Dragon-Blooded Vestige

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

Nia, meanwhile, smiled at him. It was more cocky than genuine, of course. And given that this was her first impression of him, she didn’t know about the physical power he really had.

“Well, Chayansh,” she echoed, looking him up and down. “It is settled. You will fight in her place, and if you win, you may take her and leave us.” Oh, she really had no idea. “Kedaea, release my guard; Nakanabi, take her to holding.”

"Very well then," he replied, tearing his gaze away from the empty space where she'd been to look back at Nia. "Show me your best. I've been waiting for a proper challenge."

Residents of the camp were staring as Leo was taken to confinement, then they all focused on Nia when she exited with her guards.

“My friends,” she announced to those around— some of them raised an eyebrow or exchanged glances; clearly this was a façade of dignity— “we have a change of plan going forward.”

Mixed reactions ensued as she continued.

“Our own Kedaea Sehabani offered up a challenge to save her own life. But in seeing her… dismal physical condition, one of our kinsmen has stepped up in her place. “Chayansh of the Ahemmusa Tribe against our own Marasi The Hammer.”

And judging by the name, he used a heavy two-handed weapon. This opened up a world of possibilities, especially since he would likely be too slow to fight someone of Cas’ speed effectively.

He drew his daggers from their sheathes on his hips, then tossed them both aside. He then unbuckled the outer layers of his armor, shedding the heavy furs and the plated leathers with ease, leaving himself in his leather trousers and exposing his heavily tattooed torso to the Vvardenfell sunlight.

Anyone who might know their history could recognize the markings of the Ebonheart Pact, intricate dragon-esque tattoos that were only awarded to the Pact's finest soldiers. But surely that was impossible. The Pact only existed hundreds of years ago, no?

He glanced over towards Leo, noticing her silence. Though he felt rage broil in his veins at how helpless they were making her with the drugs, a selfish part of him was glad that she wouldn't be fully coherent when he snapped.

Some of the more knowledgeable residents frowned at the sight of his tattoos. That was impossible, right?

They would soon find out. Though a few backed away and made for their huts to gather their belongings and prepare to flee.

Through the packs of them strode a chitin-armored, glass warhammer-wielding Dunmer with weathered pale skin and enough muscle to use it, but not quickly. A chunk of his nose had been taken off in a battle long before this one, and he looked taken aback at not only fighting this large fucking Mer, but watching him disarm.

Cas walked forward, closer to the tribe's champion. In a show of honor for the challenge, he held out a hand for Marasi to shake. However, were Marasi to accept the gesture, his grip would tighten painfully and he'd yank Marasi closer to mutter in his ear:

"Tell you what. I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want you to lose the rest of your nose. Not that it's doing you any favors."

And as soon as he was released, Marasi scoffed. He thought it was all tough talk. Poor stupid bastard.

The moment it was quiet, Nia knocked her sword against the support post Leo was tied to— the signal to begin, and a reminder of the risk.

Nia took a moment to realize she might’ve made a mistake.

This only enraged the insecure hammer-wielding Ashlander all over again. A few more of these and he would be swinging without thought.

In any startled stillness that might follow, Cas grabbed the warhammer and yanked it from Marasi's grip, then grabbed the other Mer by his throat. His grin widened as he lifted Marasi off his feet with ease like he was a child instead of a grown Dunmer in full Chitin.

Leaving Marasi to sit and choke from his own weight for a couple of moments, Cas then pivoted and threw the Dunmer onto the ground, sending him flying across the dirt.

He cracked his knuckles, then picked up the warhammer for himself and approached Marasi. Despite seeming to have wielded dual blades before, he held the new weapon with a confidence that was hard to deny. He kicked Marasi to the ground once more, toppling the other mer onto his back, and pressed his foot down on Marasi's chest to pin him in place.

"I'll enjoy watching your soul shrivel and break in my master's claws."

With that, he brought up the warhammer and dropped it down in an arc—and Marasi's head was splattered across the ground before he could even try to plead for his life. Blood had splashed onto Cas as well, and covered in the remains of their champion, he turned back to Nia.

She screamed not at Cas, but at the rest of the tribe.

“KILL HIM! FUCKING KILL HIM!”

For a minute, nobody moved. No one wanted to face Casimar after that. Besides, after such a raw deal had been shattered in an instant, their faith in her was as good as lost.

Cas darted between opponents with inhuman speed, tearing them to pieces, snapping necks, crushing skulls, cracking spines. They were little more than target practice for him.

When the last one who dared to follow Nia's orders was dead, he didn't stop there.

