"A scholar with a brutish weapon. How ironic," Camvyn wielded his blade with an unnatural grace, almost as if he was dancing, but it wasn't enough to break through Solomon's defences. Even if it managed to land a hit, the heavy armour made sure it left nothing more than a scratch.
Despite having such an unyielding weapon, Solomon made it look weightless in his hands. Camvyn's blade met Solomon's handle. Heat licked at his arms as the soul gem ignited the fire salts to an even higher degree. Solomon was winning the exchange of might; he pushed Camvyn back, forcing his feet to dig into the ground to stay upright.
Solomon followed up by swinging his mace in a large arc, which sent a blade of fire barreling at Camvyn, which he deftly sidestepped before charging once again.
Camvyn was frustrated; his opponent was far too skilled at wielding such a weapon for a scholar. Such a tool should've left ample openings to take advantage of, but the fire the mace produced was more than enough to stop him in his tracks.
Sparks rang out between their weapons, a clash of magical fire and cold steel against smouldering iron. With every strike Camvyn sent, Solomon adapted instantly, shifting his weight or closing the distance to render the attack ineffective.
They circled each other over the burnt, ash-covered ground. Camvyn's arms ached from the constant parries and the sheer weight of the mace's strikes, yet his face remained unreadable. He could not show weakness to a man who revealed nothing of himself.
Both knew this wasn't an all-out fight; they were testing each other. Camvyn treated combat the same way he treated politics: probing strikes to see how an opponent responded, seeking patterns, testing defences. He hated politics, but in battle, the logic was the same: exploit weaknesses before committing to a decisive strike.
The forest was an unwilling audience and casualty to their duel, branches snapping, leaves burning, and the air heavy with smoke. Camvyn realized brute force alone wouldn't break Solomon. He needed a clever move. His eyes flicked to the ash littering the ground from the flames of the mace.
Feigning an underhanded strike, Camvyn baited Solomon into a block. Then, dropping low, he scooped a handful of ash and flung it into the cracks of Solomon's mask. The smoke and grit found the scholar's eyes, momentarily blinding him.
Seizing the opening, Camvyn pressed forward. His blade struck Solomon's hands, forcing his weapon to clatter to the ground. With the heavily armoured man unarmed and temporarily blind, Camvyn overpowered him, throwing him onto his back and straddling him, sword poised at his neck.
For a long, tense moment, neither moved. Then Solomon slowly raised his hands, the fire of the mace smouldering harmlessly beside him.
"I surrender," he said, voice calm and measured, carrying no trace of anger towards the victor.
Camvyn hesitated. Wondering if it would be better just to kill the masked man here and now. Glancing over at Annur and Amiryn, he sighed and lowered his blade. "This thing isn't made to stab anyway. No sudden movements."
Camvyn got off the armoured man and stood between him and Annur. "Now, state your business and leave."
"Such skill with a sword, are you sure you are a mere hunter?" Solomon asked as he dusted the ash off himself. Seeing Camvyn's frown, Solomon shook his head. "A few days ago, I sensed something truly, well, magical for lack of better words. And I sensed that same thing from him." He gestured an armoured gauntlet towards Annur.
"That so? Well, then leave. You aren't welcome." Camvyn turned his back and walked towards his companions, and Solomon followed suit by gently picking up his mace and walking towards his horse.
"Wait!" Solomon stopped at the shout and stared over his shoulder at the boy he was fascinated with. "Yes?"
"Teach me magic, and I'll let you do whatever it is you wanna do." Annur made the scholar an offer, much to Camvyn's dismay. "Are you mad, boy? Who knows what he wants?"
Annur's gaze never left Solomon. "Don't care. He has what I want." Before Camvyn could retort, a hand rested on his shoulder.
"He can make decisions for himself, Camvyn." He wasn't happy to have Amiryn disagree with him, but he relented. "Fine, but try anything, and I'll send you to meet your God before you can blink."
Solomon mounted his steed and walked it towards the cohort. "I do not doubt that. I'll be on my best behaviour." The newly formed group of four travelled through the forest
Amriyn and Camvyn were silent on the trip to the hunting shack. Annur, on the other hand, couldn't keep his mouth shut as he asked Solomon all about his weapons and armour.
"You see, my weapon, Smouldering Mace, was made by a talented blacksmith located in Whiterun, then later enchanted by a colleague of mine at the College of Winterhold, Sergius." Annur's eyes sparkled as the scholar spoke.
"Did Eorlund Grey-mare make your weapon?!" Solomon let out a low, slightly muffled chuckle at the boy's outburst. "I suppose the stories of his craftsmanship have even reached out here. Indeed, I helped the man with something, and this was the payment. Beautiful Skyforge steel." Solomon spoke with a carefree and joyful tone as he talked about his weapon.
