The emblem of the Andor family is an abstract sheep's head, so the cloaks and shields of the Markarth City guards all have a white sheep's head printed on them, with a green background and gray mail. Somewhat elite looking.
But thanks to the blessing of the one god Iru Ilúvatar, Turka's size is exaggerated for all of Skyrim. In fact, except for the snake people in Akavir, it is almost rare to see such tall humans in Tamriel. So, it’s no wonder that the guards at the Markarth City outpost are on alert.
"I'm just a traveler passing through the sky." Turka saw the nervous expressions of the old farmer's family and the human guards in front of him, but he just smiled and said: "I have no weapons and no ill intentions. If possible, I want to enter the city. Get out of the snow and wind. You know, it’s very cold at night in Tianji.”
The outpost guards in Markas City did not relax their vigilance, and the captain at the head did not even lower his hand from the hilt of his sword. The residual light of the torch could not completely illuminate the face of the uninvited guest in front of him, but through the starlight, he could still see the smile on the corner of the man's mouth and the golden vertical pupils hidden under the cloak.
"Southerners!" he shouted, making the guards behind him even more nervous.
Due to the war between Cyrodiil and Hammerfell, Skyrim is not very friendly to the 'guests' from the southern provinces. If Turka didn't have the characteristics of elves, maybe the bows and arrows of these guards would have to greet them first. coming.
And all the people who heard his screams began to commotion, and the archers on the sentry tower even nervously clenched the longbows in their hands.
Behold.
The differences between the two worlds exploded at this moment. In Arda, Turka was received as warmly as a king almost wherever he went; but in Mundus, Ilúvatar's blessing obviously did not work.
Although Turka is not very worried about whether he can escape from these humans in the sky, to be honest, he really doesn't want to cause too much chaos at this stage. But at the same time, a surge of anger also surged into his heart.
He opened his hands with a smile, seemingly harmless. But little Logatus knew that those seemingly ordinary hands were able to strangle a ton-heavy brown bear to death. He did not think that the guards of Markas City could be more difficult to deal with than the brown bear.
"The Beauty of the Sun and the Moon"
They didn't know what they were dealing with. Little Rogatus swallowed nervously.
Old Dandis obviously understood this. He hurriedly came over and explained, "He is a guest in my house. Risbon, there is nothing wrong with him."
"I doubt it," Captain Risborne insisted, having no idea what they were dealing with. "A spy from the south wouldn't say he was a spy. We have enough troubles, and strangers are not welcome in Macarth."
"I can vouch for him." Old Tangdis held Captain Risbon's hand, and several Septim gold coins fell into his palm. Captain Risbon was stunned. He held the farmer's hand with his backhand, hesitated for a moment, and then retracted his hand, "Maybe you are right. Although Markas does not welcome strangers, it is generous enough to its friends."
Only Turka saw keenly that this guy stuffed the gold coins that the old farmer bribed him into his pocket with a deft movement. His posture and familiarity clearly showed that he had done this kind of thing frequently.
"Remember, don't meddle in other people's business." Captain Risbon said to Turka in a pretentious manner, "I will always keep an eye on you."
Then he walked away.
Turka's face was hidden in the shadow of the cloak, and his specific expression could not be seen. The crowd saw that there was no excitement to be seen, and the stagnant team began to flow again.
"I'm more sure now, Dandis, maybe it wasn't a wise decision for you to come to Markas." Turka sighed and turned to the farmer.
Given the urinary behavior of the human guards, might they just abandon the city and run away?
The old farmer said: "Maybe. But we have no way back. Moreover, humans are not as weak as you think, Turka."
Turka glanced at the iron sword on the farmer's waist, and then at the Atius family who had been looking at him in confusion but not running away, and nodded slowly.
When the carriage of the old farmer's family and Attius's family passed the post of Markas, Wall spat angrily, "Greedy carrion birds." He said in a voice that was almost a whisper in his ear: "I suspect they are lackeys of the Silver Blood family. You know, they control most of Markarth, and they are still trying to get more. Everyone is making a living under him."
