It takes a certain amount of skill, not to mention will and discipline to be able to hunt or scout. Not many within the Empire would be capable enough or be able to survive on their own within the wilds of Tamriel. Certain races were more inclined or naturally gifted; the Bosmer, Khajiit and Argonians in their respective homelands were the supreme examples. The Foresters of the Imperial Legions however, as the Legions did with most things had turned simple skills used to survive or provide for one's community and turned it into arts of warfare.
Even then, with years of training it took a specific skillset that was more than just physical to do what those living on the fringes of society accomplished on a daily basis. To be able to move unseen and unheard, to track by the merest traces of prints, disturbed foliage and limited spoor, and above all have the mental capacity and strength of mind to be able to handle fending for oneself in land that grew ever more hostile the further you trekked.
Foresters within the Legion were the eyes and ears of the Cohorts, and were responsible for a significant amount of the legionary's diet. Usually hunting in tiny groups of two or three at a time for mutual protection, the foresters would roam around the main camps, hunting and bringing back whatever game they could manage to bring down. during times of war they would be the hidden scouts, seeking out the Legion's foes and harassing them with loosed arrows from concealed positions or picking off sentries or the unwary.
There were a few however that took these skills further, and showed enough ability to not only perform their duties well, but were capable of doing so alone. To be able to wander the wilds with no one but themselves to rely upon and going on patrols days or weeks at a time was a skill that was only found in one in every twenty foresters. These were the men and mer who would find themselves rising through the ranks from mere legionaries, most with their eyes firmly planted on the illustrious rank of scout-champion for each legion.
My skills had allowed me to rise to the rank of Archer-Prefect. This placed me in the position of being one of twenty within my local casta, and one of the few dozen within the 14th with the authority and skill to hunt and scout on my own, I was bar far one of the best. It did however provide me with a greater ability than most within the Fighter's Guild and soon proved that Azzan had chosen a job well suited for me.
Foresters intrusted to solo missions were usually granted a higher level of initiative within the Legion's rank structure and I looked forward to being entrusted with such responsibility during my service. The sense of freedom, the fact that I was simply given an order to accomplish a task with the choice of how to do so entirely up to myself. The more I thought of it though, the more I realised it was this same love of having a choice and freedom, combined with my personal initiative that left me travelling down the rocky path to desertion in the first place.
Ensuring that I was well prepared, dressed in my armour, wrapped in my minotaur leather cloak and carrying everything needed for a month of living rough I left Anvil and Viconia behind. Every pouch I had was filled with various items, my tiny travelling pack containing little more than dried rations and my compound bow was left for the most part, unstrung and locked within its leather travelling case. A pair of knives, both Sunchild and the Light of Dawn and twenty arrows found their way onto my person as well, all within easy reach but situated where they wouldn't catch on passing branches or otherwise hinder my movement.
I was hollow, empty inside without Viconia by my side. The months that we had been together had left us unconsciously relying on each other more than what we had realised. Until the first night where I found myself sitting before my tiny campfire, I don't think I fully realised how I too relied on her for support just as much as she did with me. It had nearly been half a year since we had first met, and we had gone from distrusting companions to lovers in that short space of time. What surprised me the most though was how beside loneliness I was also feeling a sense of freedom at finding myself alone and responsible for only myself.
Separating from Viconia was strangely easier, and yet harder than I was expecting. The pangs of loneliness ate away at me in the deepening shadows of the evenings and mornings when I made camp and maintained my equipment, but I was also highly focussed on my task and my surroundings. Only a fool or the inexperienced let their guard down in the wilds, and after surviving years within Vvardenfell and several dozen solo expeditions I wasn't going to do any different. The Empire might have stamped its presence into Tamriel with paved roads, aqueducts and sprawling farmlands, but its hold was only tentative at the best. When you moved more than a kilometre or more from a road or village, nature ruled with an iron fist and Kynareth was an unforgiving mistress.
While my younger years, and my teenage life within eastern Hammerfell had forged my skill in hunting, it had been tempered and honed in the Legion. Morrowind, especially Vvardenfell was not a place for the unwary or inexperienced. Between the fauna that inhabited he fungal forests and the mountain ranges and the occasional corpus creature roaming the lands, it was extremely hazardous. That was taking into account the fact that numerous diseases were also rife through most of the animal population that didn't include Corpus, and a considerable amount of the flora was also deadly to touch, let alone consume.
