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]

Well heres Chapter 4, in which I develop the plot farther (poorly) and introduce another character who is horribly cliched.

Chapter 4: All Thing Alchemical

“Where is she? I want this over as soon as possible, who knows when someone from Valenwood may recognise me,” Threndafel murmured, looking over his shoulder at the other Deadric Worshippers behind him.
“They’re in the loop” said the man, bending to take a bird out of a cage, he opened the wax tube on it’s back and took out a scroll, replacing it with a new one and setting the bird free into the air where it winged away towards Morrowind. “This is her last known location, we don’t know what you’ll find there, our last man didn’t come back, whatever you plan to do be careful, she’s an accomplished mage as well as an alchemist, and she knows we’re after her now.” He continued, handing the sheet of thin paper to Threndafel.

Unrolling it he found a map, it was centred on the Imperial City. Across Lake Rumare, next to the ring road was a red cross on top of a building. A helpful side note had been added claiming it to be “All Things Alchemical”. At the side of the map was a key, however instead of the markings for rivers and roads there was a guide for Imperial patrols in the region, types of land, and useful hiding spots. On the back of the map were some minor notes, detailing the surveillance already carried out on the site. Threndafel read through it for a brief moment, according to the scout’s report the building was fairly well sealed, with few windows and a single entrance, of note however was a burial cave nearby, rumoured to be the burial ground for many dead heroes. Threndafel muttered a word of thanks to his contact, and then returned to his horse.

The road to the shop was well paved and Threndafel and his stallion, who he had now named Oak, made good time. However what he discovered was not what he had expected. Where All Things Alchemical had been there was now a charred wreck. Blackened timbers leant heavily on one another, and only a single corner of the building was still left standing.

It had not been burnt recently; much of the ash had been swept away by the winds leaving the stone floor beneath exposed. Dismounting Threndafel approached the ruin carefully, stepping softly in case he accidentally triggered a trap of some sort. Timbers snapped under his feet, and smaller pieces of rubble crumbled away into ash at his touch, near the back of where the shop would have been were several metal bands that looked like they had once been chests, Threndafel carefully swept the soot away, searching for anything that may have been of use, what he found made him recoil.

A blackened skull stared up at him; the protruding lower canines suggested it had been an Orc at one point. Carefully stacked beneath it were the ribs and femurs, the spinal cord was coiled in the second chest and several of the small bones were missing altogether, the cracking of timbers suddenly took on a new perspective. Still Threndafel searched on, he had seen worse during his time as an Assasin and it was likely he would see a lot more, however he had gained a new respect for Falana Hlaalu, and after finding some discarded potions Threndafel gave up. However he was still left with the task of finding his target.

Once again Threndafel found himself in the Imperial Cities Market District, which was not good since Ontus Vanin had apparently wormed his way out of a jail sentence and was still walking free. He was browsing the shelves in “The Gilded Carafe”, waiting for the merchant there to finish with another customer. He had the two potions he had found in hand, and was looking for any similar ones on the shelves and tables around him.

He turned as the owner of the store coughed behind him. He smiled at her, but gave up when she started tapping her foot impatiently. He held out the two potions he had found in the ruins of “All Things Alchemical”. “Do you happen to know what these potions do? I found them while exploring and I’d prefer to know what they do before I drink them” the Bosmer said, handing the two vials over. The shop keep scrutinised them for a moment, turning them over in her hand and holding them up to the light, before handing them back.
“They’re potions of fire protection, probably strong ones too. They’re of a good quality, and judging by the markings on the vial they were made by Falana Hlaalu, she did have a shop out on the Red Road, but it burnt down, a lot of adventurers stopped by there while exploring to re-supply, someone obviously wasn’t lucky enough.” The merchant replied with a shrug. Threndafel winced, remembering the Orc’s charred skeleton neatly stacked in the back of the shop.
“Thank you, do you know where Falana Hlaalu went? She may pay well if I returned these to her” Threndafel said in what he hoped was an uninterested tone, his eyes drifting over the multitude of bottles lining the shop’s shelves.
“Actually I do, she’s in Skingrad now. Shop by the same name, I don’t know how she set up again so fast, almost as if she was prepared. Then again I heard Hlaalu is a noble name back in Morrowind”
“Something like that” Threndafel replied with a smile as he left.

Skingrad was a condensed town, however it was also a messy one. The streets didn’t seem to follow any plan, and simply branched off whenever they felt like it. This was probably due to the ravine that ran through the middle of the town, which defiantly split the city, declaring boldly that nature would outlive all of man’s inventions. It was in this ravine Threndafel found himself, his horse stabled outside the massive oak and iron gates. On either side of him was a tall wall, with only 2 bridges spanning the gap and only 1 open gate. This was a killing zone for any attacker, it seemed that defence was key to the cities around this area, perhaps before the time of the true Empire Kvatch and Skingrad had battled, both cities seemed suited to it.

A guard gave the Bosmer directions, and he found himself quickly outside All Things Alchemical. It was a tall building, 3 stories high with a balcony on the second floor and stained glass. Opposite it was another building and another balcony, so close that they seemed to be trying to crush the street between them. Threndafel made a mental note of the balconies; they’d be a good escape, or perhaps vantage point from which to strike.