"Joining the Companions would sure be something, but I think the College is what's next for me now that I have magicka." Annur stared at his hands as he felt an unseen energy flowing through his body, no different than the blood that coursed through his veins. The four of them travelled to the small hunting camp as Solomon offered advice to Annur. "Joining the Companions and learning some combat experience before enrolling at the College would do you some good. The College isn't accepting new students yet after all." Annur stopped in his tracks and stared at the worn dirt path at his feet in thought, a subtle spark igniting in his eyes.
Suddenly, the group entered a large clearing. Annur looked up, and his mouth hung open. "What the..." In front of Annur lay hundreds, if not thousands, of stone markers. Each one a grave.
"I had the same reaction when I first laid my eyes upon the legendary graves of Falkreath." Solomon rode up beside Annur, dismounted his steed, and stared longingly at the mass graveyard. "Many good men and women died in the Great War. Many I considered friends. I was a young man at the time, just barely growing my first face hairs, yet whenever I visit Falkreath, the memories flood back as if they happened just a few moons ago." Solomon clasped his hands and stared downward in prayer. Amiryn joined him in prayer while Camvyn merely stared into the distance.
It didn't take long before they were on the move again, only this time an intense feeling of somberness had subdued Annur's excitement.
Before long, the low prairie where the shack resided came into view. The Redguards, who had walked this path countless times before, had their heads straight as they marched forward on their well-worn path. Annur and the scholar took in the sights, specifically towards the small hill that now lay black with soot and ash.
Solomon chuckled. "Quite impressive for your first time." Annur nodded. "Yeah, I, uh, really showed that hill who's boss." The four of them entered the small shack that served as the trio's home after Solomon tied his horse up.
"We're here now. Speak." Camvyn's impatience was evident even to the most socially inept.
"But of course. All I would like to do is run a few unintrusive tests on Annur and, depending on the results, be his sponsor in the future if needed." Solomon clearly stated his intentions, but Camyvn didn't like it.
"And what do you get out of it? There's no free lunch." Solomon let out a lengthy sigh. "I am but a scholar. All I crave is knowledge. Truly." Camvyn was ready to spit more daggers of distrust towards the scholar before Annur interrupted him.
"I trust him." Everyone in the small wooden shack looked at Annur in surprise, even the man who had made the request. "Annur, we don't know him. You can't just trust him blindly." Annur just shook his head at Camyvn's words. "I just got a feeling, okay? I feel like I can trust him."
Before Camyvn could say anything else, Amiryn placed his hand on his companion's shoulder and shook his head. "He can make decisions for himself, Camvyn." The Redguard had a bad taste in his mouth, but seeing as he was outnumbered, he kept his mouth shut.
Annur and Solomon stepped out of the shack and walked to a more open clearing. "So, you believe magic to be your calling?" Solomon asked Annur.
"I'm not quite sure what my calling is, but what I do know is I would never forgive myself if I didn't learn any." The scholar nodded, satisfied with the answer and held out his hands.
"Many consider magic to be a force of nature, which is not entirely incorrect, but magic is much like alchemy, where subtle changes in your ingredients can change the outcome. Your emotions, intent, and understanding all contribute to a mage's control and power." Flames erupted in his hands. "Take fire, for example; a novice mage would see fire as nothing more than a tool of destruction, which the naming of the school of magic does not help. Are you familiar with the three requirements for fire to exist?" Annur removed his eyes from the flames dancing above Solomon's armoured gauntlet.
"Oxygen, heat, and fuel," Annur answered without hesitation. Solomon tilted his head slightly. "I must admit I didn't expect you to know, but yes, fire needs those three components to burn." Solomon extended his arm towards a rock, showing it his palm before releasing a stream of fire. Once he stopped, the rock was revealed slightly charred but ultimately intact, exactly how Annur expected the Flames spell to work in-game. Solomon turned to Annur and chuckled at his impassive face, and raised his other hand at the same rock and released another stream of fire, but this fire was different. Annur felt the heat tickle his face, and when he glanced over at the charred rock, he saw molten slag dripping off what was left of the piece of earth. Annur stared in disbelief, his face still warm.
"That is the difference between a novice and an expert, Annur. A novice sees fire as nothing more than fire, subconsiously turning magicka into fuel to release energy and make fire. An expert can control the properties of the magicka, making the fire hotter or causing it to stick to an object. Your experiences also affect how your magicka behaves. Someone who only witnesses the heat of a wood fire would have an average flame. Solomon stared longingly at the calamitous flame in his palm. "But someone who has experienced profaned flames knawing at their flesh would have a much more intimate understanding of what fire really is."
Annur looked between Solomon and the quickly cooling rock. "So, I would be able to do that if I became a master of Destruction?" The scholar closed his fist and let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, boy, you flatter me. I am by no means a master; I can hardly be called an expert even."
Looking at the melted rock, Annur swallowed hard and asked without looking away. "What could a master do?" Solomon rubbed his masked face with his hand. "Well, I've yet to see my colleague Faralda go all out, but from what I have seen, she is capable of much more than melting a simple rock. If she and I fought, I fear there wouldn't even be ashes to send to my family."
Solomon waved his hand. "You are a long way from that, though. Let us focus on standard flames for now."