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Call of the Blood 1.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

1.Reasons to Fight
I had ridden fast from Windhelm, fighting time and fatigue. I leapt off the horse at Whiterun Stables, throwing the reins to the nearest stable-hand and sprinted up the hill, headed for Dragonsreach. My legs felt like they were on fire as I staggered up the stairs but I kept going. Jarl Balgruuf needed to know. Ulfric Stormcloak was coming.

I careened into the Great Hall, all eyes turning to me as I managed to pant out, “He’s sending his army. We’ve got about two days head start. Galmar Stone-fist is leading them and based on what I saw of his plans he’s got at least 5,000 men, probably more.”
The Legate sent by General Tullius bit off a curse and Jarl Balgruuf let out a heavy sigh, “Good work, Thane Igne. Go get some rest and come back before the battle starts.”
I thought about protesting briefly but the Jarl made sense. And I was exhausted. I nodded and bowed briefly and Lydia, her housecarl, stood up from her seat by Irileth and headed down to rejoin me. We exchanged dark grimaces as behind us the Jarl, Legate and Irileth began discussing plans.

It wouldn’t be enough.

I trudged down the stairs lost in thought, Lydia following behind me. We were screwed, outnumbered, even with the legions support. The courtyard was peaceful, children playing tag round the Gildergreen and Heimskr thankfully taking a break from the ranting to catch up on sleep. Yet behind the scenes preparations had been made since I left for Windhelm, walls reinforced and patrols stepped up. And there was an undercurrent of fear to the normally peaceful city, so far untouched by the war that had been raging, shown by the rigid expressions on the adult’s faces. In the courtyard Danica's face had turned to me and I could read her thoughts as if they were my own; You'll save us, won't you Dragonborn? I had to think of something. I shut my eyes for a blissful minute, trying to regain my composure but the clang of steel in the air cut short my reverie.

My head turned in the direction of the beached, inverted ship and a slow smile spread across my face.

I think I’ve got a cunning plan.

Re: Call of the Blood 1.2/?

[(Anonymous)]

Sounds of laughter and breaking glass could be heard as I pushed open the heavy, warped oak doors. There was a fight going on at one end of the hall between a lithe Dunmer and a stocky Nord with red war paint striped on her face. Gathered around them in a circle were other warriors all laughing and placing bets.

Not too different from the Thieves Guild.

The thought of intruding on their moment of fun made me feel uneasy. But necessity and duty drove me and I finally gathered my nerve enough to speak, “Excuse me?”
The fighting stopped. Ten pairs of eyes came to rest on my face and I forced myself not to quail under their gaze.
“I’m looking to hire you.”
“Right,” The red haired woman with the green war paint moved up towards me, “Standard rate for a member is twenty Septims a day but if you want a Circle member it’s sixty. Plus expenses.”
I kept her voice level, “And how much to hire all of you?” Behind the woman the other Companions had burst out into incredulous coughing fits. I ignored them, keeping my gaze locked on the woman.

The Jarl and I can cover this between us, we have no choice.

The balding scarred warrior whistled, giving me an appraising look, “All of us? Damn girl, what could you need all of us for?”
I heard one of them, the woman who had been brawling, mutter, “Maybe someone stole her sweet roll,” and my fragile temper snapped. I turned to the woman, smiling coldly, “Noooo, actually I stole Ulfric Stormcloak’s sweet roll. He didn’t take it so well and kind of sent all of his army after me to invade Whiterun. They’ll be here in a day or two.”
The hulking giant sat on bench, glanced up at that, grinning, “Really?”
“Not really. Less sweet rolls more axes. But he is planning on invading and Jarl Balgruuf and I could really use your help.”
The first woman stared at me with an inscrutable expression, “Go see Kodlak. He’s our Harbinger, our leader. He’s down the stairs in the chamber at the far end.”
“Lydia, wait here.” Lydia nodded, calm gaze warily assessing the warriors. I nodded at the woman with the face-paint and walking in what I hoped was a confident Dragonborn-saviour-of-Tamriel-like manner, my head held high as I felt their gazes on my back. I pushed open the doors to the lower level and strode into the gloom.

Call of the Blood 1.3/?

[(Anonymous)]

I found myself in a long and spacious hallway, closed doors on either side. The walls were lined with practical cupboards and weapon stands, filled with well-honed blades. I heard voices drifting down the hallway, from the open doors at the far end. Habit made me slow my pace and surreptitiously eavesdrop on the conversation. Two male voices in hushed tones, one sounded old and the other closer to my age. As for the content of the conversation that made little sense to me.

“But I still hear the call of the blood.” That was from the younger voice, it sounded almost...confessional.
“We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome.” I was within eyesight of the men now; the one who was speaking was a dark-skinned, grey haired Nord with a weathered tattooed face. The second was a slightly smaller version of the giant upstairs.

Brothers, definitely. Maybe twins?

My suspicions were confirmed by his next words, “You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don’t know if the rest will go along quite so easily.”
They had definitely clocked my presence, their tone more guarded as I approached.
“Leave that to me.”
The younger Companion nodded, eying me warily as I walked through the door. The older man was staring at me as well, but with a strange expression in his eyes, a flicker of recognition, though I was sure that I had never met him before. The younger man was clearly waiting for the older to speak first but when he didn’t he turned to me, “What do you want, girl?”
“The woman upstairs said to speak to Kodlak,” I glanced uncertainly at the older man, still staring at me, before continuing, “I want to hire the Companions. All of you.”
“And why would you want to do that?” Kodlak addressed me for the first time.
“Ulfric Stormcloak is about to try to invade Whiterun. His lieutenant Galmar Stone-Fist is about a day’s march away with an army five times the size of Whiterun’s militia and even with the Legion we’ll need all the help we can get.“
The man was silent for a long moment, hand idly twisting a knife on the table. The younger Companion shot the older a glance that on anyone less imposing might have been construed as concerned. Then finally Kodlak spoke, “Well, how about we’ll help you, for free?”
“What?!”
I ignored the incredulous cry from the other, though it mirrored my thoughts, focusing on the Harbinger, “What’s the catch?”
“You join us afterwards.”
Both mine and the man’s jaws had dropped open, matching expressions of incredulity on our faces.
“Master, you’re not truly considering accepting her?”
“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas. And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts.”
“Apologies. But perhaps this isn’t the time to take on a new recruit.”
“We have been low in numbers since the Great War,” The man turned to me with calm milky blue eyes hinting at a serenity I wished I possessed, “Now, what do you say girl?”
“You don’t even know me.”

If you did there’d be no chance that you’d let me join your upstanding company.

The man chuckled, “Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart.”
“And their arm,” The other man, Vilkas, interjected darkly. I shot him a cold glare but he wasn't fazed, staring at me as though I was something he’d scrape off his boots.
“Well, you’ll have a chance to assess that in the battle and afterwards in training.” He raised an eyebrow at her, “What’s your answer?”
I was silent for a long while. On the surface it seemed too good to be true...and that made the thief in Igne suspicious.

There really does have to be a catch. But on the plus side it saves me a huge chunk of gold, it’ll help with my woefully inadequate combat techniques and it fits in with my ‘fresh start.’ On the downside I’ll probably die. Or get kicked out when they discover my past. And then there’s Mr Grumpy-guts who clearly doesn’t want me to join. There’s only one answer really.

“I’m in.”

Re: Call of the Blood 1.3/?