Instead, he turned on the even weaker ones, ending them just as brutally as he had Nia's soldiers. When they were finished, he turned his sights onto Nia and her guards, soaked in the blood of her tribe, walking steadily towards her as if he wasn't the slightest bit exerted from massacring an entire camp.

"Enough," Nia shook her head. "... just take her. Take her and go.”

"Good. None of you are necessary any longer."

He flicked his wrist and Nia would feel her connection to her own body sever. A burst of violet magic accompanied with a crackle like lightning, and her soul would siphon into an empty Black soul gem in the pouch on his hip.

Just like that, dead. He didn't even bother properly killing her.

He picked up his daggers from the ground where he'd dropped them, and then easily dealt with her remaining guards. They probably knew they wouldn't be able to run.

Her breathing was picking up in pace, ragged and uncontrolled. She likely didn’t realize who she was being held by. The thick sheen of sweat on her skin from whatever the drug was doing was a tell just how badly she was affected. But more than that, the aches and pains in her body spurred on the broken cries that left her throat.

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

Nia, meanwhile, smiled at him. It was more cocky than genuine, of course. And given that this was her first impression of him, she didn’t know about the physical power he really had.

“Well, Chayansh,” she echoed, looking him up and down. “It is settled. You will fight in her place, and if you win, you may take her and leave us.” Oh, she really had no idea. “Kedaea, release my guard; Nakanabi, take her to holding.”

"Very well then," he replied, tearing his gaze away from the empty space where she'd been to look back at Nia. "Show me your best. I've been waiting for a proper challenge."

Residents of the camp were staring as Leo was taken to confinement, then they all focused on Nia when she exited with her guards.

“My friends,” she announced to those around— some of them raised an eyebrow or exchanged glances; clearly this was a façade of dignity— “we have a change of plan going forward.”

Mixed reactions ensued as she continued.

“Our own Kedaea Sehabani offered up a challenge to save her own life. But in seeing her… dismal physical condition, one of our kinsmen has stepped up in her place. “Chayansh of the Ahemmusa Tribe against our own Marasi The Hammer.”

And judging by the name, he used a heavy two-handed weapon. This opened up a world of possibilities, especially since he would likely be too slow to fight someone of Cas’ speed effectively.

He drew his daggers from their sheathes on his hips, then tossed them both aside. He then unbuckled the outer layers of his armor, shedding the heavy furs and the plated leathers with ease, leaving himself in his leather trousers and exposing his heavily tattooed torso to the Vvardenfell sunlight.

Anyone who might know their history could recognize the markings of the Ebonheart Pact, intricate dragon-esque tattoos that were only awarded to the Pact's finest soldiers. But surely that was impossible. The Pact only existed hundreds of years ago, no?

He glanced over towards Leo, noticing her silence. Though he felt rage broil in his veins at how helpless they were making her with the drugs, a selfish part of him was glad that she wouldn't be fully coherent when he snapped.

Some of the more knowledgeable residents frowned at the sight of his tattoos. That was impossible, right?

They would soon find out. Though a few backed away and made for their huts to gather their belongings and prepare to flee.

Through the packs of them strode a chitin-armored, glass warhammer-wielding Dunmer with weathered pale skin and enough muscle to use it, but not quickly. A chunk of his nose had been taken off in a battle long before this one, and he looked taken aback at not only fighting this large fucking Mer, but watching him disarm.

Cas walked forward, closer to the tribe's champion. In a show of honor for the challenge, he held out a hand for Marasi to shake. However, were Marasi to accept the gesture, his grip would tighten painfully and he'd yank Marasi closer to mutter in his ear:

"Tell you what. I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want you to lose the rest of your nose. Not that it's doing you any favors."

And as soon as he was released, Marasi scoffed. He thought it was all tough talk. Poor stupid bastard.

The moment it was quiet, Nia knocked her sword against the support post Leo was tied to— the signal to begin, and a reminder of the risk.

Nia took a moment to realize she might’ve made a mistake.

This only enraged the insecure hammer-wielding Ashlander all over again. A few more of these and he would be swinging without thought.

In any startled stillness that might follow, Cas grabbed the warhammer and yanked it from Marasi's grip, then grabbed the other Mer by his throat. His grin widened as he lifted Marasi off his feet with ease like he was a child instead of a grown Dunmer in full Chitin.

Leaving Marasi to sit and choke from his own weight for a couple of moments, Cas then pivoted and threw the Dunmer onto the ground, sending him flying across the dirt.

He cracked his knuckles, then picked up the warhammer for himself and approached Marasi. Despite seeming to have wielded dual blades before, he held the new weapon with a confidence that was hard to deny. He kicked Marasi to the ground once more, toppling the other mer onto his back, and pressed his foot down on Marasi's chest to pin him in place.

