The Plan
Sharn waited until Calpernia had closed the outer door before she moved to the edge of the carpet. She could hear the muffled voices of the guards that watched over her cell speaking to the mage, but the words themselves were harder to make out. The Orc had been very careful not to reveal just how good her senses were in comparison to the humans around her. It had stood her in good stead as the guards talked freely amongst themselves when they thought they couldn't be overheard. And it seemed guards where the same no matter what plane of Oblivion they were from. They all gossiped like fishwives at the market, usually about their superiors. It had made for interesting listening and had helped her language studies far more than the books that had been left for her entertainment.
Kneeling down a hand's length from the edge of the carpet, Sharn could feel the start of the ward that kept her confined to this room, to this large carpeted area. She stared at the slim silver ring, aching to reach out and grasp it.
Her ring. One she had paid a heavy price for in blood and pain.
Hers.
Azura had given it to her before she had truly known just what she had gotten herself into when she had stepped off that prisoner transport ship and onto the docks of Seyda Neen. Before the reality of living with the Corprus Disease had meant anything to her other than a lack of worrying about getting Rock Joint while exploring. Before she'd had to watch her kith and kin age around her while she remained the same.
There were times she hated the Daedric Lord, other times she hated herself for not ending it. She could do so any number of ways. Keening and Trueflame both had sharp edged blades, and if that didn't work, well a means would be found. She could swim out to the center of the Sea of Ghosts, or climb the side of Red Mountain and find an open lava fissure. There were always options if you truly looked for them, and all things eventually came to an end.
Sharn pushed those thoughts away. She had to get her ring. Once she had the ring of Moon-and-Star, she would regain a measure of her magicka reserve and she could start working on ways to subvert her guards. A cold smile curved her lips as she thought of her captors. Orcs never forgot a slight, as these humans would soon learn to their sorrow.
Steeling herself, Sharn braced one hand against the ground to hold herself steady while the other slowly, oh so slowly, inched towards the ring that gleamed in the dim light. Pain wracked her as the ward pushed back.
It hurt. Malacath's ass it hurt. It felt like the skin of her hand was being slowly flayed off by scamps wielding dull kitchen knives. As she watched, the tips of her fingers began to burn, then blister. Yet still she pushed against the ward. She knew from experience that the burning and the pain would creep up her arm, slowly leaching every upwards the longer she strained against the ward's magicka. Sharn could feel sweat breaking out from her skin and she knew from past experience that it would turn to blood if she kept it up from much longer.
Close. She was so close. She scraped the tip of her nail across the edge of the star. The pain had reached her shoulder and she could feel it starting to radiate out towards her torso. The iron tang of blood began to scent the air around her as she strained to curve her finger inside the band.
Her heart was pounding now, her lungs working to bring in more air as blackness began to dance across her vision. As she felt her body shut down from the strain and collapse to the rug, Sharn reflexively curled the fingers of her hands into fists. As darkness claimed her, she felt the cool touch of silver against her palm.
Screams and shouts fill the twisting stone paths of Markarth as Sharn darts past guards and citizens alike. Smoke hangs in the air like a shroud as flames lick up the side of Silver Blood Inn. Someone has lost control of a fire spell, and she can just make out a person in robes working to control the blaze. She runs past the inn and into the maze of stairways, her goal the apartments further up and into the stone city. Instinct screams and she dodges as a figure looms out of the smoke, clawed hands reaching for where she should have been. She brings her sword up, the movements quick and easy with years of practice. The clawed hands are separated from their owner, followed shortly by the head as the vampire screeches its affront at the attack.
The large black hound that attacks on the heels of its master is a bit of a surprise. She tries to dodge again, but there is little room to maneuver on the narrow steps. Her back hits the alley wall as she starts to bring her sword around to bear on the hound. She isn't fast enough. Pain radiates up her leg as teeth pierce past her leather grieves to the flesh beneath. The massive animal twists its head, forcing her down to the ground. She falls, dropping her sword as she does so.
The jaws open, releasing her leg as the hound lunges for her throat. Sharn manages to get her forearms up in time keep its teeth from her vulnerable neck. She strains to hold the animal back and prepare a spell at the same time. Finally she’s able to work the fingers of her right hand into the proper casting position. Sharn twists under the hound, pushing her hand against the snapping teeth, palm out, and releases a stream of fire. The flames pour into the animal's open maw, and the smell of burning flesh fills her nostrils as the hound gives a shrill yelp and staggers off of her.
She grabs for the hilt of her boot knife and slams the blade deep into the dog's flank. As it tries to get away from her, she hits it with another gust of flame and strikes once more with her dagger. Finally the hound goes down, it's black hide charred, and she staggers to her feet. Picking up her sword, Sharn turns away from the dead hound and slaps a basic healing spell over her wounded leg. She isn't much of a healer, but she’s able to slow the bleeding. Satisfied she won't bleed to death, Sharn begins to limp up the stairs, coursing the delay the fight has cost her. And still the city burns around her as she moves further into the city.
