Morag Tong, The tale of Threndafel Options

[Ahrenil]

This is my first story, atleast as an Elder Scrolls fan fiction, and I shall warn you it is not very good, any and all criticisms are welcome and encouraged. I hope you shall enjoy this simple tale of honorable execution, love, and over the top fight scenes.

P.S I have noticed an error in the copy and pasting from my word to this forum. All 's are now squares, I am correcting it now.

P.P.S Should be done now.

Introduction: The Lizard's Head

Threndafel was an assassin, though he wouldn't tell you, if he were asked his profession he would say he was a tool, and that would be all he would tell you. While this was not nearly as cryptic or secretive as some of his companions felt the need to be, it was suitable for him. For who ever expected a Bosmer to join Morrowind's most subtle and secretive of guilds, the Morag Tong.

And so it was that he found himself, standing in a brightly lit corner of The Lizard’s Head, although the lighting was in comparison to the rest of the grey gloom that the occupants seemed to enjoy. Still it suited Threndafel just fine, and who would expect him to be here for some ulterior motive. He was a Bosmer without a bow, and without any obvious weapon.

He wore simple clothing, a cloth shirt, dyed green and brown with similar leggings. The only item of any seeming worth or note were his boots, they were tough leather, reaching almost to his knees, and to the trained eye it could be seen that there was a small gap, a hole between the sole and the boot, and in the right light something glinted from within it.

His eyes swept the room occasionally as he sipped from his drink, a simple glass of water, although in this bar he was surprised that it did not have something dead floating in it. Still, he was waiting, he wasn’t an elite killer, nothing like the Grandmaster, but he was competent, and he had a few tricks to employ. His current target was one Telvyn Durles, or that was the name he was using and the name on the writ Threndafel kept in his satchel, and he frequented this bar when he wasn’t dishonouring house Hlaalu with his brawls in the street. It seemed like an easy target, but Telvyn had bribed some local thugs to make sure his fights went his way, and from the sound of it they were Cammona Tong.

Threndafel refrained from spitting at the name, they were a despicable group, but his target was the priority, and Threndafel would finish the job. The arrival of his target came shortly after this thought, and was announced by raucous laughter and several black-eyed drinkers leaving quickly. Telvyn bashed the door open noisily, he and his 4 henchmen filling out towards the bar.

Threndafel reached into his money pouch and grabbed a few drakes; he sent them spinning across the floor, and bent as if to pick them up. However what he actually did was grab the small blade he had hidden in his boot, it shone and resonated slightly with magic, and was small enough that he could hide it in his hand. As the Bosmer had expected some of Telvyns friends had bent to pick up the small golden coins he had “dropped”. He staggered over, imitating a drunken fool, mumbling about his gold and his apologies before knocking into one of the bent over men, a Dunmer with a wooden cudgel in his belt. The other mer was knocked over, and his friends turned on the small frail Valenwood native in their midst.

The Bosmer waited until one man had grabbed him by the wrist, too stupid to notice that the smaller mer’s feet were securely planted. With a twist and a pull Threndafel pulled the Dunmer over, kicking him in the solar plexus as he did so. At the same time his other hand swung out, throwing his water in the face of a Khajit, who cried out in displeasure, and then smashing the cat in the muzzle.

Glass shattered and the cat reeled backwards, clutching at it’s bleeding jaw (Much to the Bosmer’s pleasure). However he still had 2 henchmen and his target to deal with. He was here to kill one man, which made things more awkward. But he hadn’t grown up in the forests without growing some strength in his body. His leg snapped out with a short kick to an Imperial’s stomach, doubling him over, however the Bosmer’s foot had barely returned back to his knee before it was sent out again, in a tenser push which knocked the Imperial back and into a clutch of tables.

2 men left, a big Nord who had drawn a wicked looking mace, it was simple in its brutality, a studded steel ball attached to a thick wooden handle, counter weighted with a smaller steel ball on the pommel. As the large man brought his weapon up Threndafel lashed out with his hidden blade, the cut on the underside of the bigger man’s arm wasn’t deep, but the paralysis magic in the blade took over completely. The momentum of the upswing took the giant backwards, his muscles locked completely and unable to break his fall he crashed backwards onto a table. The magic wouldn’t last long, 10-15 seconds if the Bosmer was lucky, and so he turned quickly to his target, fear shone on the Dunmer’s face as this wood elf, so small yet so deadly, slashed twice with his blade, the first cut froze him still, while the second opened his neck, letting his lifeblood flow down his chest.

Threndafel took the man’s money pouch, heavy with coin and threw it to the startled barman.
“For the damage to your bar” the elf said, his voice was clear though not particularly strong. And then he was gone, he stopped the first Ordinator he found, and presented his writ of execution. The eyes behind the mask regarded him coldly, but he sent him on his way. He was now to return to the Grandmaster for his reward, a promotion, and the possibility of another contract.



