Fire On The Mountain (A Skyrim Quest)

Gimme Shelter

To Bathes-In-Steel's credit, she restrains herself until they have left Ivarstead behind them, heading down the south road, across a bridge and into the woods.

"So," Bathes-In-Steel begins, "What can you do?"

"I'm sorry?" Ingne asks.

"We're crossing the Rift," Bathes-In-Steel says, "The Blackbriars rule the Hold, and under them… Banditry abounds. It's important to know what you can do if we're attacked."

Ingne cocks her head. "Surely if we are set upon by bandits, we'll just give them what they ask? We don't want to fight them, surely?"

Do'azda and Bathes-In-Steel exchange a long, loaded glance.

"Often," Do'azda begins, "It is not possible to do so. And on occasion, we have need of something bandits have, and they rarely are willing to give it. This one had to battle some bandits who had stolen a merchant's prized possession once. Then she had to fight undead crypt guardians. These things happen."

"I… see," Ingne says uncertainly, "I suppose, when one accompanies the dragonborn… I am of course able to Shout, and I'm rather a fine shot with a bow?"

"Oh!" Do'azda says, "This one has a bow, if you would like it? Our survival instructor gave it to her for sharing with him the ability to bind a familiar, along with an iron dagger that starts fires. It's been enchanted to strike harder when your foe is unaware of your presence, so he said."

"That would be tremendously generous," Ingne replies, "Are you sure?"

Do'azda shrugs. "Do'azda cannot use it nearly as effectively, this one is sure."

Ingne worries at her lip with her teeth for a moment, then accepts the gift, slinging the bow onto her back.

"If you want it back any time, please just ask."


The South Road from Ivarstead to Riften runs through deep forest, and within a half hour walk, they're picking their way through roots and broken cobbles. Ingne scoffs under her breath at the first place where the road is completely overrun, then tuts at the second. By the third, she stops, glowering.

"It's a disgrace," She says, "It's truly a disgrace. In the Reach, there is an outright insurrection in the Hinterlands, Forsworn in every cave and crevice, and yet the roads are better than this. What are they doing in Riften?"

"Feasting and partying, the last my people knew of it," Bathes-In-Steel says, "The Blackbriars run that city, and by their writ, the Jarl's rule extends to the walls of her palace and no further."

"Your people?" Ingne asks, cautious confusion in her words, "You mean-"

"Her gang," Do'azda says quickly. "Bathes-In-Steel used to run the illicit operations of the Argonian Quarter in Whiterun."

"We tried to expand to Riften some time ago," Bathes-In-Steel continues, "Several tails were sent back, without their owner. The Blackbriars know how to send a message." She says it easily, though distaste does color it, almost impossible to make out. "Later that month, they sent terms that amounted to a demand that we make ourselves vassals to them in exchange for any trade at all. We accepted, of course. They have an almost Saxhleel cold bloodedness."

"I… see," Ingne says, and it seems as if she does see, and perhaps too much. "Well, I hope we don't have a run in with them, then."

Bathes-In-Steel snorts, which Do'azda doesn't think Ingne appreciates.

"Perhaps we shall be fortunate." Is all Bathes says, however.

---

By midday, the weather is beginning to turn. Through the canopy, Do'azda can see that clouds have covered the sun, and at every clearing, they expect to find it has begun to drizzle. They eat as they walk, passing out half of Do'azda's trail rations. The rations do their job, and that is all they can say to do. There is a chill in the air, and the road's poor condition prevents them from ever falling into the easy rhythm needed to really eat the miles they have to travel; whenever it seems they might, the road falls away completely, and they need to use their newfound skills to find their way back to a trail. But in this, they're at least successful and it certainly makes it clear that if she is to continue her strange career as an adventuress, Do'azda would do well to continue honing her skills at wilderness navigation.

It is certainly a land to navigate, though.

Of everywhere Do'azda has been in Skyrim, the Rift is the most like it has been described - there is perhaps less snow and ice than expected, but where Eastmarch was a sulphurous landscape of hot springs and mudflats, and Whiterun was a river's floodplain, the Rift was the forested, mountainous land that "Skyrim" brings to mind.

It is enough to almost make her appreciate it; there is beauty in the moments of trekking, in the quiet of these forests, not at all silent but the sort of 'noise' that is a marker of healthy animal life, and no more than that. It would be a truly desperate wolf that would fall upon three well-armed adventurers in broad daylight, and despite the dangerous promise of rain looming overhead, she finds plenty that is worth remembering.

This mood does seem to spread. Despite the awkward beginning, Ingne turns out to be a suitable companion, knowing when to leave silence be, or when to make practical conversation, and she hums a few tunes that Do'azda decides she might well wish to learn sometime. Bathes-In-Steel is in a merry mood as well, stopping every so often to look about the landscape with bald fascination.