"May Shur judge them." Old Dandis said. There is no next sentence. It seemed that his good mood, which was not much in the first place, was dissipated by what just happened.
Wall looked at it, muttered a few words, and closed his mouth. Finally, the fleeing crowd followed the stone path cleared by slaves and soldiers and arrived under the city wall of Markas City, the capital of the Frontier Territory.
In fact, as they passed the outpost, Turka could almost see the majestic city nestled beneath the Rift Mountains. The first impression it gave him was the towering spire of the Dibella Temple and some strange power attached to it. The feeling was similar to when Turka used the Eros Tirion Crystal on the White Tower to 'look out' to the blessed land in the west, or when he was in the Hall of Manwe on the Taniquetil Peak. So he knew that the gods of this world did exist.
He looked away to avoid being noticed by the goddess of art and beauty.
"Stop, stop."
A voice came from far away in the darkness. The crowd also slowly stopped.
"Everyone hid against the wall and didn't open the city gate at night. Anyone who planned to enter the city had to wait until daytime. Shuer, I won't repeat it a second time!" the guard responsible for guarding the city gate shouted hoarsely.
Old Dandis straightened up on the carriage and saw countless refugees being driven to both sides of the gate by guards, leaving them to spend a difficult night in the cold and fear. If someone is dissatisfied and wants to come forward and argue with them, what they get in return is their cold swords and crossbows. So the farmer knew that this time, even the yellow, orange and orange Septim gold coins had no effect.
Therefore, this stubborn but diplomatic farmer could only say dejectedly: "Okay, okay, let us rest in this damn place for one night. May the stones smash the heads of those nobles! They can only harvest They will only think of us when they pay taxes. But when they really need to protect us, they will only let us shiver in the cold wind and fear, while they hide in the warm fortress to enjoy and drink! Damn it!"
Turka looked ahead and saw that the brass door with countless rivets was tightly closed, and a small group of guards were nervously and sternly driving away the people in the border area; and on the tall city wall, there were people wearing gray mail armor. The guards of Markarth City in green cloaks were holding crossbows and pointing them at the crowd below. The cold steel arrows gave off a faint and deadly light under the reflection of torches and bonfires.
He shook his head and refused to comment.
Markarth City.
A figure ignored the sewage and the various stinky garbage dumped out by some women during the day, and walked through the sparsely populated street intersections one after another in a hurry. The black cloak on his body was like a shadow, blending tightly with the surrounding darkness; his footsteps were light and silent, and there were almost no items or accessories on his body that could identify his identity. The night guard almost never noticed anyone passing by. He was like a big mouse, wandering silently in the ancient Dwemer Mountain City with complex terrain.
Finally, the mysterious man turned into an abandoned alley. He lurked vigilantly in the darkness, and after making sure no one was following him, he ducked into a locked house.
The house is very simple, and almost all the furniture and wooden cabinets are the cheapest, and they are made of log nails that have not been completely shaved. In the kitchen, a cast-iron cauldron hangs on the fireplace, and the flame has long been extinguished; on the dining table and wall cabinets, there are handfuls of wilted vegetable leaves and salt piled randomly, and there are also several dried dead rabbits and fish hanging on the corridor wall. dry; the bed in the bedroom is also simply covered with a layer of straw and tattered goatskin, and a few pairs of smelly boots are clearly placed on the bedside and under the table; everyone who sees this house will only regard it as a It was the home of some poor man or miner. At least, that's what it seems.
The mysterious man doesn't think so. He walked through the living room and into the kitchen. After enduring the unpleasant smell of rotten and stinky food, I came to the closet.
He rubbed the wooden board on the side, and a faint magical light emitted from his hand. Thus, an abstract bull mark appeared. But its two horns are pointed downward, and the two eyes of the bull in the mark are as red as blood, exuding endless evil and violence. Anyone with a weak will will be tortured by the fear and magic in it as long as they take a look at it. Until I became its slave.
