It never takes long to spot a bandit camp. If the gruff squabbling and makeshift shelters didn’t cue one to it, the broken wagons and bodies of dead travelers usually gave it away. This time though there was a marked theme in the dead that were quite crudely stowed in a hole that seemed to serve as a mass grave for their victims. Salt and cold kept down the smell, but the shuffling of mudcrabs picking at the bodies made them quickly apparent. The barman’s tales had been correct. They looked to be mostly mer and beastkin piled up, though there could have been others with some of the corpses neigh unrecognizable at this point. She’d killed too many to mourn now, but still it darkened her heart to see such blatant, needless slaughter.
And it was with no small amount of satisfaction that readied her bow as she crept to a convenient outcropping that afforded a good view of the camp. They were holed up in the remnants of a fort, but it mattered little. The camp was in great disrepair, hardly fit to be called one really. The only thing that stood out was a door snug in the remnants of a wall that seemed to hint at an underground keep or dungeon.
There was rough bustling, and heavy laughter as the bandits sorted through their spoils. Two of the bodies in the pile had looked relatively fresh, so she was guessing that the group had scored earlier that day. The Dragonborn didn’t spot the chief immediately, but didn’t fret, likely he was in the dungeon, only low level guys and scouts were left watching the camp at night. Of course their vigilance left much to be desired. Good for her, bad for them.
“You should have heard how that cat yowled when I stuck him good. That fancy magic didn’t help so much with a dagger in his back I’ll tell ya.”
One bandit had dipped their finger in a bowl of glittering powder, liking it up with a satisfied sigh before passing it to the next. Moon sugar. Well, that’d explain their lax security. “But I’ll say they do make some good stuff. Not as quick as skooma, but longer lasting.”
Another bandit scoffed, quite aggressively pushing the bowl away, “see, this is part of the reason we want them out! Look, they’ve got you hooked on their damn drugs! Bad enough our country’s sucking Thalmor cock, now they’ve got you rolling over for beastkin too.”
A scuffle started after that, and the Dragonborn took the opportunity that presented itself. She took the onlookers out first. They were distracted, and never saw the arrow that finally ended their lives. The fight hid the noise as with silent precision the farthest were taken out, then those close to the fire. At last as the combatants lay panting and disoriented they stared at the lifeless bodies of their comrades and she put an arrow in each of their eyes. It was quick, clean, and she didn’t feel the slightest remorse as she surveyed the perimeter once more before walking into the camp.
Closer up she could see the menagerie of belongings strewn everywhere, loot sorted through and selectively discarded. She kept on guard. Plenty enough times she’d walked into a camp, thinking it was cleared until she stumbled across a bandit still curled up in his bedroll. The resulting melee was never pretty, and the battlefield was no place she liked surprises.
A lookout was asleep at his post, likely passed out from either drugs or drink. It tempted her to spare the man, to let him wake to the lesson of his dead kinsman. That bitter ache for such vengeance was a temptation, but she’d learned better than to indulge. There would be no loose ends. That lesson had already cost her a friend, it would claim no more.
The bandit was dead before he woke.
Contemplating the reinforced wooden door for a moment, the Dovahkiin fished through the pockets of one of the dead brawlers, coming up with a key. As lovely as it was wasting time picking locks, she preferred the more direct approach when possible. She was careful as she pushed open the door, her eyes needing a moment to adjust to the contrast of lamps and deeper pools of darkness. She was on alert. Dungeons like this could be a few rooms, or practically labyrinths five levels deep. The only way to tell was to go deeper in.
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timeasmymeasure
F!DB/Human!Alduin, "There Are No Endings" (4/?)
Date: 2012-09-04 12:57 am (UTC)It never takes long to spot a bandit camp. If the gruff squabbling and makeshift shelters didn’t cue one to it, the broken wagons and bodies of dead travelers usually gave it away. This time though there was a marked theme in the dead that were quite crudely stowed in a hole that seemed to serve as a mass grave for their victims. Salt and cold kept down the smell, but the shuffling of mudcrabs picking at the bodies made them quickly apparent. The barman’s tales had been correct. They looked to be mostly mer and beastkin piled up, though there could have been others with some of the corpses neigh unrecognizable at this point. She’d killed too many to mourn now, but still it darkened her heart to see such blatant, needless slaughter.
And it was with no small amount of satisfaction that readied her bow as she crept to a convenient outcropping that afforded a good view of the camp. They were holed up in the remnants of a fort, but it mattered little. The camp was in great disrepair, hardly fit to be called one really. The only thing that stood out was a door snug in the remnants of a wall that seemed to hint at an underground keep or dungeon.
There was rough bustling, and heavy laughter as the bandits sorted through their spoils. Two of the bodies in the pile had looked relatively fresh, so she was guessing that the group had scored earlier that day. The Dragonborn didn’t spot the chief immediately, but didn’t fret, likely he was in the dungeon, only low level guys and scouts were left watching the camp at night. Of course their vigilance left much to be desired. Good for her, bad for them.
“You should have heard how that cat yowled when I stuck him good. That fancy magic didn’t help so much with a dagger in his back I’ll tell ya.”
One bandit had dipped their finger in a bowl of glittering powder, liking it up with a satisfied sigh before passing it to the next. Moon sugar. Well, that’d explain their lax security. “But I’ll say they do make some good stuff. Not as quick as skooma, but longer lasting.”
Another bandit scoffed, quite aggressively pushing the bowl away, “see, this is part of the reason we want them out! Look, they’ve got you hooked on their damn drugs! Bad enough our country’s sucking Thalmor cock, now they’ve got you rolling over for beastkin too.”
A scuffle started after that, and the Dragonborn took the opportunity that presented itself. She took the onlookers out first. They were distracted, and never saw the arrow that finally ended their lives. The fight hid the noise as with silent precision the farthest were taken out, then those close to the fire. At last as the combatants lay panting and disoriented they stared at the lifeless bodies of their comrades and she put an arrow in each of their eyes. It was quick, clean, and she didn’t feel the slightest remorse as she surveyed the perimeter once more before walking into the camp.
Closer up she could see the menagerie of belongings strewn everywhere, loot sorted through and selectively discarded. She kept on guard. Plenty enough times she’d walked into a camp, thinking it was cleared until she stumbled across a bandit still curled up in his bedroll. The resulting melee was never pretty, and the battlefield was no place she liked surprises.
A lookout was asleep at his post, likely passed out from either drugs or drink. It tempted her to spare the man, to let him wake to the lesson of his dead kinsman. That bitter ache for such vengeance was a temptation, but she’d learned better than to indulge. There would be no loose ends. That lesson had already cost her a friend, it would claim no more.
The bandit was dead before he woke.
Contemplating the reinforced wooden door for a moment, the Dovahkiin fished through the pockets of one of the dead brawlers, coming up with a key. As lovely as it was wasting time picking locks, she preferred the more direct approach when possible. She was careful as she pushed open the door, her eyes needing a moment to adjust to the contrast of lamps and deeper pools of darkness. She was on alert. Dungeons like this could be a few rooms, or practically labyrinths five levels deep. The only way to tell was to go deeper in.