Cyrodiil in comparison was almost laughably safe, but only in the briefest of comparisons. It was dangerous to assume safety anywhere in the Empire, as the line between civilisation and wilderness was extremely thin. In Anvil county, mountain lions roamed the land, forest trolls could be occasional encountered along the border to Kvatch and minotaurs were not unheard of. Closer to the coast the higher the chances of encountering dreugh became. The shelled monstrosities could be found throughout most coasts and rivers in Tamriel, and after my experiences around Khuul I had no intent of renewing my acquaintance with them.
The largest difference within Cyrodiil compared to Morrowind was the locals. For the most part they were not threatening in the slightest, whereas in Morrowind whether they be the local Dunmer disliking the presence of the Legion, or some of the outright hostile Ashlanders the only real safety was within a Legion Fortress. This time, the only hostile individuals were the ones I was tasked in tracking down.
Before I had reported to Huurwen I had made the decision that I would only hunt at night. Normally, and to most individuals the night was impossible to track or hunt except for the nights where the moons were full. To me however I had every intention of using my vampiric side to its advantage, not only to learn more about myself and control my abilities but to give myself every advantage I could in such an undertaking.
I had found Huurwen in the Guild's camp, looking extremely tired and haggard from a fortnight's scouting. As a result, she was extremely glad for the reprieve that I represented. Between herself and Rhano, they represented the only two within the guild who had any real skill or experience in tracking. A such they had been busy the past three months. The weeks of living rough, moving carefully throughout the county and their nerves constantly on edge had sapped their strength and will. For Rhano, his breaking point had been when a Ranger had made a complete mockery of his skill and ability. Huurwen hadn't reached her point, but judging by her twitchiness and red-rimmed eyes it wasn't too far away.
They had been effective though. Two dozen fighters leading three or four dozen fresh recruits would patrol the roads, while the handful of skilled hunters would go out to all the likely hiding spots. Known Ayleid ruins, ancient abandoned Legion forts, caves and mines, and abandoned farms and villages were all checked and rechecked. At any time that recent activity was found it would be followed and those responsible scouted through stealth as much as possible. If they were anyone suspicious or related to the groups of bandits, the scout would lead a squad of fighters to where they were hiding. Well over a hundred individuals had been taken prisoner, and half as many killed as any resistance was not tolerated and punished harshly.
After such a solid effort in eradicating the bandit problem of the county, those that were left were the hard-core elite. In the full tradition of Gaiden Shinji Himself; the best techniques were being passed on by the survivors. Huurwen believed that there were only one or two groups left, but these were the most hardened, toughest, well equipped and stealthy of them all. At least one group was the last of the marauders from Hammerfell, and two were Nordic Raider bands. They were continuing to make their presence felt, as despite the way that they were being hunted they had chosen to continue their actions. Several caravans had been attacked or even wiped out entirely. For the most part handfuls of individuals were left robbed on the side of the road or destitute after everything of value had been taken away to their camps. It seemed that anyone who resisted were being slain and left as warnings for the Guild.
Within the first week I had managed to track down one of the raider bands, deciding not to lead the fighters to their camp where they resided. I fell upon them in the night, using my vampiric abilities to the fullest and slaking my growing thirst. My role for the Guild was a perfect opportunity to test myself and above all, learn my breaking point. A growing portion of my conscious mind had decided to ensure that the slaughter that I had wreaked upon the Blood Coven would never occur unless I explicitly chose to do so.
To hunt prey, whether it be animal or human, or to scout out areas required more than just the ability to move quietly or live off the lands. It required a certain strength of will, the keenness of more than just sight and being able to remain vigilant at all times. There was also two ways of moving through the wilderness. Quickly, or quietly. To be able to dart through the land like a shadow being chased by the light, or being able to move as quiet as a ghost. As a vampire and at night I could do both, leaving no trace of myself as I moved with all the speed of the damned. Those that I sought could only choose to do one or the other. Whichever method they chose didn't help them as I could hunt by more than just what tracks they left. By smell I could find their essence on the wind, and as I got closer I could hunt them by the beating of their hearts.
