it. The walls were covered in sparse veins of gleaming silver, and I got a horrible vision of the last raid into the vampire den, the shadows and blood, the dead taking the living into their own. The sound of picks on stone and silver seemed deafening. I walked down the platform, and saw a camp fire of sorts, surrounded by discarded and broken picks. Next to it sat a Breton with greying hair. He called to me, "What are you in for, Nord?"

I eyed him suspiciously, but he seemed trustworthy enough. It was obvious he'd spent an eternity down here, his hands were covered in blisters and callouses, his feet were bare and crisscrossed with healing cuts. His eyes had that kind of tired light to them. I sat down next to him. "I asked too many questions."

"That all?"

"One or two people may have been found dead in my wake."

"A violent one eh? Don't let the others find out, they'll take it as a challenge."

I opened my mouth to protest, "I only wounded two of them, the other two were killed by another."

The man nodded grimly, "Wouldn't surprise me if you got thrown in for that. Your kinsmen would do anything to pin the blame on someone else."

I picked up the handle of a broken pick axe before flinging it into the fire. "What's your name?"

"Uraccen. I first got labelled as a criminal after a Nord nobleman I knew was stabbed to death. Your kinsmen immediately labelled me as the murderer because, you know, I'm a Breton."

"They thought you were Forsworn?"

He nodded sadly. "I escaped into the hills and that's when I joined the Forsworn. I was forced to kill a few guards to escape the accusations, but somehow I still got thrown in here. I had to leave my daughter, Uaile."

I flinched. That name, Nepos had called the maid that. I kept my mouth shut on the matter.

"Do you have any family?" Uraccen asked.

I hesitated, before answering, "Yes, but I haven't seen or heard from them since I ran away in my young years."

He picked up an intact pickaxe and threw it to me, which I caught easily. He said, "I suggest you dig your ore and wait until you get out of here."

"I've got a life sentence."

"Then dig anyway. It's the only thing to pass the time."

Looking around, I realised that there were no guards at all. I asked Uraccen about it. He answered, "The guards don't interfere much, they come in once a week to collect whatever ore we've dug up and to take away the dead. Those who are still alive get thrown some food, and that's the only time we're fed the whole week. If you're hungry, get a bottle of skooma. Our only currency down here."

I looked at the passage with the grate over it. "Is that where Madanach is?"

"Yes, but if you want to get to Madanach you'll have to get through Borkul the Beast."

Borkul, a fierce name for a strong Orc. Uraccen continued, "He's the huge Orc in front of the gate, in case you were blind. Very big, for an Orc. He once tore a man's arm off and beat him to death with it. He's old fashioned like that."

I threw aside the pickaxe and made my way for the gate, before a muscled arm stretched out and blocked my path. "Before anything else, what was it like? Your first kill?"

I looked up at the huge monster towering a full head over me. I knew his tone, the relaxed, calm tone with just the right amount of strength and threat behind it. I knew his kind, I'd ran alongside warriors like him. I answered in a way I knew would appeal to him, "Exciting, the adrenaline, the rush of blood. I killed again after that, then again."

Borkul smiled down at me. "Well met. The Gods put us in this world to fill their halls with souls, and I can tell we've done them good service."

"I want to see Madanach."

He crossed his arms, "Want to see him, pay the toll. One shiv."

I raised an eyebrow. "Shiv?"

"Ask the worm by the fire. I don't care how you get one, kill someone, steal it from someone, just remember the toll: one shiv, unless you think you can take me?"

I shook my head quickly. This orc could rip my head off if he wanted to, it was safer to just go along with his toll.

I returned to the fire and asked Uraccen. He answered, "A knife, easily concealed. Good for slipping between a rib and into a lung. I think Grisvar has one."

He pointed down one of the passages and I immediately walked down. The tunnel walls were lined with silver veins. This cave seemed stocked to the brim with silver. Further down the tunnel, I saw two men, also Bretons, in a smaller cave. One sat sullenly on the ground, while the other slammed the pick into an ore vein in the wall. I walked over to the nearer one, the one sitting on the ground, and asked, "Where's Grisvar?"

"That's me," he replied miserably. I realised that he was actually a Nord. His head was almost devoid of hair and his eyes seemed red and puffy. He looked me in the eye, "What do you want?"

