The contract, my reowking of some of Oblivion's events Options

[Remko]

Well, since I was specially asked by a fiend, I will be posting this one as well. I was re-reading it and couldn't conclude otherwise that it's obvious it was the first fan-fic I wrote. Hope it isn't too disappointing.

Chapter1: The hangover

He woke up with his head throbbing and a woozy feeling in his stomach, a silent witness to the night before. ‘Ooohhh, I really should stop drinking that cheap rubbish,’ the hung-over Altmer thought, while cradling his head in self-pity. A severe burst of pain rushed through his forehead and he wished he had paid more attention when they tried to teach him the fine arts of restoration. He barely knew how to heal minor wounds, let alone cure a serious hangover. Or even how to get rid of a bump that had mysteriously manifested itself on his head and he couldn’t help but wonder where that had come from. His recollections on the previous days were still somewhat blurry.

‘Now to open my eyes,’ he murmered to himself. Reluctantly the Elf opened his eyes and immediately shut them again in agony of the bright light that greeted his new day through the bars of his small, square cell.
Although the light was a lot dimmer than he had anticipated it was still hurting his eyes and consequently, the throbbing in his head got worse. Quickly he shut them again. A grunt of agony left his throat. ‘Where in oblivion am I?’ he wondered while re-opening his eyes, slowly this time, and took a few glimpses through his squinted eyelids. First things he became aware of now he finally could take a decent look around, was that mouldy, green bricks and a metal gate in one of the walls enclosed him. Definitely not the room he had rented in the Talos plaza hotel a couple of days before the events that, apparently, got him thrown in jail.
‘Not again….. By the Nine, how am I getting myself out of here this time?’ he sighed.
This damp, cold confinement seemed familiar from the last time. But, then again, he had noticed all jails tend to look the same throughout the empire. It was just another cell, just like all the others.

A raspy voice broke through the relative silence of the morning:’You are never getting out. You are going to die here, you snotty Altmer hahahaha!’ Gently he sat up from the stone slab. A damned lousy excuse for a bed but what could he expect from a prison? A brief throb of pain though his head, this time in the area of his temples, rather than his forehead, rudely reminded him of his condition. He wished he had something decent to drink instead of something you wash your clothes in.

‘Yeah, yeah, sure,’ he whispered and made a face, while trying to rub his stiff, sore back. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t really reach the spots that hurt the most, which disgruntled him even more. Why couldn’t he just lie down and die? Death appealed a lot more to him than this bloody hangover. Judging by the taste in his mouth something had already died in his mouth so he figured he might as well pass on too.
The banter from the opposite jail carried on some time but Hargeth just ignored it. If he hadn’t been feeling so miserable, he would probably have taken offence in it but he really didn’t feel like acknowledging that pesky Dunmer how he felt about it. As there isn’t really a point harassing someone who just ignores it, the Dark Elf soon grew weary of it. He did make a mental note though. A lot could be said about Hargeth but not that he is the most forgiving type and even less when he has been drinking. The last individual thinking that was now sleeping with the slaughterfish. The memory on that particular incident brought a shade of a smile on his face.

Returning to the present day from his wandering thoughts, he wondered if the guards had left anything to quench his terrible thirst. The convict turned his head, slowly; to make sure the throbbing in his head wouldn’t return in the severity it hit him last time. In a corner there was a tan pitcher with some fluid in it that could be identified as, well, wet. Calling it water would be an insult to real water. He was actually glad that it was a tan pitcher so couldn’t really see the colour of what was in it. ‘Hmmm, smells like rat piss,’ he grumped while bringing the pitcher to his mouth to quench his thirst and to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth, briefly hesitating uncertain of what was in the pitcher but then decided he didn’t really care. It could hardly be worse than his current state. He took a careful sip but even that upset his stomach and made him loose whatever he still had in it. ‘It IS rat piss,’ he thought and agrily tossed the pitcher in a corner shattering it in a lot of pieces. And if being in jail with a terrible hangover didn’t suffice, sure enough, a shard bounced back and cut him in the face. ‘Oh great!’ Frustrated he wiped the welling blood from his cheek, again cursing the lack of attention he had paid to learning restoration. He made a second mental note to start with that, well, when he got out of jail that was.

