The Dark Operation, Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun is back for more... in Cyrodiil. Options

[canis216]

Note: Yes, I will be finishing the original (and working on the 2nd) A.H.L.i.t.S. story eventually, but I've been on an Oblivion playing binge so I figured I'd strike while the game is still fresh for me. Without further ado...
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1.

Weynon Priory, Imperial Province

Jauffre’s lips eased into a droll smile when saw the figure in black approaching, up the stars. “What news from Morrowind, Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun?” The figure in black pulled back his hood, revealing a red-brown, and scarred, argonian face. The grin was toothy, and Jauffre was reminded of the Naga from Waughin Jarth’s newest fiction. Jauffre thought it was fiction, at least.

“Call me Al, please. With Helseth consolidating his power, and everything else, I think I’ll be a frequent visitor.” The argonian handed over a large, sealed envelope.

“I imagine so… Al. How is the courier business treating you?”

“I have no complaints. I haven’t had to break into anyone’s home in six months.”

“Is that so? You did that a lot in the old days?”

“Almost as often as I cut a man’s throat.”

At that Jauffre’s eyes darted down to his katana. Quietly, he said, “I remember.” They were quiet for a moment, the two Blades, now a monk and a courier. The courier turned to leave, almost plowing into Brother Piner—running up the stairs.

“Jauffre! Jauffre! The emperor has been assassinated!”

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Shadow’s Gate Cornerclub, Kragenmoor, Province of Morrowind

A puff of skooma smoke on the air. “Full report.”

“My horse pulled up lame on the way down from the pass, while I was trying to outrun a bandit. I killed the bandit; claimed 342 septims from the body, some family’s jewels. Sold the jewels and the horse in Cheydinhal.”

“Healing magic didn’t work on Many-Gallops?”

A swig of beer. Old rhetorical trick—very common in the west. “Right. Well, it worked, but only well enough to trot into Cheydinhal. I’ve had an eye on a black horse anyway.”

“You bought one?”

“I call her ‘Outruns-Bandits’. Very fast. I included the receipt in my written report.”

“Fine. Go on.”

“Anyway, there wasn’t any trouble the rest of the way I couldn’t outrun. I collected the most recent reports from the Palace and the Prison, and stayed overnight in the Market District. In the morning I made for the monastery and delivered the package to our colleague there. And then I discovered that Uriel and all of his heirs had been killed. I think I broke all land speed records on the way back here.”

“You were right to do so, friend. The times demand urgency.”

“We don’t have orders from the City already, do we? I don’t think I could wrap my brain around that kind of efficiency from the Elder Council.”

A smile. “No, Al. I’m expecting some sort of word from the Council by tomorrow, though. And I can guess what they’ll say.”

“So can I. ‘Stay put, we can’t afford instability in the provinces.’ So very predictable.” Another swig of beer. A nod and a puff of smoke from the other side of the table, rueful.

The beer drinker went on. “You know Caius, we must be quite the sight. Me in my all black with half-a-dozen empty beer bottles in front of me. You in that ridiculous monk’s robe—with skooma! We never change, do we?”

“So very predictable.”

This post has been edited by canis216: Jul 4 2009, 06:05 PM

[canis216]

8.

Journal of an Imperial Courier: Cheydinhal

I am exasperated. How could an organization so pathetic and trivial as the Dark Brotherhood have survived for so long?

Ah, but I should back up and start again, lest my thoughts lose order.

I arrived in Cheydinhal at about ten in the morning and proceeded directly to the battered old house to which LaChance had ordered me. The door was locked of course, but it was a lock of little consequence. I won’t anyone with much detail into the building’s interior, save to say that it was messy and dark, exactly as the Brotherhood intended for any intruders to see.

The basement was more interesting. A trail of dried blood lead to the foot of the Black Door, as LaChance called it. I suppose that it was designed to intimidate—the artwork consists of a great skull (Sithis, I imagine), and what I can only guess is the depiction of the Night Mother sacrificing her children to the aforementioned skull. I can’t say that I was impressed. But then, I grew up in Black Marsh—my people have seen too much to be taken aback by cheap tricks. Maybe all this display actually frightens the cyrodiils.

In any case, staring at the door wasn’t getting me anywhere. I tried to push it open. As expected, a disembodied voice (this actually scares the imperials?) asked me, “What is the color of night?” I was tempted to call out, “Black. Now let me the hell in, maudlin s’wits!” but I restrained myself and gave the correct answer, “Sanguine, my brother.” By the gods, I hate this assignment. By that point I was rather hoping that they would jump me, just so I could kill them and be done with all this nonsense.

The Black Door opened. I stepped inside and found that no pack of assassins waited to kill me, to my great disappointment. Instead I was greeted by a single female argonian—I guessed that she was a few years younger than I. She was smiling—until she saw my face.

“It’s—it can’t be. You. Heik-Auri. You’re the one who betrayed the Shadowscales. I should—“

I cut her off. “Yes, you should shut up. You don’t want to violate the Five Tenets, and I don’t want to paint the walls of this sanctuary with your blood.” I was lying about the second part.

We shared two minutes of awkward silence. I noted an armed and armored skeleton shambling about—some sort of sanctuary guard, undoubtedly. In the far corner was a small table with an adjoining bookcase—a blonde breton woman was seated by it, daydreaming. Pathetic rabble.

I broke the ice. “Who gives out the contracts?”

The dark sister stared at me coldly for a beat before answering, “Go and speak with Vicente Valtieri. He handles all assignments for new members. And take this armor—“

“Already picked some up in Morrowind,” I growled, walking by. I wasn’t hanging around in this place any longer than I had to. My job was to report suspicious contracts—period.

I found Vicente Valtieri at the end a long hallway. He looked… odd. I put it aside.

“Vicente? I understand that you supply the work.”

He smiled, revealing long fangs. A vampire—wonderful organization, this is. In any case, I think he saw the recognition in my eyes, and I think he enjoyed it.

“Warmest greetings to you. I trust you've already spoken with Ocheeva? I am Vicente Valtieri. I provide assignments for all new family members. Please, do not let my appearance... unnerve you. The needs and Tenets of the Dark Brotherhood come before my own needs as a vampire. Now, if you're ready to get to work, I can provide you with your first contract.”

“Of course I’m ready.” I forced a smile.

“Very good. I'm not sure how you feel about pirates, but you've got to kill one. A captain, in fact. On his ship. Surrounded by his crew. Interested?”

A pirate. Didn’t seem too problematic. “Yeah, I’ll accept the contract.”

“Excellent. Here is what you must do. Go to the Waterfront District of the Imperial City. There you will find a ship named the Marie Elena. Board the ship and find its captain, Gaston Tussaud. He'll be in his cabin. Eliminate Tussaud in any manner you see fit. The pirates have been moving a lot of cargo onboard lately. You may be able to smuggle yourself onboard in one of the packing crates.”

“Consider it done.”

I marched out fast as I could. Madness... Shadowscales, vampires, undead guardians, Black Doors... and none of them could tell that I was a spy.

This post has been edited by canis216: Jul 4 2009, 06:11 PM