The Fate of Pell's Gate

Not much happened in Pell’s Gate.  The town, located just south of Lake Rumare, hosted visitors frequently, but none stayed for long, and while it had seen its fair share of hardship and tragedy in the past, in the past was where they stayed.  Although the majority of Cyrodiil was agonizingly tense following the conclusion of the Oblivion Crisis – and the subsequent disappearance of the Champion who aided Martin Septim in ending it – Pell’s Gate was as calm as ever.

At least, that’s what Sextus Vilarius had been told by the head of the Anvil Fighter’s Guild, Azzan, when they were discussing his next job.  Apparently, a small group of particularly annoying bandits had taken up residence in Fort Homestead, dangerously close to the town.  Although they were bolder than average, the group of outlaws wasn’t particularly well-organized, so Sextus, being a Defender-rank in the guild, was entrusted to deal with them on his own.  The job was abnormally dangerous for one man to take on alone, but Sextus frankly relished the opportunity.  He, after all, had not joined the Fighter’s Guild for the sake of money.

As he slowly rode up to Pell’s Gate, Sextus mentally noted that the town really was as quiet as Azzan had said, to the point of being a bit strange.  All he could hear as he approached were the sounds of the surrounding forest – birds and leaves rustling in the wind.
The first thing he saw as he entered the town was the mangled body of a Redguard woman almost completely pushed into the ground.  Only her head and an arm were clearly protruding from the surface.  Needless to say, she was dead.

Sextusg grimaced and leaped off his horse besides the woman.  Her face bore no injuries and it didn’t seem like she’d been dead for long, but her body had been lodged into the ground with such force that it nearly split open at the shoulder.  Sextus noticed the smell of burning flesh in his nostrils and turned to his back-left.  There, near the door to the town’s inn, was the burnt corpse of a human woman, her actual race impossible to determine due to her burns.  Sextus gingerly walked over and bent down.  The burn marks, small and extremely numerous, told a clear story: magic had caused those burns – not some apprentice’s fireball, mind you, but a trained magicka user’s sorcery.  To the woman’s right, a few yards away, he saw an old Nord’s body with a gash in his torso so large it looked as though someone had drove an executioner’s axe down his shoulder.  The town’s inhabitants had been slaughtered wholesale.

Sextus’ mind immediately jumped to the group of bandits he had been sent to confront.  As he investigated the interior of the inn (“The Sleeping Mare”) however, he noticed that absolutely nothing had been taken.  In fact, nothing was out of place at all.  A few stacks of coins were plainly arranged on the counter, as if someone had been in the process of counting them.

“Petty thugs wouldn’t do something like this, that much is pretty damn obvious. . . Damn it all! Just what were these guys after to go around killing random people like this?”

Was it even the group that Sextus had been sent to deal with who was responsible?  It was impossible to know for sure right then and there, but either way it seemed like they’d be the only ones who are close enough to the town to have any potential clues.  Sextus left his horse tied to a post in Pell’s Gate and began making his way to Fort Homestead.

Having cast a Chameleon spell, he drew his bow and slowly snuck up to the fort’s entrance.  He hadn’t heard or seen anything indicating that there was anyone in the fort at all, and as he peered in he quickly learned why.  The remains of a bandit lay, in two parts, on the sides of a stone column inside the fort’s outer gate.  However, just as surprising to Sextus was the fact that a dog, seemingly one that belonged to the group of outlaws who had taken up residence in the fort, was sniffing at the corpse.  It was completely unharmed and showed no signs of having attacked anyone or anything, either.

The doors to the fort’s underground structure were wide open, but Sextus had seen enough.  Whatever or whoever had killed the townspeople had come to the fort as well.  While the idea of finding a survivor in the fort seemed promising, for all Sextus knew he could be walking straight into a trap.  Running back to Pell’s Gate and untying his horse, Sextus resolved to notify the Legion after only a moment’s hesitation.  He wouldn’t go back to Azzan, though, that was for sure.  Whoever had done these things to the townsfolk and bandits was a powerful group of people.  Although it was necessary for the Legion to know what had happened for the sake of protecting innocent lives, Sextus wasn’t satisfied leaving the matter at that.

As he rode down the road back to the Imperial City, however, after only a few dozen minutes of riding he came upon a man on the road, completely out of breath.  It was a young Nord, dressed in fur armor, and despite his state of exhaustion he was apparently still pushing himself to continue forward in a ragged fast-walk.  As he heard Sextus’ horse approach, he turned suddenly, relaxing only slightly after looking at who was coming.

“The way you came . . .” The Nord gasped out in between breaths.

“You know what happened?” Sextus asked.

The Nord paused to size him up.

“Are you with the Legion?”

Sextus shook his head and thought for a moment.  His suspicions told him that this man was a bandit, but in his current state there was no need to lie to him.

“I’m with the Fighter’s Guild.”

The Nord muttered a curse under his breath.

