Sands Of Time
Loading Screen… A Janissary or Janissaries are soldiers and slavers of Jenassa Xera…
Soundtrack: http://https--open--spotify--com.proxy.hbcoal.com/playlist/2uN4KidVDDxrOqfBwLIyJ3?si=IlGuwxSiS5GcbwjI6UP2fw
~Q~Q~
A trumpet played a low tune under the pyramids of Hammerfell. The sun blazing hot, its rays of light parading the dunes of the desert. Squiggly lines decorating the sands of the ancient land. A cactus or palm tree with coconuts standing up here or there. Stesha walked in a line behind Hadvar and Gwendal, all of them attached by ropes, wrists bound and collars on their necks.
The long walk to Elinhir began, Stesha ruminated on the crow-masked man to keep himself from boredom as his feet touched the sandy ground. I wonder who he is, beneath the mask. I wonder what his alias is. If he’s even real.
“Move it, slave!” Jerked one of the janissaries from ahead of them.
An old Nord man folded over and collapsed on the floor, puking his guts out. “P-please,” he begged. “I have not had water for a day. I am old and my bones are not what they used to be.”
“Do I look like I care?!” Barked the janissary. His ugly face scowling from between his steel helm.
Jenassa marched back from the front of the assembly. The Dunmer woman had bluish-gray skin, and red eyes. Her hair was tied in two braids and fell over her shoulders. She was quite frail like Stesha himself and had a small posture, along with a skirt over some glass armor. All in all, a royal appearance. It made Stesha curious who she was, what her story was?
She sighed, keeping her face neutral. “Let him go.”
“Mistress, are you—.”
“Rufus Nox, I said let him go.” Jenassa unchained the man’s wrists and helped him up, removing his rope from the line.
“Thank you, mistress. You are too kind.” The old man joined his hands together in a praying position. “May Stendarr bless you bountifully.”
“Escort him back to Dragonstar.” Jenassa turned around and walked off, briefly eyeing Hadvar’s muscles.
Sweat spiraled down Stesha’s arm in the blazing heat. He remembered back to when he was on the Dragontail mountains, thinking he’d never be a slave. I guess I do ‘belong’ to someone now.
On their journey, Stesha saw massive craters in the sand and square, orange mountains that ran around the circumference, keeping them locked in a subsection of desert. More pyramids and Dwemer ruins lost to the sands of time passed them by. Small pools of water here and there where a few camels roosted. Palm trees occasionally sprouting up. The escort stopped at one of these pools to restock on water. A sharp, prickly cactus nearby and poll-shaped mushrooms. One of the janissaries chopped the cacti down and drank from the sweet liquid inside, blowing his tongue at Stesha.
Stesha filled his waterskin within the tributary as Hadvar came to sit next to him under the glazed rays of Magnus. They both took long drinks of water before washing their faces in the coolness of it. The droplets racing to reach Stesha’s chin then sliding quickly down his neck into the ridge of his collarbone.
“It seems our luck goes from bad to worse.” Hadvar’s lips trembled into a frown. It was the first time Stesha had truly seen him this upset. “Maybe Yeshur was a fraud.”
“Or maybe,” Stesha said, trying to sound optimistic, “this is how we get to Skyrim.”
“What do you mean?” Hadvar dried his face with his prison rags, taking another sip of water. “We’re in the middle of the desert, how on Nirn would we get to Skyrim from here?”
“Well, what if in Elinhir we mosey our way out of here?” Stesha’s eyes darted around, making sure no one was listening in to their conversation.
“How?” Hadvar’s eyebrows curved like the cutlasses worn by pirates.
“I don’t know, but an opportunity is bound to present itself.” Despite drinking water, Stesha’s throat still felt parched and soar. It was this heat.
Jenassa approached them. “I have to ask, where are you two, and your friend over there from?” She nodded towards Gwendal who was slurping up water like a madman.
“We’re from High Rock. We were trying to get to Cyrodiil when you captured us.” Hadvar glowered.
“Lucky for you, pretty boy, that’s exactly where we’re headed.” Jenassa smiled demonically. “You all are going to be in The Aetheriucs Competition. You’ll be the main event, in the battle against the wyvern.” With that the Dark Elf retreated to her post.
We’re going to die.
“What are wyverns anyway?” Stesha blinked.
“Basically, lesser dragons. Where dragons have six limbs, four legs and two wings. Wyverns have two legs and two wings; their front wings are also their arms. They also can’t use the thu’um like dragons can. Not to be confused with pseudodragons which are bipedal wyverns.” Hadvar scratched his ever-increasing beard.
Stesha spied from the corner of his eye the only woman slave among them. She was staring directly at Hadvar. Red hair and an athletic physique. Her gaze lingered on the Nord until he looked her way, then she glanced away. -- Even though Hadvar like himself had never had a partner, the Nord still got plenty of attention from women. Stesha had overheard some girls one lunchtime talking about how handsome Hadvar was. Stesha, on the other hand had never received any such attention from women. Not even a smile. He was almost always ignored by them or dismissed.