"A shiv."

"A shiv? Tell you what, get me a bottle of skooma, then I'll give you one."

I wasn't in the mood to be running errands, and scooped up a nearby pick and held the sharpened tip under the man's chin. "Give me a shiv or I'll take it off your dead body."

He shut his eyes in fear and started quivering, babbling out, "H-Here, I'll give you my shiv. Y-Your shiv, I mean."

He held out a dark blade, which I took from him with a silent thanks, flinging aside the pickaxe.

"J-J-Just promise never to use it on me."

I didn't answer him.

I examined the blade, it was more like a makeshift stiletto, a conical weapon made of a stone chipped and sharpened into shape with a few dirty rags wrapped around the base to form a handle. I scowled in distaste, if this was the best I could get in this place then I was in deep trouble.

When I reached him, I handed the shiv to Borkul, who held the blade up to the light, examining it with scrutinizing eyes. He unlocked the gate, letting it swing open on rusty hinges. I passed the Orc, entertaining himself by throwing the knife into the air and easily catching it, and headed down the tunnel.

It was surprisingly well lit, illuminated by torches placed in rusty scones at regular intervals. I passed a gate which led into a dark tunnel, which I tried to open cautiously, and found that it was locked.

Madanach's room was like a palace compared to the rest of the mine. It was shaped in a roughly rectangular shape, well lit by candles and lanterns. He had a real bed, furs and wool, not hard stone. He had a table with a few bottles of wine upon it and a sweet nut treat on a plate. There were two barrels next to the table, no doubt packed full of other assorted foodstuffs while the rest of the prisoners starved. Madanach himself sat at the table, scribbling with a fine red feathered quill across a parchment. He asked, "Yes? I thought I told Borkul I don't want any visitors until they have an offering of Skooma."

"I'm sorry, he didn't tell me that."

Madanach turned his chair around to face me. "A Nord, eh? Well Son of Skyrim, what do you want with the King in Rags? To kill me for your kinsmen who threw you in here?"

"Hardly," I snorted, throwing on false bravado and sitting down on the edge of his soft bed. "Maybe before, but after what they did to me?"

He smiled at me. "That's how it starts. The Nords, your kinsmen, they throw you in here and you'll begin to fester, you'll become an animal soon enough like the rest of us, trust me. So, my fellow animal, what do you need?"

I crossed my arms and stared the man straight in the eyes, "Answers. Answers for what I got thrown in here for."

"So where to start?"

I thought about it. "Nepos, he said that you were giving him orders. How? Why?"

"'How' must remain a secret. But 'Why'? Because we are the Forsworn. We were the first in the Reach, its rightful owners. This was our land. This is our land. We were here first. Then the Nords came and put chains on us. Forbade us from worshipping our gods. Some of us refused to bow. We knew the old ways would lead us back to having a kingdom of our own. It is because of your kinsmen that we have to pillage our own lands, burn fields that should be our own. I may be imprisoned, but the Silver-Bloods will never put a rein on the Forsworn."

I listened intently. From his point of view, it seemed very much like they were the real owners of the Reach. But then again, he knew if he heard it from Thonar's side it would probably sound just as convincing. In war no one thinks that they're the villain. But right now only one thing was on my mind, "Do you know a way to get out?"

"I am the King in Rags. Of course I know a way. But I am not sure that you have full faith in us yet. There's a prisoner here, a man named Braig. Find him. Hear his story."

I was about to protest when he cut me off. "Go. I won't trust you with my plan until you have heard the injustice your kinsmen have wrought."

I left the room and returned to the large cave, before heading off to find Braig. An easy task. When I asked for his story, he asked me, "When was the first time you felt chains around your wrists, Nord?"

"Young. Barely out of my teens." And it was true. Captured by Imperials while on a skirmish.

"Then you know the feel. The judgemental looks they give you. I was seen speaking with Madanach once, and sentenced here for it."

Braig choked on his words as the first tears began to run down. "My daughter, she would have been be a beautiful young woman now, twenty three years old. My dear Aethra begged the jarl to take her instead of me. They did, pushing her onto the block and let me see her head roll off."

His tears ran down his dirt covered cheeks and to his chin, dripping down onto the dirt. "Then, they threw me in here anyway! There's a reason I joined the Forsworn, and they reminded me that day."