This is the mark of Molag Bal, the ruthless Lord of Plunder, Reaper of Souls, and Father of Vampires. This Daedra Lord controls the dominion and servitude of the mortal world. His greatest desire is to sow conflict and discord in the mortal world in order to harvest mortal souls under his rule. Legend states that Morag Bal overturned a Nedic virgin and created the first vampire, earning him the nickname "Father of Vampires".
Morag Bal's plane of annihilation is Coldharbour. The book "The Doors of Oblivion" mentions that his plane is a bit like a copy of Nirn, and even has an imperial palace, but it was all destroyed by desecration. The earth was full of silt, the sky was like fire, and the air seemed frozen.
It is said that Morag Bal attempted to invade the plane of Mundus during the Second Age. His armies attempted to unite Tamriel and Coldharbour, using the Dark Anchors. Fortunately, he failed. But even so, he remains immortal and indestructible. He is one of the most feared demon gods in the mortal world.
As the mysterious man's magic power was immersed, the mark let out a loud laugh. It seemed like it had come alive. A terrifying darkness suddenly appeared in this abandoned cabin. The boundaries between mortal life and annihilation are unified here.
The mysterious man seemed to have been used to it for a long time, and he let go of his hand. The closet immediately slid to the left silently, and a deep hole appeared in front of the mysterious man. There was an even more frightening darkness inside, as if some ancient behemoth was waiting for him to enter with its mouth open.
The mysterious man walked in without hesitation. He walked down step by step along the damp cave, and the darkness seemed unable to cover his eyes. Finally, he came to a strange altar.
It was a stone basin filled with filthy blood. Filthy and evil runes were covered with the stone basin and the stone pillars around it. The statue representing the Lord of Plunder stood on top of the stone basin, and the sticky and filthy plasma was on the stone basin. It was constantly rolling under the magic of Molag Bal, exuding an indescribable stench.
Coupled with the weird and frightening atmosphere around them, everyone who walks in here can't help but feel weak at the knees and tremble with fear.
But the mysterious man did not dare to hesitate. He knelt down directly in the center of the altar, offering heartfelt praise and flattery to his master, and praying for his response.
"Shut up, I'm tired of hearing your flattery. Now, mortal, the great Molag Bal asks you: When will the soul you promised come true? Don't forget, I can give you power and at the same time make you Life is worse than death.”
Ah, the great and cruel plunderer and soul reaper has arrived through some evil ritual. The terrifying eyes of the Lord of Coldharbour stare directly at his believers through the bull statue filled with his divine power. Every word, every sound was like a howl of death. It tightly grasped the heart and soul of the mysterious man, torturing him, making him so painful that he almost wished to die.
"Forgive me, the great Molag Bal! My master!" The mysterious man curled up and fell on the cold altar. Blood flowed from his mouth, nose, eyes and ears, and his soul seemed to be cut by thousands of knives. He let out a shrill scream and begged his master for mercy, "The plan is about to succeed, my master. Those stupid and despicable mountain people have done as you wished and are marching towards Markarth! But the empire is deeply trapped in the south. War, no rescue, this city belongs to you! All souls belong to you!"
As a result, Molag Bal stopped the torture. He looked at the human in front of him with interest, as if to identify whether he was telling the truth, and as if he was just looking at his fearful expression after being tortured with pleasure. After a long time, Molag Bal spoke, and his voice fell directly into the soul of the mysterious man.
"Very good, remember, the plan does not allow failure. All the souls here belong to me! And you belong to me too!" Then he left.
Feeling the departure of the terrifying power that made mortals despair, the mysterious man did not dare to get up. Instead, he curled up on the cold ground of the altar like a loyal but useless old dog, whimpering and howling.
After a long time, after confirming that the master was really no longer torturing himself with his terrifying divine power, the mysterious man stood up in a cold sweat. He wiped away the blood flowing from his mouth, nose, eyes and ears, and stared at the bull statue in extreme fear. With one glance, he bowed respectfully and humbly, and hurriedly walked out of the altar of the evil god buried deep in the ground.
The mysterious man used magic power to close the closet, and after confirming that everything was safe, he left this scary hut and disappeared into the night.
