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]

And while I'm here, I might as well post up the next part.

Chapter 8-Arkangthand

I returned to Balmora to get my pay, yet another thousand gold pieces in return for the recipes, and left House Hlaalu's headquarters feeling extremely pleased with myself. After heading over to the South Wall Cornerclub to get a drink and some lunch, I decided that it was be time to report to Caius and see what surprises he had in store for me.

Caius opened the door with the same foul tempered glare had worn before, but looked marginally more pleased when he realised it was me that he had opened it to.

“You've got yourself nicely kitted out, I see,” he said, surveying my newly obtained suit of armour. “Come on in, lad.”

As I entered Caius' home, he said to me; “You've met Quan, or so I've heard.”

“That's right,” I said. “I've never seen a man like him before.”

“I'm not surprised,” Caius said. “He's from Akavir.”

“What?” I asked. “But I remember reading a book about Akavir-it said that all the people there were dead, eaten by snake people or something.”

“Not all of them,” Caius said. “Quan doesn't talk about it much, but apparently there are still a few humans holding on to survival by the skin of their teeth.”

“And Quan is one of the last?” I asked. “It sounds like something out of an old legend.”

“It does, doesn't it?” Caius said. He sat down heavily on his bed and took a deep swig from a bottle. “So, I take it you're here for work?”

“That' right,” I said.

“Good, good,” Caius said. “I want you to go speak to Hasphat Antabolis at the Fighter's Guild and get some notes on the Nerevarine cult from him. Got that? He might want you to run a little errand for him in return, but it aught to be easy enough.”

“Right,” I said. “I'll get going immediately.”

I left Caius' house in high spirits over the ease of my given mission. So all I had to do was run a little errand for somebody at the fighter's guild and get some notes. Piece of cake.

The fighter's guild was located on the other side of the river, but thanks to the fact that I had already visited while trying to get the armour it didn't take me long to find it again. After a bit of asking around, I discovered that Hasphat Antabolis (I still find that name incredibly silly, even after all these years) was usually found on the bottom floor.

I hurried down there to see it was a large room that was bustling with activity, various people sparring or simply relaxing. I looked around for somebody who could be a Hasphat Antabolis, and saw somebody working over an oak desk like a scholar of some sort, an unusual sight in a guild otherwise made up of people who were effectively mercenaries.

“You Hasphat Antabolis?” I asked. If I needed to find these notes on this cult of the Nerevarine, or whatever the name was, from Hasphat Antabolis then chances were that this scholarly looking person was him.

“That's me,” he replied. “What do you want?”

“I was told to get some notes on, what was it, the Nerevarine,” I said.

“Ah yes,” the man said. “Caius mentioned he would be sending somebody. ”

“And that somebody is me,” I said. “So, any chance of me having those notes?”

“Not so fast,” Hasphat said, holding up a finger. “If you want these notes then you're going to have to earn them.”

I slumped inwardly. Most likely 'earning' these notes would involve me going somewhere dangerous and killing something. Neither of those were prospects I was terribly keen on.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked apprehensively.

“There are some old ruins near here, dwemer ones,” Hasphat said. “I want you to head in there and retrieve something from me. It's a puzzle cube, made up of lots of little square segments, and I want to study that.”

“A cube? That sounds easy enough,” I said. “Where can I find this place.”

“Head towards Fort Moonmoth, that's the big Imperial Fort, and then take the left road uphill just before you get to it,” Hasphat said. “Head across the big dwemer bridge and up the hill a little further, and you ought to get to the ruins.”

“Right,” I said. “Fort, bridge, ruins. Got you.”

I turned, bid him farewell, and left.

#

So far, the walk had been a pleasant one. It was a faintly damp day, but with the sun filtering through the clouds it was warm enough. I had already headed past the fortress, wishing a dunmer herding some strange, reptilian creatures a good day, and after a short hike up the hill, reached the bridge.

The greenery here was strange. There was a lot of greenery here, far more than around Ald-Ruhn's dryer clime, and while the soil was also ashy, it was far more moist. I'm no farmer, but I guessed it was a lot more fertile around here.

I spied a figure waiting on the other side of the bridge, and kept a hand on the hilt of my sword as I approached. I'd yet to encounter any bandits, but I didn't want to take the risk.

As soon as the man on the bridge saw me, he leapt to his feet, grabbing a large warhammer slung on his back. He yelled something incomprehensible and with a puff of smoke, a walking skeleton sprang into life before me, summoned by magic beyond my understanding.

I gave a yell of surprise as the skeleton charged towards me. I dove away, evading the sweeping blade that aimed to decapitate me, instead having it clang on my armour. I landed hard, with an 'oof' of pain and scrambled to my feet before the skeleton's sword could end my life. I yanked my sabre free of its scabbard and sliced at the neck. It went wide and instead slammed into the side of the undead creature's skull, knocking it free. The skeleton crumpled to the ground, a lifeless pile of bones.

However, my celebrations were short lived as the madman with the warhammer yelled something and charged at me, swinging his massive weapon wildly. I dodged back from him and swung with my sabre, the weapon clanging off the breastplate he wore. I delivered a desperate kick, and while not strong, it was enough to get him off balance. I drove home my advantage with an elbow, and knocked the man to the ground.

