7th of Rain’s Hand, 183 4E

I blearily open my eyes, as sunlight streams into the room through a small window. I faintly hear my name being called, as I try to remember today's duties.

“Armille! Get up! You’re late!”

‘Dammit!’ I think, suddenly remembering why I’m away from home.

I slip on my boots, and quickly exit the room, cursing myself for sleeping in.

In another room, Hyaron glares at me and points toward the door.

“Take Irinaena with you. Scout the forest. And next time, don’t sleep in.”

Grumbling inwardly, I call for the female soldier.

‘I wish I got Eruelde. He’s interesting, unlike Irinaena.’

The annoying soldier quickly comes out, and we exit the small Argonian hut. We then leave the village, and venture into the forest, hoping to find some evidence of what we’d seen.

A few weeks ago, another group of Thalmor was scouting the forests of the Argonian homeland, hoping to find a few of those pesky Blades. Instead, they found something . . . rotting. A dead Nord, with his skin being eaten away.

Later, they kept hearing strange sounds, especially from that particular area. When they investigated though, the corpse was gone.

We were sent back to Black Marsh to investigate it further. It could be a trick. Or a distraction. Whatever it is, we’re too paranoid to let it leave our minds.

Irinaena is silent for once, and I allow my thoughts to wander a little.

‘Why would a dead thing bother us so much? I personally think that the corpse just got dragged away by a scavenger or something. Those lowly Nords don’t ever care for their dead, so it’s perfectly reasonable.’

My thoughts revolve around this, and we continue along for a few more hours, before deciding to head back to the hut. Unfortunately, Irinaena seems to have completely woken up now, and is chattering like crazy.

“I wonder why even a damn Nord would leave their dead to rot in the forest. This is also pretty far south, they shouldn’t like the warm environment.”

Silently, I’m cursing her for being so loud and annoying. Although, she is telling the truth this time. With the way the old Nords would stick their dead ancestors in those horrible, dusty tombs. How could anyone disrespect the dead like that?

“Those bastards are probably cackling over the way they’ve confused us. We should just go back to Summerset, where it’s less wet and miserable.”

Irinaena says this with her usual air of arrogant confidence, her golden-green eyes narrowed.

Even for a High Elf, she’s usually very haughty.

We near the village, but stop in our tracks. A trail of broken and disturbed foliage lays in front of us, and we both know that it wasn’t us. It could be our suspected corpse.

‘Maybe a necromancer is playing around with dead things. But as far as I can tell, the Argonians despise necromancy, so why would they be practicing that sort of magic? It doesn’t make sense.’

We then start following the trail, hoping to catch something, even if it’s just a large animal. Besides, if I was right about there being a necromancer, it could get us some decent gold for its head.

After a few minutes of walking though, we come across Eruelde gathering ingredients.

I curse under my breath. “Why are you over here? We thought you were the dead thing!”

“Armille, you know I don’t use Restoration magic. I’m getting low on potions,” he answers, giving me an exasperated glare.

“Well, the least you can do is come with us,” Irinaena grumbles.

“Fine. I bet you need a wizard to find this ‘dead thing’ of yours.”

We all grumble for a few more minutes, but then finally continue the patrol.

After continuing along a small, basically hidden trail, we reach a small grove. It’s peaceful, and for once, not raining. The soft dark ground cushions our footsteps, and the trees above us block most of the sun, coating us in dim light.

I then realize that this is where the corpse was found. The faint smell of rot lingers in the air, as though the strange thing has stayed around.

But then I hear a slight rustling, and the faint traces of a voice.

“Hopefully we’ll find something before the day ends, Black Marsh has not been very nice to us. We’d better leave soon.”

Irinaena stiffens, and Eruelde raises his hands cautiously.

We wait silently for the voice to come near us again, and I keep my hand on the hilt of my sword.

Soon enough, a Wood Elf creeps out of the foliage, and a red-headed Nord follows her with a greatsword drawn.