"I'll enjoy watching your soul shrivel and break in my master's claws."

With that, he brought up the warhammer and dropped it down in an arc—and Marasi's head was splattered across the ground before he could even try to plead for his life. Blood had splashed onto Cas as well, and covered in the remains of their champion, he turned back to Nia.

She screamed not at Cas, but at the rest of the tribe.

“KILL HIM! FUCKING KILL HIM!”

For a minute, nobody moved. No one wanted to face Casimar after that. Besides, after such a raw deal had been shattered in an instant, their faith in her was as good as lost.

Cas darted between opponents with inhuman speed, tearing them to pieces, snapping necks, crushing skulls, cracking spines. They were little more than target practice for him.

When the last one who dared to follow Nia's orders was dead, he didn't stop there.

Instead, he turned on the even weaker ones, ending them just as brutally as he had Nia's soldiers. When they were finished, he turned his sights onto Nia and her guards, soaked in the blood of her tribe, walking steadily towards her as if he wasn't the slightest bit exerted from massacring an entire camp.

"Enough," Nia shook her head. "... just take her. Take her and go.”

"Good. None of you are necessary any longer."

He flicked his wrist and Nia would feel her connection to her own body sever. A burst of violet magic accompanied with a crackle like lightning, and her soul would siphon into an empty Black soul gem in the pouch on his hip.

Just like that, dead. He didn't even bother properly killing her.

He picked up his daggers from the ground where he'd dropped them, and then easily dealt with her remaining guards. They probably knew they wouldn't be able to run.

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

Nia, meanwhile, smiled at him. It was more cocky than genuine, of course. And given that this was her first impression of him, she didn’t know about the physical power he really had.

“Well, Chayansh,” she echoed, looking him up and down. “It is settled. You will fight in her place, and if you win, you may take her and leave us.” Oh, she really had no idea. “Kedaea, release my guard; Nakanabi, take her to holding.”

"Very well then," he replied, tearing his gaze away from the empty space where she'd been to look back at Nia. "Show me your best. I've been waiting for a proper challenge."

Residents of the camp were staring as Leo was taken to confinement, then they all focused on Nia when she exited with her guards.

“My friends,” she announced to those around— some of them raised an eyebrow or exchanged glances; clearly this was a façade of dignity— “we have a change of plan going forward.”

Mixed reactions ensued as she continued.

“Our own Kedaea Sehabani offered up a challenge to save her own life. But in seeing her… dismal physical condition, one of our kinsmen has stepped up in her place. “Chayansh of the Ahemmusa Tribe against our own Marasi The Hammer.”

And judging by the name, he used a heavy two-handed weapon. This opened up a world of possibilities, especially since he would likely be too slow to fight someone of Cas’ speed effectively.

He drew his daggers from their sheathes on his hips, then tossed them both aside. He then unbuckled the outer layers of his armor, shedding the heavy furs and the plated leathers with ease, leaving himself in his leather trousers and exposing his heavily tattooed torso to the Vvardenfell sunlight.

Anyone who might know their history could recognize the markings of the Ebonheart Pact, intricate dragon-esque tattoos that were only awarded to the Pact's finest soldiers. But surely that was impossible. The Pact only existed hundreds of years ago, no?

He glanced over towards Leo, noticing her silence. Though he felt rage broil in his veins at how helpless they were making her with the drugs, a selfish part of him was glad that she wouldn't be fully coherent when he snapped.

Some of the more knowledgeable residents frowned at the sight of his tattoos. That was impossible, right?

They would soon find out. Though a few backed away and made for their huts to gather their belongings and prepare to flee.

Through the packs of them strode a chitin-armored, glass warhammer-wielding Dunmer with weathered pale skin and enough muscle to use it, but not quickly. A chunk of his nose had been taken off in a battle long before this one, and he looked taken aback at not only fighting this large fucking Mer, but watching him disarm.

Cas walked forward, closer to the tribe's champion. In a show of honor for the challenge, he held out a hand for Marasi to shake. However, were Marasi to accept the gesture, his grip would tighten painfully and he'd yank Marasi closer to mutter in his ear:

"Tell you what. I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want you to lose the rest of your nose. Not that it's doing you any favors."

And as soon as he was released, Marasi scoffed. He thought it was all tough talk. Poor stupid bastard.

The moment it was quiet, Nia knocked her sword against the support post Leo was tied to— the signal to begin, and a reminder of the risk.

Nia took a moment to realize she might’ve made a mistake.

This only enraged the insecure hammer-wielding Ashlander all over again. A few more of these and he would be swinging without thought.

In any startled stillness that might follow, Cas grabbed the warhammer and yanked it from Marasi's grip, then grabbed the other Mer by his throat. His grin widened as he lifted Marasi off his feet with ease like he was a child instead of a grown Dunmer in full Chitin.