[(Anonymous)]

Damn I forgot my tags! Sorry Mods!

char:f!PC char:Dragonborn char:Vilkas char:Companions char:m!NPC char:f!NPC kink:fluff relationship:het kink:hurt/comfort

To the wonderful OP: Dinner is finally served ;)

Call of the Blood 2.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

2.This is War
The sullen Companion escorted me back along the corridor, his leader's offer still echoing round my head. I tried to push the distraction to the back of my mind, filing it under 'Things I Can Worry About If I Ever Survive This Battle.' At the moment it was about number ten on the list-number one was still that tiny little problem of Alduin the World-Eater; compared to that particular worry everything else seemed somewhat trivial.
Take each day at a time, Igne.
And right now, what I was looking forward too was some precious sleep. Although whether my stress-filled mind would let that happen was another matter.
By the time I made it up the stairs to the main hall most of the Companions had disappeared but Lydia was chatting to the Dunmer and the twin of the moody one about the merits of small blades versus great swords.
Old non-Dragonborn Igne would have had a snigger about that.
The big man was hanging on to every word Lydia was saying and I could have sworn that my stoic and disciplined, 'remember-Igne-we-have-a-job-to-do' Housecarl was actually flirting with the man.
My brain is far too tired to comprehend this.
I cleared my throat, interrupting Lydia in the middle of an anecdote, which seemed to consist of the imaginary time I had thought it would be a good idea to tackle a dragon with a dagger. Lydia turned, cheeks slightly flushed, "Ah, my thane, we were just-"
I couldn't help bite back a smile at the Housecarl's discomfort. Normally the situation was reversed.
Better make the most of this then.
"Remember Lydia, we have a job to do."
It was worth it for the glare.

With every step down towards Breezehome my heart and my spirit seemed to sink further. Around us both the townspeople and the militia were working on preparations for the battle; the Skyforge and Arianne's forge were bellowing smoke, sending thick black plumes of smoke into the clear blue skies as they feverishly tried to improve armour and weapons. Down in the marketplace Ysolda had made a game for children out of fetching buckets of water from the well to assist in fighting fires. There was probably some poignant observation about the reality of war to be made there but I was too damned tired to think about it, barely focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and trying to keep my face an impassive mask.

When I finally got into Breezehome I staggered up the stairs and threw myself face down on my bed. I didn't even remember falling asleep.

I woke up to Lydia's persistent shaking of my shoulder.
"It's time."

Re: Call of the Blood 2.2/?

[(Anonymous)]

At least I wouldn't have far to walk. Whilst I had been sleeping Lydia had cleaned and oiled my weapons and armour. Bless her. She helped me into the blasted thing, much heavier and more uncomfortable than my familiar Guild leathers. Staring at myself in the tiny mirror I felt like a little girl playing dress up. A pretender. Shoving the nagging thoughts to one side, I took a few steadying deep breaths, I couldn't afford to doubt myself now. People were counting on me. I glanced at Lydia and her calm nod was enough to give me focus. Composing my face into what I hoped looked like a serene, confident Dragonborn, I made my way out to the ramshackle barricades.

Jarl Balgruuf was waiting by the final gate, Irileth, Legate Cipius and the Companions clustered nearby. As I approached the Jarl I glanced over to where the Companions were waiting, heavily armed and armoured. They looked relaxed, unfazed by the approaching army gathering on the plains below. Everything about them radiated a competency that said 'I am elite, don't mess with us.' Even the disciplined legionnaires seemed impressed, casting awed glances at the legendary company of warriors.
And they want me to join them…

I shook my head, dispelling the distracting thoughts and walked over to the Jarl and his retinue. The Harbinger of the Companions made his way over to join us, the two twins and two others trailing him. Jarl Balgruuf nodded at us as we approached, his face looked grim. I sighed, "Let me guess, they've got dragons...or daedra...Oblivion gates...no?"
Apparently my attempt at levity was not appreciated. Irileth threw me a stern look as she explained, "One of the scouts has reported that they have trebuchets. And they're coating stones with pitch."
That is not good. The city, and the civilians hiding within the city, would be killed if we didn't do something to stop that. "What can we do to stop them?"
The Legate scowled, "If it just bloody rained, that'd help. No archers and no trebuchets, they'd have to come up the slope and we'd have an advantage."
"Rain?" My mind was starting to put together the tattered shreds of a plan. "I can do rain. I think."
"You think?" Jarl Balgruuf frowned at me.
"Well I know a Shout that might work, but I've never used it and I don't know all the words to it."
"A Shout?" The grey-haired leader of the Companions spoke, eying me speculatively.
I ignored him, waiting for the Jarl's decision. He nodded at me, face drawn but determined, "Alright, Thane. Do it."

The word that the Dragonborn was going to summon a storm quickly spread through the troops, with the archers covering their bowstrings with their rain-cloaks and all the regular troops craning their necks to get a demonstration of a Shout. Fighting to suppress my nerves I stepped through the final gate. Down below the Stormcloak army was almost at the foot of the ramp, just out of range, shield wall formed and spears ready. Dimly I heard murmurs behind me but I ignored them, focusing on the dark, coiled part of me that I had recently awakened.
"STRUUN"
My Shout echoed round the battleground, to the very heavens themselves. Darkness roiled in from the edge of sight, the sky darkening to a bruised purple, thick black clouds crashing together with thunder and lightning dancing. It covered the entire plain and I stared transfixed at what I had wrought. Then a drop of rain hit my cheek. Then another and another until a torrent was cascading from the sky. Lightning arced down, dancing down towards the plains. It was beautiful and terrifying and I threw my head back and laughed as the dark part within me revelled in my power. Below through the driving rain I could barely make out the Stormcloak, shifting uncertainly, caught off-guard by the sudden change in weather.

Call of the Blood 2.3/?

[(Anonymous)]

A hand clasped my shoulder. Half-turning, my hand dropping to my sword I saw Lydia, streams of water running over the wrought metal of her armour. She screamed something at me but I couldn't hear it over the crash of thunder reverberating through the sky. I frowned at her and she gestured to the battlements of the city walls, where the militia clustered under their cloaks.
Oh right, they can't shoot.
I began backing off towards the gate as the Stormcloaks began their advance, Lydia leading the way. At the gate, after Lydia and I had climbed through the barricade, I turned back and Shouted again, "LOK VAH KOOR."
With a soft whumph the darkness overhead was hurled to the heavens above, dissipating and leaving clear blue skies. My ears popped and the torrential rain stopped instantly. A cry went up from the battlements as the Whiterun militia unfurled their raincloaks revealing their bows and began firing at the Stormcloak soldiers pouring up the ramp, now deprived of most of their long range support and vulnerable to the rain of arrows. Those that managed to make it up the ramp and over the barricade were met by the fiercely disciplined ranks of the Imperial Legion, formed into a unmoving shield wall, spears bristling.

The clash of steel behind me caught my attention. A party of Stormcloaks had scaled the slope of the motte and were trying to mount a assault on the Jarl. The Companions and Irileth were already in the fray and I rushed to join them, battle lust stirring my blood. A Stormcloak soldier charged me, greataxe raised and I ducked under the arc of his cut and his arm, emerging behind him. It was an easy stab to the gap between his helm and gorget; an instant kill. More attacked and Lydia stepped up beside me, the two of us working in partnership.

I don't know how long the battle lasted, or how many fell to my sword. In the end the battle for Whiterun turned out to be a massacre. Stormcloak bodies covered the path to the city, blood turn-ing the soil and stone red. The priests and priestesses moved over the battlefield, tending to the wounded. More than a few Imperial and militia had been killed but Whiterun was finally safe.

For the moment.

In the distance the bedraggled survivors, almost all of them injured, dragged Galmar Stone-Fist back towards Windhelm. He had fought like a fiend, reforming the Stormcloak's shield wall and leading his men in one last rally until he took a spear thrust to his leg and his troops had dragged him back from the wall. Irileth had wanted to pursue them but the Jarl had ordered her back. We picked our way back to the city gate, trying not to look down as our feet slipped on the gore underfoot and trod on soft yielding flesh. My hand was still locked round my sword hilt and my muscles trembled and ached with exhaustion. At the gates the Jarl made his speech, pulling Irileth, the Legate, the Harbinger and myself onto the scaffolding with him. Not a word sank in as I gazed out over the exhausted and bloody faces of the soldiers, I was too tired. Everything faded; the cheers from the soldiers became a muffled roar that echoed with my heartbeat and my vision blurred. Dimly I was aware of people speaking to me and a gentle hand on my shoulder guiding me home.

Call of the Blood 3.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

The following morning had Lydia shaking me awake again. Damn it, Lydia. My head hurt like hell and my muscles throbbed with a dull aching pain. Deciding to stay in bed for five more minutes, or half an hour, I tugged my blanket over my head trying to block out my annoying Housecarl. Then my body involuntarily curled around itself as a gust of cold air washed over me. Lydia had yanked the blankets off.
Evil woman.