Within the shadowed depths of scrubland, a rocky gorge cut through the undulating landscape. A tiny stream had been making it way for untold centuries through the rolling hills and over the years of its existence it had sliced deep into earth and stone. It was a quiet, unassuming place that most would have walked past without ever knowing of its existence, and I would have easy done so if I had not been tracking a group of bandits. They had been responsible for two separate attacks on caravans and travellers in the previous two weeks since I had started scouting. Each time had been messy, and left several families bereft of more than just their money and goods. These particular bandits represented the last of the marauders from Hammerfell and had proven themselves to be very good at what they did.
The campsite was proof of this. Hidden in the depths of the gorge, it nestled into the cliffs under whatever overhangs were present and ensured they couldn't be seen by someone on the hills. The density of the trees in the area guaranteed that unless you knew exactly where you were going, you could walk past one or both of the entrances without knowing. The creek itself was little more than a trickle, but provided enough fresh water for the band and a handful of opportunities of food in the form of frogs, ducks and other various creatures who came to drink. It was highly defensible with the two narrow openings in the rock faces and the thickets ensured that both entrances could be watched by bandits without being seen themselves. As a result, they had managed to hide from the ever encroaching guard and Fighters Guild, travelling out every few days to restock their supplies and waylay another hapless caravan or travellers.
Masser lit the darkness with its baleful eye, staring down across the landscape as I slid through the shadows. The nights were growing colder even this far south, and while nearly every centimetre of skin was hidden from sight I could feel the chill across my eyes and forehead. Wrapped in my cloak, face hidden behind my mask, hood and coif I merged with the night even without the use of my vampiric abilities. The darkness was pulled away from my eyes and I could see as well as I could in the middle of the day, and every step I made I barely made a sound or left a trace of my passage. Those that I followed while skilled, were quickly running out of luck. They had no defence against a creature that could see in the dark and track them by the smell that they left on every tree or bush they brushed past.
Still... It had taken me the better part of four days to follow them further into the depths of Anvil County. Their path had wound through the forests and over the rolling grasslands and several times I had lost their tracks as they clambered over rocks and followed creeks and streams. Even without my cursed nature I would have been able to track them down eventually, but every crushed twig and indentation of an armoured boot was starting to make me uneasy. They knew that they were being hunted and had actively been taking measures against it. Without the assistance of the vampire I knew that I would have been hard pressed to catch up as I had. Two things were concerning me more and more with every minute that passed. The first was the more I caught up to them, the more I found myself sure that I wasn't the only thing or being hunting them. The second was that with every step I found myself closer to the area that Rhano had met the Ranger and had been warned to stay from.
Sliding through the undergrowth, hunched over and stepping very carefully, I looked about the maze of brambles and shrubs that were between me and the entrance to their camp. The cliffs were sheer and jagged, rising from the stream to the top of the slopes fifteen metres up and where the hills had once joined was a four-metre-wide gap where the stream had sliced through over thousands of years. Only a skilled climber or an alteration mage would hope to be able to traverse that rocky face, and as a result it was the perfect spot for an ambush or sentry. Normally, once I got this close to an encampment I would return to guide the fighters and the militia back, but there was something wrong. Like a splinter lodged in one of my gloves I could feel it niggling away at me, irritating my flesh until I felt irritated and sore. I knew that this was the camp that I had been looking for, and somehow that those who lived there were present.
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Thick and still faintly smelling of minotaur, my mask was briefly pulled down and I sniffed the air. My face was taut in the darkness with the vampire rising to the surface and lending me its enhanced senses. Normally such a location in a hollow in the land between enormous slabs of earth would entrap the usual smells from camps no matter how permanent or temperory. It was another factor of their campsite that showed their experience of living off the land and hiding from potential enemies. Being in a position where the breeze couldn't blow the smell of cooking fires was beneficial and I had been doing the same thing over the past fortnight, only lighting fires in hollows where the smell was less likely to travel and the flames weren't visible.
The smells from this particular site were familiar; rendered animal fat that had been used to grease leather and chainmail, bodies that had gone weeks or months without the touch of soap and the faintest hint of a latrine somewhere within the gorge. It had been smells that had led me after my quarry for most of the day and evening but there were additions wafting on the breeze.
