Jaded - Lette

Nothing of note in the passing week. I made poor time I suppose. I just walked. Town to town, house to house. Plantation to plantation. The same questions at every stop. Usually met with the same answers. No sign of either of them. It had been far too long. They could be across the continent by now. They could be dead. I would sooner join them than give up.

In time I came upon a group of slavers. One of several gangs in the area. Outlawing did little to stop it, in truth. They just fled further into the shadows. Became more reliant on people like us to keep them going. This group in particular, a cut went straight to the House. Hushmoney. Illegal, yes, but cold septims have a way of persuading one to look the other way. I did not approve, but I had my hand in their affairs as often as most. It was business. News of the town had likely not yet reached this far. I thought perhaps that could work to my advantage.

The air of respect I had grown accustomed to in the presence of employees was suspiciously absent. The guards regarded me as a passerby. I was stopped several times before making my way to the main house.The leader sat on a porch overseeing his workers. A stern Dunmer. Perhaps half my age. A skooma pipe to his left, a plate of aging Nix meat lie in the open air beside that, flies buzzing about it. His filthy hand clutched moldy bread, a scowl passing his rigid visage with every passing bite. At the sight of me, he spoke. “What brings you to these parts, my lady? Our piece has been paid this month.” He turned back to his bread, choking down another bite before peering back at me.

“I wouldn’t worry about that for now. I have other business with you. I search for a Nord wizard. He would be getting on in the years by now, I imagine. Have any passed through here lately? What of ages ago? In the last 30, 40 years by chance? Think back and do be direct. And another. My -”

“Hmm…” he interrupted.

“30 years of r’membering is asking a lot of a man. You might need to jog my memory”. His hand crept forward, brushing against mine as he tried to clasp it. I pulled away and spoke.

“He is very important to me.”

Again he pondered then stood, stepping around his chair and up to the door to his shack. He turned to face me, gesturing to the handle. “Lets take this indoors, I have some records I need to look through.”

His grey lips parted into rotten smile as he lifted two fingers. “I’ll get us some drinks.” He shut the door behind us, locked it and soon sat about our preparing drinks. Next he found himself shuffling through documents beside the bed.

“Lets see…”

“A Nord wizard bought a pair of workers from us last year. Aye I remember him. An old man in their times. I can’t seem to read the name. Ah well, maybe after the jogging.”

He then rolled up the paper and slid it under the mattress. Giving it a firm pat for good measure.

“Do make yourself comfortable, Matron. We could be a while.” he chuckled, perching on the edge of the bed to remove his boots.

It would seem news had traveled quicker than I had thought. On any other day he wouldn’t dare make such advances. Out of necessary respect, or fear of the consequences. A creeping disgust welled in me. I excused myself and turned the corner. A not-so-difficult decision. He had no time to react. The bolt hit him behind the ear. Instant. Quiet. A soft twang, then silence. I retrieved the document, a violet shimmer engulfing my left hand as my magics picked the lock.

My thirst was not yet sated. My right hand, a pulsating green inferno. From the ground rose the most vile of mists. The color of Vvardenfell glass. The guard before me suffocated, his grey skin foaming beneath his armor as he met his end. 100 years under father’s employ. An enforcer, persuader. On to the next, my clouds filled him, lung and blood, leaving nothing but a coughing shell of a man. 50 years as a dock guard to earn my titles. A hundred lie back-stabbed, poisoned in my wake. Forgotten but not forgotten. Business. The crackle of splinters. Arrows lodged themselves in the walls beside me. Foolish. After the first cloud, the rest should have fled. Near 50 more in the deepest recesses of regret. A swelling rage that no man should ever cross. They had plenty of time. I walked. They would live with their mistakes as I have, for but a short while more. One dove through the jaded cloud, an attempt to grapple me, only to find himself lifted and paralyzed. I held him mid-air until his heart stopped. The last of the alarms, the last of the soaring arrows. My clouds dissipated, leaving a subtle glow above the ground.

The workers, slaves, cowering forms behind rafters and fences. I called out to them amidst their abusers final gurgles and labored breaths. “To me, it is over.”

I lead them to the main road and asked them to travel south if they sought their freedom. My old nerves began to calm at last. With haste, I unfurled the document and skimmed through the contents by Candlelight. Shock, awe, happiness. It was him.