The Unlikely Incarnate, The Tale of Iocus Magna Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Okay, since everyone else seems to be doing a Nerevarine story I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon and do my own one, with a character who is rather different to the other ones knocking around. It probably won't be as long as the others around, but hopefully it will be as enjoyable to read.

Oh, and don't worry Grey Knight fans, I'll have that going at the same time, too.

The Unlikely Incarnate-The Tale of Iocus Magna

“Iocus Magna, I sentence you to be hanged by the neck until dead, for the charges of embezzlement, fraud, theft and the evasion of tax,” the judge announced, banging his gavel. There was a murmur around the courtroom as the crowd that had drifted in discussed the sentence. None of them knew me, and as far as I could tell they were glad to see me go-the idiots had lapped up every word the judge had said.

My guard grabbed my shoulders and led me away from the courtroom, back to my cell in the Imperial Prison, where I would once again have to spend my night with whatever drunks the watch had dragged in. The guard holding me pulled me down the prison's corridor, surprisingly, to a different cell from the one I had been held in for the last few days.

“Condemned cell,” he announced impassively. “Have a nice night.”

It was comfier than the one I was in before-instead of wooden benches there were proper beds, and the jailers here had actually made a decent attempt at keeping the place clean. If it wasn't for the bars across the window and replacing a wall, it could almost have been a room in a good inn. On one of the beds, a Nord, was snoring loudly, a tray with a plate and a mug on it on the floor beside him. I guessed it was the man's last meal.

I slumped down on one of the beds, thinking through the developments of the day. I felt numb-at the behest of a judge, no doubt being told to have me killed by whoever he answered to, I would be hung. I couldn't imagine a worse way to go, with a noose strangling the life out of you while you kicked uselessly, like some practice dummy in a breeze.

“What're you in for?” It was the Nord, still on his bed, his voice cutting through the haze of my despair. “Well, lad?”

“Me?” I asked. “I'm in for theft.”

“Theft?” the Nord seemed puzzled. “Seems a bit harsh, doesn't it?”

“Not when you con a tax collector out of ten thousand septims,” I replied. Strangely, the Nord laughed, and even stranger, I joined him, laughing hard for almost a full minute. After our burst of macabre hilarity had subsided, I asked; “You?”

“Murder,” the Nord said. “I caught a man with my wife so I killed them both.”

I wasn't surprised he'd done that-the Nord was built like a castle wall, and it wasn't hard to detect the palpable air of aggression surrounding him. He got up and extended a massive paw in my direction.

“Sven Strongback,” he said. I shook it gingerly.

“Iocus Magna,” I replied. I appreciated the gesture of companionship Sven offered, and suddenly felt better. I may well have had my last night in the company of a murderer, but at least it was company of some sort.

We talked for the rest of the evening-Sven about his life in Bruma, and me about my childhood as an orphan in the Nibenay Basin, and my constant obsession with getting some more coins to fill my purse. We ended up talking about just about everything we could.

But we never talked about the hanging tomorrow. I reckon now that even Sven, with his attitude of aggressive bravado, feared his death. I didn't blame him. However big and muscular you were, there was nothing you could do when you began to dance the hemp fandango.

That night, I barely slept, entertaining the thought of the hanging with a sick dread. Though when I did, I had the strangest dream.

I was in a void, shrouded in complete blackness. There was no light, not even enough to see my body. I felt like a ghost, floating in the afterlife. Perhaps this was just a taster of what was to come? I didn't know.

Then the voice came, ringing out from the darkness with such such clarity that it seemed to brighten the void around it. But then, it was a dream, and these strange things always seem to happen in dreams.

“Do not fear, Iocus,” it said. “You shall have salvation.”

Then the voice faded and I was left alone in the dark of unconsciousness.

#

The staccato drum beat of the warden's baton drumming across the bars of some poor bugger's cell woke me, as it did every day. I wiped sleep from my eyes, and then with a sick feeling of fear, remembered what day it was.

The die I was destined to die.

“Food's up, you two,” one of the guards said, holding a tray with two large sandwiches on it. “Enjoy it.”

For a last meal, it could have been worse. Sven and I ate in silence, Sven devouring his sandwich like a wolf would, me taking slower bites, savoring the flavour of the bacon filling and hoping that I could somehow stave off the inevitable. But the inevitable came.

Sven and I were shackled and led from our cells, into the courtyard of the Imperial City prison. The gallows had been set up, and a sizable crowd had gathered to watch it. I had sweet talked one of the guards into getting me a copy of the Black Horse Courier, and I remembered that my trial was mentioned in the news-scroll. I couldn't help but feel flattered that my crime was heinous enough for them to mention it. Still, ten thousand Septims was a lot of money.