I pushed myself to a seated position, rubbing my sleep filled eyes and grumbling under my breath about certain Housecarls that were too happy in the morning. She shot me a unfazed glance, "You have a meeting with the Companions at dawn, remember?"

No rest for the Dragonborn.

Once I was up, dressed and fed I headed up to Jorrvaskr. Most of the citizens were already awake, despite the early hour, helping the weary Legion clean up the debris and mess from the battle. Waiting at the steps of Jorrvaskr were two familiar figures. Tall, dark and far-too-happy-for-this-time-in-the-morning was waiting with tall, dark and clearly-not-a-morning-person-as-well.

At least we have one thing in common.

"Good morning, Igne. Morning, Lydia." The giant of a twin greeted us, tone far too cheerful for this early and this soon after a battle. Neither of the two Companions showed any signs of injury or tiredness and I envied them. I, on the other hand, looked like something that had been dragged through a hedge backwards. By a dragon. The Companion continued, "I'm Farkas and my brother is Vilkas." The saturnine twin let out a small huff that I guessed was his greeting. Farkas gestured at us to follow him and he led us round the longhouse to a large training yard overshadowed by a cliff. The clash of a hammer striking steel sounded from above and I guessed that that must be the elusive Skyforge Adrianne was always grumbling about. Farkas stopped in the centre and his twin moved up from behind us to stand next to him.
"Kodlak wanted us to have a look at you in one-to-one combat first. So you'll be fighting Vilkas. " He moved past me, leaving his twin and myself in the centre of the yard, clapping me on the shoulder with his hand as he passed. "Don't worry, you'll do fine."

Right.

Call of the Blood 4.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

4.Valour

Dustman's Cairn was an hours walk from Whiterun. To pass the time Farkas and I engaged in conversations about the things we had in common. Which turned out to be precisely two things; killing and drinking.
"I'm with you on that one, I hate spiders too. Their furry bodies, freaky eyes and their sticky webs. Urgh," I shuddered. The Cairn was in sight now, just a bit further up the hill.
Farkas nodded, walking next to me, "What do they even need all those legs for anyway? For crawling across your face in the middle of the night. And that's just the little ones, it's no fun having a ten foot spider drop on your head."
"I know! That happened to me once and Lydia just stood there laughing whilst I ran around screaming trying to get out from under it. Evil woman."
Farkas let out a bark-like laugh, before opening his mouth to speak, "So…." Farkas trailed off, "is your Housecarl...Lydia...you know?"
"Know what?" I frowned at the man before realisation dawned, "Oh. Oooohhhh." A wicked grin lit up my face, "Why? Do you like her?"
"She seems nice. And she doesn't tease me."
"She doesn't tease anyone," I interjected dryly, "but she is nice. And single." I shot him a sideways glance to see his slightly flushed cheeks. Awww.

But my teasing and matchmaking would have to wait. We'd reached the Cairn. The stone covering had long been destroyed leaving a open pit with rubble strewn steps leading to a intricately carved stone door which Farkas opened, gesturing for me to go first.

The ruins themselves were exactly the same as all other draugr infested ruins in Skyrim, though this time there was only a handful of draugr still shuffling around. After encountering a particularly nasty one who could Shout Farkas had allowed me to use my other skills, which made it much easier and we made good time.

At least until I got stuck.

In my defence, it wasn't my fault.

The stupid lever was jammed. No. Not jammed. Trying to fix it to spare myself the indignity of having to have Farkas get me out, I leaned in for a closer look at the mechanism. Sabotaged. Whoever had done this had set it up deliberately. But who? And why?
"Now look what you've got yourself into. Don't worry. Just sit tight and I'll find the release."
"Farkas-" I opened my mouth to voice my suspicions but Farkas was already moving away. There has to be some way out in here. I cast my gaze around, searching for another lever or secret door when Farkas's soft "Uh oh" drew my attention back to him. Five strangers, all wearing heavy armour embellished with a silver hand on the breastplate surrounded him.
Guess that half answers the who.
"Time to die, dog."
What the- Although I had to admit it was somewhat of a relief to find they weren't after me. That was what normally happened.
Another spoke, "We knew you'd be coming here. Big mistake, Companion."

Farkas, well what I could see of Farkas, looked oddly relaxed considering he was outnumbered, gradually backing toward the gate which separated us.
"Which one is that?" The cold-eyed woman spoke, voice oddly lilting compared to her harsh exterior.
The leader spoke again, "Doesn't matter. He wears that armour, he dies."
"Killing you will make for an excellent story," the woman purred as they converged on him.
"None of you will be alive to tell it."
If I made it out of here, I'd have to ask Farkas for lessons in idiotic bravery and trash talk. Though that prospect was looking more and more unlikely.
Maybe magic or a Shout would reach through the bars, though I'd probably hit Farkas. Damn.

To my surprise Farkas dropped his sword. His body shook and begun twisting, stretching and distorting, as his shape changed before my eyes. Something I'd seen only once before in my life. Werewolf. Armour clattered to the floor as the beast leapt for the throat of the nearest assailant. And all I could do was watch wide-eyed as Farkas tore them all apart.

Call of the Blood 4.2/?

[(Anonymous)]

Once it was over and the twitching lumps of shredded flesh had stopped moving, the beast ran off down the corridor that opened and moments later the gate in front of me rattled as it rose. Warily I stepped through as a naked and blood covered Farkas returned, grinning, "Hope I didn't scare you."
I averted my eyes, staring at one of the mauled corpses instead, "You're a werewolf."
He began pulling his armour back on and belatedly I realised the armour was held together by fasteners rather than buckles, easy to discard during a transformation.
"It's a blessing given to some of us. We can be like wild beasts. Fearsome."
That's one word for it. I hope they don't expect me to become one; being Dragonborn is complicated enough.
"Are you going to make me a werewolf?"
"Oh no." He laughed slightly, "Only the Circle have the Beast-blood. You need to prove yourself as a Companion first. Eyes on the prey not the horizon." The big man clapped a hand to my shoulder, "We should keep moving still the draugr to worry about."
Good advice. Though one thing was worrying me, "You normally send Companions out on their own, right?"
Farkas nodded, eyes guarded.
"If there hadn't been two of us whoever pulled that lever would be stuck in that cage. Trapped. So who are those people and why do they want to kill you?"
Farkas shook his head, "Leave it until later, Igne. And don't tell the other whelps about any of this."

The rest of the Cairn was quiet. The Silver Hand, for that was what Farkas had reluctantly told me they were called, had already been down here leaving scattered draugr corpses in their wake. Soon we reached the actual crypt, Farkas shoving the heavy door to one side with a grunt and headed over to the camp that the Hand had set up whilst they waited for us. As soon as I entered I could feel the now familiar tug of a Word Wall, a visceral pull that had me stepping towards it. It was all I could think about- something that called out to my very soul, lighting up the dark, long-buried parts of my brain.

A hand to my shoulder brought me back to the present. I shook my head, clearing my vision and turned to Farkas, "Huh?"
"You alright, little Igne?"
"Yeah. I'm fine." The echoes of the word were dispersing now, "Did you find the shard?"
He nodded, unfolding a scrap of cloth to reveal gleaming steel nestled underneath. The fragment of the Companion's legendary weapon was an intricately folded sliver of metal the size of my palm. Gingerly I brushed my finger against the edge, watching as a sliver of flesh opened up, spilling bright red blood in its wake.
"It's sharp."
"Of course it is," Farkas grinned, looking for all the world like a child with his favourite toy, "We should take this back."

The walk back to Whiterun was in pouring rain and darkening skies as night began to fall. Farkas was keeping quiet, trudging along in front of me, eager to return the piece of Wuuthrad to it's rightful home and I was brooding, trying to squash down the dark thoughts that cropped up every time I was confronted with my Dragonborn heritage.

Call of the Blood 4.3/?

