Mists on the Mountains

Chapter 13: Dark Wings

Chapter 13

Dark Wings

"Dark Wings on the horizon signal doom! Dark Wings on the horizon summon death! Do not stand before them! Flee and you might survive but fight and you will surely perish."- A warning recovered from an ancient parchment. Extreme age prevents accurate dating, assumed First Era.

Rain hammered down from darkened skies and thunder rolled like the rumble of a dragon's belly. Hammel was soaked to the bone, his Legion-issued leather was useless at keeping him dry, and deafened from the constant drumming of rain on his steel helmet.

The other recruits were fairing no better, except for Tavin-Leem, an Argonian, who seemed pleased with the weather. They stood steadfast in the Castle Dour courtyard with their arms clasped behind their backs, remaining motionless in line as the rain assaulted them.

Striding back and forth before them, moving with ease despite the weather and peg leg, was drill sergeant Vokniss. The old Nord looked more like a slab of beef than a human, eyes squinting behind his wrinkled brow, meaty hands looked more than capable of beating an Orc to death. His peg made an impressive thud with each stride, his voice cut through the rain, thunder and lightning with ease.

"You are here," Vokniss said, voice rumbling low, "because you've shown some potential, and because you've got guts." His stern gaze passed over each recruit in turn, glaring right through them. "You've all made it this far because you think you can be Legionaries and you still believe it." The sergeant spat a wad of phlegm on the ground, "I admire your conviction, but most of you won't make it."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "This is the Imperial Legion! We accept only the best and right now I don't see that!" His breath rose from his nostrils in clouds, visible in the cool air. "The next few weeks will be brutal. Some of you will quit, many more will try your best and still fail. But some of you, the lucky few, might actually be transformed into soldiers. Ask yourself,' is it me?' Better yet, say, 'It is me!'"

Vokniss quit pacing and looked one of the recruits, a young Orc girl, square in the face. "Why are you here, recruit?"

She gulped, "Sir, because I didn't want to be married off, sir!"

Vokniss snorted, "You think you've got what it takes to be a Legionnaire, greenskin? Why should I let you join us? What good are you?" The question clearly caught her off-guard.

"I'm strong sir," she replied, " I've killed my share of beasts."

Vokniss didn't seem impressed. "Is that so?" Those words dripped from his mouth with venom. He didn't ask her more questions, stomping down the line for another recruit to torment.

Hammel didn't hear the questions Vokmiss asked Tavin-Leem's, but the Argonian didn't seem pleased, his tail shaking nervously after their conversation. Two others were grilled and subsequently ripped to shreds by the sergeant, his words booming across the courtyard louder than any thunder crack.

Hammel became aware he was under scrutiny when Vokniss halted, his peg leg splashing a puddle directly before him. Hammel was slightly above six feet, his wiry frame packed with muscle, but the older Nord seemed to tower over him. "Tell me son," he asked, voice rich with disdain, "Why are you here?"

Fighting back a sense of rising fear, Hammel answered, "To make something of myself, sir."

Vokniss paused, looking at Hammel more closely, "I know you. You're that bastard kid Naveev picked off the street. He saw something in you." Vokniss looked him up and down, taking in every inch. "You're scrawny and you look weak." Jaw set, he looked at Hammel and issued him the same challenge. "So tell me, bastard, what can you do?"