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A Man of the Reach? Volume I


Started by Iogairn
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Previous: Daedra Cultists

Iogairn gazed at the Reach. A land of history; of corruption; of honour. But, more importantly, it had drink and a place to rest. He spotted a small village in a valley. And where there was a village there was a tavern. And where there's a tavern there are fools with money...

“I’m telling you, these rebels are getting bolder.” Whispers over a game of cards. Iogairn listened with interest. He placed a card down.
“What rebels were these?” he asked innocently. The two Reachmen looked up and regarded him carefully.
“You mean you haven’t heard of the Troid in Cyrodiil?” one asked. Iogairn shook his head. He had heard of different Reachmen rebellions, his father had fought in one, but not the Troid. The Reachman leaned in closer.
“They’ve taken on a new leader," the man named Lochlan continued. "They fight for our freedom and our culture. They’ll drive out these damn Bretons from our home and then we’ll-“
“Keep your damn voice down!” hissed the other Reachman, a seemingly wiser man who had introduced himself as Culaog.
But Iogairn had now seen the support the Troid had in the city. Other rebellions had failed because of the lack of support from the people. Why was this different? He voiced this question to them.
“Because it is said Fiachna has the favour of the Old Gods.” Iogairn raised an eyebrow in scepticism but the Reachman nodded enthusiastically.“It’s true! Hagravens have been seen, performing rituals while chanting his name.”
“And who saw these Hagravens?” asked Iogairn. This made the Reachman falter.
“Ehm...my friend...talked to someone...who swore it was true.”
Of course.
After laying down his winning card, Iogairn rose.
“Well it was certainly nice speaking to you two but I really must head to-“
“Reachmen scum!” a voice called from the other side of the tavern.
Bollocks.
Iogairn tried to smile at the young Breton noble striding over but it was no good. There was only one thing on the Breton’s mind; to throw his weight around.
“Lochlan you bastard! You owe me money!”
The talkative one turned around.
“No I don’t, Vallen, and you know it!”
Bad move.
And Lochlan realised this as the fist crashed into his face. He cried out in pain, holding his bloody nose.
“Now would you care for me to repeat the question?” the Breton asked, looming over Lochlan. Iogairn noticed the other Reachmen remained quiet.
Coward? No, not by his posture. He remained silent, not because of fear, but because he seemed to be waiting for the right moment. But it didn’t matter for now. Iogairn raised a placating hand.
“Easy there friend. He meant no disrespect. If there is a debt, I can pay.” Vallen turned around to peer at Iogairn. Iogairn was tall for a Reachman, thanks to his mother’s Nordic blood, but he retained the facial features of a Reachman. And Vallen found a new target.
“You can pay off a debt can you? Well, I think I’ll have that.” He flexed his fist to show what would happen. Iogairn looked around for a second. No-one would stop him. He was at perfect liberty to do as he liked and if Iogairn tried to show some resistance, he would be clapped in irons. And that made Iogairn angry. But he couldn’t let the ‘other’ come out.
He took out his coinpurse. He let Vallen have a long look at it. Then threw it out the window.
“Well, go fetch then.” Iogairn smiled as Vallen's face turned from surprise to anger.
The young nobleman lurched forward, swinging his fist in a wide arc at Iogairn. Iogairn stepped in with his right foot and blocked the arm before it could gather momentum with his left forearm. Vallen looked shocked as his arm slacked. Then Iogairn drove his right fist into Vallen’s jaw. Noticing his left leg was still behind him he brought his knee forward into Vallen’s crotch. It met with a satisfying wince. Vallen doubled over onto Iogairn’s rising knee. His head snapped back, nose squirting blood. Iogairn grabbed his shoulders and threw him to the floor. He looked at the two startled Reachmen.
“Well, that was fun.” He grinned. Then was knocked to the floor.
He managed to catch a glimpse of his assailant. It was one of Vallen’s lackies. Another one pinned him down. Iogairn struggled but the Bretons held tight.
Vallen rose from the floor. He wiped his nose and spat at the struggling Iogairn.
“Bastard! Reachman bastard!” he snarled. He crouched down so his face was only a few inches away from Iogairn’s. “Upstart Reachmen like you get what they deserve!” He drew his knife. “I’m going to take this nice and slow.”
Muid ni bheidh ag freastal!” A voice shouted.
Vallen looked around. Too late. The figure barraged into Vallen, his own knife sliding into Vallen’s ribs again and again and again. Vallen twitched at the last thrust, dead. The figure rose and Iogairn saw it was the quiet one; Culaog. He snarled at the Bretons holding Iogairn down.
“Come on then you maca striapaigha!” he snarled in a challenge. The first Breton went for him, axe raised. Culaog just threw the dagger at him. Iogairn could hear air being let out of the Breton's lungs as he collapsed, the axe falling out of his hands safely into Culaog’s.
The next gave a howl of rage, drawing a short sword and went for him. Seeing an opportunity, Iogairn swept his legs round, tripping up the Breton. The Breton fell face first onto the floor. Culaog gave a cry and hammered the axe into his back. He nodded his appreciation to Iogairn as he held out his hand. Iogairn took it thankfully.
“What in Oblivion did you just do?” he demanded. Culaog just waved his hand.
“Another time. Now we need to leave.” He gestured to the rest of the tavern, which was now empty apart from Lochlan. “They’ll have gone straight to the guards who, even now, will be waiting outside for us to come out.”
He nodded to Lochlan who then opened the door to the cellar of the tavern. “There is a passageway from here to a hill outside the village. We will be safe there. From there, we go to Locrabail.”
Iogairn just stared in bemusement at this apparent rebel.
“Why did you save me? You wouldn’t even help your kinsman.” He asked as Culaog walked towards the cellar door.
“He was only going to be roughed up a little. But you were to be killed. As to why I care: suffice to say your surname is Mogrin.” And with that enigmatic reply he disappeared into the darkness.

Next: Volume II
This post was last modified: August 30th 2013, 10:23 AM by Iogairn


Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

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The following 2 users Like Iogairn's post:
Aeron Gaerford, Triskele
Post #37858
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Enjoyable read.

Who is the "other?" Sounds almost supernatural, but maybe you just mean Iogairn's "other" side.

You do a good job at describing action sequences, something I've always struggled with. I think I get too descriptive and the scene loses the proper pacing. You were right-on.

So, did Iogairn ever fetch the coin purse?


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Post #38173
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(February 10th 2013, 10:45 PM)Grimhild Urdenheimr Wrote: Enjoyable read.

Who is the "other?" Sounds almost supernatural, but maybe you just mean Iogairn's "other" side.

You do a good job at describing action sequences, something I've always struggled with. I think I get too descriptive and the scene loses the proper pacing. You were right-on.

So, did Iogairn ever fetch the coin purse?

Thanks!

The 'other' I will go into more detail later. Its basically a beserker instinct he has.

He's probably forgotten about the coinpurse.


Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

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