Tale of the Tongues: Chapter 2- The Black Sacrament

Chapter 2: The Black Sacrament

few hours before the dragon arrived in Helgen, a lone rider made his way to Windhelm, oblivious of the devastation that was going to occur on the other side of the highest mountain in Tamriel: the Throat of the World.

The rider was taking the route from the city of Whiterun east along the White river, which would lead him to Windhelm in turn. Although the Eastmarch Road was a highly travelled road, it has been quiet for the most of the rider’s journey, except for the one or two attempts to rob him.

But this was no ordinary traveller. He was an Argonian. And he knew how to fight.

An Argonian is a human-like lizard race, indigenous to the kingdom of Black Marsh in the south of Tamriel. Originally bred as the official assassins for the Empire, the Argonians were naturally born killers.

Thís Argonian wore a hooded cloak to hide his jade-green scales and two small horns, at the sides of his head. His amber-yellow eyes seemed to be staring into space, yet he observed every movement around him.

Many people underestimated him. They believed that because of his slender build, and the fact that he was a lizard, that he would be easy to handle. That was until they met the tip of his sword.

Yo-Kelesh was going to Windhelm because of a rumour. An intriguing rumour he had heard at the tavern in Whiterun. The tavern keeper told him that a young boy was presumably performing a very taboo and forbidden ritual, yet nobody dared discover if these rumours were true.

Nobody until Yo-Kelesh, that is.

Having grown up in the slums of all the great cities in Tamriel: Daggerfall, Cyrodiil, Solitude- Yo-Kelesh was used to hearing and seeing strange and bizarre things. It has become somewhat of an obsession to him. That and death.

Therefore, some boy doing a taboo ritual in was simply irresistible.

He had been travelling for several already, and although he wasn’t tired, his steed was. He therefore dismounted and led his horse, a black dun, to the river to refill his water flasks.

At the river, Yo-Kelesh caught a few River Betties; one of the most poisons organisms in the whole of Tamriel, as well as several Abecean longfins and Cyrodilic Spadetails. He caught the fish with his hands, as water is the natural habit for any Argonian.

As he dried his clothes, checked all the harnesses of his saddle and prepared to mount his horse, a twig snapped behind him in the shrubbery. Within the blink of an eye, Yo-Kelesh had swung around, sword drawn and in his right hand, a dagger in the other.

Before him stood three brutes, one of them an Orc, a Nord, and the third a Redguard, which is the dark-skinned Human race that lives on the borders of the Alik’ir Desert. They were armed with clubs and a battleaxe (wielded by the Orc), and wore hide and leather armour.

‘Well, well boys,’ the Redguard said, a large grin on his face, ‘what do we have here?’

‘It seems we’ve foun’ a little tadpole,’ the Orc said, to the amusement of the other two.

‘And look, he’s got hisself a sharp little toy,’ the Nord said, to more laughter, ‘hands it over ‘efore ye get hurt, Tadpole.’

‘I’ll be more concerned about you getting hurt,’ Yo-Kelesh warned the three brutes who were trying to flank him.

‘Tough words for one about to die,’ the Redguard said, tossing his club from one hand to the other.

‘Oh, I don’t plan on dying today,’ and before the bandits could respond, he struck. His sword went in a horizontal arc to his left, cutting down the Nord, who died with a grin still visible on his smug face. The Orc, who stood on Yo-Kelesh’s right flank, managed to react a bit faster and launched a weak and inaccurate blow at the Argonian’s exposed hip, who twisted and brought his sword around to effectively parry the Orc’s blow, thrusting his dagger into his side at the same time, sending forth a gust of blood.

The Orc dropped his battleaxe and reached forward with his large hands, hoping to strangle Yo-Kelesh, who danced out of the Orc’s reach and landed a fatal blow to the Orc’s neck.

Suddenly, there was a searing pain in Yo-Kelesh’s side facing the Redguard. He turned to face his final opponent, when he saw what caused the pain. The Redguard was using magic to send electricity pulsing through his body.

A mage, Yo-Kelesh thought, I should have known.

The Redguard had a look of victory etched on his face. ‘The tadpole has skill,’ he said, still sending a stream of magic at Yo-Kelesh, ‘but you have yet to learn a very important lesson: Never cross a Redguard!’

‘And you have yet to learn an even more important lesson,’ Yo-Kelesh said through gritted teeth, ‘never mess with a cornered Argonian.’

Yo-Kelesh swung his left arm at the Redguard, releasing his dagger at the same time, and sent it straight at the Redguard’s chest. The Redguard attempted to dodge the dagger, but instead of hitting his sternum, the dagger struck his shoulder, sending him staggering back and stopping the stream of electricity.

Yo-Kelesh started to move forward, but got blasted back by the Redguard.

Rising slowly and holding his bloody and limp arm, the Redguard threatened Yo-Kelesh. ‘This is not over!’ he shouted, before being surrounded by a purple glow and disappearing.

