I recently played the Fighter's Guild questline all over again and I'd forgotten how awesome it was. Blackwood Company. Rank amateurs.

"I've found someone to look for Maglir."

"Mmm?" Oreyn looked up from his copy of the Courier to his Master. Donton was looking old, he thought. Older since Vitellus.

"Azzan just made her a Journeyman. Dunmer girl."

"You say that like it should impress me, Vilena."

"Well, maybe not," she sighed. "But Azzan speaks highly of her. Burz too."

"Very well. Send her over."

"Why did you join the Guild, boot?"

The new recruit shuffled her feet. Her armour was rusted and mismatched, undoubtedly looted, and she coughed frequently. It was a cough Oreyn knew well, Ashlander lungs adapting to the clean air of Cyrodiil. He had never known it himself, however; his family had traded the Blight-ridden plains of Ald'ruhn for Colovia when he was a child.

"I needed the money, sir," she smiled awkwardly, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. "and I'm handy enough with a blade. Seemed logical."

"'Handy' is rarely enough to get you anywhere," he frowned. "But I do have a job for you."

"Yes sir. Fire away."

"Prelius and his men have moved on, sir."

"It took you a fortnight to talk three men out of a drunken brawl?" Oreyn slammed his fist against the table, making the new recruit start.

"Without meaning to be impertinent, sir," she said carefully. "There ended up being a little more to it than that."

And with every shred of impertinence she could muster the new recruit pulled up a chair next to him, crossed her bandy legs, helped herself to a glass of Tamika's best and told him the tale. She spoke candidly of Argonian barkeeps, of helpful alchemists and haunted ships and how damned hard it was to get a silver blade around these parts.

"So," she finished, plucking a few grapes from a bowl on the table. "what are you going to do about these Blackwood Company people then?"

Oreyn advanced her to Swordsman and dismissed her sharply.

The new recruit was sat on a bench next to the forge, carefully tapping out some kinks in her breastplate, when she hissed at him.

"I beg of you," she shook her head. "never send me on a mission with the Donton boy again. He is, with all due respect, an utter fool. He almost got me killed. Not once. Countless, countless times."

"You know of course that Viranus will be receiving your pay for this contract?" Oreyn raised a thin eyebrow at her.

The recruit brought her hammer down with a last heavy clang and lifted the piece up for inspection.

"I was not aware of that, no."

Oreyn opened the door to the new recruit swiftly once he heard her knock.

"You're late."

"My apologies, sir," she stepped past him into the house. Oreyn craned his neck outside briefly to see if she had been followed and, satisfied that she was alone, closed the door behind them.

She stood with her feet together and her hands clasped behind her back, awaiting orders. In the last few months the girl had miraculously learnt some discipline, and had lost some of that cheek which had, unbeknownst to her, almost cost her advancement on several occasions.

"So. This covert operation business. What am I to do?"

"I'll explain on the way," Oreyn shouldered his pack and threw another to her. "I'm coming with you this time."

"Sir?" it was a question, he judged, as the ruby spheres of her eyes almost popped from their sockets.

"You're ready, recruit. Come on."

It took him several minutes of wondering how she had gotten so excellent at fighting recently before Oreyn realised that he had never seen her in battle before. He was a little stunned, and not just because of the Ayleid trap which had knocked him for six a few feet into Atatar.

The recruit was crouched next to Azani Blackheart's corpse, prying off his gauntlets before rigor mortis set in. With a few sharp tugs of her wrist she pulled them free, and carefully twisted the ring from his finger.

"There," she presented it proudly. "Is that enough evidence for you?"

"Perfect," Oreyn grinned, placing it securely inside his pack. "Good work. I only apologise that I cannot pay you for your labours."

"Well…" she crooned, running her fingers covetously along the ridges of Blackheart's armour and the sharp edge of Sinweaver. "they're not too badly damaged… would it be unsportsmanlike of me to take the spoils?"

"Be my guest."

"Excellent. I promise I won't be long, you'll be back and tending to all your injuries in no time," she grinned roguishly. That cocky streak was resurfacing, and Oreyn was more than a little surprised to realise how much he had missed it.

Oreyn knew something was wrong the second she stepped inside the Guild hall. Usually when returning from a mission she would stroll in, self-satisfied and beaming, her coin purse jangling with fresh loot.

But this occasion was different. She kept her head low, glancing about until she caught sight of him, and heaving a painful sigh when she did. Oreyn made for the back door and gestured for her to follow.

It was pouring with rain, and the recruit told him everything as they huddled beneath the tower bridge. At the end of her story she produced a tattered journal from her pack, dark with blood stains.