Coppery and mouth-wateringly, I could taste blood on the wind. It had been a smell that I had also followed in the first day of pursuit after they had killed a handful of the trade caravan they had raided. As the days progressed and they washed the gore off their arms and chests or it otherwise dried or flaked away the smell had faded, forcing me to follow in more traditional ways. But now as I crouched in the shadows, I could taste blood. Blood that I knew without a doubt was still mostly fresh.
The vampire within my soul; the beast was troubled though. While tantalising and leaving me licking my lips in anticipation it was not a smell that was entirely welcome in the night. Especially as I didn't know of the cause of it. As my beastial instincts rose to the surface of my mind I could feel my anxiety growing with the fact that other than the smells I couldn't hear or see any other signs of life within the area.
Frogs croaked their chorus from the gurgling stream dribbling through their rocks, and crickets called from various places around me. Far off, the sound of wings reached my ears despite how to the uncorrupted and mortal the noise was impossible to discern. The owner of the deathly silent wings hooted to its mate further off in the night and as it looked for prey in the form of a mouse or woodland creature I moved towards my own.
Gliding through the relatively narrow space where the stream emerged from the gorge I would have normally returned to the shadows but my own instincts knew that there was no threat in the form of a watchful guard. The scent of fresh blood grew stronger as I moved into the gorge itself, along with the other scents of individuals making a home for themselves in the wilds.
Within metres of the entrance, I found the first of the marauders, lying face down in the dirt. The coppery smell was overwhelming as I hunched down over the body, seeing the way that blood was leaking out of the armour around the throat. Fifty metres up the gorge the hint of a fire crackled softly on the edges of my vison, providing no illumination to show the way that the bandit was no longer among the living, not that I needed light to see.
I rolled the body over, seeing the way that death had come for the bandit in the single stab wound under the ear and that the blood had barely had enough time to dry. The most concerning thing about the whole situation was the way how the vampire within me was not interested in the blood. It was more interested in the sights and sounds and smells of the gorge, and that did not bode well.
His jaw was clenched, bruising around his throat where someone had choked off his mouth and windpipe before stabbing him in the head. Even though he had been the sentry placed to watch the entrance to the gorge, someone had managed to make their way past him, come up from behind and kill him without being seen or heard. Not even the steel plate armour that he wore, or the chainmail and leather he wore underneath had been of any benefit. Even with surprise on their side his killer was unable to defeat the armour and so had bypassed it completely.
With the tips of my fingers I felt into the corpse's throat, feeling how the cool air had already taken most of the heat away from the dead man's flesh. It was yet to steal all traces of warmth from the core of the body which meant that he had died only in the past hours and that whoever was responsible was in the area.
Clenching my knuckles in my gloves until I could hear the leather creaking, I rose up from the corpse, rubbing at my jaw through the mask. The entire gorge would have been deathly quiet if not for the sounds of the creek and the various animals and insects that lived in it. In fact, the only sounds that announced a human presence at all was my soft breathing, the cracking of a dying campfire and the thundering of my pulse in my ears.
The entire camp was dead. Fourteen Redguard marauders, all highly skilled and experienced had been left as dead meat on the ground. Some would have been veterans of the numerous conflicts and skirmishes between the Crowned and the Forebears, one or two may have been Legion Deserters like myself. It had done them little use.
Tiny and ramshackle but built with comfort in mind, the campsite was well-worn and had been put to good use during their time in Cyrodiil. In an overhang of the cliff face, canvasses had been erected to further build a space protected from the elements. Rough bedrolls had been set up, along with a couple of crudely built seats made from sawn logs. Close nearby some rope had been suspended between two trees to allow their clothes to dry after laundering. A pair of campfires had been erected further along the gorge, where wooden stands had been erected for the smoking and drying of meat. Overall I was surprised at how cosy of a home they had made for themselves.
There was no sign that they had let themselves grow too unwary in their comfort. A couple of barricades had been set up in places to allow them to fend off attacks, but these had proven to be useless in the face of their sentries being stabbed to death. As I stepped into the feeble firelight I could see that whoever had been responsible had first taken out the sentry, and then had surrounded the marauders.
Besides the two sentries guarding both ends of the tiny stream and the entrances to their camp, the others had been killed from afar. Waiting until they were perfectly ready, the stealthy killers had taken their time, infiltrating the camp before falling upon the unsuspecting bandits.
