Fields of Crimson

In the Face of Death

It all sounded like a well woven lie, and the more Akhira voiced his genuine innocence on the situation the more he flinched in regret. He knew this friendship would be poison but he couldn't keep away drawn like a moth to a flame. He knew he'd only get burned. Badly. It was a mistake coming here, but he meant to follow Nora anyways. His curiosity always got the best of him, though all the same he was very careful and kept out of trouble. But, that was difficult when nearly everyone was out to get you.

His wrist was snatched and he would be reprimanded for this penalty. He didn't even know the shop keeper, but he did recognize Akhira's canine companion. The second he was torn away from Akhira he lost it, and that probably didn't help his cause. He wasn't nearly as strong as the guard who restrained him, but he still tried, really his did. "AKHIRA! AKHIRA! AKHIRA!" He clawed viciously and writhed around in the guards arms and tried everything he knew to free himself of this man's grasp but it was all for naught.

He went deadweight. He stopped trying and just let them do what they will with him. He was already being dragged out of the door by the time Akhira vanished, likely to her father where he'd empty lies into her head about how much dark elves are scum- or all elves for that matter.

His hatred overrode everything else. He didn't even care where he was being brought, but he could've taken a wild guess. He was tossed into one of those damp cells and not another word came loose from his lips. He crawled back into that shell of his like the recluse he truly was, deep down he didn't care for anyone's company besides hers. Not even the assassins that had taken care of him. All those lies about his 'father' and 'mother' having traveled everywhere when in reality his disappearances were because of the dark brotherhood's agenda. 

Vanikath awoke to the sounds of slow, quiet chattering in the bubbles of white noise. He could smell horses; he could hear them trotting away. His head ached. His legs ached. His entire body ached. He let out a feeble moan, and slid down the cart bench a few inches, onto the floor. He let his head rest on the bench, in too much pain to care if he looked ridiculous.

"So, you're finally awake," A gruff but friendly voice met his ears. Lazily, the youth half opened both heavily-lidded eyes, and gave the rugged Nord in front of him a neutral eye. "I thought you'd never wake up. Thought they'd have to put you on the block in your sleep."

"They'd do that?" Another voice came to Vanikath's ears. Sensing that he would not be allowed any more peace, he heaved a sigh, and sat up on the crudely constructed bench. Across from him, the Nord who had first spoken, was looking at another, more subdued looking man, with scruffy brown hair and a short beard. He looked to be only a few years older than Vanikath, so he gave him a nod of silent acknowledgment. The man did not return it, because he was still looking at the brutalized Nord. And the brutalized Nord was looking at him.

"Seriously, would they put you on the block as you slept? So, you'd wake up in Sovngarde?" The rugged looking Nord glared coldly at the man, and turned back to Vanikath with a knowing grin. Vanikath did not return it; he too was thinking exactly the same thing. He put his head in his hands, his unkempt, tangled strands of obsidian clenched in his fists.

When he glanced up again, the rugged Nord was looking at the other, with an obvious look of distaste on his prim countenance. "Show some courage in death, horse-thief. And you," He turned to Vanikath. "Why are you here, eh? You look too young to be a Stormcloak. I'm Ralof. What do they call you?"

"Vanikath... Vanikath Velathram. I'm here because I murdered someone." The other two laughed, eyeing him. Ralof grinned at something. Vanikath glared around, and with a start, noticed that there was a tall man beside him, gagged. Wondering why this was, Vanikath frowned at Ralof.