Leaving Marasi to sit and choke from his own weight for a couple of moments, Cas then pivoted and threw the Dunmer onto the ground, sending him flying across the dirt.

He cracked his knuckles, then picked up the warhammer for himself and approached Marasi. Despite seeming to have wielded dual blades before, he held the new weapon with a confidence that was hard to deny. He kicked Marasi to the ground once more, toppling the other mer onto his back, and pressed his foot down on Marasi's chest to pin him in place.

"I'll enjoy watching your soul shrivel and break in my master's claws."

With that, he brought up the warhammer and dropped it down in an arc—and Marasi's head was splattered across the ground before he could even try to plead for his life. Blood had splashed onto Cas as well, and covered in the remains of their champion, he turned back to Nia.

She screamed not at Cas, but at the rest of the tribe.

“KILL HIM! FUCKING KILL HIM!”

For a minute, nobody moved. No one wanted to face Casimar after that. Besides, after such a raw deal had been shattered in an instant, their faith in her was as good as lost.

Cas darted between opponents with inhuman speed, tearing them to pieces, snapping necks, crushing skulls, cracking spines. They were little more than target practice for him.

When the last one who dared to follow Nia's orders was dead, he didn't stop there.

Instead, he turned on the even weaker ones, ending them just as brutally as he had Nia's soldiers. When they were finished, he turned his sights onto Nia and her guards, soaked in the blood of her tribe, walking steadily towards her as if he wasn't the slightest bit exerted from massacring an entire camp.

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

Nia, meanwhile, smiled at him. It was more cocky than genuine, of course. And given that this was her first impression of him, she didn’t know about the physical power he really had.

“Well, Chayansh,” she echoed, looking him up and down. “It is settled. You will fight in her place, and if you win, you may take her and leave us.” Oh, she really had no idea. “Kedaea, release my guard; Nakanabi, take her to holding.”

"Very well then," he replied, tearing his gaze away from the empty space where she'd been to look back at Nia. "Show me your best. I've been waiting for a proper challenge."

Residents of the camp were staring as Leo was taken to confinement, then they all focused on Nia when she exited with her guards.

“My friends,” she announced to those around— some of them raised an eyebrow or exchanged glances; clearly this was a façade of dignity— “we have a change of plan going forward.”

Mixed reactions ensued as she continued.

“Our own Kedaea Sehabani offered up a challenge to save her own life. But in seeing her… dismal physical condition, one of our kinsmen has stepped up in her place. “Chayansh of the Ahemmusa Tribe against our own Marasi The Hammer.”

And judging by the name, he used a heavy two-handed weapon. This opened up a world of possibilities, especially since he would likely be too slow to fight someone of Cas’ speed effectively.

He drew his daggers from their sheathes on his hips, then tossed them both aside. He then unbuckled the outer layers of his armor, shedding the heavy furs and the plated leathers with ease, leaving himself in his leather trousers and exposing his heavily tattooed torso to the Vvardenfell sunlight.

Anyone who might know their history could recognize the markings of the Ebonheart Pact, intricate dragon-esque tattoos that were only awarded to the Pact's finest soldiers. But surely that was impossible. The Pact only existed hundreds of years ago, no?

He glanced over towards Leo, noticing her silence. Though he felt rage broil in his veins at how helpless they were making her with the drugs, a selfish part of him was glad that she wouldn't be fully coherent when he snapped.

Some of the more knowledgeable residents frowned at the sight of his tattoos. That was impossible, right?

They would soon find out. Though a few backed away and made for their huts to gather their belongings and prepare to flee.

Through the packs of them strode a chitin-armored, glass warhammer-wielding Dunmer with weathered pale skin and enough muscle to use it, but not quickly. A chunk of his nose had been taken off in a battle long before this one, and he looked taken aback at not only fighting this large fucking Mer, but watching him disarm.

Cas walked forward, closer to the tribe's champion. In a show of honor for the challenge, he held out a hand for Marasi to shake. However, were Marasi to accept the gesture, his grip would tighten painfully and he'd yank Marasi closer to mutter in his ear:

"Tell you what. I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want you to lose the rest of your nose. Not that it's doing you any favors."

And as soon as he was released, Marasi scoffed. He thought it was all tough talk. Poor stupid bastard.

The moment it was quiet, Nia knocked her sword against the support post Leo was tied to— the signal to begin, and a reminder of the risk.

Nia took a moment to realize she might’ve made a mistake.

This only enraged the insecure hammer-wielding Ashlander all over again. A few more of these and he would be swinging without thought.

