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]

Hmm...I'll try and incorporate them in a more natural way later on. And hopefully there'll be more on other characters as I go on.

Speaking of other characters...

Chapter 6-Quan

I like to think that I was good at getting out of town fast. I've done it enough times-after all, even with the best planning a scam can go pear shaped and it's necessary to get going very fast. I managed to get out of town before anybody could raise the alarm, but I was confident that I could go back there safely. After all, just about every guard in the town wore that same armour and nobody had seen my face. I had even fooled Neminda into thinking I was dark elf and so nobody would be on the lookout for an Imperial.

I decided to give the Silt Strider a miss, due to my need to keep going quickly and instead elected to walk to Balmora. I've now decided it was the luckiest decision I've ever made.

After about half an hour's walk, I was beginning to get hot. The sun had still baked scrubby ground around me dry (the silt strider driver had referred to this region as the Ashlands) and as evening came on all of it began to vent out of the earth. Being in a full suit of armour didn't help.

I had already had the common sense to invest in a skin for water, and so I sat down to grab a quick drink, which was when I heard the scream.

It didn't sound like a scream of panic or fear, or any sound made a person who was afraid, more like something someone would yell to intimidate somebody. I could vaguely make out words, though I couldn't decipher exactly what was being said.

I immediately leapt to my feet, grabbed my sabre and without fear headed towards the commotion to investigate it.

At least, if I had been a hero I would have done. Instead I stuck my hand on the hilt of my sword and sidled nervously towards the source of the noise.

After I rounded a rocky outcrop, I discovered what it was. It was a fight, between a group of six, and then five, as their opponent decapitated one of them, brigands and a single man who was quite possibly the most outlandish individual I had ever seen.

His armour was segmented, made up of squares of metal held together by wire, somewhat similar to what the legion soldiers wore, but the armour on his arms and legs was more unusual, corrugated strips of blackened metal, with pointed joints at the knees and elbow. He wore a wide brimmed conical straw hat and wielded a large, two handed katana.

He fought with a deadly, brutal grace that allowed his opponents no time for any real manouvre, his katana sweeping aside any attacks they made with terrifying speed. It was easy to see that the bandits were wary of him-they hung back from him and his katana, trying to circle around him. Though while he was obviously a far superior fighter, the brigands had the advantage of numbers and were trying to get behind his back, where with luck they could plant a sword between his ribs.

I'm not exactly sure what motivated me to help him, but before I was really knew what was happening I had unsheathed my sabre and charged straight into one of the bandits. The man hadn't really been expecting it, so focused was he on dealing with his unusual enemy, so my full body weight, increased by both my armour and the fact I had been doing hard labour in the Imperial Prison, crashed into him with little resistance. It was enough to send him sprawling into two of his compatriots, and allowing the mysterious man to slam his katana into the chest of another, burying his sword right up to the hilt.

I felt a mace slam a glancing blow into the back of my head, but thanks to the protection provided by my borrowed helmet I simply stumbled forward instead of having my brain smashed in, stunned and dizzied nonetheless. I felt something warm speckle the back of my neck and turned in time to see the brigand's headless corpse collapse to the ground, blood still spraying from the stump of his neck.

The remaining two brigands scrambled to their feet and fled, me seeing them off with a triumphant cry of; “And don't come back!”

“Right,” I continued, removing my helmet to get a better look at this strange man and trying to stop my vision blurring. “That's them dealt with. I guess some introduction is in order.”

I stuck a friendly hand out.

“Iocus Magna.”

The other man just inclined his head.

“Quan,” he said.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said. “Might I ask where you are going?”

“Balmora,” the man called Quan said.

“Really,” I said, pleasantly surprised. “So am I. Perhaps I could accompany you?”

Quan nodded.

“If you wish,” he replied. He was obviously a man of few words.

#

After a few more hours of walking, Quan and I reached Balmora. It had begun to get dark and quite humid, and the crickets, or whatever the local equivalent was, had already begun their evening chorus.

“So, Quan,” I said. “Where are you headed now?”

“I need to speak to a man called Caius Cosades,” Quan replied.

“Really?” I asked, wandering if he was a Blade's agent as well.

“Yes,” Quan replied bluntly.

We went our separate ways-me to deliver my package to Nileno and Quan to report to Caius. As soon as I entered House Hlaalu's headquarters after a short walk through the streets, Nileno saw me and asked; “Do you have the orders?”

“Right here,” I announced triumphantly, taking the sheaf of paper and handing it to the dark elf woman. She flicked through them for a moment.

“Very good, Mister Magna,” she said. “Very good indeed. Were there any problems?”

“Felsen Sethandus asked for those same orders only a minute after I got them,” I said. “But I got out of town before anybody could stop me and nobody saw my face.”

“Good, good,” Nileno said. “Here's your pay, a thousand septims, and I ought to have some more work for you by tomorrow.”

A thousand septims! I was being paid that just to get some papers? It seemed ludicrous, too good to be true, but the happy thing was that it was true and with luck I would be paid similar sums to other pieces of work like this one.

I left House Hlaalu's manor feeling elated with joy. I decided to head over to the South Wall Cornerclub to see if I actually could rent a room. Fortunately, it turned out I could, and at a pretty reasonable price, and so after grabbing a cup of Bacola's finest wine and a meal of some kind of odd meat called scrib jerky, I headed to my rented room and turned in with a feeling that, all in all, it hadn't been a bad day.