She looked up at him, her hair hanging in sodden rat-tails around her face.

Neither said a word. They both knew.

It was strange seeing her out of armour. Dressed in commoner clothing she looked much smaller, and Oreyn wondered at her ability to cart around a small arsenal every day. She placed a bottle of cheap wine on the table.

"I wanted Surille Brothers," she said, pulling up a seat. "but the payout isn't as good these days."

"You were demoted?" he asked, taking the chair opposite hers and pouring them both a glass.

"Yes," she nodded. "but it hardly seems appropriate to point that out in front of you."

"My dismissal was expected," he growled. "it was not your idea to send Viranus to the mine."

"It hardly matters," she shrugged, pausing to take a long swallow of wine and grimacing at the taste. "rank means very little any more. Even Guardians are struggling for contracts. The Blackwood Company are taking everything."

"Amateur bastards," he spat angrily, then shook his head and sighed. "you should not be risking your position by visiting me if it is already tenuous."

"Everyone's position is tenuous, Oreyn. Soon there won't be a guild to be expelled from. And Donton had the inspiration to oust the one person who could stop it," she closed her eyes.

Oreyn had once watched the sun setting over Anvil, and he thought her eyes might be that colour.

When she finally opened them, however, they burnt like the Dragonfires.

"This is not the end of it," she said. "that much I know."

It was one of those impossibly sunny days; the ones which made Cheydinhal look as idyllic a place as could be imagined, all high beams and succulent lawns. The new Champion allowed herself be cheered a little by the glittering the river and the stained glass. After all, she thought, her pleasures came few and far between those days.

She found Burz lounging by the riverside, staring aimlessly off into the distance. He, like the rest of his brothers-in-arms, had become melancholy and distractible since the flow of contracts had petered off to a bare trickle. The guild halls of Cyrodiil were full of itchy sword-hands; and that, she reflected, was an accident waiting to happen.

"Morning," she called as she crossed the bridge to meet him.

"Hail, Champion," he grunted. "how goes it?"

"Well, you know, slow as usual. I've been trying to talk Sinderion into throwing some contracts our way but he's not biting."

"Well, you may be in luck."

"Oh?" the new Champion took an eager step forward. She had received no fresh work in weeks.

"An old friend of ours wants to see you. He's got a plan."

The new Champion paused for a long moment, watching the sunlight glinting off Burz's mace, a harmless wisp of the afternoon.

"I see," she smiled gently. "Thank you. Well… I'd best be on my way then."

"That's not enough!"

The Champion slammed her fist into the side of Ajum-Kajin's face, which made a sickening cracking sound as several scales dislodged from his skin.

Oreyn was bristling with excitement. Finding the mage had been a shot in the dark, so to have him in front of them- and already spilling the Blackwood secrets they so desperately needed- was nothing short of miraculous.

"Nothing more!" the Argonian cried, getting to his feet. "I choose death! Long live the Blackwood Company!"

Before either of them could move he had slipped something from his pocket and combusted into a pyre of flame, which dissipated quickly, leaving behind nothing but a smoking corpse. The smell of roasted flesh filled the room, and the Champion coughed heavily as she stepped away from the body.

"By Azura… Oreyn, I'm sorry I couldn't get any more out of him," she sighed, wiping the blood from her knuckles and pulling her gauntlets back on.

"You got more than enough," Oreyn clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Well sir," the corners of her mouth twitched into something that may have been a smile. "What next?"

The last thing Oreyn expected to open the door to in the middle of the night was an Imperial Legion solider; indeed, he never expected anyone save the new Champion, who would occasionally slip away from the barracks to strategise with him at ungodly hours.

"Can I help you?" he asked, straining against an overwhelming yawn.

"Modryn Oreyn?" the solider spoke gravely. "Fighter's Guild Champion?"

"Ex Champion," Oreyn frowned sourly. "Why?"

"Some of your guild brothers found this on the street in Leyawiin and told me to bring her to you," the soldier walked back onto the street and carefully lifted something down from his horse. As he turned back Oreyn saw what it was he was carrying; the new Champion's body lay limp in the soldier's arms, her face glistening with sweat.

"Does she live? What happened to her?" Oreyn snarled, dashing forward to the new Champion's limp form.

"She's alive, sir. But no-one knows what happened- like I said, she was unconscious when they found her."

"Give her to me," Oreyn muttered, gingerly taking the new Champion into his arms. Someone had removed her armour, but even in common clothing she was deceptively heavy. She shivered as if freezing, but her skin was boiling hot to the touch.

"I have her kit with me sir- shall I leave it at the barracks?" the soldier asked uncertainly.