‘They must be trespassing, we should stop them!’

My two companions must have thought the same thing, because Irinaena yelled a string of insults and charged forward with her sword, and Eruelde began summoning an atronach.

I draw both of my swords and run towards the Nord. He doesn’t look fazed, and swings his greatsword, cutting deeply into my side. I gasp in pain as blood streams from the wound.

Irinaena yelps as the Bosmer sends a jet of flame down her arm, roasting the leather and melting the intricate metal.

Eruelde sends a shock spell at the Wood Elf, and she gasps as her Magicka is rapidly drained. The Frost Atronach he summoned shoots a spear of ice and grazes her arm.

But due to me focusing on everyone but the Nord, he sweeps my feet out from under me, and stabs my hand into the ground. Pain flares up my arm, and I yell in agony as bones snap and are crushed.

He starts to ditch me, but I manage to leave a large slice in his back with my remaining hand. I quickly drop my sword due to the pain in my injured arm though, and scramble away from the burly ginger. He yells, and glares back at me before going to help his poor companion.

‘Note to self: Do not ignore stocky Nords with heavier weapons than you,’ I think to myself, clutching my hand and shivering from pain. Fiery pain continues its agonizing way up my arm.

Sensing the danger coming for him, Eruelde sends a fiery spell down the Nords arm. He yells as blisters quickly form and flames begin overcoming the skin.

Eruelde must have thought that he was immobilized enough, because he then turned back to the Wood Elf, chugging a potion.

Irinaena suddenly leaps into combat again after somehow disappearing from my view, and slices the Nords back. She inflicts two deep wounds while he’s screaming in pain, and then presses her sword to his throat before he can react further.

The Wood Elf freezes.

“Don’t touch him!”

Irinaena smirks, then slices her sword across his neck.

Blood explodes from the awful wound, and the Nord screams for a split second. He falls over, clutching his throat.

The Bosmer looks enraged. Fire explodes from her hands towards Irinaena, and she succumbs to her growing injuries. Bright red blisters cover her once golden face, and her armor is melted to her skin. Steam rises from the gory sight.

The short elf doesn’t seem fazed by what she’s just done, and turns on Eruelde. Small sparks fly from his fingers, but he looks exhausted, obviously having drained his Magicka, making him defenseless.

I begin to stumble over, hoping to protect the wizard, but the Bosmer is quicker than me, and stabs her sword under my friend's chin. He yelps as the metal pierces his skin, but then quickly falls silent as his brain is skewered.

During the time it took the Wood Elves sword to pierce Eruelde’s skull, I managed to stagger over to where the Nord was on the ground desperately trying to breathe through all the blood spilling out of his neck.

I raised my sword vertically, and the Bosmer looked over just in time to see me stab straight through her companion's throat. A look of horror washed over her face as her mind contemplated what just happened.

With a scream of rage, she dashed over, and I succumbed to her blade. Though exhaustion sparked in her eyes, her beautiful face made me think she was some angel of death, coming to bring me to Aetherius.

“You killed him,” she gasped out raggedly. “You killed Eirik.”

Unfortunately for her, I had already lost a lot of blood. The horrible pain had numbed my nerves, and my memory was fogging up. So to make sure she didn’t get her wish, I stabbed my side, wincing as my broken hand shifted in strange ways.

Darkness overcame me.

—

A cold, burning feeling sears my neck, and my thoughts jumble around madly, making my head hurt. The awful, sneering dead Altmer lies before me, his sword still sticking out of his side.

Quickly though, other emotions fill the place of shock as my brain starts believing what in the Eight Divines just happened.

Rage. Sorrow. Sadness. More rage. Guilt. Grief. Shock.

Eirik suddenly chokes, giving me the indication that I could still save him.

I dash over, placing my hand on his cheek. His blue eyes look up at me, filled with awful pain and sorrow.