The stink of burned flesh followed Sharn into the waking world, and she lay still. It took more effort than she was comfortable with to banish the dream. To remind herself that the smoke and screams of Markarth burning, the feel of the death hound's teeth against her skin were in the past. Her dreams were so vivid here; it was almost as if she were reliving her memories as she slept. And perhaps she did just that. Calpernia claimed that everyone but dwarves entered someplace called the Fade as they dreamed.
Sharn wasn't quite sure she believed that; it sound more like a separate plane of Oblivion to her, but if that were so who was its lord and where were they? Calpernia and Alexius had never been able to explain why this Fade was necessary for magicka, or how it had come into being. But something was very wrong with this land. The magicka that should have flowed over the world like water was . . . muffled to her senses, as if someone had wrapped her entire being in wet wool. That same sense of being stifled had even followed her into sleep. She had woken more than once convinced that she was suffocating; her body crying out for the magicka it needed to survive. If this was what she had to endure Sharn hated to think what kind of hell an Altmer or Breton would face in this dead land.
As Sharn rolled to her knees, the feel of smooth metal against her palm made her look down at her hand. She staggered to her feet, careful not to jostle her hand and arm. The pain from attempting the ward was still there, but it had died down enough that she could ignore it for now. Cradling her right hand against her breast, Sharn moved to her seat, never taking her eyes from her hand as she collapsed into the cushions.
Cautiously, afraid to hope, she opened her fingers to the gleam of silver against her palm. Her green skin was burned and blisters radiated from her hand to her elbow. She was lucky. The last time she had tried the ward, she'd ended up with burns over her entire left arm and leg, and the left side of her torso. She had also still been unconscious when Alexius had found her the following morning. But she thought bitterly, there are some benefits to being the Nerevarine.
Sharn clenched her fist around her ring, and flexed her wrist and arm. The burns and blisters cracked and flaked off her like ashes, revealing new skin. This was a trick she was careful to never show her captors. It drained her already low reserves of magicka, and only worked on wounds that were skin deep. As Alexius had found her last time the ward had burned her, she had been forced to allow her body to heal naturally. Though the Venatori had provided her with healing salves to help the burns, it had still taken her far longer to heal than is should have. Sharn blamed the lack of magicka in the air for her slow healing.
Pushing away thoughts of magicka and healing, Sharn looked down at the gleam of silver in her palm. Such a small, simple ring to be so dangerous. Placing the ring of Moon-and-Star on her left forefinger, Sharn felt the energy that was as much part of the ring as the silver rush though her. It wasn't as strong as it should be, but it was more than enough to refill her small reserves of magicka. She wasn't strong enough to break through the ward; even in Tamriel she wouldn't have been strong enough. But it was something.
Concentrating, Sharn shaped the spell in her mind, holding the magicka in the pattern she wanted while her left hand curled into the proper casting configuration. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she held the spell, feeling the pressure build until the weight of the spell settled in her hand. Gasping in relief, she released the spell and the summoned dagger materialized into her hand. Keening's ghostly counterpart was solid to her touch, but only a misty outline met her sight when she looked down at the spirit weapon. It had been harder than it should have been to call the bound blade to her. No doubt the lack of free magicka once again. No matter. She had the means to call a weapon to her at the most opportune time now and Calpernia had said they would be moving her soon. A cold smile crossed her face as Sharn dismissed the dagger back into thin air. She would wait. After all, she had all the time in the world.
Katari Adaar patrolled the woodland with his sister, along with rest of the Valo-Kas scouting the foothills that surrounded the ancient Tevinter fortress they planned to break into. The mercenary group would normally never enter Tevinter itself, too close to Par Vollen for most of them, but rumors had been filtering through the Tal Vashoth communities for the past few months that some of their own were being held by a splinter group of Tevinter mages.
Shokrakar had been curious enough to send Kaariss' squad in to investigate. So off Ashaad and Sataari had gone to hear the local gossip for themselves. When they had failed to make the rendezvous with the rest of the band, Kaariss had gone alone to nose around Perivantium, the closest city, to see what he could find. He disliked being openly seen in Tevinter as he was still on the Qun's kill or capture list. But the welfare of two of his squad came before his own safety. The would-be-poet had been trained as a Ben-Hassrath before he'd left the Qun and was the least physically threatening of a group made up of Vashoth and Tal Vashoth mercenaries and mages, so he was the best suited for the subtle work of information gathering. Most underestimated him, which worked to his advantage. And what he'd found had alarmed the normally unshakable former spy.
This particular group of Tevinter mages called themselves Venatori, and their stated goal was to restore Tevinter to its ancient glory. They had come out of nowhere two years ago and had already gathered a large following from all levels of Tevinter society. The Magisterium looked the other way when Venatori actives spilled out into the open, and Katari had no doubt that more than one Magister's pocket was being lined with gold to keep it that way.
