Chapter 2

So far, my sojourn in Mournhold had resulted in a beating from a Wood Elf, nearly being eaten by goblins (and their pets), and the acquisition and subsequent loss of 1000 drakes. And I was no closer to finding the Dark Brotherhood or the reason they had been hired to kill me. The prices at the Winged Guar (and the payment I had received for one day’s work) showed me that Mournhold was an expensive place. If I was going to continue this search, particularly if I didn’t begin to see some results, I was going to have to come up with some cash. That problem I could solve, at least temporarily. Although the sight of all the ornate buildings and richly dressed citizens made my palms itch, I restrained my larcenous impulses. It is unwise in the extreme to ply the burglar’s trade in an unknown city- the risks usually outweigh the rewards. Although Helseth’s palace guards seemed to be restricted to the royal quarter, the same could not be said of the High Ordinators, silver armored busybodies who seemed to be everywhere, doing what Ordinators did best, issuing threats and watching everything too closely to allow an honest thief a sporting chance. But if a little creative redistribution of wealth was out of the question, I still knew where a few weapons and shields could be picked up. More important, I knew that the former owners wouldn’t make any objections. Despite their dietary habits, or perhaps because of them, goblins tended to make high-quality arms and armor. And given the fact that the only way for a non-goblin to obtain such was to kill goblins, those bits of merchandise should be fairly rare in Mournhold.

The Craftsmen’s Hall had been pointed out to me as the best place to purchase quality armor, so I gathered up a couple of goblin shields and a club and made my way there. The first fellow I encountered was an arrogant Imperial (is there any other kind?) who made a great show of being terribly busy and put-upon. It was obvious that the fellow was just waiting for an audience upon whom to unburden himself. A peculiar, some might even say perverse, aspect of my nature is that I tend to ignore overly dramatic, self-absorbed fools who attempt to draw attention to themselves. Beyond his theatrical manner, one look at this fellow’s smooth hands and spindly arms told me that he was not the smith. Therefore, I pressed on, following the smell of heated metal and the sound of hammers ringing on anvils. When I spotted a muscular Dunmer and a sweating Orc assistant, I knew I had found Bols Indalen, master armorer. The smith laid aside the tower shield he had been bringing to a mirror finish and asked if I had come for a set of custom armor. He further explained that he could work with glass, ebony, or his specialty, adamantium. Besides being measured for the armor, the customer was expected to provide the raw materials and a substantial payment. While I found it quite interesting that Master Indalen would speak so casually about trading in restricted materials, I knew I did not have the money to pay for such fine armor. Therefore, I raised a hand and explained,

“Actually, I am selling rather than buying.”

His red Dunmeri eyes widened slightly when I revealed the items I had to offer. He clearly recognized their goblin origin, but he did not speak of it as he carefully examined each piece. Finally, he gave a satisfied grunt and said,

“I don’t know how you came by these, and I don’t want to. However, if you are hunting goblins, you really should consider purchasing some of my custom armor. In any event, I will give you 2000 septims for the lot. And if you ‘find’ any more, please give me the first chance at it.”

That was a reasonable price, so I accepted without any haggling. Now that my visit to Mournhold seemed profitable again, I tried to think of a way that I could convert some coins into information. Master Indalen did not seem a likely source regarding the Dark Brotherhood, but he did reveal that adamantium ore could be found beneath the city. For obvious reasons no one was willing to say exactly where the deposits were located, but lost workings were known to be somewhere in or under Old Mournhold. If it came down to it, I might consider mining as a way to make money to finance my search, but I had no real desire to go grubbing about underground if I could help it. I wasn’t averse to manual labor, particularly not when it paid so well, but dangerous creatures and even more dangerous people had a tendency to lurk in dark places deep under the earth. With that thought, a feeble spark of an idea reached the dry tinder of imagination, and an idea burst into flame. With a distracted “thank you,” I turned away from Master Indalen and nurtured that thought. The Dark Brotherhood was a band of killers, not respectable businessmen. They didn’t have “two-for-one specials” or hang out signs advertising their headquarters. And given the nature of their “work,” they weren’t going to be found in the better part of town. No, they would be hidden somewhere away from prying eyes, somewhere hard to reach, somewhere that “decent” folk did not go; a place like the sewers and the ruins of Old Mournhold.