I looked at the sobbing man. "I'm sorry, if it's any help. I've lost brothers and sisters before."

"Save your pity for someone who wants it, Nord," he spat out, "My only regret is not killing more of your kind before I was thrown in here."

And back to square one: kill all Nords. I walked back out the tunnel, shaken by the story. This was the greatest example of Nord injustice I had ever heard, but there was a fair share of tales of Reachmen destruction, flaying men and women alive, slaughtering children, sealing shut houses and setting them alight. Both sides had done unspeakable things, and neither felt that they were wrong. Both thought they were right.

I neared Borkul, who raised a hand, "The gate's shut."

I scowled, "Madanach's expecting me."

He shook his head, "I'm sorry. He came to me to tell me himself not two minutes past, keep the gate shut until his say so."

Challenging this giant was a fool's errand, so I fell back and laid by the fire. I saw a pickaxe by the fire, and picked it up and made my way for the nearest vein, to waste away the time if nothing else.

I raised the axe and swung it down, barely making an indent in the hard rock. As I started to swing more repetitively, building into a rhythm, I realised, this could be a long sentence.

Three hours later I fell to the ground, groaning as I nursed my bloody fingers. The wood of my pickaxe was stained dark with sweat and blood. And all I had to show for it were a handful of ore chunks. I just closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to take over, along with the visions it brought.

I ran through the dark catacombs with Ingar close behind, holding my torch out in front of me. Ingar was a wreck barely able to keep up and babbling something about daedra.

When it had happened, we never saw it coming. We lit torches and descended into the barrow, encouraging each other with tales of riches that lay at the end. We kept going deeper into the catacombs, alcoves and niches filled with skeletons and bodies with sunken flesh. Soon the darkness pressed in, hungry to consume our light, and they attacked. Dhargosh was bringing up the rear, so no one saw anything when he disappeared. Guillerm called back at one point, "Hey Orc! How's the rear look?"

He never answered. We looked back. Only darkness followed us. We backtracked, looking for our friend, until we saw something on the ground. A sword, silver.

I picked up the blade, before crying out and dropping it. The silver was colder than a glacier. It seemed that the Orc had just dropped it. Guillerm snarled, "The frigid bastard, he ran on us."

Ingard opened his mouth to say something, before Guillerm pointed his torch at him, "He ran. Understand?"

Ingard nodded numbly. Our leader drew his silver longsword, "We keep pushing into the barrow. We're still more than a match for any undead monster who dares to face us."

We walked closer together now. Soon, we came to a gateway, and Guillerm strode fearlessly across. There was a snapping noise and I looked down, and saw a snapped tripwire. I yelped and leaped back as a gate came slamming down and nearly cut my foot off, isolating Guillerm and Ansil from me and Ingard. There was barking, and howling, not of dogs, not of wolves, something different. Guillerm gripped his silver longsword and shouted into the dark, "Come on! Come to your deaths!"

Ansil looked me in the eye. "Run."

And so Ingard and I ran. We ran blindly through the catacombs. We'd long since lost our way, now speeding blindly through the ruins. The air was stale and hard to breathe, every breathe felt shallow and not enough to live on.

There was a bark behind us. Ingard screamed, "What was that!"

"A mangy mutt, dying in the dark. Now run!"

We ran even further, and for so long I feared that we were running in circles and would soon run into our pursuers. They attacked soon enough, there was a maniacal laughing, a shout, "Go, boy! Kill!"

Something slammed into my companion and Ingard fell to the ground, screaming for help. I didn't look back and kept running. I felt breathe on my heels, cold and fell.

Another maniacal laugh from behind. Even silver couldn't save my hide. I needed something else, something more.

She nearly stuck me like a pig for slaughter when I ran into her. I slammed into Ansil and found a silver dagger inches from my chest. She looked into my eyes and sobbed. She told me that Guillerm had commanded her to go and find a way out as he was swarmed with the vampires and their hounds. So only the two of us left.

There was a bark from behind, I grabbed her wrist and started running again. We ran till we couldn't go on, then ran still, our legs fuelled by fear and adrenaline. She collapsed, not from a hound on her back, but her legs had shut down. I picked her up and continued to stumble further on.