[(Anonymous)]

Before I knew it I was shaking the rain off my cloak and stepping into the warmth of Jorrvaskr. The warmth of the fire pit drew me in, holding my hands over the flickering flames. The Circle and Kodlak were the only ones around. Aela was perched on Skjor's lap, sharing his mead with an easy familiarity. Vilkas was glowering over a book, though his expression somewhat relaxed when he saw his brother and Kodlak was sat next to Vilkas, quietly talking to him. Farkas headed straight for the pair, pulling the bundle of cloth out of his pack as he did so. Kodlak unwrapped it, holding it up to the light, examining every inch.
"You're back later than expected. Any problems?" Kodlak turned the shard gently in his calloused, dark hands.
"Not with Igne. She was a worthy shield-sister. But we did have a slight problem. The Silver Hand were there. They ambushed us, we killed them."
"Hmm." Kodlak was still staring at the fragment. Then his eyes snapped up to meet mine, "It can wait. We have a new member to welcome."
Hang on one second
"You aren't worried? I mean this was clearly a trap!" Impassive faces stared at me and I sighed impatiently, "Come on, the mysterious scholar was clearly bait-"
I was interrupted by a stone-faced Vilkas, "We know, whelp. We'll handle this, it's not your problem."
That makes a change. But he's right. And I have enough to deal with.
Scowling I nodded. Kodlak smiled wryly at me, and Aela and Skjor rose and moved to join us, so that we were roughly arrayed in a circle, Aela and Skjor on my left and the two twins on my right with Kodlak opposite me.

Silence fell.

Then Kodlak spoke, deep voice echoing through the quietness of Jorrvaskr, "Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal hold. This woman has endured, has challenged and has showed her valour. Who will speak for her?"
Farkas spoke, "I stand witness for the courage of the soul before us." I shot him a quick, nervous glance and he gave me the tiniest wink in reply, enough to bring a slight smile to my face.
"Would you raise your shield in her defence?"
"I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us."
"And would you raise your sword in her honour?"
"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."
"And would you raise a mug in her name?"
"I would lead the song in triumph as our mead hall revelled in her stories."
"Then this judgement of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distance green summers. Let it beat with ours, so the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."
They all spoke then, even Vilkas, voices solemn, "It shall be so."

It was a strangely beautiful vow and one that resonated deep within me. I wanted to be worthy of that vow. I wanted their respect. As he passed me Farkas clapped me on the shoulder and the Circle dispersed, headed down to their quarters, leaving me stood by the fire. I was now a Companion.

Call of the Blood 4.4/?

[(Anonymous)]

I didn't sleep that night. I spent the night in the Hall, staring into the dying embers of the fire pit lost in thought. That was, in hindsight, a mistake. Aela came looking for me before dawn, instructing me in no uncertain terms to get dressed in my new armour and get ready for training. The first day of training as a 'proper' Companion was exhausting. I had never had to train like this, my time in the Thieves Guild had had a more 'hands on' approach to improving one's skills. It had begun with a run around the walls of Whiterun, still scarred from the battles, five times. Five times! In armour. Armour!The Circle had run round it for longer and at a faster pace. It was almost inhuman, probably a side-effect of the Beast-blood, and I wondered what exactly I had let myself in for.

But if it helps me defeat Alduin then it's worth it.

Next came sword work and I soon found that without my thief skills and access to my fledgling magicka I was at a distinct disadvantage. After having my ass handed to me for the third time in a row by a grinning Athis I had come to the conclusion that I had allowed myself to get complacent. I had been a mostly self-taught swordswoman and whilst Lydia had already begun correcting my many technical errors, like how to hold the bloody thing properly in the first place, I was hardly a seasoned warrior.

Which is why I'm here. I need to start taking this Dragonborn calling seriously.

The realisation spurred me to continue on, ignoring my aching body, moving to the practice dum-mies to work on my cuts. I had been training for hours now, under the wan midday sun. The others had moved over to the benches for a quick snack, inviting me to join them but I shook my head and carried on, wanting results. Now.

Patience was never my strong point.

Sweat was pouring off me but it felt good, honest. An unusual feeling. A hour or so later I paused in my cutting exercises to grab a drink of water when I spotted the two brothers, who I'd internally nicknamed Grumpy and Happy, talking together under the eaves of the porch, Grumpy casting a disapproving eye over my training.

Bored now.

Call of the Blood 4.5/?

[(Anonymous)]

"So?" I sauntered over to the two brothers and climbed over the bench opposite, grinning mischievously at Farkas who began to blush a rather fetching shade of red, "Did you go ask her?"
Vilkas clearly had no idea what I was talking about, glaring at me, "Shouldn't you be training, new blood? Shor knows you need the practice. "
"Probably." I made sure to keep my tone light, knowing that that would rile him and then ignored him, focusing my attention on Farkas, "Sooo..?" I wriggled my eyebrows in what I hoped was a lascivious manner, ignoring the growl from Grumpy-guts, "Give me all the juicy gossip."
"What gossip?"
I grinned at Vilkas as I took a bite from a pear in one of the bowls, relishing the crunch and the sweet tang of its juices, deliberately chewing slowly. When I had finished I licked my lips before replying, "From his romantic escapade with my housecarl, of course."
I turned my gaze back to his sheepish twin, who was trying to avoid our gazes. Finally he mumbled, "Good."

Honestly.

"Did you ask her out for a drink? I thought she seemed to like you too," I grinned, "You know Lydia though, she didn't actually say that. In fact I got a rather scary glare when I asked her about it but she spent the whole time after the battle with a silly little smile on her face when she thought I wasn't watching. It was sweet."
That might be a slight lie. I hadn’t had chance to speak to Lydia about anything lately. But she did seem to like him after I first entered Jorrvaskr.
Farkas was smiling, a slow spreading grin that reminded her of a puppy, "She really likes me?"
"What's not to like?" I wrinkled my nose at him and grinned, "You're handsome, strong, you'll let her be herself and you're kind." I shot Mr Grumpy a quick glare as I spoke but I didn't think that he even noticed, too busy frowning at his brother.
"You didn't tell me this. When did you meet her?"
"Igne brought her here when she came to hire us and we fought together in the battle." Farkas shrugged sheepishly, "I'd seen her before up at Dragonsreach and she seemed nice, we worked well together in battle, so once we were done killing I asked her for a drink."
To my surprise the eternally moody Vilkas actually smiled and slapped his brother on the back, "Good for you, brother." He turned back to me and his frown returned, "Anyway, whelp, you've got a job. You'll be coming with me and Torvar to Markarth to help hunt down a criminal. We'll be leaving in three hours so go get ready."
He stood up and headed back inside, Farkas clapping a hand to my shoulder as he followed, leaving me to let out the groan I'd been holding.

Great. Markarth. Of all the places...Looks like I'm finally going home.

Call of the Blood 5.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

5. Home

In my nightmare I was back in Markarth, in that shallow tomb buried beneath the earth with the other vermin that I had called home. Home. My mother was tugging me over to a pile of rubble, feverishly burying me beneath it. I strained and fought her, trying to catch a glimpse of her face, but all I could see was long tangled auburn curls. Screams and the clash of steel echoed in the distance. Tears sprang to my eyes as Mother piled stones and bits of wood on top of me, drowning out the light and dream-me let out a sob.
"Shhh, be quiet, there's a good girl." She stroked her face, "Stay there, no matter what."
The noises were getting closer. Mother threw a pile of cloth over the top and I was left in darkness listening to my panting breath echoing in the narrow space.

A loud crash made me jump and I pressed the palm of her hand against my mouth to stifle my cry. I couldn't hear all the words in the chamber but I could hear Mother pleading and crying and men cruelly laughing. A thud of a body hitting the floor and a cheer from the men, I thrashed, trying desperately to wake up.
No! I don't want to remember…

The rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh filled the chamber and I bit my hand to muffle my sobs. I didn't want to remember. A scrape above me and light flooded into my hiding place, as Ulfric Stormcloak pulled away the block covering me. That's not right. A giant hand descended on my shoulder…

And I woke up with a jolt. There was a hand shaking me and I instinctively thrashed, fighting it, still caught in the nightmare. The shadowy figure pulled back and I began to focus. I was in the carriage heading to Markarth, Torvar snoring in one corner, Vilkas opposite me wide awake, face shadowed in the dawn light.
"You were dreaming."
I nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"We'll be at Markarth in a couple of hours. Not worth you trying to go back to sleep now."
I nodded again and he passed his water gourd. I swigged at the brackish water, grimacing slightly at the salty taste and passed it back, "Thanks."
He inclined his head and turned slightly to gaze out at the passing countryside and the lightening sky.