Oreyn nodded absently and waved him away, intent on getting the new Champion inside. As he laid her down on his bed she coughed weakly. Her lips were dry and cracked, and Oreyn lifted her neck to tip a little wine down her throat. Once she had swallowed some she settled slightly, though her skin was still drained of colour.

Oreyn maintained a candlelight vigil by her bedside all night, and was slipping into sleep himself when her eyelids flickered sometime near dawn.

"Oreyn?" she croaked. "where am I?"

"At my house. You were found unconscious on the streets of Leyawiin. What happened? What did they do to you?" he asked.

"I beg of you… don't ask me to work with them again," her voice quavered. She rolled over onto her side, her fists balling at the thin sheets.

"You must tell me what happened."

The new Champion took a deep breath and told him her story. Hist Sap, Water's Edge, goblins; as the fragments of her tale fell into place a deep nausea settled in the pit of his stomach, and he prayed to the Nine that his suspicions would prove false. Without thinking, he reached out his hand and stroked her sweat-drenched hair.

"I promise you," he said. "you will never have to work for them again. But I have one thing to ask of you; you must return to Water's Edge."

She did not even knock at his door. In fact, if he had not glanced out of the window and noticed the dark shape against the rain outside he would not have known she was there. When he pulled the door open she said nothing. Stood in the pouring rain, wearing only the thin linens she had left in the previous morning, she looked up at him blankly with glazed eyes. As he pulled her inside, Oreyn regretted enlisting her on the mission for the first time.

She sat on the floor beside the fire, still gazing out with that thousand-yard stare. Several times she attempted to speak, then stopped and fell quiet again. Oreyn wondered if the Hist Sap had affected her worse than he had first believed, and whether he could forgive himself if the damage was irreversible.

The new Champion said something then, but the noise that escaped her mouth was so rough and animal that he had to ask her to repeat it.

"I killed them," she whispered. "I- we- killed them all… they weren't goblins. The Hist… even Biene Amelion… I killed them, Oreyn."

She opened her palms before her and stared at them, wild terror in her eyes. Then her head fell forward and she began to cry, in deep, guttural sobs that wrenched at Oreyn's heart. He knelt down beside her, and lifted her face so she was looking him straight in the eyes.

"There was no way you could have known."

She collapsed onto his chest as her cries subsided, hands clawing weakly for purchase at his back. He rocked her against him quietly, and somehow he realised he was panicking, although he could not have said why.

After a moment she ceased her sobbing sharply, as if a trance had been broken.

"I will need three days to recover first," she said, in a voice so quite it was barely audible.

"First?" Oreyn frowned. "Before what?"

She looked up at him, and the fire in her eyes was blazing brighter than he had ever seen it.

"Before Ri'Zakar dies and the Hist burns."

"I got you a present from Leyawiin," she reached out her arm and handed him something.

Oreyn was about to ask her why she had given him a charred tree branch when the realization dawned on him. The new Champion looked up at him and began to laugh hysterically, half from joy and half from exhaustion. Then, without asking permission, she pushed past him, curled up on his bed and fell fast asleep.

"No."

"And why not?" the last few days had done wonders to the new Master. Between the celebrations in her honour and the long rests between them all her vigour had been restored. The armour she had stolen from Azani Blackheart so long ago had been repaired and polished to a ceremonial shine, and she looked every inch the leader.

"I'm retired," he sighed. "I've taken up painting."

Oreyn waved towards his inaugural canvas, and the new Master tried and failed to repress a snort of laughter.

"It's been less than a week, Oreyn! Also, why do I have a mohawk?"

"Mm, what? Anyway, no, I'm not coming back."

"Oh, Oreyn, do we have to go through this charade?" she groaned, sitting down heavily. "We both know you're going to say yes."

"Is that so? Why?"

"Because," she said. "with all due respect to the woman, I am not old like Donton. My adventuring days are far from over. I need a seneschal. And you know and I know that there's no-one else that's equipped for the job. You just want to hear me say it."

"Well that's just not true. But alright then, I'll do it," he smiled.

"Unbelievable," the new Master shook her head in exasperation as she got to her feet. "Right. I have a Guild to run. Drop by the hall later and I'll reinstate you properly."

"Bye then," he waved her off.

The new Master made an obscene gesture at the back of his head, but stopped short in the doorway as she went to leave.

"Oreyn?" she called without turning around.

"What?"

"Don't give up your new hobby, will you? You look rather fetching with paint splattered all over you."

She stepped outside, smiling at the floor, and closed the door behind her.

I think there's probably more to come. Hope you enjoyed :)