The Argonian sat there beside the road for a while, waiting for his horse to return from wherever it had ran off to during the fight, keeping himself busy by bandaging the burn wound where the spell had hit him.

Beside him were the two corpses of his assailants. He had already searched their belongings, and taken everything of value. Jewelled necklaces, rings, and brooches; anything he could sell when he reached Windhelm. He had also recovered a note on the body of the Nord, but had decided to investigate its contents after he finished with the ritual rumour.

Half an hour later, Yo-Kelesh had resumed his journey to Windhelm. His surroundings were becoming more barren and cold as he continued down the road, the lavender and tundra cotton being replaced by shrubs of Dragon’s Tongue* and the blood-red vines of Creep clusters. The grassy and open landscape was also starting to become rockier, with cliffs starting to form beside the river and road. Yo-Kelesh stayed alert, knowing that this area was well known for bandits and giants, as well as the occasional wolf pack or troll.

Then, as if it the gods themselves had carved it out of the surrounding mountains, the city of Windhelm appeared on the far side of the Jorynn Bay*. With its ancient stonewalls and the even older Palace of the Kings*, Windhelm looked every bit like the tales Yo-Kelesh had heard throughout Skyrim.

As the Argonian came nearer, he noticed the legendary Bridge of the Fallen leading across the bay towards the city’s main gates. The Bridge was built out of dark grey granite, and had walls and ramparts of its own, each inch containing murals of great battles in the history of Windhelm.

Yo-Kelesh was about to continue over the bridge mounted, when a High Elf in commoner’s clothing called him over to a stable beside the bridge.

‘I’m sorry to inform you,’ he said in a sophisticated voice, ‘but no horses, cattle or oxen are allowed over the Bridge of the Fallen. You shall have to keep your horse at my stables while you are visiting Windhelm.’

Somewhat reluctantly, Yo-Kelesh dismounted and allowed the stable master to lead his horse into an open stall. As he was about to pay for two nights food and water, the High Elf informed him about the city.

‘I see you’re an Argonian,’ he said, taking care to count every penny, ‘Well then, I shall have to tell you this city’s not too kind to any races other than true Nords.’

‘And why do you say that?’ Yo-Kelesh asked.

‘Well, you see where I have to live. The Dark Elves were all shoved into that slum called the Grey Quarter, and the resident Argonians have to live in an alms house on the docks, outside the city walls!’

‘I’ll take care to look after myself then,’ Yo-Kelesh said, about to take his leave, ‘Can you tell me where I can find a warm bed and some food?’

‘Oh, you can find that at Candlehearth Hall. It’s the tavern just inside the main gates.’

Yo-Kelesh bid the stable master fare well and crossed the bridge. As he entered the city, he was surprised by how silent it seemed to be, but this silence was explained by the immense military presence in the city.

Without sparing the rest of the buildings or the soldiers much more than a glance, he walked over and into the tavern situated in the centre of the square.

Unlike all the other taverns Yo-Kelesh had been in all his life, Candlehearth Hall was built the wrong way around, with the rooms, kitchen and bar situated under the main room.

Moving out of the noise and bustle of the main tavern, Yo-Kelesh sat down at the bar beside a finely dressed man, who was having a conversation with the barwoman.

‘So, how’s business in the city, Captain?’ the woman asked, wiping clean the counter.

‘Oh, the Dark Elves are uneasy; the Butcher is still murdering the girls; Viola Giordino won’t stop bothering me; and this story with the Arentino boy is becoming a real problem,’ the captain said, a naval accent barely noticeable in his voice.

‘A drink then?’

‘Oh, yes please. Make it a strong one, Elda.’

As the barwoman handed over a pint of ale to the Captain, and hurried of with Yo-Kelesh’s order (a leg of lamb and a mug of Honningbrew mead), Yo-Kelesh turned to talk to the Captain.

‘What were you saying about an Arentino boy?’ he asked.

‘What? Oh, that. That was nothing. Really.’

‘Maybe this will loosen your tongue,’ Yo-Kelesh said, placing a purse filled with septims*.

‘What does it matter to you?’ the Captain asked, eyeing the purse expectantly.

‘I ask the questions, not you.’

With a heavy sigh, the Captain spoke. ‘Well, there isn’t much to tell. All I know is, the boy’s mother, one Josa Arentino, died a few months ago, leaving poor Aventus on his own. The Jarl sent the boy to the orphanage in Riften, and that was the end of it. That is, until two weeks ago.’

‘What happened then?’

‘I don’t really know how, but the boy managed to escape the orphanage and return home. Then, people just started hearing chanting coming from his family home. Day in and day out. I dread to wonder how the boy could know how to perform that ritual.’

‘What ritual?’ Yo-Kelesh asked, becoming more and more excited.

‘I don’t want to mention its name in a place like this.’

‘Come on, I have many more septims to spare. All you have to do is tell me what ritual the boy is allegedly performing.’

‘The boy’s trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood, damn it. He’s performing the Black Sacrament.’