Chapter 1: A Change of Scenery

Threndafel’s journey back towards the Arena was uneventful at best, a cold rain poured down for the ashen sky, drenching him as he trudged across the bridge that connected the Telvanni canton and the Arena, from there it was a short walk down the rain slicked ramps to the waste works.

He was stopped once on his way down to the arena storerooms, and a quick explanation of him making a delivery was enough to ease the Ordinator, obviously new to the canton since he had questioned someone on the way to the Morag Tong headquarters.

Once inside the store rooms it was an easy matter of placating the rats, they always made good practice when he had his bow with him, but today he just wanted to get back into the halls, and so he simply commanded them to stop, his natural Bosmeri affinity with nature changing his words into something the primitive animals could understand.

Threndafel closed the trap door above him and descended into darkness, he held out his arms obediently as he was searched. Then there was the soft glow of magic as the door was locked above him and light shone back into the underground corridor. Before him stood an Orc and a Dunmer, the Dark Elf dressed in robes of crimson and blue while the Orc wore light netch leather armor yet carried a large imperial issue claymore.

“Rogdul, Minnibi” Threndafel greeted each of his fellow Guild members with a short bow.
“How’d it go tree hugger?” asked Rogdul, his rough attitude covering the playful competition the two assassins had built up. They’d joined the guild within 3 days of each other and been given their first contract as a joint operation.
“He’s dead, house Hlaalu won’t be shamed by him any longer” Threndafel said with a shrug “And there’ll be several Dunmer and a Khajit seeing the healer soonish”
“None seriously wounded I hope” chipped in Minnibi, he had always been a stickler for the rules and had completed every contract he’d been given by only harming his target.
“No, just a few bruises, and one bleeding face and possibly a Nord with some stiff joints” Threndafel murmured, rolling his neck. “Now can I see the Grandmaster? I’d like to report my success”
The two other Tong nodded and stood back, allowing the Bosmer to pass, they knew that the Grandmaster would not appreciate being kept waiting. Especially when his own house was involved.

The Grandmaster, no one knew much about him, though the stories were legendary. All that was for certain was that he was of house Hlaalu, and he was a Dunmer. Otherwise it was open to speculation. Some said Vivec himself had chosen him to head the Morag Tong, gifting him with the greatest skills with poisons, knives, bows and stealth. Others said that he held every thread of the Webspinner, and had collected them for Mephala herself. Whatever the real case may have been, he was an expert assassin, skilled enough to have killed the previous grandmaster, and have survived for so long without being killed himself.

Threndafel bowed low to the head of the Tong, but he always kept his eyes up, watching the knife belted at the other man’s waist. He remained almost doubled until the Dunmer noticed him and bade him stand up straight; still he barely came to the mer’s shoulders.
“Threndafel I’ve been expecting you, I know you wouldn’t be here unless the target is dead, tell me how did you do it?” asked the Grandmaster, his eyes scanning the Bosmer for any motion, his arms folded into the sleeves of his robe.
“I struck him in the Lizard’s head, I had to knock down his guards, and then I paralysed him and slit his throat” the Wood Elf stated, a certain amount of pride breaking through his cold tone.
“Were you seen?” inquired Hlaalu, his eyes never staying in one place for more than a heartbeat, you did not live as long as he did in this business without being paranoid.
“I was, he stayed inside the cantons and otherwise travelled under heavy guard, I had no place to strike with a bow, and a shuriken wasn’t certain enough to kill him” Threndafel admitted, his eyes lowering slightly.
“Fool” muttered the Grandmaster “Now you’ll be unable to work in Vivec, not until you fade from people’s memories” He turned from the assassin, though his eyes travelled to the mirror at the back of the room and Threndafel knew he was being scrutinised even now. “How about a change of scenery then?” asked the Grandmaster, a small smile, barely a twitch of his lips, breaking across his face.
“Sir?” Threndafel looked up, this was new, and the Bosmer wondered what the Grandmaster had planned.
“We’ve had a contract given to us, but our target has fled Vvardenfell, since you’re known well here, how would you like to take some time out of the country?”
“Well…sir it…” Threndafel stuttered slightly, his thoughts turning to his native Valenwood, and his past there.
“I’m sorry did I phrase that as a question?” The Grandmaster’s voice had suddenly grown cold. “You are going to complete this contract” There was a glint of steel and suddenly the Grandmaster had a blade to Threndafel’s throat, the Bosmer hadn’t even seen him move. “Or do I have to remind you of your rank? Or maybe you feel yourself to be better than me, to be worthy of my position?” hissed the Dunmer
“No Sir, I was simply concerned, my return to Valenwood would be, unpleasant.” Stammered Threndafel, trying to move his neck as little as possible, he knew if the Grandmaster had been the smallest bit more powerful, or had placed his blade a little more to the left, Threndafel’s jugular would’ve been opened there and then.
“I know that fool, I know your reasons for coming here. She is in Cyrodil, or so we have been told. She killed the last Morag Tong sent after her, and so we are sending you.” Suddenly the blade was gone, and the Grandmaster was back where he had been, calm and collected as ever. “Go now, you should be able to catch a boat from Ebonheart, get your writ from the table and go”
“Yes sir” whispered Threndafel, bowing low, visibly shaken. And then he turned and walked away, trying to repress his bodies need to run, run as fast as possible and climb the nearest tree for safety, he was a professional. The writ in his hand held a simple name, “Falana Hlaalu”.

