"Gah!" A commoner exclaimed, as a Legionnaire knocked him down.
"Sorry!" The soldier gave a quick apology, before continuing his run.
He paused for a while, getting a bearing on his surroundings. Damn it, it had to be the Market District, Karl complained in his head. His target was a sly one. Probably thought a crowd would be good cover. All he could see was the mass of humanity swarming the place. From the vendors promoting their prices, the buyers haggling with them, to even the lone beggars on the corner asking for alms. Every one of them seemed busy, hurrying off from one errand to the next. He was looking for a needle in a haystack.
Then, he noticed a flash of movement behind a mob of merchants. One of them shrieked, as the figure knocked him down. He dashed towards them. The figure noticed him coming, and ran faster.
"Stop! Thief!" He shouted, to no avail.
The culprit ran, dodging every person and cart in his path. Luckily, Karl was just as agile. He swerved left and right. The thrill of the chase excited him. His hunting instincts kicked in. His heart began beating like a war drum. The noise of the crowd were nothing more than whispers in the wind. Eyes were dead straight on his target. He felt like a sabre chasing his supper.
Karl sprinted faster, his brown leather boots thudding on the bricked street. The thief spotted a nearby stall selling sweetrolls. Without hesitation, he pulled it down onto the path. The Legionnaire bounded out of the way, and resumed his chase. The vendor cursed at him in response.
The thief growled, annoyed. He dashed ever faster, yet his legs were starting to buckle. Karl noticed this. He began sprinting quickly as well, although his armor was weighing him down. Then, his target made a sudden sharp turn. He ducked towards a shady alley. Karl bounded right after him.
Out of nowhere, something metallic and sharp came rushing towards his face. He felt the blade nearly grazing his eye. Karl barely managed to strafe to the side, as the object missed him and impaled itself on a wall. Throwing knives. He looked at his target maliciously. The thief sneered in return, and resumed his run, this time with much effort.
He was almost at the end of the alley. Karl noticed, and sprinted ever faster, not wanting him to escape. The thief was a meter away. Then, a foot. An inch...
Something came out of the corner and lunged onto the thief, tackling him down to the ground with a thud. His attacker wrestled him down, restraining his hands behind his back.
"Stay down!" The tackler yelled, beating down the man with his burly fists. He grimaced in pain.
"Damn it, Caelus! Stop!" Karl ordered, rushing towards them.
"HA! You're lucky I was even here, Nord scum! You should be thanking me!" He responded hostilely, all while persisting his beatdown, throwing mean hooks at the thief's torso, his knuckles cracking against rib.
Karl drew his blade, his precious Fang, and pointed it towards his fellow Legionnaire. "Stop, Caelus! We're here to arrest this man, not assault him."
The larger Imperial glanced at him with disdain. "You dare point your sword at me?!"
"Your friends aren't here to help you." Karl said.
"So is your elf girl, whelp." He shot back, fondling the mace on his waist. Karl had tasted its unforgiving steel before, and he wasn't too fond of reliving that memory. He tightened his grip on Fang.
"Let him go. I'll take him to the Prison, and you can go back to your side of the City."
"So you can get all the glory again? I don't think so." Caelus replied. "You wouldn't have even caught him if it weren't for me."
"Then fine. Take him back yourself, but take him back alive."
Caelus fumed at this little man challenging him. No one has ever dared challenged him; not his buddies, nor the Legate. Then, this puny private, of all people, had the nerve to tell him he was wrong.
He eased up, letting go of the thief, who was still struggling to escape his bonds. He raised his hands, showing he means no trouble. He gave Karl a sneer, and scoffed at him mockingly, before sending his fist down hard on the man's nape.
Karl's blue eyes widened at his doing, as the thief slumped over. "Damn you, you son of a bitch!" He exclaimed, furious.
"Come on, whelp. Swing your sword at me!" Caelus taunted him, spreading his arms wide, acting vulnerable. No one challenges me, his body was saying.
"Throw me your best shot, hero!"
Karl had the urge to. He really wanted to swing Fang right into his ugly mug of a face. He wanted to tackle him down to the ground, and beat him up until he learns some bit of humility. The monster inside him was flaring up, and all the frustration was boiling over. Yet, there was that voice at the back of his mind, holding him down. He's not the real enemy, his mind whispered, as much of a pain he is, he doesn't deserve it. Karl inhaled deeply, and loosened his grip on his sword. He stood down.
Caelus noticed the gesture, and smirked egotistically. "HA! I knew you didn't have the balls! Maybe that victory in Leyawiin was a fluke, after all." He glanced towards the limp body of the thief, his hands still bound. "Take this sorry sack of shit back to the Prison yourself. If you can carry him." And with that sentiment, he strutted away, leaving Karl with the predicament he made.