The voices were cold and taunting. "Hold boy. Let's see if this pup has any fight left in him."

"Look. He thinks he can save his friend."

I didn't think I could even save myself. But I wouldn't leave Ansil. She was the only true friend I had made since the Stormcloaks. I went a bit further, and saw something. A lever on the wall, visible only by my torch light. I didn't know what it would do, but I pulled it anyway.

"Hah! He's found a lever. He think's it'll help them."

"Perhaps it could, perhaps it won't, I'd say the dungeon's feeling quite... temperamental today, wouldn't you?

The stone wall in front of me shivered, before falling apart. The biting cold seemed to falter for a moment, the deathly silence lifting for awhile, as if the ones I couldn't see didn't expect this. My eyes widened, and from somewhere deep down something told me that it was the way out. That I had to run. So I ran.

The hounds started baying again.

I emerged onto a somewhat familiar hallway, but all the catacombs seemed alike to me. But something clinked underfoot. I looked down and saw a blade, made of silver. I looked forward and kept running.

The door seemed to open before I hit it, allowing me and Ansil to tumble out into the snow. The night had fallen away, replaced by the searing rays of morning.

The first hounds ran out, before whimpering as their flesh began to steam and scampering back into the barrow. I saw three pairs of red eyes in the dark, before the doors slammed shut.

"Oi! The new meat, someone's here to meet you!"

My eyes shot open. Uraccen, sitting nearby, murmured, "You're lucky aren't you? You've got someone willing to pay the guards enough to let them see you."

"How much does it cost?" I asked groggily.

"Seven hundred Septims at least, if the guards are in a good mood."

I staggered upright and walked up onto the wooden platform. There was someone standing behind the gate, a very familiar someone.

The Khajiit turned and hissed at the she-Orc. "Leave us, Khajiit wishes to speak with her friend alone."

She shrugged, "Fine. Just call me when you're done. Try anything and you're joining him."

The Khajiit pulled back her hood and looked at me with eyes that were, for once, not glaring at me. "How does this one fare?"

"You really need to ask?"

She gave a short chuckle, before saying again quietly, "Khajiit is… sorry."

I raised an eyebrow. Last I met, she'd been bugging me for the money I didn't have. "What for?"

"The potion."

I remembered my failure. "I cast a shadow. That isn't normal with invisibility potions, is it?"

"No."

I narrowed my eyes, "So you're the reason I'm in here!"

"Khajiit said she is sorry! She must have mixed the ingredients wrongly. Maybe it was too much vampire dust, or-"

"Don't talk to me about vampires," I snarled. Scowling again, I asked, "Why'd you come back then, Cat?"She answered, "This one desperately needs the money you promised her, for saving your life."

I started, "Hey, I never-"

"Yes, you did."

"Then why don't you just pay my bail and let me repay that too?" I didn't like the idea of paying her more but for the prospect of fresh air and sunlight I'd promise anything.

"This is Cidhna Mine. Khajiit could not bail this one out even if she wanted to."

She was the best chance I had to get out anyway. "Fine then, just find a way out for me. And do it quickly, there's Forsworn here and I'm not sure they take kindly to a Nord in their presence."

She swung her hood over her head. "Do not worry. Khajiit has a plan in mind."

The next few hours were a blur. Or was it days? Time didn't exist down in Cidhna mine, your Sun and Moon was the torch light.

I mined more for something to do if nothing else. Madanach kept the gate shut, until it was opened. I didn't know how he knew, but Borkul said, "Madanach has asked for you. Don't keep the King in Rags waiting."

Madanach was still scribbling away in his letter. He said to me, "I presume you met Braig and heard his story."

"It was… enlightening."

"Indeed. That's just a taste of your kind's injustice." He said 'your kind' as if it was the worst word he knew. "I just need one more favour from you. Before we leave this hell hole."

I knew that the Cat was on her way to hatch a rescue plan for me, but I wasn't keen to pay her the money she wanted. I readily asked, "What do you want?"

He scribbled away furiously. "Grisvar the Unlucky, he's been in and out of Cidhna Mine dozens of times and is now in for life, or so he says. Such frequent visits to this place, and such frequent trips out, would be very ideal for a spy regularly informing the Jarl and his men."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Kill him. Then we'll have a deal."