In any startled stillness that might follow, Cas grabbed the warhammer and yanked it from Marasi's grip, then grabbed the other Mer by his throat. His grin widened as he lifted Marasi off his feet with ease like he was a child instead of a grown Dunmer in full Chitin.

Leaving Marasi to sit and choke from his own weight for a couple of moments, Cas then pivoted and threw the Dunmer onto the ground, sending him flying across the dirt.

He cracked his knuckles, then picked up the warhammer for himself and approached Marasi. Despite seeming to have wielded dual blades before, he held the new weapon with a confidence that was hard to deny. He kicked Marasi to the ground once more, toppling the other mer onto his back, and pressed his foot down on Marasi's chest to pin him in place.

"I'll enjoy watching your soul shrivel and break in my master's claws."

With that, he brought up the warhammer and dropped it down in an arc—and Marasi's head was splattered across the ground before he could even try to plead for his life. Blood had splashed onto Cas as well, and covered in the remains of their champion, he turned back to Nia.

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

Nia, meanwhile, smiled at him. It was more cocky than genuine, of course. And given that this was her first impression of him, she didn’t know about the physical power he really had.

“Well, Chayansh,” she echoed, looking him up and down. “It is settled. You will fight in her place, and if you win, you may take her and leave us.” Oh, she really had no idea. “Kedaea, release my guard; Nakanabi, take her to holding.”

"Very well then," he replied, tearing his gaze away from the empty space where she'd been to look back at Nia. "Show me your best. I've been waiting for a proper challenge."

Residents of the camp were staring as Leo was taken to confinement, then they all focused on Nia when she exited with her guards.

“My friends,” she announced to those around— some of them raised an eyebrow or exchanged glances; clearly this was a façade of dignity— “we have a change of plan going forward.”

Mixed reactions ensued as she continued.

“Our own Kedaea Sehabani offered up a challenge to save her own life. But in seeing her… dismal physical condition, one of our kinsmen has stepped up in her place. “Chayansh of the Ahemmusa Tribe against our own Marasi The Hammer.”

And judging by the name, he used a heavy two-handed weapon. This opened up a world of possibilities, especially since he would likely be too slow to fight someone of Cas’ speed effectively.

He drew his daggers from their sheathes on his hips, then tossed them both aside. He then unbuckled the outer layers of his armor, shedding the heavy furs and the plated leathers with ease, leaving himself in his leather trousers and exposing his heavily tattooed torso to the Vvardenfell sunlight.

Anyone who might know their history could recognize the markings of the Ebonheart Pact, intricate dragon-esque tattoos that were only awarded to the Pact's finest soldiers. But surely that was impossible. The Pact only existed hundreds of years ago, no?

He glanced over towards Leo, noticing her silence. Though he felt rage broil in his veins at how helpless they were making her with the drugs, a selfish part of him was glad that she wouldn't be fully coherent when he snapped.

Some of the more knowledgeable residents frowned at the sight of his tattoos. That was impossible, right?

They would soon find out. Though a few backed away and made for their huts to gather their belongings and prepare to flee.

Through the packs of them strode a chitin-armored, glass warhammer-wielding Dunmer with weathered pale skin and enough muscle to use it, but not quickly. A chunk of his nose had been taken off in a battle long before this one, and he looked taken aback at not only fighting this large fucking Mer, but watching him disarm.

Cas walked forward, closer to the tribe's champion. In a show of honor for the challenge, he held out a hand for Marasi to shake. However, were Marasi to accept the gesture, his grip would tighten painfully and he'd yank Marasi closer to mutter in his ear:

"Tell you what. I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want you to lose the rest of your nose. Not that it's doing you any favors."

And as soon as he was released, Marasi scoffed. He thought it was all tough talk. Poor stupid bastard.

The moment it was quiet, Nia knocked her sword against the support post Leo was tied to— the signal to begin, and a reminder of the risk.

Nia took a moment to realize she might’ve made a mistake.

This only enraged the insecure hammer-wielding Ashlander all over again. A few more of these and he would be swinging without thought.

In any startled stillness that might follow, Cas grabbed the warhammer and yanked it from Marasi's grip, then grabbed the other Mer by his throat. His grin widened as he lifted Marasi off his feet with ease like he was a child instead of a grown Dunmer in full Chitin.

Leaving Marasi to sit and choke from his own weight for a couple of moments, Cas then pivoted and threw the Dunmer onto the ground, sending him flying across the dirt.

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

Nia, meanwhile, smiled at him. It was more cocky than genuine, of course. And given that this was her first impression of him, she didn’t know about the physical power he really had.

“Well, Chayansh,” she echoed, looking him up and down. “It is settled. You will fight in her place, and if you win, you may take her and leave us.” Oh, she really had no idea. “Kedaea, release my guard; Nakanabi, take her to holding.”

