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 7-Vivec

While I slept, I found myself in the strangest place. It was a building of some sort, a huge church or cathedral. There was a gathering of people there, a mix of all sorts. There were elves, orcs, beast folk and men, all gathered together around something. The entire place seemed to have a feeling of importance, and I guess that perhaps it was a wedding of some sort, or perhaps a funeral.

I made my way through the crowd, who gave me vague, blank smiles as I passed, before seeing what they were gathering around.

It was me, lying in state on a slab or altar of some sort, wearing strange silver armour and with an ornate rapier by my side. It was when the figure opened his eyes, making me jump back in shock, that I woke up.

For a minute I was disorientated, in an unfamiliar place, before I realised that I was in one of the rooms at the South Wall Cornerclub. I realised that I probably wasn't going to get any more sleep after that bizarre dream and got up, strapping on my newly acquired armour.

Still feeling slightly awkward in it, I left my room and entered the bar, where Bacola Clocius was already up, polishing a glass.

“Aha,” he said as he saw me. “Mr Magna. How are you on this fine morning?”

“Hungry,” I said. “Got anything for breakfast?”

“Of course I do,” Bacola replied, as if he was offended by the concept of not having any food. “How do rolls with guar bacon sound?”

I had no idea what a guar was at the time, but after breakfast I concluded that you could make some damn fine bacon out of them. I left the hotel in high spirits, and decided to head over to the Hlaalu manor to see if there was any work I could get from Nileno. There was, after all, no better way to impress your boss than turning up to work early.

After a short and pleasant walk through Balmora in the cool morning air, I reached the manor house and entered. Nileno was also up early, sorting through various forms on her desk.

“Ah, Mr Magna,” she said as I opened the door. “I see you're ready for more work.”

“That's right,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to be of service?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Nileno said. “There is an alchemist who once served House Hlaalu, Aurane Frernis, but she has defected from the house and works for herself.”

I began to hope fervently that this wasn't going to be a revenge killing or something of the sort. I may have been a criminal, yes, but I was no murderer.

“She was one of the house's best alchemists and she wrote a scroll with her recipes on it,” Nileno said. “I want you to retrieve it.”

“Alright then,” I said. Well, theft was at least marginally better than out and out murder. “Where can I find her?”

“Travel to Vivec,” Nileno said. “She has a room in the foreign quarter's underworks.”

“So all I need to is get the scrolls, then?” I asked.

“That's right,” Nileno confirmed. “Preferably without using lethal force.”

I left the building and hurried to the silt strider platform. Once I was aboard and asked to be taken to Vivec, I was pleased to note that I wasn't strider sick.

Well, not that strider sick.

#

After two hours on the silt strider, I finally arrived at the city of Vivec. It was not what I had expected, not in the slightest.

At first glanced, it appeared to be a flotilla of massive ships, rising out of the water, before I realised with some surprise that they were made of stone, not wood. They bustled with life, dozens of people crowding each one of the massive structures. I stared at it with an expression of awe and amazement.

“You've never been to Vivec before, have you?” my driver, a grizzled old dunmer, asked. I shook my head. “No, I didn't think so. Always has that effect on newcomers.”

After I paid my fare and got off the massive insect, before crossing a wide stone bridge into the city. I wandered around it for almost an hour, both sightseeing and being hopelessly lost, before a kindly passerby directed me to the Foreign Quarter.

This part of town seemed to slightly neglected, less clean than the rest of the city. True, it was still neat, but it seemed less care for and almost like it was slightly unwanted. A group of argonians were lounging around one edge of the courtyard in the centre of the massive stone building, but I passed them by and ignored them-there was one of the golden armoured guards, an ordinator, keeping his eye on them. Even far away in Cyrodiil I'd heard a fair few things about the ordinators, Morrowind's elite soldiers, and I reckoned that while he was around the argonians wouldn't try anything.

Eventually I found what I was looking for, a door with the words 'Aurane Frernis' on a plank nailed to it. I knocked on the door and a voice called; “Come in!”

This was it then. I needed to get the scrolls and to that I needed to do one of things I did best-use people skills.

The door was opened by a pleasant looking Imperial girl, presumably Aurane Frernis.

“Are you here to pick up a potion?” she asked in a pleasant voice as she let me into her humble one room house.

“In a way,” I said. This was it now-people skills time. “It was actually about some recipes for potions.”

She gave me a stern look.

“House Hlaalu sent you, didn't they?” she said. “Well you can tell them they can't have them.”

“No, no, they didn't,” I said, putting on my very best concerned voice.

“Oh pull the other one,” Aurane said. “It's got bells on.”

“I'm serious!” I exclaimed, before leaning forward conspiratorially. “This is extremely important.”

“What is it then?” she asked, skepticism still heavy on her voice. “And this had better be good.”

“Right,” I said. “I am with House Hlaalu, I admit it, but I'm not doing their work.”

I had balanced the tone of urgency and fear just right-I had her fooled.

“They want you dead,” I said. “Revenge for leaving them, and they want the potion recipes. If I can get them the potion recipes, I might be able to convince them to leave you alone.”

“Is this true?” Aurane asked.

I nodded.

“So why do you want to help me?” she asked. “If you serve House Hlaalu, why would you care if I died?”

Now came the part I had been carefully formulating. It was calculated risk and could go either way. If I got a fact wrong then it would completely blow my cover, but if I got it right then it would get the recipes right into my hands.

“Once, years ago, my brother was sick,” I said by way of explanation. “My family was desperate for a cure, and I went to you to get a healing potion. You probably wouldn't remember me, it was years ago after all, back when you were working for Hlaalu. But almost as soon as I gave my brother that potion he recovered, almost immediately. I swore that one day I would repay you whatever way I could; the gold I gave you didn't seem anywhere near enough; and if I can save your life, just like the way you saved my brother's, then it would be the most fitting thing to do.”

I will admit that I had spun some pretty impressive lies in my time, but this had to be one of the very best I'd ever made up and performed. I'd gotten the voice and the body language just perfect, the tone of concern and long held gratitude just right. I had her completely fooled.

“Alright then,” she said, before picking up a large scroll and placing it into my hands. “You're a good man, sir.”

That just showed how little she knew about me, but I didn't mind.

After I left, assuring Aurane that I would do all that was in my power to make sure she was alright, I allowed myself a grin of satisfaction.

I was damn good.