dear_mun | (no subject)

Technically Valenwood's been absorbed into the Aldmeri Dominion, but otherwise, yes... [ Unfortunately.

He's looking blank at the list of names when abruptly he's grabbed again. He jerks back a little in surprise. The litany of unknown waypoints makes him start to wonder if he hasn't lost his mind. ]

All I know of 'Jerusalem' is its importance to you.

[ He's frowning deeply. It's as if Bennet were dropped from nowhere like the ancient Pelinal Whitestrake. But that's just a legend, too corrupted to be expected to make sense. ]

Perhaps when your friend is found, it will be as easy to open another portal to your homeland. [ He's a little dubious; he has no idea if it's that simple. ]

[Releasing his hold on his captive, Bennet takes a step back and gathers himself. He's shaken, in a way he is entirely unaccustomed to being shaken.

How is any of this possible? A people that know not of Jerusalem, a Legion in the hinters of ancient Mesopotamia, it's as if his trek into the desert took him out of the world he knows and into another one entirely. Which ought to be impossible. For all that this man may consort with 'spheres' or whatever he may call them, he is just a simple warrior, nothing more.

He hadn't wanted to speak of this. His furrowed brow speaks of his reluctance even before he finds the words. But if he is to make any sense of this at all, he must divulge all information, even that which is of personal shame to him.]

There is one another waypoint you may or may not know. A place within the wastes the locals called 'Akkaba'. Within those wastes, deep in the cradle where our history began, scrolls writ long before my birth told tales of an Eternal Pharaoh, who ruled in antiquity from a tower of power beyond the reckoning of man.

[He sighs. What comes next is painful to recount, yet recount it he must.] Eobar and I heard these tales together and decided to find that tower, to claim its riches and its secrets for our own. But then, the day we were to set out, a mysterious black-haired woman arrived at our camp. A sorceress whose first act was to assault our brothers, yet Eobar took to her as though bewitched. He refused to allow her to be killed and refused to carry on our quest. I resolved to carry on alone. Taking what provisions I could, I rode out into those wastes and spent three days and three nights searching, long enough for my mount to sprain its leg and die in a sandstorm. Before I caught sight of the valley I emerged from, I thought all hope lost, I thought I would die in those empty desert lands. But I did not die. Instead I am here, in this strange land that seems removed entire from any reckoning of the world I know.

[ There is some mercy for him: Stratos listens silently now, without mockery or unkindness. The man's pain is clear enough to see. And he's genuinely straining to find something recognisable in the tale. ]

I'm not certain I can shed any light on it. I don't know how you came here, but any mortal magic that powerful should have been obvious. Unsubtle. If deliberate, someone would surely have been waiting for you. To alter space so smoothly it's undetected would take... an Elder Scroll? The will of the gods?

Or perhaps you were cast out by some foreign power entirely. It does sound as if someone had an interest in thwarting your quest.

[That mercy is a subtle thing but it does not go unnoticed; Bennet feels a pang of guilt for handling him roughly earlier. The mage is telling him the truth, much as he would rather it not be. Everything he has said so far is truth. Which means he truly is lost, lost in a way he can scarcely even fathom.]

Towards the end I was myself dehydrated, half-mad from the tricks of the desert sands... [He hesitates, but then presses on:] I did feel, several times, as though I was being watched. Observed. And yet whenever I would turn, of course no one and nothing was there. I took it then for the leave of my senses, but now I am not so sure.

[His mouth presses together into a thin line.] An Egyptian man, Sahreed, appeared before Eobar and I shortly before we were to test out, just a day before that woman arrived. He claimed to know of the location we sought and offered to guide us there. He changed his mind after coming to blows with Eobar, and I never saw him again. I took him for a mere lapdog, but mayhaps he had something to do with this. Mayhaps he really was a servant of the Eternal Pharaoh, as he claimed to be.

If so, his master is indeed immeasurably powerful. The bounds of this plane are far from unguarded.

[ He ponders. ] I've heard tales from... those who've marched the desert. Of how the heat and desperation turn one's senses. Do you think you would have sensed it, if powerful magic was worked on you?

