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ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

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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.