Chương 369: Forswear!

The man wearing Dwemer armour scowls under his helmet, struggling to resist screaming out in agony at his shattered knees. "THE REACH BELONGS TO THE TRUE SONS OF SKYRIM!" he shouts as he presses a red button on some sort of Dwemer wristband.

Michael crooks a brow at this, only then realising that the Dwemer staff in his hand was rapidly heating up, the blue crystal topping beginning to spark and crackle with electricity. A similar phenomenon was occurring in the Dwemer Automatons nearby too. "THEY'RE GONNA BLOW! GET BACK!" he exclaims before letting go of the staff, allowing the magnetic force to pull it towards the surprised crippled man.

"W-What-!?" he manages to get out as the staff slams into his wristband.

*BAAANG!*

All at once, the staff, wristband, and nearby automatons explode, enveloping everything near them with a wave of lightning.

"AAARGH!" the crippled man screams as his right arm is disintegrated up to his elbow, along with numerous burns and lacerations covering his body. The only thing saving him being his full plate Dwemer armour.

Once the dust clears, Michael surveys the damage, breathing a sigh of relief at the fact that the Markarth Court Mage Calcelmo had raised a large ward to cover them and everyone else, barring a couple unfortunate guards who couldn't escape in time.

"Piece of shit." Michael growls, stomping over to the downed man and tearing the helmet from his head, revealing a tattooed Nord.

"Ugghhhrrragh! Y-you're the real damn shits! TRAITORS, THE LOT OF YOU!"

*PAP!*

Michael slaps the man, hard. "Unless I ask something, shut your mouth and stay quiet. You might have lost an arm and had your legs crippled, but there's still a lot left to lose." he states, clasping the man's shattered knee and squeezing it, making the man scream out in agony.

Vilkas walks over and places a hand on Michael's shoulder, his armour slightly scorched and shield slightly melted from protecting a downed guard earlier. "Calm yourself, the Jarl will want to speak with this man."

"I am calm." Michael says as he leans closer to his victim's face, "I'm just eager to get him talking... You even want to find out what having your balls flayed feels like? Because I've found the perfect subject to test it on."

Vilkas grimaces at that but says nothing in response, instead, a man steps from the rooms that was being protected earlier, his fine clothes and circlet around his head letting all know his position.

"That won't be necessary, Tahlin. We aren't savages, only those dishonourable Forsworn would be willing to perform such disgusting things."

"F-Fuck you!" the downed man growls in response, causing Jarl Igmund to smile slightly through his exhausted expression.

"Did I touch a nerve, Forsworn scum?"

"Forsworn?" Michael parrots, "I thought we dealt with you lot back in Falkreath."

Igmund shakes his head, "That was just an attempt to expand their territory. Their main focus has and always will be the Reach, their 'supposed' homeland." he focuses on the downed man, "The time for your savage ways, gods, and rituals has passed. My father fought you, and his father before him. I will be the one to finish it, I promise you that... Guards! Take him away, and have Calcelmo get him talking. I'm sure he'd be eager to find out where you found those Dwemer artifacts."

"SKYRIM BELONGS TO THE TRUE NORDS! THE SONS OF KYNE! YOU DOGS OF THE EMPIRE ARE ALL TRAITORS!" he screams as he's dragged away, leaving Michael standing with Vilkas and Igmund.

"I thank you for you and your friend's assistance Tahlin. I suspect we'd have been overwhelmed without it." he looks to Vilkas, "You too, you honour yourselves and the Companions."

Vilkas nods, "The Harbinger sends his regards, Jarl."

Igmund smiles, "I'll have to remember to send old Kodlak something nice. You think he like scented candles?" he chuckles before shaking his head in amusement, "I'll have the men prepare your reward, for now though I need to get my city back in order..."

"Uh, wait, if you could, keep me updated on your investigation. I'd like to know where that fool got those artifacts... Plus, any opportunity to stick it to the Forsworn is a good one." Michael says before the man departs.

"I'll make sure to do that, you will have some competition for them though. Calcelmo is more than a little obsessed over his research." Igmund says before leaving.

Vilkas lets out a sigh, "Eh, politics... I like speaking with Balgruuf but, most Jarls feel more like Imperial Nobles than Nords... Want to check out the Shrine of Talos? This is the last 'official' place you can worship him in Skyrim... At least, if the Imperials have their way."

Michael is about to shake his head but catches a glimpse of a Thalmor mage looking far too interestedly at Tiffania, specifically, her ears. "Sure, let me grab the others first though."

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Vilkas leads Shakeesh, Michael, Tiffania, Megumin, and Illococoo through the city of Markarth and towards the Shrine of Talos, which had been hidden slightly to alleviate the pressure that the Thalmor had been applying to have them outlaw Talos as per the White-Gold Concordat.

They walk through some Dwemer doors and into a large, dimly lit room with a large statue of Talos set in the middle of it, the bearded man wearing a feathered helmet and wielding a sword.

"Talos, Tiber Septim... My ancestors would spit on his grave if they had the chance" Shakeesh mutters grimly.

"Why? Upset that he could grow a beard that didn't look like pubic hair? Or because he clapped your cheeks when he invaded?" Vilkas snarks as he drops to knee before the shrine, lowering his head in respect.

"Because they valued freedom above all, ironic now that it is forbidden to worship him. I see now that without the Provinces being united, the Elves would have enslaved us all centuries ago." he says, taking a knee next to Vilkas.