#dakog

I’d almost pity him. Wonder if he’ll go mad? I wonder if he’d be mine. Oh, wouldn’t that be a delight? That’d twist up old Malacath’s knickers, not t’mention Hircine’s horns.

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Blood. Blood and bone and viscera everywhere. Why won’t they die? Suddenly, he can feel his knuckles worn raw from bludgeoning the old man into the floor, looks up to the doorway for just a moment as it snaps open…

And when he looks back, the laughing corpse beneath him is gone.

“Where the fuck did he go?” the Bandit King demands, pushing himself up on shaky legs. “Did you see that?”

Magicka still flickering in her hands, Mel doesn’t drop her guard just yet. Past the damage to his knuckles from impacting the floor repeatedly (at least, that’s what she thought he was doing?), he didn’t seem injured. Of course, on Dakog, it would be difficult to pick out a fresh wound from the mangled body unless it was bleeding freely.

And she has a good look at his body, considering she’d found him screaming, flailing, and naked.

She’s happy to see Jean-Pierre again. She really is. But it’s a little overwhelming to have him back from the dead, to see that grisly scar across his neck. She makes her excuses to go on a walk. They’re shoddy, see-through, but no one seems to mind. Or they pretend they don’t.

The day was beautiful, cool and crisp with a bright blue sky and only enough wind to cause the occasional shiver. Susette and her two companions set out early, their pace easy, unhurried. Now that they were to head home, there was no reason to rush besides their own eagerness to be out of Skyrim.

The peace of their journey was not long-lived. It was Tess who noticed it first, raising a hand to halt conversation and progress. As soon as their own chatter died, they all could notice the unnatural silence of the woods, and distant, faint shouts.

There was no discussion, no argument, no hesitation. Voclains, and those who followed them, knew there was only one option. The three turned off the road and followed Tess, her sharper ears leading them on as Thomas tossed Susette a spear and she readied her shield. A silent prayer formed on Susette's lips, gone to Stendarr by the time the trio reached the battleground.

A small farming community was on fire. It was easy to distinguish attacker from attacked; the attackers had on armor, gripped weapons of steel, some torches. The farmers were in plainclothes, were running, were fighting back with mis-matched weapons or wooden staves.

Tess's bow sang, the Bosmer picking off other ranged combatants who hadn't expected a cavalry. Susette and Thomas charged forward, trampling attackers beneath the hooves of their heavy mounts, shouting in anger and to draw combatants to them, away from the injured, the innocent. Susette left her spear stuck in the chest of an armed, screaming Nord, drawing her sword and swinging it in the milieu that surrounded them.

Got a job for you. Walk with me.