I believe so. Since my first encounter with a witch, I have found that I can sense it when magic is at work, though how and why I cannot say. I carry no relics, as Eobar did, nor do I hail from any honored lineage.

[He folds his arms.] Someone was watching me in those wastes. Someone or something. I did not feel any of the normal sensations that come with the working of magic, though that proves little. Anyone powerful enough to conceal themselves amidst great dunes of nothing would surely have the power to conceal their sorcery from me as well. It may have been the woman, or that man Sahreed, or even the Eternal Pharoah himself. I will never know, unless--

[He lifts his head quickly. And slowly, he smiles.] ... Unless I returned to the valley I emerged from.

It seems a fair place to start. Short of asking a dragon, you don't have many options.

[ Stratos says it neutrally, although he's hoping to Talos it isn't that simple. That they won't just find a stable path that leads from bleak hillsides to misplaced dunes. He's considered his likely fate if he gets dragged back to this man's homeland and on balance he'd really rather not. ]

[Bennet really doesn't think it will be that simple either, though a man can hope. And the sureness of having a clear path for his boots is, as ever, a fortifying experience for him. He is not quite so encouraged as to smile, but he does look a good deal less dour now.]

Come then, let us set out. As I said, the valley is fifteen leagues away by my reckoning. If we keep a steady pace, we can be there by midday on the morrow.

[ He can hardly wait. At least he'll have plenty to occupy his mind. ]

Very well. [ Stratos turns in roughly the direction Bennet pointed out before. ] This way, you said?

[ He'll just assume the lead. It's not as if he's unfamiliar with this procedure. ]

[Frankly, he is ready for something that will occupy his body rather than his mind. After these many strange revelations and this stranger still situation, a fair bit of trekking ought to do him good.]

Aye, just over those hills and from there down across a bit of a ridge. The ground awaiting us is treacherous, so mind your step.

[He quickly takes up step beside Stratos. Yes, the mage is his guide and his prisoner, but what he is not is a human shield. Bennet has no intentions of using him as such.]

[ Stratos gives him a sidelong look: considering how close Bennet's come to killing him over the last hour, it feels peculiar for the man to be warning him about his footing. ]

I'm accustomed to unsteady ground. [ A double meaning, yes, so lest it be taken ill: ] I was raised on icy mountain slopes.

[Bennet meets Stratos's gaze blandly, without a hint of suspicion or anger. Whatever else can be said about him, he is not a man who dwells in the past. What has happened before his before; his concern is for the here and now.]

Far north of here, then? [The question is put gamely, as though he were interested -- and he is.] A perilous place to call home, I would think. I was myself raised in a small peasant village in my native France. Living was difficult, but not for the land -- that at least was fertle and welcoming.

[He moves at a brisk pace, swift and sure-footed, clearly in his element.]

[ The steady, sustainable pace of the legionnaire's march is something he's been trained to; even with his hands bound, this is somewhat easier than trying to adjust to riding with a mounted unit. ]

South, actually. The city of Bruma in the Jerrall Mountains. [ The last place Skyrim touches, and mountains are every direction in Skyrim. ] Terrible ground for farmers, but not bad for hunters. Or soldiers.

France is a peaceful land, I take it?

[He finds himself pleased with the man's pace; Stratos does not slow him down nearly as much as he expected the mage to, and he barely has to adjust his pace at all.]

South? [His dark eyebrows lift in surprise.] Are we truly so far north then? The air is not as thick as north should be, or mayhaps we are not simply high enough.

[A wry smile.] Aye, and nay, and every which way besides. Have you ever been to a nation that can be said to be at peace, yet within its borders wars are waged with pen and quills? A nation where there is enough for everyone, not no one has enough? Where men are called equal and treated as not?

Stay until winter returns and you won't mistake it. [ It's milder than his hometown, but compared to the warm greenery of most Cyrodiil this is a harsh and bitter province. ]

There's no magic to guarantee justice - nor unity. [ He glances at the sky, and almost smiles. ] Certainly not to keep scholars from quarreling. Count it a blessing when you can soothe unrest and keep invaders from your lands.

Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I have no intent on remaining in your lands that long, the Lord willing. [He crosses himself as he takes the oath; even though this realm is not at all unpleasant to his tastes, he still has pressing business elsewhere.]