Call of the Blood 5.2/?

[(Anonymous)]

We arrived in Markarth at late afternoon. The sight of the grey gates melding into the ravine and spilling into the green plateau of the Rift looked distinctly alien and unwelcoming. I was no student of history but I had always supposed that the Dwemer were isolationist in nature, purely from their citadels. I bet Vilkas would know for sure, but there was no way in Oblivion that I would ask him and reveal my ignorance. I reached for my sword from where it lay under the seat then leaned over to elbow Torvar hard, interrupting him mid-snore, "Wake up, we're here."
The Companion groaned and muttered, hopping out the carriage first to stretch his legs. I quickly followed suit, relishing the ache in my body as I could finally move freely. Vilkas headed straight to their bags, pulling them free from the webbing on the side of the cart and hoisting them effortlessly onto his shoulder.
Show off.
"Come along, whelps. We've a job to do."

Last time I'd been here had been a flying visit with Karliah. I'd waited at the stables whilst Karliah had snuck in to speak with the Court mage, Calcemo. I hadn't had to set foot across the gates and that had been bad enough. Torvar and I trailed behind Vilkas, up the steps and through the bronze plated gates. Butterflies were twisting my stomach.
I've got the proverbial bad feeling about this…
The market inside was teeming this early in the morning but beneath the bustle something felt rotten, an undercurrent of malice and fear rippling through the city like the streams of churning water that cascaded down from the mountain.
From the tense shoulders of Vilkas, I could see that he sensed it too, "No fighting or getting into trouble. Either of you. This place is as corrupt as fuck."
I nodded darkly, lost in the past; I knew exactly how corrupt this place could be. And it didn't look as though things had changed.

We began to head across to the Silver-Blood Inn when I got sent sprawling to the floor as a small man pushed past me screaming, "For the Forsworn." There was a press of people as the crowd tried to get away from the commotion and I was terrified that I would be trampled as I fought to get up. Feet kicked me, knocking the Slow Time Shout from my lungs, and I felt a crunch as someone stepped on my left hand. A booted foot planted on my stomach and I cried out involuntarily. Then the weight was gone and I was being unceremoniously hoisted to my feet, Vilkas a steadfast island in the flow of the crowd. He pulled me in close to his body, wrapping an arm round me and using his bulk to force a way to the side. As we made their way to where Torvar was pressed against the wall, I glanced behind as the clamour behind us died down, guards surrounding two corpses, blood pooling from both to run in rivulets down the cobblestones.
"What the fuck was that about?" Torvar cursed, glancing over as the guards began dragging both bodies away. I frowned, clutching my throbbing hand, "I'm not entirely sure, I think he said he was Forsworn but the Reachmen were always fairly peaceful."
I felt Vilkas scoff against me, "It's been a while since you've been here, hasn't it? The Reachmen are still rebelling, against the Empire, against the Nords and against the Stormcloaks. And they've gotten worse since Ulfric Stormcloak began his 'Skyrim is for the Nord's' campaign." He glanced down at me and seemed to realise that he was still holding me, releasing me quickly, "You should heal yourself."

I nodded gathering my magicka, before pausing. There was something wrong with what I had just witnessed and it niggled at me, trying to get my attention.
"Igne. Heal yourself."
Whatever it was vanished and I shook my head, trying to clear out the echoes from my past, focusing on my swelling hand and aching stomach. When I was healed we headed back towards the Inn, casting a dark glance at the blood congealing on the cobbles.

Call of the Blood 5.3/?

[(Anonymous)]

We took separate rooms in the same corridor of the Inn and once I had freshened up from the bowl of clear and cool water and smoothed out the rat's nest that was my hair, I headed out to the tavern's main room. I paid for a ale and took a seat in a shadowed corner, whilst I waited for the others, casting a surreptitious eye over the other patrons. Most seemed to be miners or ruffian's from the Warrens, though there were one or two more affluent men around, probably lowly skilled silver-smiths. The mood was sombre and brooding, like the ominous calm before a storm. The thief part of me was screaming at me to get away from this wretched hive but the part of me that I had been trying to make more of an effort to listen to was saying that something was desperately wrong here and that I needed to do something about it.

Fuck.

A dark shadow crossed my vision and I started, stupidly I hadn't been paying attention to my sur-roundings any more. An aging Nord, eyes and nose red with drink, skin caked with dust and stinking of sweat and beer had plonked himself down next to me on the tiny bench.
"Hey there, sweet thing."

Oh Divines, his breath stunk.

I discretely tried to ease away but the idiot followed me, invading my personal space, "Up for a little fun?"
My fists clenched but he didn't notice. Mindful of Vilkas' earlier warning, I bit back my urge to shove him away and managed a grimacing smile, "I'm flattered, really but I'm not here to have fun, I'm here on business."
The man chuckled, "Oh aye, business is it? I get ya'. You know what, sweetie, I once fucked another whore with a face like yours. Down in the warrens." The drunken wretch was leering over me. My hand clenched round my tankard and I took another sip, trying to quell my rising temper. "Must'a been twen'y years ago." His hand came up to caress a strand of my hair but before I could take a swing at him, he was being hauled out of his seat by a very angry Vilkas who snarled in his face, "Get lost, rat."
The man fled, hitting the door jamb in his haste to escape. Deprived of my original target my anger found a new substitute.
"What in the name of Oblivion do you think you're playing at?"
Vilkas glared right back at me, "Saving you from Cidhna Mine?"
"I had it under control," I growled, standing.
"Is that what you think?" He raised a eyebrow at me.
Playing the supercilious bastard as usual.
Not waiting for a reply he continued with his lecture, "You'd have swung a punch, started a brawl and got thrown in jail for 'disturbing the peace' or the guards might even have recognised you from one of your actual crimes."
I deliberately stepped into his body space, refusing to back down, glaring up at him, "I can handle myself. I've been managing for my entire life- certainly since before you came along and I really don't need or want your protection!"
Our faces were now inches apart, flushed with rage. Torvar was shifting uneasily in the background, juggling three metal tankards spilling flat ale onto the floor,
"Maybe you two should calm down, eh? You're attracting a lot of attention."

We were. The whole wretched tavern was eyeing us, half just looking for entertainment and the other half with a slightly more sinister intent, hands dropped to concealed weapons.

This place really is a tinderbox. All that's needed is a spark…

So I backed down, meekly dropping my eyes and nodding, though the clench to my jaw remained.
"Thank you, Vilkas." My voice was perfectly level. "I'm just going to get some fresh air. I'll rejoin you both in a minute." I inclined my head in what I hoped was a graceful manner and headed for the door to calm down, still inwardly fuming.

Call of the Blood 6.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

6. Arrested Developments

The search for the escaped criminal led to another dead end. The Markarth guards were utterly uncommunicative, refusing to divulge any information pertaining to 'on-going investigations.' Biting back a curse I trudged through the narrow gulley by the Shrine of Talos to go see if the boys had had more luck, only to be stopped as someone stepped out in front of me. My hands flew to my sword, breaking the seal of the scabbard but not drawing it. My guard relaxed slightly when I saw the figure was unarmed but I kept my senses alert for trouble.

"You've been looking for that man. The one who spoke to Weylin."
The man was twitchy, constantly looking over his shoulder, "Please, we can't talk here. They're all around us. Follow me." He turned to head into the gloom of the Shrine.

Hmmm. Trap or idiot. Either way I'm screwed.

But it was the only lead I had. And Vilkas would probably grumble if I turned up without checking it out. So I followed the echoing footsteps into the quiet.

He was waiting for me by the wrought iron metal of the shrine to man who had been Tiber Septim, wringing his hands nervously, "I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems, but after that attack in the market, I'm running out of time."
I frowned, "How is my criminal related to the attack?"
"You want answers? Well so do I. So does everyone in this city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he's a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess."

Great, a babbler. But I knew it. Well, not in the sense of actually knowing it but I knew something was wrong with those guards.

