Karakis' some heads

After Charlotte had scoured Riften for any traces of the enemy Champions, she left and got back on the road after hearing of a black armoured warrior that was harassing Stormcloak caravans heading to and from Windhelm.

She'd only faced a single Champion thus far, and so was wondering if she should have gone to Markarth in the first place... Hopefully, Clavicus Vile wouldn't be too dissatisfied with her failure... Or at least, enough so to prevent him from punishing her.

She continued along the road for a few hours, riding a horse she'd 'dishonourably' acquired from the Riften stables. On the way, she did encounter a few caravans, most of which looked unharmed, despite the rumours she'd been hearing.

Upon asking them, she found out that the only caravans being attacked were those that had large groups of guards and soldiers accompanying them. One caravan had even encountered the dreaded 'Black Bandit', as the person had begun to be called.

The rumours continue from there, some saying that the man was completely immune to any harm, arrows, spells, blades, and anything else you could think of would only bounce off of his black armour, doing almost nothing to him.

Her master had made her research Daedric artifacts in preparation for this 'Hunt', so she was quickly able to figure out just who was causing all of this trouble. The Champion of Boethiah, who was likely wearing the Ebony Mail.

From what she knew, and what she heard from the travellers on the road, the armour granted its wearing incredible protection, along with assisting them while sneaking and granting them the ability to passively harm nearby opponents without them even noticing.

From the tomes Clavicus got her to acquire, the Ebony Mail essentially poisoned anyone nearby the wearer. It was a slow, insidious killer, something that allowed the victims to remain unaware until they started vomiting sickly blood. If she was going to fight against such an artifact, she needed to figure out just how it worked, and create some countermeasures against it

Sure, she wore the Masque of Clavicus Vile, which should make any airborne poison useless against her, but that didn't mean she was safe. Plus, her injuries from the previous fight hadn't yet healed, leaving her at a distinct disadvantage should the Champion of Boethiah prove stronger than expected.

Then again, she couldn't flee or refuse to fight. Her soul was already bound, so any attempts at subterfuge or thoughts of betrayal would be readily apparent to her master. Even if he tasked her to kill a Dragon, or say, Michael, she'd have to do it regardless of her own feelings.

With her mood thoroughly soured at the thought of the despicable actions she had been forced to take, and would continue to take, she continues her journey to Windhelm.

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Karakis gives a vicious grin as he cuts down the last remaining Stormcloak soldier in the retinue. As a Nord himself, there was no greater honour than to fight other honourable warriors. This was something he simply couldn't find anywhere else, even the thought of fighting against those Imperial dogs in Solitude sickened him. There was no honour to be found there... But here? There was even the chance to face Ulfric Stormcloak, a war hero of great renown, with an even greater voice.

Sure, his loyalty to Boethiah was probably misplaced, especially with his current mindset, but you take the hand you're given... It wasn't like he could turn back now, the Ebony Mail had all but ruined his body, and any attempt to take it off would probably kill him... The poison it generated to kill his enemies had also affected him. He was unaware of this until the physical effects started cropping up...

Honestly, he looked like a sickly vampire, with snow-white pale skin and blackish green veins visible all over his body from where the poison had integrated itself with his blood. That wasn't the worst part of it however, that honour belonged to the fact that he couldn't turn off the poison the armour generated, causing anyone who got near him to slowly die...

This left him unable to enter towns, villages, or any kind of civilized society that didn't worship Boethiah, because of course the poison didn't affect her worshippers... All he had left now was to try and die honourably in battle in a vain attempt to enter Sovngarde. Hopefully, with great enough deeds Shor would tear him from Boethiah's grasp and grant him salvation... Even if he thought such an occurrence would be very unlikely.

He shakes his head to rid himself of the sombre emotions plaguing him and looks up, determined to go find the next group of soldiers to fight... Currently, he was right next to one of the bigger farms that helped feed Windhelm, it was only a few miles from the ancient city, so he planned to stay on this road for however long it took.

Fortunately, he wouldn't have to wait long for a battle...

In the distance a short robed figure walks toward him, a large black tome held under one arm while a staff was gripped in the other. "Hm? You must be the Squid-head's boy." he says with little respect for the prince they represent.

The robed figure lowers its hood, revealing itself to be a wood elf with completely black eyes. The Black Book seems to have already affected them to a large extent. Looks like his Ebony Mail wasn't the only double-edged artifact in play. Though, this thought brought little comfort.

"And you, Nord, under the vicious hermaphrodite. I wonder, do you give it or receive it? Ah, both then?" the wood elf mockingly states.

Karakis laughs, not at all upset by the insult, "You wish to talk about sex with me, milk-drinker? You look like your balls dropped the other way! And let's not get started with that, lest I remind you of who you serve. I'd rather take it up the arse than in every hole by Oblivion-damned tentacles!"