Stepping around corpses I pieced their deaths together in my mind, looking at the way that they lay sprawled about. Some had been sitting around the central campfire, the overturned bottles of alcohol making the ground damp where they had fallen. Others had been going about their own routines. One had obviously been in the middle of washing herself in the stream when an arrow had flickered out of the darkness and punched through an eye. Her death had been the signal for the others to attack, and it appeared as though that by the time her body had slapped face first into the water the others were well along the way of joining her in Aetherius.
Another had been sitting across from one of his comrades, playing dice on a board that had been overturned when they both had jumped to their feet in surprise. The dice; crudely carved from wood lay scattered in the dirt near their boots. No one would ever know which of the two were winning when they died. A pair of arrows had taken their lives just as surely as the first, one punching deep into a chest to skewer a heart, the other dying the same way as the marauder having a bath with an arrow in the brain.
All bar one had been killed with single arrows, but as I moved through their bodies I could see that those responsible had gone to great measures to ensure that no trace had been left behind. The arrows and their arrowheads had been cut from flesh, leaving wicked, gaping wounds where knives had cut deeply and levered them out. There was a pair of the bandits that caught my attention; a heavyset woman muscled like a prize-fighter and an older man whose skin appeared like dried leather after too many years in the sun.
They had been the last to be killed, and while they were both in different sections of the campsite I could see how they had both moved with far greater speed than their comrades. Either through luck, adrenaline or simple experience, they had both managed to get to their feet and attempt to rush their ambushers.
Neither had made it very far at all. The man had either just come back from sentry duty or was preparing to go relieve one of his friends. Dressed in his full suit of armour, it had managed to stop an arrow aimed for his heart just enough to alert him to the danger and keep him alive long enough to try to do something about it. Even with a pierced lung he had managed to tear the flanged mace from where it had hung by his side in its leather loop, slap down the visor of his sallet helm and make it five paces before he was brought down. In a shot of incredible skill, a second arrow had been loosed, punching into the tiny vision slit between the helmet and the visor and killing him in mid step.
Like all the others, the arrow had been wrenched out of the dead man's skull and helm. Leaving only tiny slivers and dust from the shaft behind, there was not much to show what sort of arrow it had been. The slit itself had been tiny, only a few millimetres wide and too small for me to slide anything wider than my knife through. Whoever had loosed the arrow had enough skill to aim it precisely at the gap, allowing the tip to punch between the visor and brim of the helm and buckle the edges enough to allow the passage. Even half a finger's distance up or down would have either sent the arrow glancing away, shattering it, or in the best case lodging it into the metal and maybe causing injury.
As for the woman she too had taken an arrow to the chest, lodging deeply into breast and pectoral and missing the heart by only the narrowest of margins. Whether it had been luck, fate, or that she simply had twitched at the very last second, the first arrow to strike her had not been instantly fatal. The second and the third that must've hit in quick succession were different; one had just like most of the others, punched deep into an eye socket and the second had been successful in finding her heart.
It was not the arrows, or the wounds that they had caused that had caught my attention. She had bled profusely from the wounds up to and including the time where one of her attackers had hunched down with a blade and hacked them from her cooling corpse. The blood that had soaked her clothing and leathers was mostly concentrated on her chest, neck and face but I could see where more had leaked through from an injury just below the armpit.
The warning growl in my mind from the vampire stopped me for a moment as I hunched over her body. There was no sign of anyone or anything bigger than a frog or cricket in the campsite, and even with my enhanced senses there was nothing I could detect. I could hear the insects moving through the grass around me and when I really concentrated I could even hear the tramping of ants from a nest in the cliff face six metres away. There was nothing that explained the unease that the vampire was feeling. I did know that once I had finished investigating the campsite I would getting the oblivion out of the area as quickly as I could.
"Right then, let's have a look." I whispered under my breath. One eye was open and unseeing, the other a bloody ruin of a hole where someone had scraped bone to dig the arrow out without ruining the arrowhead.
Ensuring that I didn't make eye contact, I rolled her over onto her side, running my hands over the pockets of her tunic and pocketing the few coins and uncut gemstones that I found. A trade caravan they had hit the month earlier was carrying a chest of gems from Summerset Isles destined for Skingrad. Despite the amount of money Viconia and I were sharing I wasn't one for leaving any sort of wealth behind, and one of my spare ingredient pouches found itself host to a small collection of loot that I had taken from each body in turn.