Before I could finish him he scrambled up and fled down the way I had come, leaving his hammer behind. I picked it up-it looked a powerful weapon, but I abandoned it after it nearly wrenched my arms out of my sockets. I sat down and rested, sipping some water from a waterskin, and took a moment to catch my breath. I really needed to learn some more sword skills, I decided. If I had this much trouble beating an insane necromancer and his pet skeleton, I was going to be in trouble.

After I had caught my breath, I carried on along the bridge, and took the left turning up the hill, as Hasphat had recommended. After a short walk further, past some old dead trees, I found the entrance to Arkangthand.

It seemed to be a ball of sandy stone set into the otherwise iron grey rock of a cliff face, surrounded by a threshold of the same stuff. I approached it and tapped it experimentally, hoping to find some fault in the smooth sphere that I could prize open, but I could find none.

I then remembered hearing some strange things about Dwemer technology, about how they had devices that could be operated by leavers that were too far away to utilise mere pulleys. I searched for one for a moment and almost immediately I saw a strange lever just a few metres away from where I was. It twisted it around a few times, before with a grinding hiss, the spherical doorway ground open, revealing another round portal into the underworld beyond.

I pushed the heavy stone door open with some apprehension, and entered into one of the largest caverns I've ever encountered.

Massive pipes coiled down from the ceiling, steam hissing from joints within them. Half a bridge protruded out from the rock wall, before it ended in a pile of masonry almost a hundred metres below.

I made my way along the walkway that stretched over the huge cave, then down a long, spiralling rocky slope that protruded around the walls.

I was stopped in my tracks by a call of “Hey, you! What are you doing?”

I almost jumped when I heard the cry, and glanced down to see a pair of grizzled looking men, most likely thieves trying to steal the artifacts here, glaring up at me. No doubt they would attack me at a moment's notice, but there was no harm in throwing up a delay.

“You're smugglers, aren't you?” I asked.

“What if we are?” one them, a wood elf, asked. “You have a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” I replied, faking sincerity. “I happen to be looking for an artefact, however. You happen to be obtaining some. Perhaps we can come to a deal?”

The other one scrutinised me closely for a moment, before calling up; “Come on down. You can ask the boss.”

I hurried down to where the two smugglers were, before one of them beckoned for me to follow them. They led me into a large stone facade carved from the rock of the cave. There were various metal cabinets and drawers placed against the carved stone walls, but what grabbed my attention were the lights. They were tubes, made of carefully blown glass and filled with what appeared to be golden lightning that flickered gently. Whatever spell was placed upon them to store the lightning must have been incredibly powerful for it to last all this time-this place was old enough to make you feel the history weighing down on you.

“So, you're our visitor,” somebody said behind me. I had been so intrigued by the strange lights that I had almost forgotten where I was. “You want to buy something then?”

I turned to see a nord talking to me. He was a dangerous man, judging by his white hair, long, lanky beard and scarred appearance.

“That's right,” I said. “I'm a collector, you see, and I heard there was a particularly interesting piece of dwemer technology here. It's obvious to see that you've already been through some of the items here and you may have what I'm looking for.”

“Perhaps we do,” the nord said. “But don't you lot usually get things legally, so to speak?”

“Well, usually, yes,” I replied. “But sometimes it's just so much quicker to cut out the middle man, if you know what I mean. You know, get a guarantee on the item.”

The nord gave me a look that said; 'You're a criminal. I'm a criminal too. We have both acknowledged that we're the lowest of the low and we can get on with business.'

“What're you looking for?” he asked. “We might have it.”

“A cube,” I said, trying to hurriedly recall Hasphat's explanation of its appearance. “Made of lots of little segments and the like.”

“Ah, you must mean this,” the nord replied. He reached into a pocket and pulled out what could only be the puzzle cube that Hasphat mentioned.

I nodded enthusiastically.

“Might I inspect it?” I asked. “I need to examine it to see if it's the real thing.”

The nord's eyes narrowed, but he decided that with his two cronies hanging around he could easily deal with me if I tried something.

“Alright,” he said. “But no funny business.”

I examined the cube with what appeared to be the critical eye of an expert, before breathing a sigh of amazement and saying; “That's the genuine article. You have no idea how much time you have saved me.”

The nord looked pleased at that, before saying; “Well you're not just having it for free.”

“Of course not, of course,” I replied. “How much were you thinking.”

“Well,” the nord said. “I would say fifteen hundred septims, at the very least.”

“Fifteen hundred?” I exclaimed. “That's ridiculous!”

The process of haggling went on for a while, but suffice to say that we agreed on the price of a thousand septims. I payed the gold and he handed the cube over, before I left those ruins for good.

As soon as I reached Balmora, on a journey that was blessedly free of made, hammer wielding necromancers, I approached the nearest guard and said; “Sir, I'd normally hate to bother you, but I was travelling past some Dwemer ruins just north of town and I found there were some smugglers stealing artifacts from there.”

The guard thanked me and immediately left to gather together his fellow soldiers, no doubt to deal with the thieves.

It would serve that bugger right for making me pay so damn much.

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Jul 11 2009, 09:09 PM