The door gave easily as he pushed it, and slipped inside. Inside the shop was well lit, with several lamps and candles lighting the interior along with the two windows, however the light these gave was minimal due to the shadows formed by the close packed tall buildings. Across the counter stood his target, a range of potions laid out in front of her and on shelves behind her. Apart from these cases and the counter the shop floor was sparely furnished, with only a few low tables upon which the candles and lamps rested.

“Can I help you?” asked Falana Hlaalu, her tone cheery and bright. Threndafel looked up at her, his eyes assessing for any danger or threat, any hint that she knew either whom he was, or what he was. But so far she revealed nothing, all smiling charm and friendly business.
“Yes, I was out exploring and I found a couple of these potions, I have been told they were yours and I thought you might appreciate their return” Threndafel said with a smile.
“Ah yes, these do look like mine” replied the Dunmer as she took the potions and set them on the counter before her “I gave them to such a nice Orc who stopped by my shop, was on his way through from Morrowind, where did you find them? I was quite the adventurer when I was younger” Threndafel inwardly swore, he hadn’t expected this question, just a cash reward for the return of the potions.
“Umm, I think it was Memorial Cave” said Threndafel, grasping the first name that came to mind. However he knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it, as the Dunmer’s face hardened instantly.
“What were you doing around there? Did you snoop around my old…” Falana Hlaalu trailed off as another customer entered the shop. Threndafel who had been secretly preparing himself to strike out at the Dark Elf relaxed and turned to see who it was.

The newcomer was another Bosmer, however she was unlike any other Bosmer Threndafel had seen. She was slightly shorter than he was, with a pale complexion. Her face was thin but not thin enough to be sharp, and her smile came easily. However her most striking feature was her hair, it was a deep red and hung down her back with two bangs framing her green eyes. Threndafel could barely refrain from staring, his eyes fixated upon her. She wore simple green and brown clothes however her walk told of muscle and strength born of a life of travelling and adventures. At her side she carried a satchel.

“Could I buy a potion of cure disease? My horse was bitten while I was riding earlier and I would like to make sure he didn’t get an infection” She said with a smile, her eyes catching Threndafel’s and a small grin breaking across her face. Threndafel looked away, hoping he wasn’t blushing. Falana Hlaalu simply nodded, sliding a deep green potion across the counter towards the female Wood Elf.
“60 Septims please” the Dunmer said coldly, her eyes darting between the two Bosmer, paranoia reflected in them. The redheaded Wood Elf reached into her satchel, rummaging inside she pulled out a smaller pouch and emptied the contents onto counter. The septims glinted in the light from the shop, however Threndafel could tell instantly that there were not enough there for the price of the potion.
“Let me make up the rest” Said Threndafel with a smile to the other Bosmer, who’s face had fell as she had realised she didn’t have enough gold to pay the Dunmer. As Threndafel’s heavier drakes hit the table Falana Hlaalu’s eyes went wide with fear.

“No!” she gasped, taking a staggering step backwards. “I should’ve known they wouldn’t forget. I killed the Orc and thought it’d be the end of it but no! You had to come after me!” She cried, flinging one hand outwards and a bolt of green light hit the door. There was a clicking sound and Threndafel knew she had locked it, he crouched down and took his Jinxblade from his boot, the blade was losing it’s deep shine and would need recharging, however it likely held enough charge to deal with his latest assignment.
“Step back” Threndafel whispered to the other Wood Elf, setting himself into stance expecting his target to attack him. Falana’s eyes turned from fear to hate and fury at the sight of the small dagger.
“You think you can kill me? So did the Orc but he found out how wrong he was!” cried the enraged Dunmer. Her hands twisted and pushed outwards, the candles and lamps on the tables fell to the floor, however the fire that rose up was fuelled by the magic of the Dunmer, it circled around Threndafel and the other Wood Elf, cutting them off from the door. “I’ll tell you what I told the Imperial Patrols last time, that you tried to rob me but burnt to death when your torches fell into my vats. I will of course survive the fire due to my skill as a mage and set up shop elsewhere.” Laughed Falana with a glint of madness in her eyes. The fire had by now completely encircled Threndafel and the other Bosmer, who had at first cried out in fear but now clung on him as if he was a talisman. Falana giggled again and then retreated up the stairs at the back of the shop.

Threndafel’s mind worked overtime attempting to figure a way out of this, the heat was intense and he knew attempting to jump the fire would be suicide, and even if he did the door was locked and the flames were spreading to the rest of the shop. It was then he saw it, reflecting in the light of the flames the three potions of fire resistance glinted, just in arms reach but through the wall of fire. Threndafel gritted his teeth and withdrew himself to a corner of his mind, and then reached through the flames, the pain would have been blinding had he not partly removed himself from his thoughts, still it lanced into him making him cry out. The skin on his arm blistered and peeled, blood began to ooze from where his wrist was suspended in the fire as his numb hand attempted to grasp the potions.