What was more, this particular group wasn't afraid to get its hands dirty. It wasn't just Vashoth that were disappearing into the foothills of the Hundred Pillars. Slaves by the caravan load, along with the occasional lone traveler and dwarven merchant, were rumored to have been taken by the Venatori. For what Kaariss hadn't been able to find out, but Shokrakar wasn't the sort to let her people go quietly. She had given the order for him to retrieve their people and had promised to send backup.
Then his sister Lassair had been contacted by one of her Carta contacts. Rekkah was the left hand of the Deshyr of the Cadash Carta Clan, and the two women had been friends for years. The letter had been short, and to the point. The Cadash Clan wanted to hire their mercenary band to retrieve one of their own from Venatori hands. Edric Cadash, one of their artificers and Rekkah's second cousin twice removed on her father side, had been kidnapped while traveling on the Imperial Highway just outside of Perivantium. Most of his traveling companions had been taken as well, but an apprentice had escaped when he'd been struck on the head and had the wits to play dead in a nearby ditch. The lad had then followed the group far enough to figure out just where they were taking their captives. He had then gotten out of Tevinter and back to the Free Marches as fast his short legs could take him.
To say that the Deshyr had been angry was an understatement of epic proportions. Cadash might be a small clan by Carta standards, but they had both power and influence among the Merchant Guild and the Magisterium. For one of their legitimate merchant caravans to be targeted was a breach of both contract and custom. Katari almost pitied the Venatori living within Cadash's reach. If he knew Rekkah any Venatori living in the Free Marches would soon be very, very dead. Or wishing they were dead. You just didn't mess with the Carta over contracts.
Shokrakar had been thrilled. They were now being paid to do what they planned to do in the first place. So off Lassair and her team had gone to Tevinter. They had met up with Kaariss and what remained of his own team three days ago and had been scouting the foothills and spying on the Venatori comings and goings ever since. It was a boring, but necessary job, and Katari was tempted to just walk up the gate and demand entry, just to liven things up a little. Unfortunately for his boredom, both Lassair and Kaariss had said “no” in no uncertain terms.
Lassair poked him hard in the chest to shake him out of his brooding. “Look, movement at the gate.”
He followed his sister's gesture, spotting the group of horsemen as they cantered away from the fortress. Glancing at the sky, he saw that dawn was still a good hour away. Someone wanted an early start, wherever they were headed. “Good, fewer for us to deal with.”
“Herah and Gaatlok should be back from their own patrol by now, let's return to camp.” Lassair's voice was a soft whisper. Katari grunted his agreement, and followed her back to the camp the mercenary band had set up earlier.
Most of the others were waiting for them. The only ones missing were Kost and Meravas. They were on watch, keeping a close eye on the approach to their hidden camp. Gaatlok had indeed returned from his own scouting mission. He was crouched over a crude map of the fortress' layout and was busy jotting notes down on the edges of the parchment. He was, Katari knew, most likely plotting where he would set his charges to gain them an entry point into the fortress.
“Report," Kaariss said. He was in charge of this operation even though Lassair was senior to him. But Shokrakar had made it a point that the first team lead on site was the one running the show. Even if she had come instead of Lassair, Kaariss would still have been lead. Katari wasn't sure he agreed with his boss's policy, but so far things had gone according to plan. This made him nervous because things never went completely according to the plan.
“A large group of riders left the keep, riding at an easy canter. I counted twelve, mostly wearing robes with a few in armor. They weren't in a hurry, and I saw pack horses among the riders. There's a good chance they'll be gone for a few days at least.” Lassair said. She stood next to the former Ben-Hassrath as the two conferred. The rest of the mercenaries gathered around their leaders, eager for something to happen after all this inactivity.
Kaariss nodded. “And we saw another group of ten leave the day before you arrived. There's a good bet they left only a skeleton watch on the fortress now. This could be our best chance for getting in and getting out again with the prisoners still alive.” He fell silent, thinking hard. “Alright, this is how we'll do it. Gaatlok, I'll need your map.”
Gaatlok scowled, but gave him the map. Kaariss spread the parchment out so that everyone could see it. “Lassair, your team is the diversion. Gaatlok, I want you to place your bombs here, here, and here. They might not cause much damage, but they will get the attention of everyone left in the keep. While you're planting your charges, my squad will infiltrate the fortress here.” He pointed to the south wall. It was a good choice. The keep's walls had fallen into disrepair, and the stones offered plenty of handholds for climbers.
“Give us an hour, then breach the gate by any means necessary. I want your team to hold the gate and the courtyard as long as you can.” Lassair nodded her head in agreement. She and Katari where the heaviest hitters available since Sataari was being held captive. With their team watching their backs, they would have the best chance at holding the gate until the captives had been rescued.
“When we've found the targets, we'll join you in the courtyard and extract out the main gate.” His red eyes where cold as frozen embers. “No quarter. We can't let anyone live to tell the tale of our assault. Understood?” He met the eyes of everyone in the circle. There were no dissenting voices. “Good. Let's go Valo-Kas, dawn won't wait for us.”