Stesha stared at his reflection in the water. Braces, buckteeth, pointed ears, an imperial nose, and an effeminate jaw.
“I think you should talk to that woman when you get the chance.” Stesha slightly gestured in the direction of the redhead.
Hadvar now looked at her. “She’s beautiful.” He shook his head and stared back at Stesha. “Why’s that?”
Stesha ears twitched. “She was staring at you.”
“Alright, slaves. Back in line.” Jenassa spun her fingers in a circular motion.
Stesha fixed his braces over his teeth and got back in line and the transport set off once more, over the sandy hills of Hammerfell. One of the janissaries had procured a coconut, cracked it, and was now sipping the water. Soon to be eating the succulent fruit too.
I’d kill for some of that right now.
An eternity passed it felt like and Stesha’s walk devolved into a drudge the more he went on, staring at his feet and moving shadows to keep from going insane.
Sand flew everywhere, several Imperial janissaries flying into the air and toppling over. A giant scorpion stung at them, thrashing its tail left and right. Jenassa unleashed her skirt, small knives whirling out of her hands as several slaves and janissaries did their best to battle the beast. The brown and green insect snapped its pincers and advanced on them. Striking its tail, killing several unarmed slaves.
Stesha’s eyes popped open, and he ran and hid behind a boulder as Gwendal cast spell after spell at the monster. Though nothing seemed to phase its impenetrable hide. Hadvar jogged over and wrested a sword and shield from a dead soldier then attacked the scorpion. He blocked a blow from its stinger then slashed its eye, blinding it. Black blood sprayed from the monster’s eye socket. Stesha just watched it all helplessly from behind his cover.
Hadvar will be the hero who saves Skyrim, Stesha realized. I’m just a useless waste of space.
The slave woman from before was doing something odd. She was hunched over, drooling. Suddenly, she transformed into a hairy wolf like creature… a Werewolf. Legs shaped like a horse, a tail, and a muscular body with breasts all covered in red fur. She pounced at the scorpion, clawing it down and thrusting her nails into its head, ripping the skull off. Roaring into Oblivion she transformed back and collapsed. The hair subsiding and muscles shrinking.
She must have not eaten in days. No wonder she’s so exhausted. Otherwise, she would’ve used her werewolf abilities to escape.
Hadvar grabbed her before she hit the floor, lying her down in his arms and lifting her up. “Let me carry her to Elinhir. She needs rest,” he said to Jenassa who came rushing over.
“Very well. You may.” Jenassa turned around, whispering to herself, “well there goes that secret.”
“Lover boy back at it again.” Gwendal shook his head. “Mouse-face, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Stesha ignored him and returned to the line.
Things just get weirder and weirder. Who would’ve guessed that woman was a werewolf? Well, at least she’s in control of herself.
Once they arrived in Elinhir, they were led through the winding city streets. Elinhir had a massive tower at the center and smaller houses and stone walls surrounding the cityscape. Lamps adorning the edges of the various stone-paved streets with brick gates on the perimeter. Outside shambles of market stands stood, worn, dusted, and old. The slaves were led into a big barn house similar to the one Stesha, Hadvar, and Gwendal had been in Evermore. The biggest difference being there wasn’t much hay, and this one was inside the city. The janissaries closed the sliding doors and stood watch outside. – The barn was stilted with a raised roof and red walls. Poles keeping it up in place. Aside from that there were benches inside alongside crates and barrels and a little bit of hay he hadn’t noticed before tucked away in the cloverleafs. The cornerstones made of granite.
Hadvar was watching over the woman still as Stesha and Gwendal slumped into a nearby corner. The other slaves either eating the rations that had been distributed or talking amongst themselves. The food brought out was stale crackers and sandwiches along with coffee and tea, some dried apricots, and prunes as well. Stesha hungrily feasted on his sandwich half. The contents were meat and cheese he’d melted over the pit fire. He took sips of coffee in between bites and finished with some apricots, sucking his thumbs to get the last of the taste. The little amount of food tasted delicious in the long spans they had all gone without eating.
Gwendal scooted closer to Stesha. “Have you heard of the High Elves?” He shook his head. “I’m joking, I’m joking. What I meant to say was have you heard about the stories of Akatosh?”
“Like what?” Stesha sipped his coffee. “I know who Akatosh is, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, no, Listen! Back when Akatosh was Auriel, the King of the Aldmer, they say he walked on water and turned water into wine, healed the sick and even raised the dead back to full life. Do you believe that?!”
“Hmm, how curious,” Stesha pondered.
Hadvar was rubbing the woman’s head with a warm, wet cloth. She slowly opened her eyes to stare into his golden eyes.
“Oh, you’re awake. I saved you some food.” Hadvar motioned to the tray with sandwiches and coffee on it. “What’s your name?”
The woman sat upright, leaning against the red wall. “Aela… Aela Blackblade. But most just call me Aela the Huntress.”
“I’m Hadvar Liox. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Lover boyyy,” Gwendal whispered into Stesha’s ear.
“Did you really carry me all the way to the city?” Aela blushed.
