The night was clear, the air crisp; the smell of impending snowfall was on the wind. Audric grumbled under his breath as he opened the door to the inn. That there existed a place where the cold persisted even into the height of summer seemed a kind of blasphemy to him – one of Skyrim’s many curses besides the dragons.
There was refuge inside, however, as always. The fire crackled jovially and the incessant babble wasn’t so bad, either. The savory scent of a pheasant roast wafted overhead and his mouth watered a little. Taking a seat at the bar, he tucked into some warm food and contemplated his next move. He had come unannounced, and only now that he’d arrived was he realizing the problems this presented him with. He ate and drank and turned a few different solutions over in his head.
His prospective client had referred to himself as Cub – a pseudonym, presumably. Well, he decided, usually the best way to get what you want is to ask.
“Excuse me,” he waved the innkeeper over, “I’m looking for a man who calls himself ‘Cub.’ Is he renting here, by chance?”
The woman’s face flashed in horror for a split second before she forced a warm smile that didn’t touch the lines of her eyes. “Ah yes, let me see if he’s up to company.” Before he could inform her that they were supposed to meet, she took off into one of the rooms – without even knocking! – as if fire trailed her heels. When she returned, she looked tense.
Audric’s intuition was screaming at him to leave, but he dismissed it as paranoia.
“He’ll see you. Come along.”
“He won’t come have a drink at the bar?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Audric couldn’t help but notice her eyes, darting frantically to a corner where some Imperial officers were having a good, hearty laugh over their tankards.
He followed her into the room, and was surprised to find it dark, empty. He was even more surprised upon being knocked to the ground, the ominous click of a lock registering in his ears amongst the sound of scuffling and rattling. Not for the first time, his wrists were in irons and he was being hauled up onto his feet in a hard grip.
“This is him,” the innkeeper whispered, hysterical, “the man who is looking for the Jarl!”
“Wait just a minute –!”
Two burly men in Stormcloak colors towered over him. “I don’t know how you got word of his location, but you’ll meet him alright. And he’s going to decide just what to do with you.”
“Probably Shout him to bits; put him in the ground.”
"He can't Shout here, you idiot, the whole place would come down around us!"
The men dragged him towards a tall wardrobe, and for a moment, Audric was terrified that they were going to stuff him in it and just wait for him to suffocate, but the back of it slid to one side, revealing a steep, concealed stairwell. They proceeded to march him down the steps, into the dim light below.
The room was spacious, bathed in lantern light. Audric could see his breath.
“And what do we have here?” asked a terribly familiar voice. He’d only heard it a handful of times, but it would be impossible to forget.
“This is the scout, my Jarl,” said one of the guards, shoving him forward as if for inspection.
Eyes lit with amusement, Ulfric Stormcloak looked as if he were trying to bite back a grin. “This is no scout, Imperial or otherwise, I assure you.” Addressing Audric specifically, he added, “I told you to send advanced notice.”
“It was a last-minute decision to even show up,” he countered. His wrists were beginning to ache. “Had I known this was your convention for receiving company, I’d have thought better of it.”
Waving off Audric’s snide comments, he had the guards release him and instructed them to return to their posts. The men seemed reluctant to leave their beloved leader alone with a strange man in what constituted a basement larder, but loyal to a fault, they followed orders.
"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 2a/??
The night was clear, the air crisp; the smell of impending snowfall was on the wind. Audric grumbled under his breath as he opened the door to the inn. That there existed a place where the cold persisted even into the height of summer seemed a kind of blasphemy to him – one of Skyrim’s many curses besides the dragons.
There was refuge inside, however, as always. The fire crackled jovially and the incessant babble wasn’t so bad, either. The savory scent of a pheasant roast wafted overhead and his mouth watered a little. Taking a seat at the bar, he tucked into some warm food and contemplated his next move. He had come unannounced, and only now that he’d arrived was he realizing the problems this presented him with. He ate and drank and turned a few different solutions over in his head.
His prospective client had referred to himself as Cub – a pseudonym, presumably. Well, he decided, usually the best way to get what you want is to ask.
“Excuse me,” he waved the innkeeper over, “I’m looking for a man who calls himself ‘Cub.’ Is he renting here, by chance?”
The woman’s face flashed in horror for a split second before she forced a warm smile that didn’t touch the lines of her eyes. “Ah yes, let me see if he’s up to company.” Before he could inform her that they were supposed to meet, she took off into one of the rooms – without even knocking! – as if fire trailed her heels. When she returned, she looked tense.
Audric’s intuition was screaming at him to leave, but he dismissed it as paranoia.
“He’ll see you. Come along.”
“He won’t come have a drink at the bar?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Audric couldn’t help but notice her eyes, darting frantically to a corner where some Imperial officers were having a good, hearty laugh over their tankards.
He followed her into the room, and was surprised to find it dark, empty. He was even more surprised upon being knocked to the ground, the ominous click of a lock registering in his ears amongst the sound of scuffling and rattling. Not for the first time, his wrists were in irons and he was being hauled up onto his feet in a hard grip.
“This is him,” the innkeeper whispered, hysterical, “the man who is looking for the Jarl!”
“Wait just a minute –!”
Two burly men in Stormcloak colors towered over him. “I don’t know how you got word of his location, but you’ll meet him alright. And he’s going to decide just what to do with you.”
“Probably Shout him to bits; put him in the ground.”
"He can't Shout here, you idiot, the whole place would come down around us!"
The men dragged him towards a tall wardrobe, and for a moment, Audric was terrified that they were going to stuff him in it and just wait for him to suffocate, but the back of it slid to one side, revealing a steep, concealed stairwell. They proceeded to march him down the steps, into the dim light below.
The room was spacious, bathed in lantern light. Audric could see his breath.
“And what do we have here?” asked a terribly familiar voice. He’d only heard it a handful of times, but it would be impossible to forget.
“This is the scout, my Jarl,” said one of the guards, shoving him forward as if for inspection.
Eyes lit with amusement, Ulfric Stormcloak looked as if he were trying to bite back a grin. “This is no scout, Imperial or otherwise, I assure you.” Addressing Audric specifically, he added, “I told you to send advanced notice.”
“It was a last-minute decision to even show up,” he countered. His wrists were beginning to ache. “Had I known this was your convention for receiving company, I’d have thought better of it.”
Waving off Audric’s snide comments, he had the guards release him and instructed them to return to their posts. The men seemed reluctant to leave their beloved leader alone with a strange man in what constituted a basement larder, but loyal to a fault, they followed orders.