"This has been going on for years. And all I've been able to find is murder and blood. I need help. Please. You find out why that woman was attacked, who's behind Weylin and the Forsworn, and I'll pay you for any information you bring me."
"I still don't see how this concerns the man I'm hunting."
"He was the last person I saw talking to Weylin, up by the highest tower. Weylin looked scared of him...I...I didn't hang around or hear what they were saying but it was definitely the man you were asking about."
"And where would I find him?"
He glanced round and leaned in to whisper, breath hot on my ear, "Nepos the Nose."
I hummed slightly under my breath, the name had been overheard in my snooping but not in the actual conversations I had had with the good citizens of Markarth.

Now do I go tell the boys or check it out myself first? Silly question really.

"I'll be back in a bit. Wait here for me."

Call of the Blood 7.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

7. Blood of our Blood

The Forsworn leader was staring down at me, hunched and snivelling on the dusty floor.
"Is everything alright, girl?"
His voice was rough and lilting with the native Reach accent that brought back memories. Caught off guard, I wiped away the treacherous tears, "I'm fine. I-" I went to speak again but instead a large, racking sob emerged.
"Here, come with me." The man handed me a dirty rag and took hold of my elbow, gently guiding me to my feet down the dirt-strewn passage into a small chamber. A cot and a desk covered in papers were the only features to the cold stone cave. Tears were flowing down my face as I took a seat on the cot and it took me some time to recover my composure.

"Better now?" The King in Rags was gazing at me, an expression akin to concern on his face. I nodded, trying to stifle my hiccups and wiping my tears away with the rag he had given me. When I was done, I took a deep breath and met his piercing gaze, as he spoke "So, what do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Revenge for trying to have you killed?"
"That was you? I thought it was Nepos." I shook my head. Not like it really matters now. "What I want is my freedom."

He smiled at me, a little sadly, "Yes, I can understand that. But even if you escaped, your name would still be stained with all that blood."
"Not my conscience. Nepos instigated it on your orders." I locked my eyes with his.
"Does it make a difference? You're one of us now. A slave. The boot of your kin stepping on your throat. Maybe if you understood that I could help you. Keep you safe, in here and outside."

My mind was turning, running through plans, scenarios. The thief in me was loving this dance and I bit back the urge to smile.
This, this I can do.
"They're no kin of mine. I came from Markarth, grew up in the Warrens." I paused to let that sink in and then dangled my bait, pouring all my scorn into my words. "And I lost my family to Ulfric Stormcloak and his soldiers."
"So you know how widespread the injustice of Markarth is."
"The fact that I'm innocent and in jail doesn't count?" I smiled bitterly at him, failing to keep the simmering anger from rising to my face.
He gave a small laugh,"You know, it was actually your meddling above ground was what reminded me how removed from the struggle I've become. My men and I should be out there, fighting."
I fought the urge to roll my eyes, "Let's get this straight; I don't particularly like you but I hate Ulfric more. And Markarth was a better place when the Reachmen governed it."
His lips twitched in another smile, "You know, you may not like me but I'm almost beginning to like you."
"I'm very likeable, when people aren't trying to kill me. Or frame me. So what are your plans?" I raised an eyebrow, settling myself onto his cot and slouching back to lean against the wall.
"Why should I tell you my plans?" He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and linking his hands together.
"Why not?" I kept looking in his eyes, "It's not like I'm going anywhere and I'm sure the talents of the Dragonborn could be useful to your cause."
His eyebrows quirked up in surprise, "You're the Dragonborn?"
"I get that a lot," I responded dryly, "Would you like me to Shout?"
He stared at me for a long moment before shaking his head, "No, I believe you. Alright, I'll tell you. What I want is my kingdom back and this time I'm not going to make the mistake of letting any treacherous Nords remain. Markarth will be for the Reachmen. Any other will be put to death. As we were twenty years ago."

I kept my gaze on his eyes as he spoke. I'd seen the zeal in his eyes before, too many times in this damned war; it burned in Ulfric's eyes, in Tullius's, in Delphine's and in Arngeir's. That utter conviction that the ends justified the means, that they were right and their cause was just no matter what price others had to pay.

The greater good.

I sat there, dazed. I couldn't…Not again... There was only one choice. My Shout left me in a whisper, "TIID KLO." As time slowed I slipped out of my seat, moving behind Madanach. My hands came up to cup his head, gently pulling it into my chest and then twisting it quickly. Instant death.

Call of the Blood 8.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

8. The Best Choice

The Silver-Blood Inn, like most Inn's in Skyrim, never locked its doors. A sulky barmaid was listlessly moving a grimy cloth over the layers of dirt on the bar, easy to sneak past and there were two dozing guards at the bottom of the stairs leading to Vilkas's and Torvar's rooms. Clearly they were being watched. But by who?

Picking the lock on Vilkas's door was child's play, even with my make-shift lock picks. I let myself into the dim room, shutting the door behind me with a soft click and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness inside the stone chamber. All I could hear was Vilkas's soft breathing and the soft rustle of his sheets as he moved. I padded closer, hand reaching for the Nord. He was restless, even in his sleep, tossing and turning as though fighting invisible opponents. Biting my lip, I leaned forward to gently shake the bare skin of his shoulder. A large hand covered mine and I felt myself flipped over Vilkas to land on my back on the bed. I'd been expecting something from the warrior so managed to stifle my un-Nordly shriek as he rolled with me, pinning me beneath his body, dagger pressing against my throat hard enough to draw a trickle of blood. Then the dagger was gone and his hand gently touched my cheek.
"Igne?"
"The one and only," I whispered, trying to calm my heartbeat after his assault.
If he picked up on the bravado in my voice he didn't comment on it, choosing instead to whisper, "You escaped? Are you alright? They didn't hurt-"
I shook my head. "I'm fine."
He pulled back leaving me free to sit up. We sat there staring at each other awkwardly for a moment, before I broke the silence, asking with a weak smile, "Hang on. You doubted me?"
The humour felt strained even to my ears and Vilkas gently shook his head.
"No. But I did think you'd need longer than a day to do it. And I was tempted to break you out myself." He climbed off the bed, padding over to the oil lamp and effortlessly lighting it with the tinderbox provided, a skill I had never mastered.
"Why didn't you?" I wasn't sure why I asked the question but I had a feeling I needed to hear the answer somehow.
He kept his back to me for a moment longer, "I trusted you."
Oh.

In the dim light he looked me over, "Are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine." Maybe if I kept saying it I'd believe it. "Umm, did you manage to find my stuff?"
"In the pack down by the bed. I managed to retrieve your sword as well." I swung my legs off the bed and groped for it, pulling my spare worn leathers out first. I pulled off the sackcloth shirt and the horribly scratchy trousers and linen foot wraps, throwing them into a pile on the side. A slight sag to the thin mattress on the stone bed told me that Vilkas was sitting on the other side and I glanced over to find him staring resolutely at the blank wall in front of him, well defined muscles in his back tense. The traitorous part of me wasn't sure whether to be offended or pleased by his indifference, shrugging it off, I turned back around and my smallclothes joined the pile.
"There's a wash jug on the night-stand."
I nodded before remembering that he couldn't see the gesture, "Thanks."

Call of the Blood 9.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

9. The Beast Within

The lush greenness of the Reach was beautiful, even in the rain. The path we took back to Whiterun was a echoing tunnel of bright green from the tree and hedgerows and the patter of raindrops against the ground was a balm to my soul after my recent trials. The green died away turning to barren and stark grey rocks as we reached Karthwasten, the land scarred by centuries of mining. There we dismounted, pausing only to feed and water ourselves and our horses, before we pressed on to Whiterun.