"Very well then," he replied, tearing his gaze away from the empty space where she'd been to look back at Nia. "Show me your best. I've been waiting for a proper challenge."

Residents of the camp were staring as Leo was taken to confinement, then they all focused on Nia when she exited with her guards.

“My friends,” she announced to those around— some of them raised an eyebrow or exchanged glances; clearly this was a façade of dignity— “we have a change of plan going forward.”

Mixed reactions ensued as she continued.

“Our own Kedaea Sehabani offered up a challenge to save her own life. But in seeing her… dismal physical condition, one of our kinsmen has stepped up in her place. “Chayansh of the Ahemmusa Tribe against our own Marasi The Hammer.”

And judging by the name, he used a heavy two-handed weapon. This opened up a world of possibilities, especially since he would likely be too slow to fight someone of Cas’ speed effectively.

He drew his daggers from their sheathes on his hips, then tossed them both aside. He then unbuckled the outer layers of his armor, shedding the heavy furs and the plated leathers with ease, leaving himself in his leather trousers and exposing his heavily tattooed torso to the Vvardenfell sunlight.

Anyone who might know their history could recognize the markings of the Ebonheart Pact, intricate dragon-esque tattoos that were only awarded to the Pact's finest soldiers. But surely that was impossible. The Pact only existed hundreds of years ago, no?

He glanced over towards Leo, noticing her silence. Though he felt rage broil in his veins at how helpless they were making her with the drugs, a selfish part of him was glad that she wouldn't be fully coherent when he snapped.

Some of the more knowledgeable residents frowned at the sight of his tattoos. That was impossible, right?

They would soon find out. Though a few backed away and made for their huts to gather their belongings and prepare to flee.

Through the packs of them strode a chitin-armored, glass warhammer-wielding Dunmer with weathered pale skin and enough muscle to use it, but not quickly. A chunk of his nose had been taken off in a battle long before this one, and he looked taken aback at not only fighting this large fucking Mer, but watching him disarm.

Cas walked forward, closer to the tribe's champion. In a show of honor for the challenge, he held out a hand for Marasi to shake. However, were Marasi to accept the gesture, his grip would tighten painfully and he'd yank Marasi closer to mutter in his ear:

"Tell you what. I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want you to lose the rest of your nose. Not that it's doing you any favors."

And as soon as he was released, Marasi scoffed. He thought it was all tough talk. Poor stupid bastard.

The moment it was quiet, Nia knocked her sword against the support post Leo was tied to— the signal to begin, and a reminder of the risk.

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

Nia, meanwhile, smiled at him. It was more cocky than genuine, of course. And given that this was her first impression of him, she didn’t know about the physical power he really had.

“Well, Chayansh,” she echoed, looking him up and down. “It is settled. You will fight in her place, and if you win, you may take her and leave us.” Oh, she really had no idea. “Kedaea, release my guard; Nakanabi, take her to holding.”

"Very well then," he replied, tearing his gaze away from the empty space where she'd been to look back at Nia. "Show me your best. I've been waiting for a proper challenge."

Residents of the camp were staring as Leo was taken to confinement, then they all focused on Nia when she exited with her guards.

“My friends,” she announced to those around— some of them raised an eyebrow or exchanged glances; clearly this was a façade of dignity— “we have a change of plan going forward.”

Mixed reactions ensued as she continued.

“Our own Kedaea Sehabani offered up a challenge to save her own life. But in seeing her… dismal physical condition, one of our kinsmen has stepped up in her place. “Chayansh of the Ahemmusa Tribe against our own Marasi The Hammer.”

And judging by the name, he used a heavy two-handed weapon. This opened up a world of possibilities, especially since he would likely be too slow to fight someone of Cas’ speed effectively.

He drew his daggers from their sheathes on his hips, then tossed them both aside. He then unbuckled the outer layers of his armor, shedding the heavy furs and the plated leathers with ease, leaving himself in his leather trousers and exposing his heavily tattooed torso to the Vvardenfell sunlight.

Anyone who might know their history could recognize the markings of the Ebonheart Pact, intricate dragon-esque tattoos that were only awarded to the Pact's finest soldiers. But surely that was impossible. The Pact only existed hundreds of years ago, no?

He glanced over towards Leo, noticing her silence. Though he felt rage broil in his veins at how helpless they were making her with the drugs, a selfish part of him was glad that she wouldn't be fully coherent when he snapped.

Some of the more knowledgeable residents frowned at the sight of his tattoos. That was impossible, right?

They would soon find out. Though a few backed away and made for their huts to gather their belongings and prepare to flee.