In all, it is a surprise when they finally stumble across other people along the road, enough of a surprise that at the glimpse of a tent Do'azda almost reacts unwisely. Her tail stiffens, and if there was even a single sign of attack, she would have been Shouting about it, her Voice raised in assault.

As it is, a man dressed in servant's livery pauses. "Oh! I… hope you are not bandits."

The initial moment of stumbling across a set of tents gives way to greater detail. There are four canvas tents, looking weather beaten and worn, stretched out before her, just around a bend in the trail. There's a campfire, and whoever else might be there is absent. One of the tents is far larger than the others, but none of them are small, one-man tents. Just by the size of tents there might be as many as a dozen men here, if that largest tent is a sign of status and not stuffed full, or as few as five or six.

"No, Do'azda is no bandit," she says, though she knows that there would be less sure of that. "She's headed down to Riften, and this is just in the way."

"Ah, so you should introduce yourself to my lord, Lord Stalleo of Treva's Watch," the servant said, looking around. "He was up ahead taking a look to see if there were any weaknesses to the defenses of the fort."

"What fort?" Ingne asks, stepping forward.

"Treva's Watch," the servant says, with a nod. "It has been stolen from him while he was away serving Skyrim, and when he has returned during a lull in the fighting to see to his lands, what does he find but chaos and waste, and Riften unwilling to take action?" The servant is surprisingly affronted, and this probably marks him as one of the head servants, someone who has deep loyalty to the family and a great deal to lose if his master falls from his status because of the chaos of wartime. "He should be back in just a minute, at which point he will likely wish to talk to you."

"Oh! Why all this chaos down south, shouldn't the Jarl…"

"The Jarl is a puppet," Bathes-In-Steel corrects, with a sort of simple naked factual bluntness. Then she adds further, "The Blackbriars run the city, and do you think they care about crime and banditry as long as they get their cut?"

"This one does not think it is her job to do the Jarls' jobs for them, but she thinks she'll remember to avoid this area if it is so haunted by bandits," Do'azda says. It would probably be possible to kill any of them that attack her, because it is not as if they will likely be elite soldiers. But even the weak can be dangerous at the right moment. She knows it well enough from the other end, and she's quite aware that she can still die… but it's hard to be that threatened by bandits when the forces and powers that Nords tremble to use are hers freely and fairly, by right of violence and mastery alike.

None of this is something for servants or random Nords she meets on the road to know. Perhaps she'll get away from this without even revealing that she is the Dragonborn.

"W-well, Master should be… ah, there he is!" The servant turns and points, putting his whole body into the act of gesturing grandly as a party of five rounds a corner, stopping near a clump of trees when they see that the servant has company.

In the center is the man who has to be Lord Stalleo, with the younger men all around him clearly retainers, soldiers, something of the like, three men who look as if they have been mauled by life, and a woman who seems if anything more mauled, missing part of an ear and a nose, and with a thick scar over one eye. She reached down to touch at her axe, while one of the men was already getting ready to draw his sword. They were Nords, all of them of course.

But Lord Stalleo is who Do'azda considers first.

He is an older man, with a grizzled beard but strong arms left bare by his furs. His hair flares out, in a strange style that she is sure must be of some kind of fashion, and his eyes are hard, thoughtful. "A Khajiit, an Argonian, and a Nord traveling together. If you are not bandits, then you are adventurous sorts. I am the rightful lord of Treva's Watch, but while I was away fighting for the rightful High King of Skyrim, my cousin betrayed my family and turned his back on law and justice to embrace banditry and violence, taking both of my heirs, my three daughters, my daughters-in-law, and my grandchildren hostage. He and his fell upon my garrison unawares, slaying those loyal to me. I have seen some few of my men upon the walls, however, the gutless traitors."

Do'azda considers this for a moment, ears flicking thoughtfully. "And he will not ransom them away? Do'azda is just passing through, and yet…" she shrugs. "Isn't that what bandits want?"

"It would be immoral," one of the men insists, a tall man who, like all these others, is blonde, "To give into the demands of traitors."

"And how could one trust such words?" another demands

"We don't have the money if we wished for that kind of ransom," the woman said bluntly. "Our Lord is great, but this keep is his inheritance, and his income is the tolls it takes from the south road."

"As polite as this talk of me is, I can make my own conversation," the Lord says, his look even and level. It is clear that there is camaraderie from the war that has not yet worn off, fighting in the name of… well. Of Ulfric, surely. Yet he is not looking at Do'azda as if he is about to attack. She is an oddity, but seemingly not that much more to him at the moment.

He moves, and settles into a seat the servant hurries to bring him, a twisted thing of silvered oak, which Do'azda suspects from the scars and burns on it, he took with him on campaign. "We need aid of some kind, for we do not have the numbers to defeat my accursed cousin."