The drum that signaled the hanging began its slow, relentless beat, beaten by an blank faced man in cheap clothes. I saw a man prepare the nooses, sizing us up and making adjustments to our nooses. So, that man was to be my executioner.

Without a word, Sven and I were herded up the steps, and placed on a stool next to our respective nooses.

“Do either of you have any last words to say?” a man dressed in the robes of a priest asked. “Any regrets?”

“My only regret is I never got a chance to spend a penny of that cash,” I announced, to a ripple of laughter. Despite my fear, I wasn't going to let the crowd see it. Give the people a show, that had always been my philosophy, and I wasn't going to abandon it now.

The priest gave a disapproving frown, but then asked Sven the same question. He simply shook his head.

“Very well then,” the priest said. “Let justice be given.”

I wondered at how many times the priest had given this ceremony, before marveling at the brain's ability to distract itself from its imminent demise.

I suppose I hadn't lived a bad life-comfort wise, of course. In the terms of morality, I had been mired in poverty, but I always managed to keep enough cash to get by and get on. And now, at the hands of a length of rope, I would die. I mentally corrected myself-rope didn't have hands. Just because I was about to die I wasn't going to allow sloppiness.

Sven and I were stepped onto our stools after being prodded by a guard, and the nooses were fixed around our necks.

The drum beat on.

At a command, two guards, holding hammers, knocked our stools loose.

At first, there was the feeling of my throat being grabbed, as I felt the noose constrict, before my vision began to be tinged by red as the blood in my head began to get cut off. Vaguely, I heard the priest give some sermon about how this was an example to all law breakers, and to all other sinners, but I wasn't really able to listen.

Gradually, the thudding of my heart slowed. I didn't bother trying to breathe-it was pointless and I barely cared.

Dying is a strange feeling. I didn't feel afraid now that it was happening, I could shut out the pain of the noose and felt strangely peaceful.

Soon, my vision began to darken, the world become unfocused and the priest's sermon just faded.

The blackness came slowly. I suppose I could describe it as similar to watching a snail crawl across a rock-you turned away for a minute and it had moved slightly. It wasn't surprising as such, just to be expected.

Then the blackness descended fully and wiped everything out.

[Colonel Mustard]

Chapter 4-Caius Cosades

Balmora seemed a pretty dismal place to arrive in at three o'clock on a drizzly afternoon, but I suppose that that point of view can be somewhat tainted when you've vomited up a meal and a few drinks over the side of a silt strider. I was helped off the silt strider by the understanding driver (who had repeatedly assured me that sooner or later I would get my 'strider legs') and went down the stone platform, specially constructed for the insects and their drivers, on somewhat unsteady legs.

Still feeling slightly queasy, I looked for the South Wall Cornerclub in the southern part of town, reasoning that unless the proprietor had a very odd sense of humour it should be there.

As I'd predicted, it was and I found it after only a few minutes of searching. Grateful for the break from the cold, I hurried inside, to a stone building that, at first glance, appeared to simply be a stairwell. After a moment of surprise, I realised that they simply led to a downstairs bar and an upstairs room. A khajit was leaning on the wall opposite, and she flashed me a toothy grin as I entered.

“Greetings Cyrodiil,” she purred. “What brings you here?”

“Afternoon,” I replied. “I was looking for a Bacola Clocius. I have some business with him.”

The khajiit woman gave me knowing looking.

“Business, you say?” she asked curiously.

“That's right,” I replied firmly. “Business.”

“He's upstairs,” she said.

I hurried up the stairs, and found myself almost walking into another Imperial. The first thing I noticed about him was his girth. His stomach was so huge that it strained against the buttons of the purple waistcoat and shirt, and I had a feeling that if they popped then they would take somebody's eye out. The other thing was the huge, bristly grey beard he wore. It was like someone had shaved a wolf and stuck it to his chin.

“Watch it now lad!” he said in a voice that was boomingly loud. “What are you doing up here?”

“I was looking for a Bacola Clocius,” I said, surprised by the sheer volume of his voice.

“Then look no further!” the man roared. He grabbed my hand in a paw the size of a ham and shook it so vigorously I thought that he might wrench my arm out of its socket. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr?”

“Magna,” I replied, managing to extricate my hand from his crushing grip. “Iocus Magna.”

“An Iocus, eh?” Bacola said in a voice with its volume turned up to deafening. “I've known a few Iocuses in my time. Damn fine name, if you ask me! Now, what can I do for you?”