Through the packs of them strode a chitin-armored, glass warhammer-wielding Dunmer with weathered pale skin and enough muscle to use it, but not quickly. A chunk of his nose had been taken off in a battle long before this one, and he looked taken aback at not only fighting this large fucking Mer, but watching him disarm.

Cas walked forward, closer to the tribe's champion. In a show of honor for the challenge, he held out a hand for Marasi to shake. However, were Marasi to accept the gesture, his grip would tighten painfully and he'd yank Marasi closer to mutter in his ear:

"Tell you what. I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want you to lose the rest of your nose. Not that it's doing you any favors."

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

Nia, meanwhile, smiled at him. It was more cocky than genuine, of course. And given that this was her first impression of him, she didn’t know about the physical power he really had.

“Well, Chayansh,” she echoed, looking him up and down. “It is settled. You will fight in her place, and if you win, you may take her and leave us.” Oh, she really had no idea. “Kedaea, release my guard; Nakanabi, take her to holding.”

"Very well then," he replied, tearing his gaze away from the empty space where she'd been to look back at Nia. "Show me your best. I've been waiting for a proper challenge."

Residents of the camp were staring as Leo was taken to confinement, then they all focused on Nia when she exited with her guards.

“My friends,” she announced to those around— some of them raised an eyebrow or exchanged glances; clearly this was a façade of dignity— “we have a change of plan going forward.”

Mixed reactions ensued as she continued.

“Our own Kedaea Sehabani offered up a challenge to save her own life. But in seeing her… dismal physical condition, one of our kinsmen has stepped up in her place. “Chayansh of the Ahemmusa Tribe against our own Marasi The Hammer.”

And judging by the name, he used a heavy two-handed weapon. This opened up a world of possibilities, especially since he would likely be too slow to fight someone of Cas’ speed effectively.

He drew his daggers from their sheathes on his hips, then tossed them both aside. He then unbuckled the outer layers of his armor, shedding the heavy furs and the plated leathers with ease, leaving himself in his leather trousers and exposing his heavily tattooed torso to the Vvardenfell sunlight.

Anyone who might know their history could recognize the markings of the Ebonheart Pact, intricate dragon-esque tattoos that were only awarded to the Pact's finest soldiers. But surely that was impossible. The Pact only existed hundreds of years ago, no?

He glanced over towards Leo, noticing her silence. Though he felt rage broil in his veins at how helpless they were making her with the drugs, a selfish part of him was glad that she wouldn't be fully coherent when he snapped.

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

Nia, meanwhile, smiled at him. It was more cocky than genuine, of course. And given that this was her first impression of him, she didn’t know about the physical power he really had.

“Well, Chayansh,” she echoed, looking him up and down. “It is settled. You will fight in her place, and if you win, you may take her and leave us.” Oh, she really had no idea. “Kedaea, release my guard; Nakanabi, take her to holding.”

"Very well then," he replied, tearing his gaze away from the empty space where she'd been to look back at Nia. "Show me your best. I've been waiting for a proper challenge."

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

Nia was tall for a Dunmer, but aside from that, there was nothing that could put her aside from the other tribesmen she led. Nothing significant, as one would expect from an illegitimate leader of rogues and savages.

“I assume you’re here for one of our own?” The woman questioned as she gestured down at Leo, who flinched back harshly at the motion with a sharp breath in. “Unfortunately, we need this one. Although—“

“Answer my request, you fucking coward,” Leo bit out, driving her point home with that word once again. Her voice was a strained growl. Right now, she was a fox in a trap, gnawing off its paw to get out. Every one of her senses and instincts was animal in nature; she was so terrified that she could hardly see straight.

“Shut up.” Nia snapped back, after which she immediately turned her attention back to Cas. “… although, I suppose a negotiation can be made.”

Instead, he stepped forward, his lips shifting into a grin. "Why don't you send me in as a proxy? If your chosen wins, you get two sacrifices." Nia didn't need to know that he was incapable of dying, and especially not without incurring the direct wrath of Molag Bal. "If you win, I take Leo and return home, leaving you all to live in peace."

That wasn't an option either. But she also didn't need to know that.

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

Each wrist was bound in chains, but at the moment, she used that to her advantage. Leo had it coiled around a soldier’s neck, pulling tight to cut off his airway while her legs held him in place at the torso, and he scrabbled at the chain around his neck uselessly.

“Release him!” One of the other soldiers demanded, ready to run her through with his sword.

Leo, however, was practically deafened by adrenaline and desperation to make sense of what they said— or even notice that Cas was there. She was really out of it.

“I’ll break his neck!” Leo growled back. Her voice seemed hoarse (from crying, maybe?)