“I guess it doesn’t mean a damn thing now anyway.  We’re both dead men if the thing who killed my guys comes for us.”

Sextus raised an eyebrow.

“You mean that was done by a single attacker?”

“So, you saw the leftovers at the fort, eh?  . . . You were sent to kill us, weren’t you?”

Sextus tilted his head.

“That’s right.”

“Hmph.  I would’ve rather you than him,” the Nord paused before continuing, “and before you ask, I hardly know anything about what happened.  I was coming back to the fort with supplies when I saw someone or something that looked humanoid charge the Fort – it tore right through the guys like a sabre cat through a flock of sheep, and I turned around and got the hell out of there as fast as I could.”

So, it was only one attacker after all.  Sextus struggled to believe that that was the case, and then chided himself for struggling.  If he was to grow as a person the way he desperately wanted to, he would have to be prepared for any challenge.

“And what about Pell’s Gate?”

“What about it?” The Nord said, appearing genuinely confused.  Then, what Sextus meant dawned on him, and his face grew concerned.
“You mean the town was attacked too?  The bastard wasn’t just going after us…”

Sextus looked at the Nord again.

“What’s your name?”

The Nord looked at him with squinted eyes.

“The hell does it matter to you?  We both need to get to the city before that guy finds us again.”

Sextus smiled.

“I’m going to tell the Legion what’s happened here no matter what happens.”

The Nord opened his mouth to speak, but Sextus raised a hand to stop him.

“That said, I’m only doing that to ease my burdened conscience.  I’m going to find who or whatever did this to your men and to Pell’s Gate myself, and you’re going to help me do it.”

The Nord’s face twisted into a cynical smile.

“Is that right?  I don’t even know why the hell you want to go after that thing, but I’m staying as far away from it as I can.  Heading back to Skyrim doesn’t sound too bad right now, in fact.  Now leave me alone, before I decide not to be so friendly with you.”

Sextus climbed off his horse and walked up to the Nord, who warily backed up.

“Hmmm . . .”

Sextus put his hand to his chin and studied the Nord, who was tensely still.

“No, actually, I don’t believe you’d do anything like that.”

Sextus got back onto his horse and smiled back down at the Nord.

“I can tell you’re a good fighter, but I’d win.  I can tell that despite you likely having a small weapon hidden somewhere on your person, you don’t actually want to fight me, and besides that, you’re so tired you likely couldn’t beat a mudcrab in a fight right now.  Most importantly, though, you’re the type of person who hates to actually have to use force, despite your skill and profession.  I wonder, is that because you’re lazy or because you actually shy away from fighting?”

The Nord’s eyes widened – he took a step back.

“How the hell do you think you know all that, you cocky moron?”

Sextus’ smile widened.

“One of the things I enjoy most in life is figuring out other people.  I’ve become quite good at it, by reading body queues and learning about how people with different types of personalities speak.  I suppose I do it because it’s how I feel I can grow above others, and I also suppose that’s why I want to find whoever did those things myself.  Simply put, I’m curious to see just what sort of person it is, if it’s a person at all.”

The Nord’s eyes grew suspicious.

“You don’t sound like a Fighter’s Guild man to me.”

“I promise you I am.  You must’ve misread me.”

At last, the Nord relaxed and returned Sextus’ smile.

“Yea, I guess I did.  I don’t know why the hell I’m doing this, but you’ve got my own curiosity peaked.  The truth is, I do want revenge on the guy who killed my friends, so I guess I could stay with you for a while.  My name’s Ivor.  Ivor Krognard.”

“Alright, Ivor.  I’m Sextus Vilarius.”

Ivor frowned.

“You’re gonna play games with me after I agree to go with you, elf?”

Sextus shook his head.

“No, I swear that’s my real name.  I’m a Wood Elf, yes, but I was adopted and raised by Imperials.  That’s who I am.”

Ivor grunted.

“Well there’s no way for me to tell if you’re lying.  If we’re gonna do this, where do we start?”

Sextus turned forward in thought.

“We’re probably going to have to investigate the entire area around Pell’s Gate... Damn it all!  I don’t even have a clue as to what the motivation behind the attacks were, and that bothers me most of all.  Once I have something to go off of, I’m confident I’ll be able to figure out the rest.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard, aren’t you?” Ivor pointed out, “That won’t last long if you seriously intend to confront this man.”

“I’m simply confident in my abilities,” Sextus deflected, “and I’m sure this is the clearest path to my own personal growth.”

Ivor grunted.  He hadn’t met anyone who’d talked about their own growth as a person so overtly before.

“You’d better hope that’s true.”

---

Somewhere in the Great Forest, a figure wearing a red hood tossed the corpse of a daedra worshipper onto the ground next to a statue of Hircine.  It glanced at the statue only for a moment, before turning to leave, and, as it leaves, it carefully gazes down at its own blood-stained hand, opening and closing it rhythmically.

It smiles.