Hadvar’s face went red and flushed. “Y-yeah. It just seemed like the right thing to do. But if you don’t mind me asking, if you’re a werewolf, why don’t you just escape?”
Her face fell. “I was traveling for weeks with a small amount of food and water,” Aela elaborated. “I can’t transform for very long. I tried when Jenassa captured me, but her army overwhelmed me.” Then the Nord continued in a softer tone, “but I guess you could also say I sorta lost my drive for life. It’s why I left Skyrim in search of something new.”
Stesha curled up in the hay and hugged his stuffed doll, going to sleep.
“Who are you?” Stesha questioned the crow-masked figure in his dream.
“My true identity will remain a secret. Suffice it to say you and I haven’t met… yet. But you can call me by my alias: Seracles. I’ll see you in Skyrim.”
“Psst, Stesha, wake up.” Hadvar was patting him down.
Stesha turned over, rubbing his eyes. “Ugh what?” Aela and Gwendal were awake and standing near him too.
“The janissaries are asleep,” said Gwendal. “Now’s our chance to escape!”
Stesha stashed the doll away in his pocket and stood up, Hadvar helping him reorient himself. They tiptoed over to the entrance and creaked it open. And sure enough the janissaries were asleep. Aela power thrusted the door aside and the four of them sprinted down the dark, lamplit streets of Elinhir. Some Redguards up ahead were drawing water out of a well, while others shoveled hay off the stone roads. Closing up market stands for the night. The four of them ran on, making their escape, doing their best to look out for askaris and janissaries.
There was a Khajiit caravan ahead, a white tarp covering the carriage load being pulled by huge, multi-legged horses with longer and wider bodies than average stallions. Saddlebags and feed attached. The group snuck in with the luggage and it hauled off, driving down the lanes until getting near the city exit. The carriage curving and winding its way slowly past. Stesha sat next to a crate full of weapons.
“Where is the caravan going?” Hadvar questioned.
“Probably to Rihad or Taneth,” Aela answered him.
“I didn’t think escape would be this easy,” Gwendal commented.
Stesha ran a hand through his lochs. “Neither did I to be honest.”
The caravan slowed to a halt, and they heard voices outside. Aela put her eye against the curtain and peaked out.
“We’re at the city gate.” She visibly swallowed. “Something’s going on.”
“I need to check your caravan,” they heard a familiar voice.
The oilcloth blew open and there stood Jenassa Xera.
“I clothe you, I feed you, I house you, and this is how you repay me!” She screamed.
By Akatosh, she’s worse than mother.
“Forty lashes to all of them.”
“No!” Hadvar jumped in front. “Please don’t harm the woman. Give me eighty lashes instead!”
“Fine! Take them away.” Jenassa signalled to her janissaries.
“Hadvar, I,” Aela mumbled.
They were taken out and faced against the nearby rock wall, their shirts removed. Aela was hauled away by a few of the others, presumably to rejoin the main slave congregation.
Stesha heard the crack of a whip.
“This should be right fun, boys!” One of the janissaries muttered.
What followed was an excruciating slice of pain gashing across Stesha’s back, causing him to scream. Then another before he was ready, followed by another. Two other janissaries were doing the same thing to Gwendal and Hadvar. Stesha clenched his nails and blood slid down his rhomboids. Five! Six! Ten! Eleven! Tears leaked from Stesha’s eyes as the twentieth blow struck him.
“Gods help us!” Yelled Gwendal.
To which he earned a reply from the slaver, “where are your gods now?”
Thirty strikes. Stesha screamed once more. Lines painting his back now. Streams of tears flowed from his face as the thirty-fifth and thirty-sixth strikes scraped him. Thirty-seven and thirty-eight were blessedly lighter. Thirty-nine. Forty was the hardest one yet, running all the way up to his neck, causing him to screech insanely loud.
Stesha and Gwendal fell over on their side, their blood mixing on the pavement as Hadvar kept receiving strikes. Hadvar’s screams rebounded off the street corners, waking up many a Redguard from their homes, causing them to stare down at the mess. Many protested the cruelty, shouting from their windows and throwing things at the slavers. Hadvar finally keeled over, his muscled backside torn to shreds by the whip.
“That’ll teach you lot to try an ‘scape again,” warned the janissary.
They were dragged out and thrown back into the barn. Aela rushed to Hadvar’s side, this time she held him in her arms. Using a cloth to wipe away the blood.
“You didn’t have to do that, I’ve taken a beating before,” Aela told him.
Stesha crawled over to his corner, clutching his doll for comfort, and lying over some hay on his stomach, too exhausted to move. Tears escaping his corneas.
The next morning and again they were trekking, though this time through lighter grass fields as Cyrodiil swum into view before them. The land of the Imperials and the Aetheriucs Competition loomed ahead. The Great Forest and foothills downward painted the way ahead. A sea of green.
~Q~Q~
A/N: So, we’re almost to Cyrodiil now. Once we’re in there the story should start progressing a lot faster, since I know it’s mostly been traveling bits for now. Please leave a review!