“Calm down, Kedaea,” the woman at the head of it all hummed, “you know you can’t outlast—“

“A challenge.” Leo interrupted, scarlet eyes burning in her defiance.

“… what?”

“A challenge,” she repeated herself. “A proper one. Give me my armor and blade, and grant me the chance to earn my freedom. That is, if I haven’t come from a long line of cowards.”

Nia turned her gaze toward Cas, amusement playing across her features. She, along with her bodyguards, appeared significantly healthier than the others outside.

"Nia, I assume?" He spoke, his voice cold enough to the point that it made the air itself seem a bit chillier. "Give me one good reason not to tear you to pieces and feed you to your own guards."

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...

“Uh… you’re looking for who?”

She must’ve gone by a different name in the past.

“Doesn’t matter! Kill him!” The younger of them demanded, standing back to draw an arrow into his bow.

Clearly, this one wasn’t thinking. He was acting on terrified instinct.

And to match, the others followed suit, clearly too terrified to put up a proper fight. What a waste.

The Vestige kept true to his earlier threat. He walked into the camp without a care in the world, dragging along the remains of the "guards" with ease. His armor and weapons were soaked red, and he looked every inch the violent murderer that Molag Bal had sculpted him into.

“You filthy bastard!” One hissed. Ironic for a man who had used Argonian horns to embellish his armor.

Yeah, they had very limited real power. They could attack a small port city with only a handful of guards, no problem. Burn the women and children, et cetera. But when a real threat presented itself? They were no good, starved as they were.

“What say you, outlander?” Another demanded. “You charge into our home with our brothers’ bodies, all for what?”

These underfed fetchers were hopeless.

Others of them stood off to the side, out of his way. These ones appeared to be something resembling able-bodied. A few could be picked out as the ones who kidnapped her, as seen in the spectral projection.

“… Kadaea is with Nia,” one of the stronger ones spoke up. Nia must’ve been their leader. They likely disposed of any wise women in the past when they did away with tradition.

As the Northern Maiden drew closer to the dock, the destruction was all the more evident in collapsed huts and charred corpses, curled into themselves and half-buried in dust and ash.

The fires had long grown cold, and the vermin had already picked what they could off the bodies… so this could’ve happened weeks ago now.

In the distance, wisps of black smoke curled into the air, and the ship’s crew had to cover their faces for respite from the undeniable smell of burning bodies.

“By Ysmir…” Gjalund breathed out as his men directed the vessel to its dock— the one remaining pier that hadn’t been destroyed. The body on the planks before them was half-burned, and a corroding Elven arrow protruded from its throat.

This had to be where those Ashlanders departed from. But this brutality was hitherto unseen by tribes who revered their values, and allowed their own power to be checked.

The captain scanned the place for any signs of life, and though he saw no movement, his hand still white-knuckled the dagger at his belt.

“… are you sure this is where you want to go?” Gjalund questioned Casimar, glancing at him warily. What madness could bring him to a place like this?

Casimar rarely ever used that term. It was mostly used anymore by people who disliked the more rustic culture of the Nords, and also against him by proxy as over the years he'd become more Nord than Dunmer in his ways. But this? It was one of those few times he'd seen the word deserve to be used.

His ear twitched at Gjalund's question. It was exactly where he needed to be. There was no way that all of this wasn't connected to the bastards who had taken Leo.

“You too, now. Wherever it is you’re going.”

He was thankful for the coin, but this was madness. It wasn’t, however, any of his business. Especially concerning affairs like whatever these murderous bastards had going on.

“… be careful. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

His brow creased and he had to tear his gaze away from a painfully youthful corpse on the walkway.

A mother holding her child close, now petrified in charred flesh and bone together.

And as Cas passed the edge of the port city, he would see how even those who were trying to escape were chased down and slaughtered.

Confirmation of the murderers’ identities was a single Ashlander body with angry violet tattoos on his face. They didn’t even carry their own back for burial.

A single incriminating fire burned in the distance, and on approach, the smell of burning bodies grew all the more pungent.

“Two defectors down, one to go.” One murmured. “Can’t believe we’ve got to miss this.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m hungry.” Snapped another— clearly at his wits’ end from near starvation. “… maybe one of those lizards will give us some eggs soon. I claim the next ones.”

“Pfft. I think that last round of them was the last they’ll ever have. And if they’re not good for work or young, that’s that.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to eat,” this one sounded quite young. “We’ve been living off those animals and whatever ash produce we can scrounge up.”

"Personally, I'm a fan of farming. Much easier. Meat's often cleaner, as well."

He stared down at the Ashlanders, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It wouldn't be hard to intimidate them. He was already tall for a Dunmer, and when paired with being three times their size...