"It looks like it will rain," Bathes-In-Steel says, looking up at the sky.

Everyone, Do'azda included, stops at that. Because yes, it does look like it is going to rain. What is less clear is the significance of this fact.

"This… is true," Ingne says, diplomatically.

"We do not have tents," Bathes-In-Steel says, then turns to the Lord. "This fort, its buildings have ceilings?"

"Yes? Most buildings do." He sounds baffled.

"Ah, right," Do'azda says, seeing the point and smiling. "So you're going to ask--"

"We should conquer the fort. I have been told I am most unpleasant when rained upon. It is not like swimming at all," Bathes-In-Steel declares.

"Ah, right, this one supposes if we must, we must," she says, shaking her head. It is true that she herself does not like to get wet, so Bathes-In-Steel's point is well made.

"Wait, wait a moment," Ingne says, turning. Her eyes are wide. "How many bandits are occupying this fort?"

"Oh, dozens," a dark-haired guard declares, stepping forward. "I was set to counting, and I counted over twenty just up on the walls at one point or another, and most weren't on the walls."

Do'azda considers this, and nods, "She believes she should be able to defeat all of them, if she has help from her companions and we show cleverness." Cunning would be even better, in truth, because there is no way merely to be smart enough not to face troubles. She has ideas both obvious and not.

"I… are you… I am willing to help, but what idea could you have, even?" Ingne steps forward.

"There is a way in, a secret passage," Lord Stalleo says, grandly.

"Though it is possible," Do'azda immediately points out, "That a cousin would know of it and know to trap it." She has two, no three ideas now. Three paths forward.

Wait, actually four now that she considers it.

She is also aware of something, that she would not think so casually of such danger even a month ago, and that now she is considering it as a real task, a set of actions to be plugged through one by one. She needs to liberate the fort so she can sleep soundly tonight, rather than attempting to convince them to share their tents, which perhaps she could do.

But no, this is easier.

"Do'azda does have a question, though?" she asks, realizing it's quite important.

"Yes, Khajiit?" he asks, frowning at her. "I have no fortune to pay you upon success, but you will be welcome to stay as long as you wish, and you can have anything you take from the bandits."

"It is not about that," Do'azda says, smiling faintly. "Are there any of the bandits that we should not kill, whether from among them or your cousin? Because we will need to know who to spare, because once the fighting has begun she does not think there will be a chance to spare any who we are not told."

She knows the effect it will have, she is no fool, and she smiles wider at it, at the tightening of hands on weapons. To the races of men, where an argonian's smile is a threat, a baring of gleaming ivory and tearing fangs, a khajiit's smile is a taunt, a promise that they know more than you, that they have already considered how best to trick you, take advantage.

That it reveals her own razor teeth is a secondary concern.

"Kill the bastards," Lord Stalleo declares, "Even my cousin. He has chosen his path. Just save my family and reclaim my birthright, if you can manage it. I don't know why, but I believe you mean it…"

Of course. That is the point. Do'azda turns to Bathes-In-Steel, and reveals her scheme.

What is the plan?

[] [Scheme] Use the secret entrance that has just been pointed out… but as they do, the Lord is to make a sham attack, complete with arrows fired and plenty of noise and trouble--and indeed as she develops the plan she learns he knows magic, and can use that to create some chaos--so as to keep people from thinking of the secret entrance if they know of it.
[] [Scheme] They have climbed mountains, all of them, so why not climb something greater than that? They will go up the side of the fort, using ropes if need be and otherwise making their way up… while Lord Stalleo attempts to negotiate for payment in exchange for having the fort back… sure to fail, but also equally sure to draw attention specifically to one side of the fort and not another.
[] [Scheme] Riften is a known element… and one that clearly is willing to use non-Nords. Do'azda, Bathes-in-Steel and Ingne will approach the fort posing as criminals from Riften, looking to trade in stolen goods and see if they can get their cut in the name of the rulers of the Riften underworld… and when the gates open, when a moment's vulnerability is shown, they will strike and slaughter the bandits.
[] [Scheme] Shouting is still capable of turning over the board, especially when it will be so unexpected to the defenders. Both Ingne and Do'azda can Shout the Whirlwind. Do'azda can launch herself into the unprepared bandits in the courtyard from above, as Ingne does the same to secure the walls, and Bathes-In-Steel scales the walls, trusting her muscles to allow her to ascend alone faster than she could with Do'azda and Ingne to slow her approach. If nothing else, it categorically gives them the element of surprise.

TL AN: Ingne is going to have an adjustment period for two people whose response to having to sleep outdoors is to pick a fight with dozens of bandits in a fort.

VM AN: In their defence, the rain is probably quite unpleasant, so who can say if this response is proportionate or not. Think about the strategy for the fight, also! It's nontrivial.