The mines owner had kindly provided us with bread, cheese, apples and a watery small ale that tasted faintly of more apples for an extortionate price. I was too hungry to argue paying for the food and setting the food on a table under the porch. Vilkas was feeding the horses but Torvar ambled over to me, drying his bald head with a towel as he did. He sank down on the rickety bench next to me, the bench groaning and sagging in protest.
"Hey." I greeted him, picking at my bread roll. Damn thing is stale.
"Hey." He nudged me with his shoulder, "You alright?"
I nudged him back, smiling at him, "Better now."
"How rough was it?"
"Could have been worse."
He made a humming sound but no further comment and in the comfortable silence I found myself watching Vilkas, still busy feeding the horses.
"You should have seen the boy when you were in the mines. He was furious." Torvar's quiet comment startled me and for a moment I didn't quite know what to say.
"He was?" I stared thoughtfully at the man in question who was now walking back over to us through the rain.
Torvar just gave a small laugh, "Oh, yes." And with that he rose, headed back into the Hall, grinning at Vilkas who sat down next to me looking slightly puzzled.
"Where's he off to?"
I shrugged, biting into a slice of cheese. Vilkas let out a soft sigh, stretching and rolling his shoulders, before tucking into an apple.
"Can I ask you a question?"
He glanced at me quizzically but nodded, pouring himself another drink, "Sure."
"What's it like being a werewolf?"
He shot me a warning glance and I rolled my eyes, "Torvar isn't here and you know I know."
He sighed again, "I've enjoyed the boons that come with beastblood. Just like every member of the Circle. Kodlak is right, though. We've given a piece of our souls for this power. I know my mythic histories. Bargains like that lead to ruin. This is a curse that was laid upon us. That much is clear."
"So you don't want to be one? If you had the choice again?"
He shook his head, "The price is too high."
"What price?" We turned to see Torvar walking back out to join us. Vilkas and I shot each other faintly guilty glances before I replied, "For more food, of course. Did you know how much that tight-fisted miser in there charged us for this?"
Torvar laughed and Vilkas rose from the bench, "We should press on."

We made good time and arrived at the city just before midnight. Brill was the only one awake when we got to Jorrvaskr, staring into the fire, lost in whatever demons haunted him. Vilkas gripped his shoulder as he walked past and Brill briefly clasped his hand over Vilkas's. The three of us headed down the stairs towards our beds. Torvar headed straight into the whelp room with a grunt goodnight, leaving me and Vilkas in the corridor. My cheeks felt oddly warm, despite the cool night air and I was thankful that Vilkas couldn't see my face.
"Night, Vilkas." There was more I wanted to say, like thank you, and I'm sorry, but I couldn't say it. I wasn't sure why.
"Goodnight, Igne." His voice was low and soft, almost…tender. But before I could process that thought he had turned and begun walking away.

Call of the Blood 10.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

10. Clawing For Breath
Waking up did not come easily.

I was naked, gagged and chained against the cold stone wall of some unknown dungeon. My senses were still on high from my transformation and all I could smell was the tangy, metallic scent of blood and a sickly sweet burning smell. I strained against the chains futilely, pulling at my bonds.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How the fuck did I get here?

A dull metallic scrape echoed down the corridor and two pairs of loud footsteps followed, getting closer. I tried to calm my breathing and the growing fury that had to be from the beast now inside me. It was a wounded fury, that of a caged trapped beast that would fight to the last to be free, but it would not help me. I needed to be calm. Rational.

The two men were in my sight now, one a grey-green skinned Orc with two large tusks and the other a small Breton man. They were wearing the same uniform as the mercenaries who had ambushed Farkas and I back in Dustman's Cairn. The Silver Hand.

The Breton's hands blossomed with lightning in the gloom of the dungeon. I kept my eyes fixed on him, unable to look away as he approached me. The Orc stepped to my side and yanked my hair, pulling my head up painfully, "Now, bitch, we're going to burn you. If you use your ward you might just stop yourself from the worst but we're going to keep going until you're drained. Understand?"

They wanted to drain my magicka. I grimaced behind the gag but managed to pull my ward up be-fore the first bolt of lightning cascaded towards me.

Soon it wasn't enough and I screamed as the bolt finally caught me, locking my muscles together in a rictus of agony, making me twitch and spasm against the chains. The bastard kept going for a minute longer until he finally stopped. I lay there suspended by the chains, I could smell an acrid tang in the air and my limbs still involuntarily twitched.

I hung there limply, whimpering, trying to fight both my pain and my imagination as I envisioned what would come next. The Breton stepped in close, "She's a pretty one, isn't she?" He stroked my face. Dimly I thought of trying to resist, to pull away, but it just seemed like too much effort.
"Yeah," the Orc grunted, his voice guttural and hoarse, "She's a real lady." His hand stroked roughly at my breast before spiralling in to pinch my nipple. I grunted with pain and the Breton laughed softly, "All the lady needs is some pretty jewellery."

A burning pain seared through my finger and for a moment I thought the bastards had cut it off. I screamed, instinctively glancing across to where my hand dangled limply against the manacle. A thick silver ring had been shoved onto my finger. Underneath the skin looked unblemished but my brain could feel the metal searing into my skin, a flaming agony. The same sensation came from my other hand as the Breton forced another ring on my fingers and I cursed and swore and grunted behind my gag, pulling at the chains that bound me.

I will kill you. I will Shout you apart. I will-fuck!

My litany was cut off with a scream as the Oblivion-spawned bastard of a Breton draped a silver pendant over my head, searing pain coursing through my neck and chest. A shorter, thicker silver collar was also fastened round my throat, and I screamed again. Any thought of resistance, all my fight, had gone. All I could think of was the pain. And making it stop. When the Orc turned round with a silver circlet in his hand I whimpered, hanging limply in my chains. It descended and my entire body lit up in a blaze of agony.

Then I mercifully blacked out.

Call of the Blood 11.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

11. Broken

I stood there, naked and shivering, but unable to look away from the scene before me. I pushed away from Farkas and he let go of me, moving to his brother to shrug on his armour. I moved on unsteady feet round the altar, as I did Aela met my gaze.

"Igne, heal him!" Aela sobbed, as she knelt over Skjor's broken body. I flinched at the raw pain in her eyes. At the denial.
"Aela…" My voice cracked, "He's dead."
"Heal him! Please."

Nothing I could say would convince her, deep down I knew that. So I gathered my weakened magicka with effort, channelling it into Skjor's still warm corpse. The familiar golden light swirled about Skjor but the cuts and bruises remained and he lay utterly still. My head began to spin but I kept the spell going even as I sank to my knees.

"Enough." Dimly I registered being snatched up from the floor, rough cloth being pressed to my chest as I was dragged away.

When I regained my scattered senses I realised I was in one of the side rooms, a rough woollen blanket barely covering me, alone apart from Vilkas. He was stood in front of me, wearing just trousers and boots, hands grasping my upper arms, waiting for a response to a question I hadn't heard.
I blinked, "What?"
"Can you heal yourself?" His eyes flickered down, darkly taking in the burns and bruises on my body, barely covered by the blanket he had found. He was almost growling at me, fragile temper clearly about to snap, still on edge after his transformation. I felt myself quail under his gaze and I shook my head dully. He bit back on a curse, turning his back to me briefly before he spun back round, unusually indecisive, though I knew why.

"Go on. Get it over with." I was too tired to feel. My heart was sinking, I'd screwed up in so many ways. I kept my gaze on a piece of straw on the floor, unable to look at Vilkas.
"Get what over with?"
There was still an edge of anger to his voice, but he mostly sounded confused.
"The shouting." I replied dully. The pain was starting to creep into my awareness now, almost welcome stings piercing through the cloud of shock.
"You think I'm going to shout at you?"
He had stepped closer to me. I swallowed and nodded, fighting the tears of guilt and exhaustion. My vision blurred and the straw disappeared from sight.
"You're going to tell me how I fucked up. How I was stupid, and my stupidity got Skjor killed. That I'm worthless and don't deserve to be a Companion. That you were right all along-"

I was cut off as Vilkas stepped in again, gently pulling my chin up with a finger, forcing me to meet his gaze and the tears held in my eyes to spill down my cheeks. I could feel the warmth of his body soaking into mine and for a heartbeat everything else faded away.
"I don't think that."

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Could only stand there staring at Vilkas, who looked as confused as I felt.

Call of the Blood 12.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

12. Grief

I woke in an unfamiliar bed, though the wooden ceiling hinted that I was back in Jorrvaskr. It was much bigger than my bed in the whelp room and I was utterly cocooned with soft pillows and blankets that carried a strangely comforting and familiar scent.