Threndafel drew back his arm, gasping as he brought his hand back through the magicka-enhanced flames. He fumbled one bottle towards the redheaded Bosmer, urging her to drink it as he did his own. Instantly the heat from the fire became bearable, and even his arm began to feel a little better, even if it still burnt like Oblivion. Once they had both drunk their potions Threndafel smashed the top of the third bottle and poured the contents over them, hoping it would protect their belongings from the fire as well.
“Are you ready?” asked Threndafel.
“Do I have a choice?” the redhead shouted back at him, her eyes wild with either fear or excitement.
“Good point” conceded Threndafel, and then leapt forwards. The flames licked at him, and he could tell that at least some of his clothing had caught alight. He rolled as he hit the wooden floor, extinguishing the worst of the flames on him though there was still a smouldering at the holes burnt on his shoulders and leggings. A moment later he was joined by the other wood elf, who was mildly smoking from holes in her sleeves and leggings. Together they made a run for the stairs, smoke billowing behind them.
They reached the top of the stairs and Threndafel’s eyes searched for an exit. His ears twitched; there was a new sound, one above the roar of the fire and the crackling of timbers. Threndafel turned, pushing his companion behind him and raising his knife. It didn’t stop the sword blow but it deflected it to one side, the blade bit into his shoulder but not deeply, however it did knock the blade from Threndafel’s grasp. The Bosmer clutched at his shoulder, steeping backwards as Falana made a wild swing, her hair dishevelled and her eyes feral, snarling viciously. Threndafel sidestepped a downward cut; taking a chance he grabbed the Dunmer’s wrist and placed his burnt hand onto her elbow ignoring the pain that lanced up his arm. Taking a firm grip he twisted the arm slightly, then jerked the arm upwards. There was a sickening crack and a scream of pain. The assassin grabbed his target’s chin, forcing her head upwards while curling his fingers into a shape similar to an axe’s head. A single strike to the throat collapsed the cartilage in the windpipe, the pipe collapsed and Falana began to choke. With a sense of finality Threndafel slammed his foot into the Noble’s chest, sending her toppling backwards down the stairs into the shop.

The flames lost some of their intensity however the fire was too far gone to be stopped now. Threndafel turned to the other shocked customer, her green eyes wide with what could’ve been awe or fear, and grabbed her by the wrist pulling her towards a door flanked by two windows, his jinxblade forgotten as he attempted to get to the balcony. The lock stood little chance against his lockpick as he deftly worked the tumblers, constantly aware of how long the fire had been raging. A moment later the lock was open and the door open, sunlight streaming through and smoke pouring out, twisting and coiling like some sort of hideous snake. A group of guards, mages and passers by stood on the street below, the guards trying to breach the door while the mages attempted to halt the progress of the fire to other buildings using their magic. The other Bosmer held onto Threndafel’s wrist, forcing him to turn and face her.
“Who are you?” she asked him, her voice calm and controlled despite the ordeal she had been through.
“My name’s Threndafel, that’s all you need to know” Threndafel replied his blue eyes fixed on her green. “And I’d appreciate if you don’t tell anyone what happened in there, it would cause me a lot of trouble and make my work a lot more difficult, all you need to know was what I did was perfectly legal.”
“Well then, I’m Valendrel,” replied the redheaded Bosmer “And I won’t tell the guards what happened.” Then to Threndafel’s surprise she leant forward and kissed his cheek. “Quick thinking in there, I’d be dead without you. Then again I wouldn’t have been in that trouble without you so…” she trailed off with a shrug. “I’ll see you around” Threndafel nodded, before dropping over the side of the balcony, landing on the street he rolled on the pavement and made a break for the city gates. He simply wanted to get to an inn on the road and rest, staying in Skingrad would be too dangerous for a while. Valendrel watched him go, and then turned back into the shop. She stooped and picked up the thin bladed knife Threndafel had dropped, and then placed it into her satchel with her own ebony dagger.

Two nights later, in a dark dank room, hidden below the feet of unknowing or uncaring citizens a group of figures huddled. Five of them wore long robes with hoods, all made of soft jet-black material, the sixth wore tight fitting blackened leather, and all 6 wore ebony weapons, daggers and blades of varying lengths. The one in leather stood before the other five, under their scrutiny as they questioned over the events that had transpired in Skingrad.
“You tell us there was another? A professional who killed the Dunmer?” asked one figure, her voice soft yet hard as iron, cutting through the silence like a knife.
“Yes, a Bosmer, I do not know why he did it but he moved with a certainty of one who killed often,” replied the figure, her voice also soft, but nowhere near as firm, never before had she been in the presence of the whole of the Black Hand.
“Do you know a name?” asked another of the Black Hand, his voice deep and dark.
“No, I just know he was a male Bosmer with brown hair and blue eyes, he had a light tan, but was probably light skinned.” Lied Valendrel, in the dark no one could see the concern in her eyes, and as the Black Hand dismissed her none heard her whisper her apology to the man she had met less than three days ago, and would probably be forced to join them and learn her dark secret, or be killed for going alone in the world of assassins.