Eola watched from the shadows as the guards took Cicero away. Seeing as the Jarl had seen everything and Cicero gleefully pleaded guilty, going so far as to ask for fifty seven other offences to be taken into consideration, there'd been very little debate. Igmund had ordered him slung into Cidhna Mine for life, for the good of everyone. Eola had closed her eyes, silently wiping away the tears as they'd hauled him off, the cackling echoing around the Dwemer halls. The Forsworn had more cash than anyone suspected, but not nearly enough to pay Cicero's likely bounty after this. If Nepos couldn't or wouldn't help, Cicero was doomed. She just hoped her father treated him well.
She followed from a distance until they dragged him into the mine entrance, watching as Cicero lost his freedom... and then he was gone, and it was time to hand over her own. Taking a deep breath, she went to track down Nepos.
She'd packed all her things before leaving Reachcliff, and she'd brought them along still. Not a lot, just her studded armour, a few bits of jewellery, a little gold, her sword and hunting bow, some potions, Cicero's weapons now as well... and her old Forsworn armour. Enchanted, like all Madanach's family had. Perfect gear for a Forsworn nightblade. Not that she'd ever actually officially served as one – she'd run away first. But she had the armour still. She'd already pulled on the boots and gloves. Clutching the headdress in her hands, she slipped into Nepos' house, putting it on once inside.
The house was quiet, a few soft sounds of daily living, someone sweeping, someone else chopping food up from the sound of it, a fire crackling away, rustling of pages as someone read. Eola moved quietly up the entrance hall, to where a woman with silver hair and yellow eyes was sweeping. She crept closer... and the woman cast a spell before turning to look right at her.
“Name and business, newcomer,” she snapped. “And don't sneak. Thieves sneak. Assassins sneak. Guests do not.”
“But nightblades do,” Eola said quietly, standing up and stepping into the light. “Where is Nepos. I need to speak with him.”
The woman narrowed her eyes, reaching for her dagger, and her left hand was held ready to cast. “No ordinary warrior would come here and I don't know your face. Who are you, to interrupt the old man's rest.”
“No ordinary warrior,” Eola purred, smiling sweetly at her. She'd taken down lone Forsworn in the hills before now. Tasting the flesh of her own kind, now that was always something... special. Something a little extra forbidden about it. This woman would be a joy to taste, Eola could tell that.
But not today. From further in, a man's voice called out and although she'd never met him, he sounded familiar.
“Let her in, Uaile. I'll speak with her.”
“But sir,” Uaile protested, clearly concerned by this. “You don't know who she is.”
“Then let's find out,” Nepos said, sitting up and turning to look at Eola. As she stepped into the light, she was gratified to see his eyes widening. They'd always told her she looked more like her father. They'd also said she looked like her oldest sister Eithne, although she'd left home when Eola was five and died not long after – Eola barely remembered her face. She just remembered a fearless warrior to be who'd always told her to hang in there, she wouldn't be little forever. Eola missed her.
Nepos had known Madanach and Eithne both, and she could tell he was wondering who she was exactly, even though the list of possibilities wasn't high.
“Know who I am yet?” Eola said softly, approaching and hoping the headdress didn't do too good a job of making her look like every other Forsworn. So she pulled the thing off and let her hair fall down, irritably patting it back into place as she did. She looked up to see Nepos staring at her, shocked... but also proud.
“That's exactly what your father used to do when he took his off. He always hated wearing the things too,” Nepos said softly. “Welcome back, Rhan-Brenyeen.”
Eola nodded, taking a seat next to him, trying to ignore the shocked whispers among the various young Forsworn hanging around the place. Even Uaile had sat down, stunned.
Re: The Wolf Queen Awakens 14.9
She followed from a distance until they dragged him into the mine entrance, watching as Cicero lost his freedom... and then he was gone, and it was time to hand over her own. Taking a deep breath, she went to track down Nepos.
She'd packed all her things before leaving Reachcliff, and she'd brought them along still. Not a lot, just her studded armour, a few bits of jewellery, a little gold, her sword and hunting bow, some potions, Cicero's weapons now as well... and her old Forsworn armour. Enchanted, like all Madanach's family had. Perfect gear for a Forsworn nightblade. Not that she'd ever actually officially served as one – she'd run away first. But she had the armour still. She'd already pulled on the boots and gloves. Clutching the headdress in her hands, she slipped into Nepos' house, putting it on once inside.
The house was quiet, a few soft sounds of daily living, someone sweeping, someone else chopping food up from the sound of it, a fire crackling away, rustling of pages as someone read. Eola moved quietly up the entrance hall, to where a woman with silver hair and yellow eyes was sweeping. She crept closer... and the woman cast a spell before turning to look right at her.
“Name and business, newcomer,” she snapped. “And don't sneak. Thieves sneak. Assassins sneak. Guests do not.”
“But nightblades do,” Eola said quietly, standing up and stepping into the light. “Where is Nepos. I need to speak with him.”
The woman narrowed her eyes, reaching for her dagger, and her left hand was held ready to cast. “No ordinary warrior would come here and I don't know your face. Who are you, to interrupt the old man's rest.”
“No ordinary warrior,” Eola purred, smiling sweetly at her. She'd taken down lone Forsworn in the hills before now. Tasting the flesh of her own kind, now that was always something... special. Something a little extra forbidden about it. This woman would be a joy to taste, Eola could tell that.
But not today. From further in, a man's voice called out and although she'd never met him, he sounded familiar.
“Let her in, Uaile. I'll speak with her.”
“But sir,” Uaile protested, clearly concerned by this. “You don't know who she is.”
“Then let's find out,” Nepos said, sitting up and turning to look at Eola. As she stepped into the light, she was gratified to see his eyes widening. They'd always told her she looked more like her father. They'd also said she looked like her oldest sister Eithne, although she'd left home when Eola was five and died not long after – Eola barely remembered her face. She just remembered a fearless warrior to be who'd always told her to hang in there, she wouldn't be little forever. Eola missed her.
Nepos had known Madanach and Eithne both, and she could tell he was wondering who she was exactly, even though the list of possibilities wasn't high.
“Know who I am yet?” Eola said softly, approaching and hoping the headdress didn't do too good a job of making her look like every other Forsworn. So she pulled the thing off and let her hair fall down, irritably patting it back into place as she did. She looked up to see Nepos staring at her, shocked... but also proud.
“That's exactly what your father used to do when he took his off. He always hated wearing the things too,” Nepos said softly. “Welcome back, Rhan-Brenyeen.”
Eola nodded, taking a seat next to him, trying to ignore the shocked whispers among the various young Forsworn hanging around the place. Even Uaile had sat down, stunned.