This post has been edited by Ahrenil: Feb 28 2009, 05:20 PM

[Ahrenil]

Thanks for the feedback, and how could I have a cross continent travel scene and not have pirates?
I'm not particularily happy with this chapter, but it's taken me so long to write i'd prefer to simply move on now, so here is Chapter 3.


Chapter 3: Informants

The Imperial City was no where near as large as Threndafel had expected it to be, compared to the sprawling, multi-tiered city of Vivec it was nothing, but the heart of the Empire was as secure as it could be, with thick high walls dotted with towers and massive iron bound gates.

However these were almost never open, and a near constant flood of adventurer’s, peasants and military convoys flowed through them to reach the sprawling hub. The Waterfront, district was a small island, connected to the main island by a thin sliver of stone, the harbour was littered with warehouses and behind those were the shacks of the poorest residents of the city. It was here that Threndafel would start his search.

The small wooden shacks leant on each other for support, looking like a strong gust would blow them down. The people here were all dressed in ragged clothes, leggings torn above the ankles, sandals that looked like they would fall apart, and worn shirts hastily patched. These people had seen the worst the world had to offer, and had come through it to brave whatever was thrown at them next.

A dishevelled beggar stumbled up to the Bosmer, her eyes were sunken and pockmarks lined her face.
“Please Sir” she begged him. “Please, spare a coin for a starving widow”
“Sure thing” Threndafel muttered, digging in his pockets to grab a few drakes, which he gave quickly to the beggar.
“Thank you kind sir, you’re much more generous than the last we had from Morrowind” she muttered, beginning to shuffle away. Threndafel spun, his eyes suddenly alight, surely Yffre smiled on him to get such an easy break. But then something else about the sentence struck him.
“How did you know I was from Morrowind?” Threndafel asked, one hand sliding for a short blade that wasn’t there, not that he planned to kill a beggar, but if others knew of his presence it could be dangerous.
“Oh the Akatosh always does the Morrowind run” the Beggar sighed “And the captain is such a nice man, always helps us out down here on the Waterfront, rescued some of us from Raven Rock he did”
Threndafel relaxed visibly, the muscles that had bunched loosening. “Tell me, this last person, do you know where they went?” he asked.
The beggar stared into space for a moment before replying “I do, he was a strange one, kept wanting to know where the shrine to Mephala was, though I don’t want to imagine why people would want to go there”

Threndafel thanked the widow, dropping a few more coins into her hands, after a few more enquiries to the local guards he made his way to the Arboretum. Threndafel had reasoned that if anyone knew where to find the shrine, it would be the local mages. However several handfuls of gold later had not given him his answer, however he did have a name, Ontus Vanin, apparently the ex-mage knew the location of the shrine.

He wasn’t difficult to find, the only man in the city wearing snow-white robes almost shone as he walked through the sun-bathed streets. He turned to regard Threndafel as he approached, as if aware of the Bosmer’s intentions.
“Ontus Vanin? I’m Threndafel, I was told to come to you if I was trying to find a shrine…” began Threndafel before being cut off by Vanin.
“I know the location of the shrine, however if you want me to tell you I’ll want you to do me a favour,” Vanin declared, staring down at the brown haired Bosmer.
“And if I refuse?” asked Threndafel, his blue eyes staring back at the taller man.
“Then you search the countryside from here to Skingrad” growled Vanin, turning away from the Wood Elf. Threndafel fumed for a moment before caving in.
“Fine, what is it you want me to do?” he asked, hoping to Jephre that it wasn’t something that’d land him in prison. The smiling God obviously had other plans though.
“The Mages guild here kicked me out a long time ago, and never taught me correctly, they left me now with no use after taking 40 years of my life. I would like a small amount of compensation for this. The Guild holds several artefacts in their tower in the Arboretum, bring me several and I’ll tell you where to find what you want” Vanin whispered before turning away and promptly vanishing into the noonday sun.