Simple enough. I'd killed my fair share, legionnaires, bandits, even guards. Piece of cake. Grisvar was innocent, or maybe he wasn't. I myself believed he wasn't, it made stabbing him slightly easier. Slightly.

The guilt from killing the innocent won't leave you easily. Even in my time running with Guillerm's pack I'd never killed the innocent, women and children, letting them go and telling my leader that there wasn't anything I'd found.

I returned to Madanach with the news, and he rose. "We must tell your new brothers of our escape plan."

I asked, "My new brothers?"

"Yes, and our escape plan."

Madanach gave a speech of sorts, it was a wonder that the guards stationed outside the mine didn't hear, and told them of the tunnel near his room that led to a dwarven ruin that would exit onto Markath's streets. They ended with a hearty, "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" Before running down the tunnel. Borkul threw the shiv I had paid the toll with at me, then ran into the ruin without a word.

The ruin was just like the rest of Markath, made of strong stone and with strange bronze artefacts and pottery dotting the ruins. I followed close behind Madanach, slightly unnerved by the glares of the still untrusting Forsworn on my back, before my foot landed in something sticky. I looked down in disgust and realised the floor was covered in strong, pale webs. I looked around and saw that the walls and ceilings were blanketed in webs. I retched and asked, "What the hell is this?"

Odvan, another one of the escapees, bent down to examine the web. "Frostbite spiders. Big. Very big."

Madanach said, "It won't matter. Spiders will not stand between us and freedom, between us and the Reach!"

He raised his hands and they turned clawlike, in his grip appeared orbs of fire and ice, spells taken form. I edged back slightly, spells always gave me pause. Most Nords were taught from birth that magic was unnatural, wrong.

The first spider came from above, a flying blur dropping from the ceiling onto Uraccen. Borkul swung his pick axe and the tip buried itself in the spider's grey carapace, sending the beast flying into the wall. The second one leaped over a ledge, and a spear of ice materialised from Madanach's hand and buried itself in the spider's head. More followed.

I screamed as one leaped at me, knocking me over. I grabbed its snapping mandibles and pushed it back, holding the heavy beast at bay as it tried to bite my face off, to inject a lethal dose of its venom. It bared its mandibles, revealing a gaping maw and sub mandibles beneath, chittering and snapping inches from my flesh. I screamed and stabbed my shiv into the nearest beady black eye. A pickaxe, belonging to Duach, pierced through the spider's exoskeleton.

Madanach helped me to my feet. "Well, my new brother, that was just a taste of the challenges we'll have to face before we get out of here."

I groaned as I massaged the shoulder the spider had struck with one of its legs. "What could be worse than that?"

An echoing chattering emanated to them from deeper within the ruin. Madanach sighed, "That."

What was that? I soon found my answer. Frostbite spiders are bad, now blow one up to half the size of a mammoth. The giant spider barely fit through the passageway, chattering and chittering angrily. It lunged forward, sinking giant mandibles into Duach's shoulder. He yelled in pain and fell to the ground, immobile. The Forsworn fell upon it.

I would like very much to say I fought like a demon, felling the beast nearly singlehandedly. In truth it was mostly the Forsworn. They were real demons, hacking and slicing. Borkul stuck his pickaxe through a joint in the spider's leg. Braig and Uraccen were stabbing at it from behind, trying to sink their shivs into its abdomen, while Odvan clinged for life atop it, hanging on only by a pickaxe embedded into the spider's exoskeleton. Madanach himself was at the front, seemingly wreathed in a magical wrought blizzard that swirled around him, firing bolts of fire and spears of ice at the spider.

Once it fell, they went on into the ruins. They had their fair share of spiders, popping up at seemingly every corner. They got to a two tiered courtyard and I realised that the webs were gone. I asked Madanach about this and he said, "They don't dare come here. Something else has laid its claim."

"What?"

"That."

Two sphered popped out of compartments into the wall, bronze spheres separated into segments and inscribed all over. The segments separated and the sphere rose to a height of Borkul himself. I paled and realised what I was looking at. These things were legends, like their masters. The very race that had built Markath. I whispered fearful, "Dwarf spheres."

