Better Cities:The Butcher

Book Information The Butcher
ID	xx17934A
	1		1.0
Locations
Found in the following locations: On the desk upstairs in Baron von Zarov's Manor
Note
This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by dhkoster

The Butcher

The story of a man called the Butcher

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e sat, hunkered in the corner of Olav's Tap and Tack, fiercely guarding his mazte. He was a brute of a man, and it was painfully obvious why he sat alone - I had the feeling he might bite my ear off if I were to sit too near to him.

I sat down opposite him. Glancing up from his glass, he allowed me my first good look. There was fire in his eyes and ice in his veins. His face was leathery, scarred by many a blade. He barely fit into his cheap shirt, the massive muscles were so evident. I doubted that he would even fit into a set of armour, but then again, I doubted that he would need it. He gave a low grunt, and went back to his brew. Of course, the bartender had told me he wasn't quite the chatty type.

"That guy?" he had said. "Listen, I'd recommend against it. There's a good reason why that half the place is empty. Let me tell you about him... When he was just a young child, his family was moving here from Skyrim. The horses were slow and unreliable, but they drove on, eager for the new opportunities that Cyrodiil would provide. As they were riding through Pale Pass, bandits streamed down from the mountainside and struck at the caravan. His father fumbled at the reins, trying in vain to separate the family's horse from the rest of the pack.

"The father was quickly felled by the bandit bowman, as was his mother. He was spared only because he was seated between the two. As his parents fell limp off the horse, he was exposed. The bandit captain hesitated with the order to fire, seeing that he was but a child. Eventually, he turned toward the goods behind him, ignoring the child.

"But they had ignited something in him, something ferocious. He sidled to the ground, and, prodding at his father's lifeless body, his eyes fell upon the longsword. Through sheer will or divine intervention, he lifted it with ease and charged.

"The captain turned, startled and paralyzed at the image of the youngster brandishing the blade. Before he could act, he was struck a vicious blow. Like that, he was down. Two remained - the bowman was nearest. His bow was several feet from him. He lunged for it, but too late, as the blade glanced off his outstretched arm. He howled in pain, a howl that was quickly cut off.

"The last bandit looked at him incredulously, and as he did, he saw the purity of the fury held within the child. He turned and ran.

"He's got more blood on that sword than most men see in their lifetime," the bartender concluded. "That's why they call him the Butcher of Bruma."

That didn't dissuade me. The man sat across the table from me.

I cleared my throat and spoke. "This time, I shall not run. We've got unfinished business, you and I."