“I was told to ask you about finding somebody called Caius Cosades,” I replied.

“Oh, you have business with Caius, eh?” Bacola said. “I know your sort. Don't worry, you can count on me to keep quiet.”

He gave me a broad grin and tapped the side of his nose.

“He's on this side of the river,” Bacola continued. “The street on the southernmost edge of town, at the very end of the road. It's set apart from the rest so you can't miss it.”

I thanked the massive innkeeper or his time and left the cornerclub, hurrying into the streets of Balmora. I followed the man's instructions and found myself in front of a house practically identical to all the others in the town, made of the same yellowed sandstone as the rest of building's in the city.

I knocked on the door after paranoia made me check I still had the package (which I did), and the door was wrenched open by a grouchy looking Imperial. His eyes were rimmed with red and he stank of alcohol and body odour. His blonde hair was tousled and dirty and he gave me the suspicious look all people who have been interrupted in their sleep reserve for anybody unfamiliar.

“What do you want?” he asked, still glaring at me.

“Are you Caius Cosades?” I said politely, trying not to wrinkle my nose at his unwashed smell.

“I might be,” he said. “What's it to you?”

I held up the package I had been been given.

“I was told I need to deliver this to you,” I said. “By somebody called Sellus Gravius.”

Caius gave me another look, assessing me, before saying; “Come in.”

Caius' house was a mess, a single room affair with an unmade bed shoved into one corner. But there was something about the entire mess of the room seemed to be carefully arranged, as if Caius was trying to hide something behind a facade of a regular heavy drinker and general lowlife. Though if the smell on his breath was anything to go by, I had a feeling it wasn't just a pretense.

Caius took the package and read the paper within it, before giving me a cautious look.

“So,” he said. “You're the man, then.”

“I am?” I asked.

Caius gave me a curious look.

“What have you been told?” he asked.

“Mr Cosades, until a few hours ago I thought I was dead,” I said. “For goodness sake, I had been hung.”

“Ah yes,” Caius said, as if being hung and then being bought back to life again was a perfectly normal thing to happen to somebody. “It's a very precise science, apparently. If you get the balance right, you can apparently get a man in a stupor that very closely resembles death.”

“So what does that mean?” I asked.

“To everybody on the mainland, you're dead,” Caius said. “True, the Iocus Magna I am talking to is alive and well, but the Empire is a big place and I doubt it stands to reason that two Iocus Mangas could exist.”

I realised what Caius was saying and sighed.

“So I can't return to the mainland then?” I asked.

“You're stuck here, I'm afraid,” Caius said. “And before you start thinking up some plan of escape, let me remind you that your death was extensively reported in the Black Horse Courier. I made sure of that myself, and I doubt that any of your old friends and contacts would appreciate a dead man knocking on their door.”

I gave Caius an evil look before saying; “You heartless honoured user.”

Caius just shrugged.

“I've been called worse,” he said.

“I'll bet you have,” I muttered quietly. “So, what do you have planned for me again.”

“Before I elaborate on that, allow me to introduce myself fully,” Caius said. He extended a hand. “Caius Cosades. I'm master of the Morrowind branch of the Blades, and spymaster of the Blades.”

I stared at the hand in shock.

“The blades?” I said slowly. “The Nine-damn blades?”

“That's right,” Caius said, nodding.

“Right,” I said, before taking his hand and giving him my firmest and trustworthiest shake I could. He returned with one that was equally firm and trustworthy and I immediately knew that he was a man who was not to be trusted. I guessed that the only difference between him and I was that he did the Emperor's work, while I simply worked for myself. I made a mental note to watch my step around him.

“So,” Caius said after we had finished our incredibly honest (and therefore incredibly dishonest) handshake. “I guess you'll be wanting something to do.”

That wasn't true, but Iocus had me backed into a corner so all I could do was nod and hope for the best.

“Well the question is, are you ready to take my orders,” Caius said.

I shrugged as nonchalantly as I possibly could.

“As long as they don't get me killed,” I said, fervently hoping they wouldn't.

“Excellent,” Caius said. He left it hanging, leaving me in the uncomfortable position of having no choice to continue the conversation.

“So, what do you want me to do?” I asked hesitantly.

“Get a job and some better equipment,” Caius said. He grabbed a purse from a table and dropped it into my hand. “Take this.”

“Oh, erm, thank you,” I said, feeling pleased. If everybody in Vvardenfel gave me free money then I had a feeling that my stay was going to be a very pleasant one.

I was wrong, of course. Life can be like that.