They rolled forward like wheels, the forthmost one raising its left arm and revealing a bronze crossbow attached to it. The bow fired and Odvan was struck in the shoulder by the bolt. Madanach fired two ice spears and they stuck in the gears, splintering into a thousand pieces.

I hastily backed up as the sphere brought down its right arm, with a bronze blade attached to it. The blade clanged against the ground loudly, and I stabbed with my shiv. The weapon shattered on the sphere's metal armour.

A pickaxe sprouted through its face, crunching metal and splitting bronze. Borkul wrenched back his weapon and swung it again, splitting the other sphere into two. Madanach patted the Orc on the shoulder. "Good job, Borkul. Be ready, by brethren, we're near to the end. Braig, help Odvan up."

They descended to the lower tier and continued down the tunnel. Madanach laughed with triumph as a set of double doors came into view. He raced up the steps, and I saw a woman already there. She was obviously Breton and Forsworn, and armoured in leather. She had a cart full of armour, armour I realised was made of fur and bone. Forsworn armour.

As the Forsworn donned their garb, I was handed my old torn leather gear. It was familiar to me, and comfoting. I donned it over my prison tunic and saw a golden blade. I pointed at it, "Isn't that-"

The woman nodded. "It is. Found it in the warden's chest. Feel free."

I grabbed the cool elven handled and swung it around a few times. This was infinitesimally better than the shiv, swifter and with more power behind each blow.

I looked up and saw that the men before me were unrecognisable. Their faces were hidden behind stag helmets, their bodies covered in fur and bone talismans. Madanach, who had not donned a helmet yet, came forth and spoke to me. "My brother, you've done us well. You deserve to wear this armour."

I saw that in his hands was a set of armour like his. I imagined myself, half naked, running through the hills with a bone axe in hand, slaughtering left and right. I pushed back the gift. "I don't think I'm ready for that."

Madanach was obviously disappointed, but hid it quickly. "Fine then. But when you are, join us at Druadach Redoubt, after we're done here."

His tone had a deadly undertone. I asked suspiciously, "'Done here'?"

He twirled his hands and a wisp of fire curled around his arm. Borkul, the tallest figure, answered, "We must teach Thonar Silver-Blood and the Jarl's men a lesson, for interfering with the matters of the Forsworn."

They were going to kill the guards. And Thonar. And anyone in their way. Thonar was no problem of mine, but I knew that all the guards weren't guilty. It must be noon right now, the smelter workers would be out. The smithy. The merchants. They'd all be slaughtered.

I gripped my elven blade tightly. I could either join these men in the slaughter and join them in a life of raiding and pillaging, or I could…

Madanach asked me, "Something wrong?"

I spoke, throat dry all of a sudden, "Wait a moment before going out, I need to think over something. It'll be quick."

Uraccen opened his mouth to say something but Madanach said, "Fine. We are all brothers here."

I stabbed my blade into a chink in the stone. Would I be a murderer of the innocent? You had already killed Grisvar, one part told me. He was a spy, said the other. Was he? I had the chance to be the stop these men, to save those outside, to save their faces from being branded into his dreams…

But these were good men in their own right. They killed as a means to an end. They fought to win back a land that was theirs', from those who had stolen it from them. They did such horrendous things because they wanted to reach a goal, as honourable as any.

But I couldn't if I wanted to. There were too many of them, five of them. I couldn't even take four of them back at Nepos' house, and I'd only survived because of the Cat. The Cat.

I noticed something. A wavering shadow by the door, of a hooded figure with a weapon. Maybe a bow. I looked at where the shadow's owner should be, and felt something staring back. But I knew which path I had chosen. I shook my head at her.

Odvan asked impatiently, "You done yet?"

I rose to my feet, retrieving my sword, "Done. Let's kill some Nords."

Madanach smiled at me, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, saying, "Well, well chosen, brother, but there is a problem."

I raised an eyebrow. His voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "I'm afraid that you can't choose a side, the Old Gods have chosen it for you. No Nord would ever trust us fully, and as such we'll never trust any Nord fully, and your hesitation just now only strengthens this case. I am truly, very sorry about this."

How could I have thought they'd invite me into their fold. He smiled at me, "If it's any comfort I appreciate your help in reaching our present position."