I was halfway through digging through a tiny pouch attached to her belt when I suddenly found myself staring at the lump jutting from under her arm. The blood that had soaked her side in death had taken some time to leak through around the object that had struck her but just like the handful of broken arrows that Azzan kept in his desk drawer something had been missed by those responsible. A knife was buried to the hilt in the hollow of the armpit, jutting outwards, but being lost in the folds of the loose fitting tunic.
For several drawn out moments I simply stared at the dagger, holding the corpse on its side before very slowly turning and looking about the death filled gorge. Every instinct was screaming at me to leave, that something wasn't right with the entire situation, but I couldn't see, hear or sense anything. I was certain that I was being watched but my vampiric ability of being able to detect others by their heartbeats or smell gave me confidence.
My fangs were digging into my bottom lip as I turned back to the dagger, seeing the hilt coated in gore and feeling the stickiness of the blood as I reached down and wrenched it out. For a blade it was highly unusual and was unlike any I had encountered before. Double edged to allow for greater penetration, it was also perfectly balanced which was unusual in itself. What most bizarre thing about it though was the materials of its make. No metal had been used in its creation, neither for the blade or the hilt. Both the hilt and the blade had been carved from bones, but it was obvious that the two sections had not come from the same creature or possibly even species. The blade had been carefully carved, shaped with an artificer's care before being smoothed and polished until the black ivory-like substance appeared like the night itself. As for the hilt, it was carefully cut and etched before being wrapped in silken strands that allowed the wielder to have a firm grip on the blade before throwing it.
It was one of the most elegant daggers I had ever seen, far surpassing the ceremonial daggers I had seen amongst the Dunmer. It was a sight that was made ever more unusual at the sight of a short collection of greasy strands braided together and tied to the end of it.
The dagger was elegant, but the braid was not. There was something wrong with it, more than the mere sight and colouring. Like off-milk mixed with corpse-bile, it reeked of corruption but as I knelt there looking at the unusual dagger I could feel a sense of familiarity towards it. The beast within me growled again, a cautionary and yet yearning murmur in the back of my mind as I regarded the three-centimetre-long braid.
With the tips of my fingers left uncovered from my fingerless gloves I lifted the braid and felt it directly with my skin. Even the tiniest of touches was enough to send a wave of nausea running into the core of my being. My stomach threatened to rebel from the touch, leaving me feeling clammy and foul all over and I dropped the entire blade to the ground like it was a venomous reptile. For a moment despite what my eyes had been telling me it was almost as though the braid was alive and squirming on my fingertips. The thought left me fruitlessly wiping my fingers on my armoured thighs to rid myself of the sensation.
"What the fuck is that..." I murmured, resisting the urge to pull my mask down to wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. I felt as though I was going to be sick but through little more than sheer willpower I held my rebellious guts in line. It didn't help the fact that I felt like I had thrown up anyway, my entire body had been wracked with spasms as though it was trying to purge itself of toxins. Now at least I knew without any uncertainty that there was something far worse at play in the region.
The way that my body seemed to be simultaneously rejoicing in the touch and proximity to the braid and rejecting it with every fibre of my being showed me that there was only one explanation. The braid itself was nothing special or that important, but it was a mark showing that the knife's owner had fallen under the power of the Daedra. Which Daedra I wasn't certain, but I had enough experience with my own nature and creatures of the Prince of Destruction to know that it wasn't Mehrunes Dagon. His influence was brutal and straightforward and whatever this braid was made to signify screamed of corruption and taint.
Resting in the grass by my side where I had placed it, the stringed length of my compound bow sat as I glared at the corrupted dagger. For a moment I glanced between the two weapons, half expecting the dagger to begin crawling away into the dirt like a centipede. I stared at it for a few seconds, before reaching for my bow.
Exploding from the back of my skull, the beast's warning stopped me in mid motion. There was no sign of any presence, no wayward smell or noise and yet the vampire told me that I was no longer alone, that someone or something was directly behind me, close enough to breathe on the back of my neck if they so wished. It also told me that not only was I no longer alone, but there was a knife to my throat.