Vilkas

Groggily I pushed myself up, my head felt like tiny explosions were going off in it, my mouth was as dry as the Alik'r desert and my tongue felt like it was carpeted in fur.
"Go tell them she's awake."Njada's voice snapped me out of my stupor and I pushed myself up in time to see Torvar disappear out the room.
Njada's cool gaze swept over me, "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." My voice croaked like an old man's. I glanced down at myself, all traces of injuries van-ished, skin clean and covered in my own nightshirt.
"Falk Firebeard and Arcadia patched you up. You were pretty out of it, feverish and shouting."
"I don't remember. Where-?" I broke off, barely able to think.
Njada took pity on me, "The Circle are just finishing with Skjor's funeral. They wouldn't let us attend or pay our respects, told me and Torvar to keep an eye on you and Ria and Athis to go fetch supplies from the town. Kodlak said he'd check on you once they finished...Now drink this."

She thrust a bottle at me and I tasted one of Arcadia's bitter concoctions. Grimacing I drank it and Njada passed another foul tasting bottle and then some water, pure and refreshing. I drank it all, greedily, "Can I get some more, please?" Njada eyed me warily and nodded as she picked up the pitcher, headed for the door, "Stay there."

Eternity passed. I was hot. Burning. Like the silver. I cut off that thought before it dragged me down a dark path and tried to think rationally. Fresh air. Pleased that I had sorted that out I swung my legs out of bed, feeling as weak as a kitten, and gingerly stood. Something dark caught my eye and I glanced down to see that the floor was covered in dead crows. I couldn't make any sense of it, and my head spun but I forced herself to take a step and then another, trying to avoid the dead birds. After a painfully long time I managed to stagger to the door-frame and clung to it, trying to regain my bearings.

Left. I need to go left. Right, this may have been a mistake

I stepped out into the corridor, everything sounded like I was underwater and my head was swimming. Clutching the wall with one hand I kept staggering on.
"What are you playing at, you stupid girl?"

Ah, that sounds familiar.

"I'm fine, Grumpy." There were three blurs in front of me, two with black fuzz surrounding their head and one with grey. Farkas, Vilkas and Kodlak. "I just wanted some fresh air. But the birds kept getting in my way."
A gentle hand was laid on my head and Kodlak spoke, "You're freezing, Igne. You need to go back to bed."
I shook my head. Why couldn't they tell that I was on fire? "I'm fine. I just need some air."
Then I was scooped up and carried unceremoniously back down the corridor and dumped back on the bed before I could even register what was happening to me.
I glared at the blurs and at the potion bottle thrust at my face.
"Drink." That was Jarl Grump-face. I scowled and drank the vile thing and almost immediately the burning subsided and my head began to clear.

Call of the Blood 13.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

A/N: I've had a crappy week with RL problems (in addition to the drama going on here ;) )and writing this chapter helped take my mind off it. I was going to take most of it out because it's a bit of a distraction to the main storyline and doesn't really add anything overall but hopefully it reflects Igne's changing (and not for the better) mental state :s

And a big thank you once again to all you lovely Anons <3

13. Wake

I headed to the tiny bunk room all the whelps shared where I washed and dressed rapidly in civilian clothes, kicking my discarded nightshirt to the bed. The mixed feelings of guilt, anger and grief had me in a dark mood and I slammed my fist into the wall in a futile attempt to release it. It didn't work, leaving me cradling my hand and cursing like a Riften fishwife. I didn't bother to heal it, the dull ache acting as a distraction and deep inside me I could feel the Beastblood stirring at the pain and anger, yearning to be free. My mind felt like a scattered mess. No, it was more than that; I felt lost, overwhelmed. Sinking down onto my tiny bed I rested my head in my hands, focusing on my breathing, trying to regain control.

Breathe in…

Breathe out…

Breathe-

A cough at the door interrupted me and I glanced up to see Torvar leaning against the door jamb, "Kodlak wants to speak to us all upstairs, Igne. He sent me to get you."
"Right." I hauled myself wearily to my feet. Torvar was still half-blocking the door, a concerned look in his eye.
"What actually happened, Igne?"
I froze. I wasn't sure what Kodlak had told the others, or how much they knew about the Circle's secret and about the Silver Hand.
"Please, tell us. All we know is Vilkas comes back with you half-dead in his arms and then Farkas arrives and tell us that Skjor's dead. The Circle won't tell us anything."
"I can't, Torvar. Ask Kodlak."
"We have. He's saying nothing. We need some answers, Igne."
I grimaced, "We were out on a mission and we got ambushed. They captured Skjor and me and Vilkas, Aela and Farkas rescued us. That's all I can say."
He still wasn't happy, I could tell, but he rolled off the door-frame to lead me up the stairs and into the hall.

Upstairs the entirety of Jorrvaskr had gathered in a loose circle around the fire, faces sombre and withdrawn. Instantly my eyes sought out Vilkas, kicking myself at the flush that went through my body as his dark gaze met mine. Aela was there, separated from Vilkas by his brother and Kodlak, still pale but with a simmering anger discernible even from across the hall.

Torvar pulled me into the circle to stand in-between Brill and himself as we waited for Kodlak to begin.

Kodlak looked weary, dark bags under his eyes, and his voice was quiet, "We have lost a brother this day. Skjor personified the honour of the Companions and his heart beat fiercely with courage. His loss diminishes us all but know that Skjor will not be forgotten, his name and his deeds will echo through the hall of Jorrvaskr for eternity, an inspiration to all and our words and deeds will honour his memory. We will not forget."
The low murmur echoed all around as we joined our voices, "We will not forget."

Kodlak let the silence stretch out a moment longer before he spoke again, "This is a day where our souls must cry, and our hearts will answer. Go. Grieve in whatever way you know."

Call of the Blood 14.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

14. The Hangover.

A/N: I am totally method-writing this chapter and there are builders drilling outside just to add to my misery...unfortunately a random guy called Sam didn't challenge me to a drinking contest last night nor were there grumpy, jealous, muscular Nords- bit of a disappointment I'll admit ;) But I'm feeling much better after my unexpected hiatus so thanks for being patient. Have a tiny morsel as we start to move slowly towards dessert...

My head hurt.

My head really hurt.

And something was repeatedly poking me in the shoulder in time with the persistent throbbing coursing through my head.

Maybe if I just lie really still it'll go away.

I was still being poked.

Mumbling obscenities under my breath I rolled away from the poking and promptly crashed to the floor.

Ouch.

My blurred vision cleared to reveal a horned and impressively tall Daedra, skin mottled with livid red swirls, grinning down at me.

Oh, shit.

I fought to get the tangled blankets from around my legs off and warily I pushed myself off the floor, taking stock of my surroundings. My room in Breezehome. That was something. At least I hadn't been whisked off to Oblivion or Shor-knows-where. And that grin looked very familiar….
"Sam?"
Memories of last night came flooding back in snatches and dribbles of conversations, images, all swirling about in my head. And a very bad feeling crept over me.
"Sam Guevenne. Sanguine. I should have guessed."
"Oh, don't feel bad, little Dragonborn." He smirked down at me, "You were somewhat intoxicated after all, but don't worry this wasn't for nefarious, evil purposes, it was just to encourage you to go out into the world and spread a little mayhem and merriment. And you did just that! I haven't been so entertained in at least a hundred years!"

Greaaaat. That makes me feel soooo much better.

"So all of this was just a prank?" My temper was rising and whilst the groggy, rational part of me knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to start a fight with a Daedric Prince the growling beast within me was urging me to leap across the room and rip his face off.
"Just a prank? Just a prank?" Sanguine was theatrically gesticulating at me like the travelling mummers that came round Bruma every Heart's Day, "The Daedric Lord of Debauchery does not deal in mere 'pranks.' This was just a bit of fun, Dragonborn but maybe a little bit of influence from good old Uncle Sanguine could help you adjust your course a bit. Make you realise that life is only worth living if you actually live."
I scowled petulantly at him, "That's stupid advice, it doesn't even make any sense."
"Doesn't it?" He grinned at me again, "My bad."

And then he was just gone. No theatricalities, no warning. Just vanished, leaving behind one very grumpy Dragonborn who was too busy wondering how much worse my day could possibly get.