Night fell across the Imperial City, White Gold tower standing like a black colossus over the city and it’s smaller satellite towers. Threndafel crouched in the shadows of one of these smaller towers. He had found there was one way into the Arcane University, the front door, since the large gates did not budge. He also knew that inside were at least 2 mages, one never seemed to leave the downstairs area except for a few hours a night and the Arch mage appeared to stay in his chambers, not seeing anyone. Leaving Threndafel 2 levels to explore.

A few minutes later and the guard downstairs was gone, probably to get some rest, and so Threndafel slipped inside. The room was well lit in the centre but shadowed at the edges, there was a raised dais glowing with magicka at one edge, and a simple counter with some alchemy supplies at the other. Taking his chances Threndafel slunk to the dais, looking for a way to activate it. After a moments pause he boldly stepped onto it and felt the power flow through him.

Upstairs the lightning and room were much the same, now however there was a large table dominating the centre of the room, and small cabinets and display cases around the edges. It was to these display cases that Threndafel went too first, and he was immediately rewarded. A pair of glass daggers and a soul gem rested inside, and while these were not exactly artefacts that did not mean that they were worthless. Taking a lock pick from behind his ear Threndafel tested the lock, before working it slightly, locking 5 tumblers into place. Taking a thin bladed knife he slid it between the lid of the display case and the main body and carefully cracked the lid open, ducking as he did so expecting a bolt of magicka to erupt forwards and attempt to remove his head from his shoulders. Surprised at the lack of security Threndafel checked the case, however he was met with disappointment, the daggers were simple replicas, made from normal rounded glass instead of the fine volcanic edges of true glass weapons. This left the Wood Elf one option to complete his task.

Once again the magic took him, and Threndafel found himself in a well-furnished living space, chests and bookcases took up the edges of the room, and a large bed took up the central space. Threndafel’s hairs stood on end, as he snuck towards the double bed, walking on the balls of his feet as he had removed his leather boots downstairs. As he expected an Imerpial, with shockingly white hair, occupied it however the staff of seemingly frozen wood caught Threndafel’s eye. The staff was suspended above the sleeping man’s head, held by iron clamps to the bed’s headboard. Threndafel’s hands lightly touched the clamps and his eyes narrowed in concentration sweat beaded on the Bosmer’s head as he called on his natural gift at alteration. A few minutes later and he lifted his fingers away, where the clamps had been there were now a pair of hooks the staff had rested on, the metal was twisted and buckled in places but Threndafel had focused more on practicality than artistic pleasure. Lifting the staff carefully away, Threndafel turned to the dais and slipped away from the Archmage, who would not find until dawn that he was missing a treasure.

Ontus Vanin awoke to see a Bosmer standing above his bed, in his hands was a glowing white staff of ice in the shape of a twisted tree branch. Vanin was not sure how he’d got it without the Arch mage waking, and truthfully he didn’t care either, the simple fact of the matter was that he now held one of the most powerful artefacts of the Mage’s Guild, enough to get him a lot of leeway when it was returned.
“For that, I will tell you anything you need to know” Vanin whispered, his eyes fixated upon the staff in the Bosmer’s hands.
“The shrine of Mephala, and your horse” the Wood Elf replied.
As Threndafel left the city by the main gate he turned to a Watchman there, the man’s face rugged and harsh.
“Sir, I don’t wish to worry you, but I heard a man earlier today boasting of stealing an artefact, I’m sure it’s just banter but he said he was an ex-mage” Threndafel said in an apologetic tone.
“Move along Citizen, if an artefact was stolen we’d be notified of it” the Watchman replied; however his eyes told a slightly different tale, Threndafel knew justice would be done.

It was daylight by the time Threndafel found the shrine, the horse he had been given by Vanin was of good Anvil stock, a white charger built for stamina who had run al through the night with no complaint, what’s more the big horse appeared to like the small Bosmer who rode it, quite possibly because his new owner constantly whispered encouragement to the horse and let it run as it liked. After brushing down the stallion and setting it to graze Threndafel turned to the worshipers at the shrine, one turned back and the Wood Elf now saw that there were a series of cages housing small birds with wax tubes on their backs, all of which bore the seal of the Morag Tong.
“Threndafel, you took your time” the man closest to the Shrine called over his shoulder “You’ve got a lot of work to do”. Threndafel gritted his teeth at the man’s tone but walked to him anyway. He didn’t know how long he’d be in Cyrodil so making enemies of his brethren was probably not a good idea.
“Hlaalu, where is she?” he asked, his eyes and tone cold. This was business now.

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Bad ending I know, but it's a set up for Part 4.

This post has been edited by Ahrenil: Mar 9 2009, 09:11 PM