I raised my sword to stab him but a stone and bone axe swept down and yanked the golden blade from my hands. I yelled in pain and clutched my wounded hand. I glared at Borkul and spat out, "Filthy Orc."

"You are honourable. I will gift you with a good death."

The wavering shadow wasn't there anymore. Had she left? Madanach knelt down next to me. "I'm sorry, my friend, but you must understand. No one we can't fully trust can join us."

I saw a talisman on his chest, a sharpened claw that lay against his wrinkled flesh. I smiled at him. "I understand. Totally do."

Reaching forward, my hand closed around the talisman and yanked it from around his neck. He tried to retreat, but I reached up and grabbed his neck, holding him in place. "Good bye, King in Rags."

I stabbed the claw into one eye, then the other, then into the side of his head. His convulsing body sank to the ground and I let my head fall back against the stones, waiting for the end.

But it didn't come. I heard a sound like ripping canvas then a scream, Braig by the sound of it. Odvan screamed as his dead companion slouched onto him.

I smiled. The Cat had come through after all.

Another rip and I saw an arrow sprout from Borkul's thigh. He roared and sank to one knee. I found the strength to get to my feet, grabbing my sword with my uninjured hand.

Odvan, Uraccen and Kaie, the woman who had brought the gear, were facing into the darkness from where the arrows had came from, their backs to me. Braig had an arrow protruding from his chest.

I raised my elven sword and brought it down, slicing it across Uraccen's back. He screamed, before an arrow found its mark in his throat. The red fletchings were obvious.

Odvan turned and swung his barbed sword, striking so fast I couldn't defend myself. The thorns sliced across my leather armour, and I stabbed forth but he easily sidestepped the fast strike. I kicked Odvan back before hearing a cry and turning, raising my weapon just in time to block an axe blow from Kaie. Another rip, then an arrow thunked into her shoulder. She staggered back and I stabbed her through the chest, the elven made blade easily shearing through the bone and fur armour. Spinning around, I saw Odvan already dead, with a hooded Khajiit in sleek brown armour standing over him.

I smiled, actually glad to see her. "Thanks for coming, Cat. Didn't think you'd really show."

She bent down to retrieve her arrows. "Neither did Khajiit, but she needs the money you promised her."

I swore to myself I'd get her the gold some way or another. She pulled an arrow out of Kaie and frowned at the broken tip. I looked down at my other arm, my sword arm that Borkul injured. It was bleeding badly. I pressed the hand between my thighs to staunch the blood flow. Where was the Orc anyway? I didn't remember killing him.

I turned to ask Cat if she'd shot an Orc, when I saw a huge figure rising over her. She was hunched over Uraccen, pulling out her arrows, oblivious to the Orc about to strike her down.

I placed my boot on her shoulder and pushed her away quickly just as the axe clanged against the ground. I swung my blade from above and closed my eyes, feeling the blade sink through the bone and fur armour and into flesh and rib.

I slid the sword out, triumphant. The Cat got to her feet shakily. She looked at Borkul, then at me. "This one… he… he…"

"He saved one of your nine lives," I finished, wiping off the blood on my thigh. It wasn't such a big deal, after what she'd done, but she was in shock.

"Why?"

"Call it the first deposit in a long term investment. You save my life, so I save yours."

She looked at me in shock, before that light returned to her eyes, "Do not think this will fulfil the deal. Khajiit still wants her gold."

"I didn't think it would."

I was pardoned of all crimes by Thonar himself, given back everything confiscated and even given a nice ring from the Silver-Blood. I figured it would fetch a nice price at the market.

The Cat had rented out the same room at the Silver-Blood Inn as before, only with a hint of the acrid stink remaining. My arm was bandaged and burnt with an unnatural pain, probably poison. She threw a small red vial at me. "Healing potion, this one will drink it then rest for the day."

I did it dutifully. The potion was surprisingly sweet and pleasant, like honey. My arm felt slightly better, and I laid back on the stone bed. She laid her bow on the table and uncorked another vial, slowly pouring it down my throat. "Do not think that Khajiit will forget about the gold. She will not."

"Unfortunately."

She scowled at me and I chuckled at her. The scowl grew more pronounced.

"Remember the gold. When this one is not dying, he will give Khajiit her gold."

I hummed. Didn't know how, but I'd figure things out. Always did.