It is not magic that brings justice or unity, only men. [His tone is stern, but only there, and he proceeds on without qualm.] Nor do simply the scholars quarrel in my land. Nobles quarrel with nobles, peasants with peasants, kings with kings. Only a mission as sacred as redeeming the only one could possibly have brought a people like mine together. Be grateful that your own lands are quieter.

Far be it from me to keep a man from his own realm.

[ If he glances at Bennet, it's only to note the odd ritual gesture. ]

You needn't tell an Imperial about diplomacy. [ It's murmured, hard to tell if his tone is wry or weary. His mouth does quirk at the next part, though. ]

Ah. Perhaps I should mention the risk of encountering rebel forces.

[ And bandits. And saber cats. And dragons. Maybe even Forsworn venturing northward. ]

Perhaps you should.

[He reaches the top of the hill and stops, waiting for Stratos to catch up.]

Thus far I have only encountered threat from the local wildlife. A great cat of some sort attempted to ambush me upon my first nightfall, but I drove it off.

[He smiles wistfully.] A shame I had not managed to cripple or slay it; a beast that large could have us both well.

[The mention of 'rebel forces' seems to make him antsy. The fingers of his sword hand tap his thigh impatiently.]

These rebels you speak of; how numerous are they? Are they well-armed?

Perhaps.

[ Stratos glances at him and nods a little in acknowledgment. Perhaps it's a blessing the only one with a sword is well able to use it. A mixed blessing, to be sure...

As promised, he doesn't struggle to find his footing, though he keeps his eyes on the ground as he makes it up the hill. At the top he stops to scan the view while he answers. ]

This far west they shouldn't be too numerous. Small scouting camps, at most. Their swords and axes are good Nord steel, however - and they know very well how to use them.

[From this height, they have a fairly good view of the ridges and surrounding hillsides. Considering the view, Bennet lets his hand drop from the hilt of his sword.]

Know you where they might be like to set up such camps? If you can instruct me on how to spot them, it would be child's play to infiltrate one under the cover of night and kill the party within before they had sufficient time to ready themselves.

[He speaks with the easy confidence of a man who has done precisely that before.]

I can outfight any vagabond in single combat. It is only their numbers that we need fear.

Hm. You don't let any foe pass you by.

[ He studies the way ahead. ] They'll seek sheltered ground, though not overhung or closed in. Better to scatter in this terrain than to let themselves be bottled. I'd expect them to keep their backs to a ridge, preferably on a slope with good cover.

[To that he gives the mage a sidelong look.]

Would you prefer to be ambushed and slain instead?

[Listening carefully, he lifts a hand to his chin and smiles.]

Ah, they do not think so differently from the English then. 'Tis a strategy I am more used to having used by friends than foes, but I know it well. And they are used to looking out for the threat of your Legionnaires, aye? A single man they would not expect, for they would themselves consider such suicide.

I'm not readily ambushed, when allowed to work.

[ There really isn't much to choose from between Bennet and the Stormcloaks. ]

They'd consider it an excellent death. [ A slight smile, at that, before he concedes. ] But you may be right. Of all the threats they'll watch for, that one is unlikely.

Oh? [Dark eyebrows rise in polite surprise.] You do have some proper field experience then?

[That is... not entirely unexpected, given how sure-footed his captive has been thus far, but still interesting to have confirmed.]

Tell me of it.

[ Well, he needn't say it like that. Stratos gives him a faintly puzzled look that says he's not sure Bennet wants to know but has learned better than to say so. ]

Four years as an auxiliary in Cyrodiil; six hunting bandits and a few would-be warlords in the kingdoms of High Rock. The last two, working with a mounted unit to track down and eliminate magical threats.

[ The irony doesn't escape him. He keeps an eye on the knight's expression as he goes on. The way he reacted to simple spells, Stratos isn't sure of the reaction this will receive. ]

I have enchanted weapons, cleared rockfalls, healed wounds and lit signal fires. I've warded arrows from my comrades, stood night watch; fought rebels, common thugs and rogue mages. Primarily, of course, I've cleaned armour.

[ There are curses that cannot be escaped, no matter your rank or specialisation. ]