“No,” I choke out. “Not you. It can’t be you.”

I try to force a bit of warm healing through my hands, but they’re uncooperative. My Magicka is gone.

I mentally curse violently, creating a glorious line colorful of cuss words so blinding, that my awful father would have been proud of them.

More pain flickered in the dying light of my love’s now dull eyes. I held back as many tears as I could, which wasn’t much, and cradled his head to my chest.

Blood begins to stain my leather armor, but I don’t care. The awful torrent of negative emotions surges through me, and I begin regretting every single choice I made today.

I felt something was wrong. A bad thing was going to happen, and I didn’t think much of it. I should have made us go somewhere else to hunt. I was the one who was slow to attack, quick to hesitate in killing those damn bastards. I could have saved my Magicka in order to heal him. I could have stuck closer in order to protect him. And most awful, I underestimated the horrible, ugly elves.

More negativity circles in my mind, and Eirik’s soul silently slips away.

Rage overcomes my emotions again, and I throw my sword at the suicidal Altmer.

I follow it, and begin to stab the body repeatedly, not caring how dead it already is.

Eventually, I stop, due to both exhaustion and sorrow.

I look up, and see a pair of glowing blue eyes in the bushes. A strange, dead creature. Probably a Nord. It watches me silently, as I slowly rise, and shakily point my sword towards it.

Before I can strike though, it suddenly disappears, with the foliage shaking as it flees the gory scene.

Then I remember the twins. What could I tell them? I can’t bring Eirik from the dead, and they shouldn’t become vigilantes against the Thalmor. That’s my job.

Maybe a sabre cat. Or some wolves. Or both. Neither of them understand how dangerous the world actually is, so it might make sense to them. Although, I should tell them the truth when they’re older. I just don’t want to corrupt their innocent, carefree minds.

I sat there with my thoughts revolving around this for a long time. Horrible, hollow grief lingers in my chest, as though somebody is repeatedly stabbing a dagger through my heart. Guilt occasionally overcomes it, but it’s still awful through it all. I sat there for a long time, unable to pull myself from the pain and negativity.

‘Well, I can’t avoid my children forever. They at least need to know that their father is dead.’

I finally bring myself to my senses, but still only run on autopilot. Automatically, I begin dragging Eirik towards the camp. Frey and Freyja should at least be able to say goodbye.

After an hour or so of dragging and misery, I reached the camp. The two kids looked expectantly at me, as I stumbled out of the bushes.

“Mother!” Freyja yells, looking excited, like always. She nearly knocks the wind out of me as she crashes into my arms.

“Ma?” Frey says, looking worried, due to all the blood and my wounds. “Is something wrong?”

“Where’s Pa?” Freyja asks. My heart feels crushed by the time she says this.

I sigh shakily, trying to contain the whirling emotions raging inside of me. “Your father . . . isn’t coming back.”

“Why? What happened to him?” Frey asks, struggling not to cry. My heart gets crushed even more.

“Well, we were hunting like we said we would, and he had just spotted a sabre cat.” I began speaking, trying to look less awful, with guilt blazing in my mind. “We both started sneaking towards it, so we could kill it and get some good food tonight. But neither of us noticed a wolf pack tracking us.”

Freyja gasped, and tears were leaking out of her eyes. “They jumped on me, and the sabre cat heard them. It rushed at the nearest target, which happened to be your father, and it tore his throat open,” I told them. “I was dealing with the wolves at the time, so I nearly got slaughtered too.”

“I did manage to drag him back here, but I need to rest, so you should go say goodbye while you can,” I told them, before going to the tent. I limped away, trying to mask my exhaustion, while Freyja looked at me with horror.

“What are we going to do, Freyja?” I hear Frey squeak out. Freyja lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t know, Frey,” she answers. “I don’t know.”

Edit: I am almost done with the rest of the chapter arc, so please be patient while I finish. I'll try to update by Sunday in the USA.