Oblivion Mod:Stirk/A Just Punishment

ondenrume studied the tavern from his usual seat, casually filtering out the conversations of the other regulars. He did not come for food or drink, or to overhear their petty trifles. What concerned him was news from afar that travelers - the unusual lot - brought in. Information was always useful, even if that use was not immediately apparent.

As luck would have it, two unfamiliar Nords stalked in. Luck, however, was not kind enough to make them carelessly start conversing their business to all within earshot. That made them doubly curious: Besides being strangers, the Nords broke the seemingly unwritten Nordic rule of bragging loudly of their brave and foolish exploits. Most especially the foolish ones. But these two sat in silence, staring sullenly at the other patrons. They opened their mouths only to order more liquor or foodstuffs, and did even that with an air of hushed importance.

As Londenrume watched them without seeming to watch them, he knew their eyes were surveying the room in just the same way. They were looking for something. With typical Nords, he would have suspected a fight. But these fellows made no motions toward their weapons, and he did not sense the usual pre-battle tension in them. A waitress serving the patron on Londenrume's left distracted him for a moment, and when he quickly looked without looking back at the Nords, they were gone.

Shaking his head in stifled curiosity, Londenrume suddenly stiffened. He felt hand on his shoulder as one of the Nords took the seat to his right and his fellow stood behind and between them. The bearded Nord at the seat, the elder of the two, studied Londenrume's face, his dark, hard eyes betraying nothing.

"High Elf," he began "we have need of your services." Saying no more, he waited for some response.

After beat, Londenrume asked "And how would two unfamiliar men such as yourselves know what sort of services I might offer'"

The grey bearded Nord turned on the stool to face the bar while he talked. "You are an Altmer. You wear robes without the creak of armor below. Your hands fit around a plate as if it were a book. You might look around shifty like a thief, but you are a wizard." It wasn't a question, but the Nord let it hang in the air as if it were.

"Congratulations," Londenrume stated flatly "you have figured out that an Altmer uses magic."

"Let's not waste each other's time. You know we were looking for someone like you. As I said, we have need of your services."

Londenrume answered flippantly, "Indeed, I do not intend to waste any time. I'm not interested."

At that, Londenrume felt a dagger poke lightly into his back as the other Nord stepped close in to cover the blade from prying eyes. All around them, regular tavern chatter continued unabated. The Nord with the dagger hissed "You are a sharp mer. My blade is sharper still, but you are a sharp mer. I know you do not recall us asking for your services, because we did not."

The older Nord chimed in, "As he says. This is not a matter of requesting. This is not a negotiation. I said we were looking for someone like you. I said we had need of your services. I say now, you will come with us, travel with us, and cast spells for us. When you are no longer needed, you are free to do what you will."

The second Nord continued, "If you give us trouble now, you will die. We might be caught, and we might not. But you will be dead. I know you understand me."

After an uncomfortable silence, the bearded Nord clapped Londenrume on the shoulder. "It's settled then," he said loudly. "Come then, friend. Much road lies before us. Much work to be done."

As the group passed through the tavern door, Londenrume cast one last glance back. None of the other patrons had noticed.

Travel was a nightmare for Londenrume. The Nords set a murderous pace, and the frozen lands of northern High Rock seemed to conspire against him. The one saving grace was that Haeflig, the younger Nord, stalked out ahead and killed anything that troubled him. Considering the relative ease with which he dispatched the odd malevolent beast, Londenrume would not have been surprised had the powerful youth claimed nothing troubled him at all. That they could cover so much harsh ground so quickly, and that Haeflig could swing his axe so tirelessly along the way did much to banish from Londenrume's mind the notion of fleeing his captors.

At the end of the fourth day's marching, when they prepared a rudimentary camp, Traskig, the elder Nord, decided it was time to share some information with Londenrume. As was his habit, the bearded Nord gave up little.

"Elf. A ship was wrecked off the western Skyrim coast. That's where we're going." When Londenrume pried for more, all Traskig would say was "A day after we pass Jehanna, you go your way, we go ours. Keep asking questions, your way will be in the ground."

After another four wretched days, the small party looked out over the bitterly frigid coastline of Skyrim. The Nords called for halt at what looked like just another stretch of water to Londenrume. Talking among themselves, they each nodded, convinced that this was the spot they'd been seeking. Shivering against the wind, the Altmer walked cautiously over to his kidnappers.

"You said before I was a sharp mer." he said through chattering teeth, "Since I've been dragged uselessly along while the two of you cleared the way, I take it this is what you needed me for'"

"Yes, elf." Haeflig answered, "The ship has sunk far below where we can reach it. We would have gotten a spell caster closer to home, but only we know of the ship, and telling one local means fifty would know. Don't need the competition. Just need someone competent to cast a spell of water breathing."

"Don't you worry about the water'" Londenrume asked.

Traskig had looked annoyed with Haeflig for having volunteered so much information, but at that both could not help but laugh openly. "We are Nords, elf. We bathe ourselves in snow. These waters' Tepid." Haeflig continued chuckling, with typical Nord bravado.

Londenrume quickly silenced them by asking if he would get a cut of the loot from the sunken ship. Traskig turned his cold, hard eyes on the Altmer and with equal warmth told him "Of course. We will spread everything out on the ground, appraise it, and split the take in half. My half, Haeflig's half, and your half."

Quietly, Londenrume stated "Three halves aren't a whole."

"Oh yes they are, elf." Traskig stared a hole through Londenrume, "All halves have the same value. Our halves tell us how much gold will line our pockets. Yours tells you how much your life is worth, how much it takes for us not to kill you."

Londenrume wanted to laugh back in their faces, and call them for the fools they were, but somehow held his contempt in. When the Nords demanded he cast the water breathing spell, he cast it. Of course, it didn't last as long as they'd hoped. A pity, thought Londenrume as they struggled vainly to the surface. Whatever treasures they sought, they would indeed get to spend eternity with. Unless the slaughterfish tore their corpses apart. A just punishment for being foolish enough to threaten one upon whom your life depended.