He sheathed Fang, and went to the thief's body. He checked the pulse on his neck. Still beating, thank the Divines. The man was obviously a Redguard. Karl could tell from his dark skin, and the way he was wearing his cowl around his face, probably to mask himself. For a lowly thief though, he dressed an awful lot like a nobleman. His tunic and breeches definitely looked regal, with the fine silk material, and the numerous colorful flourishes adorning the cloth. His ears were pierced with what seemed like real gold, and some of his fingers bore rings with encrusted flawless rubies and emeralds. He must be a pretty good thief.
He tried to hoist the man up, but the clothes and jewelry only added to his weight. Him being limp didn't help either. Karl breathed heavily, and hoisted him up again, harder. No luck. There was no way he was dragging this man all the way to the Prison District.
Damn you, Caelus, you shit. Karl cursed under his breath. Ever since that battle in Leyawiin, most of his fellow Legionnaires were beginning to treat him differently. Some managed to greet him when he walked by, instead of the occasional suspicious glares, but they were mostly auxiliaries like he once was. Others, mostly those of higher rank, like Caelus and his goons, preferred to scowl, and heckle him even harder than before. His best friend, Nia, told him to just ignore their japes. They're just jealous of you, Nord. How many of them can say that they've held down a castle?, she had said. Karl wasn't too sure, however. The legate did mention about him and Caelus managing to retake Anvil on their own with only a handful of men. He had a feeling there was some truth to that claim.
Karl returned his attention back to his situation. He glanced at the street Caelus had appeared from. It wasn't crowded as much as the main streets in the Market District, but there were a few merchants and commoners walking along it. He had to get help from someone.
He left the thief on the side, and ran hurriedly towards the street. "Help! Anyone!" He shouted, hoping someone, anyone, would come to his aid.
Surprisingly, he didn't have to try hard.
Two people were quickly making their way to him. Karl breathed a sigh of relief, seeing his call so quickly answered. However, as they came closer, he noticed something about them. They looked like foreigners, with their chainmail jerkins, crimson cowls over their heads, and red capes flowing behind them. Swinging around their waists were swords with curved blades.
Wait a minute, curved blades?, Karl thought, and then he realized. More Redguards.
The two warriors caught up to him. "You, Legionnaire! Have you seen a Redguard, like us?" One spoke up with a deep and weirdly soothing baritone voice.
Karl was at a loss for words. These guys may be as tall as him, but they looked more intimidating. If the worst were to happen, he didn't think he'd stand a chance against these two. What if they're mercenaries or assassins?, he theorized.
"Legionnaire! We asked you a question!" The other one boomed, and he looked more menacing than his comrade, with his dark eyes and a scar inching across a cheek.
Karl gulped, and answered respectfully. "I have, he's here."
He directed them towards the alleyway, where he had placed the motionless thief. The Redguard warriors noticed the man, and quickly rushed towards him. A look of worry was painted on their faces.
The warrior with the deep voice hunched over the thief, and began checking the pulse on his neck as well. His comrade with the scar grunted in anger, and went for the Legionnaire.
He grappled him hard, and began pushing. Karl felt his back hitting against the wall, with the warrior's right forearm pressed firmly on his armor, while the other hand was suddenly holding a dagger. His nerves shot up, like adrenaline was pumping inside his veins, like it does every time his life was in danger.
"What did you do?!" He asked, with a threatening glare. Karl felt the blade's tip touch his waist, on that one spot where the breastplate couldn't fully conceal. The spot where only his loose underclothes lay between the blade and his skin.
Karl had the sudden urge to fight back. His hands could still reach Fang. All he had to do was unsheathe it, push the scarred Redguard back, and try to fight his way out of this. However, there was that nagging voice in his head again. You'll only make matters worse. Just answer truthfully. You've done nothing wrong.
"He got knocked out, but he's still alive!" Karl replied.
"He better be, Nord!" His attacker growled.
The thief finally began to stir back into consciousness, groaning groggily.
"My lord, are you hurt?" The warrior tending to him asked. The thief only moaned bitterly. "We need to get him to a healer, Razek!"
"What about this Legionnaire? I say we crack his ribs as well. Show these damn Imperials." The warrior with the scar offered.
Karl, meanwhile, was utterly confused with what was going on. "What do you mean he's a lord? That man's a thief, I saw him stealing in the Market!" He complained.
"No, you fool. This man is the son of Lord Farodd, ambassador of the Forebears of Hammerfell!" The warrior tending to the young lord corrected him.
"And you had to beat him senseless for stealing? The Legion is more violent than I thought." The scarred warrior quipped.
Karl respired uneasily, as he began to ascertain his current situation. I've gotten myself in the middle of a diplomatic incident.