Silence-Before-Dawn, Skyrim Fanfiction

Rot and Ruin

Making my way towards the front gate once more, this time clearer of mind, I enter the market area at the entrance to the city. A woman in a blue dress stands by a jewelry stand, and a man draws a dagger and sneaks up behind her. I glance around to ensure the guards have noticed, and to my joy, they have.

Smirking, I descend upon the man with calculated fury. He dies too quickly, moaning about four sworn somethings. But the real treat of this death is that the guards won't fault me for killing an attempted killer.

It is as I predicted. No hostility is expressed against me, though a man lies dead at my feet. The shopkeepers at the stands in the market are fearful, but not of me. They stare, slack-jawed at the corpse. They murmur amongst themselves, taking great creative liberties as to how much danger they personally had been in.

Amused, but no longer interested in this market, full of predictable cowards, I turn to leave the city. A man stops me. Thrusts a note into my hand, claiming I'd dropped it. Ridiculous, I am far too coordinated for that. 

Perplexed, I stare at him blankly for a moment. But then it clicks that there may be something written on the note that he wants me to read. Something better left unsaid, in present company. I put the note aside. Perhaps I will indulge it later, but I have no desire to right now. Stepping around the man, I proceed on my way and leave the city.

Perhaps it is time to start tracking down Sam? If I was desperate enough to be groping a statue at the end of our booze trip--and of a woman, at that--then I doubt he made good on his promise to give me his staff. 

I head East, past the stables and a small local farm. Then I see a sickly looking man heading along the road. His movements are slow but hurried, as if he is travelling as quickly as his illness allows. The fact that he's sick at all is unusual. There are illnesses in Tamriel, sure, but nearly all of them can be cured with a potion, or by complimenting your local self-centered divine at the nearest available shrine. I creep towards him for a better look, noticing a red tinge to his skin. I don't think that's usual for the human races.

He notices me then, and speaks irritably: "Are you finished ogling the grotesque? I suppose I should be grateful you didn't simply attack me".

I'm glad I had some kills so recently, this man seems interesting enough that his death would be a bit of a waste. I cut to the chase and ask directly about his illness and unusual complexion.

"I am one of the Afflicted. I'd have been dead from this plague a year ago if not for Peryite's protection", he replies.

He's being polite enough, but his eyes keep drifting to the road behind me. He's obviously anxious to continue his journey. I ask him where it is he is going.

"Returning to High Rock. Our shepherd lost his way, and I fear Peryite's wrath may consume those who remain with him. Kesh could tell you more. I just want out of Skyrim as quickly as possible", he says, pushing past me.

His disrespect annoys me, and I follow him, calling out that I am not done asking my questions. He turns for a moment and firmly states that he does not have the time to answer my questions. Pointing Northeast, up the slope of a mountain, he tells me that Kesh tends the Shrine of Peryite there, if my curiosity must so urgently be sated. And with that, he turns once more to slowly but determinedly continue his trek beyond Skyrim's borders. 

I let him take his leave. Probably best that I don't put myself at unnecessary risk of contracting a disease uncurable by normal means. Instead, I turn in the supposed direction of Peryite's Shrine to search for Kesh and the answers he may provide.

The path up the mountain is rough, but clear, suggesting that many feet have travelled it. I wonder how many afflicted there may be, and how often they need to approach the shrine for Peryite to continue to protect them from their illness.