Because of the racket he had made the Dunmer prisoner noticed Hargeth had hurt himself which was enough for him to start mocking his fellow in-mate in the opposite cell again. ‘Keep that up and you will have the guards save out on a lot of fun!’ and almost fell to the floor laughing.
‘I hope you choke in it!’ A growl from the opposite cell was its reward. Hargeth couldn’t care less and went back to feeling sorry for himself.
His thoughts wandered a while when he heard the distinct clang of armoured guards coming down the stairs to the cellblocks. Casually they strolled passed the front cells while taunting the prisoners in the cells there.

‘How did you like your…. beverage?’ a fat, balding guard asked him with a smug grin on his face while looking at the remains of the pitcher.
‘I guess my suspicions weren’t too far off, rat-piss, guard-piss, all the same,’ Hargeth replied and immediately regretted making that comment. The barely hidden insult triggered the guard to come into his stinking cell and rewarding him with a couple of cruel kicks to the stomach, much to the Dunmer in the opposite cell’s amusement.
Shuddup or you’s next Dreth!’ the guard barked towards the opposite cell. Valen Dreth was quick to shut up and withdrew into one of the darker corners of his cell. The Dark Elf had probably learned the hard way as well.

His nose had a strange angle in it, indicating his nose had been broken too, probably by the same guard. Most guards he had encountered in previous stays in prison scattered over the empire were kind compared to this one. This particular guard knew exactly where to beat into prisoners where it hurt the most. It was likely he practised a lot in being efficient in crippling prisoners. What was a captain doing a simple guard’s work anyway? It seemed Hargeth more and more likely the fat guard was just a sadistic honoured user taking pleasure in abusing prisoners. Or did the Legion really didn’t have anyone else for the job? Hargeth had hoped the distraction the Dunmer, Dreth had created would have kept the guard from making it worse but, much to his dismay, the guard wasn’t finished yet.

The guard, who fancied a drink himself judging the man’s breath, which still heavily reeked of ale from earlier, had spotted the remainders of Hargeth breakfast from the day before, or even the day before that. Hargeth couldn’t for the world remember. The guard’s face split in two by a very grim smile.
‘Are ya foulin’ up me cell? Ya know wot that means, don’t ya?’ the guard, obviously, rhetorically asked. Not that the guard would be able to spell rhetorical or even would know what it means but for Hargeth that made no difference what so ever. Of course Hargeth knew, having spent his fair share in jails.
He braced for the inevitable steel gauntlet in the face and the steel boot in the guts, kind of treatment. ‘That’s another similarity between a lot of jails,’ Hargeth grimly thought.
Unfortunately for him, he was right. The guard grinned slyly and whipped his steel gauntlet in Hargeth’s face. He could hear his nose breaking with a sickening snap just before he hit the ground like a ragdoll. In no time at all his entire face was covered in blood that came pouring out of both his nostrils.
Quickly he rolled himself up into a ball to protect himself the best he could against the relentless kicking of the guard. Most of the blows landed in his back and stomach. Then the guard kicked him in the head with his steel boots, he fought to remain conscious but it was futile. His whole world went spinning and then went black. Just before he passed out he thought:’If I’m ever getting out of this rathole, you best watch your back because I will be coming for you….’

When he re-gained consciousness, most of the light had faded and so had most of his hangover. His physical condition had hardly improved though. Instead of the throbbing headache it now was a constant whining in the back of his head. Apart from that, he had bruises everywhere. Even in places he didn’t know he could bruise. Gently he touched his nose and cringed in pain almost to the point of bringing a tear into his right eye.
‘Yep, that’s broken for sure…’ he couldn’t help but chuckling to himself over his misfortune, immediately collapsing in terrible agony. Apparantly, he had broken a rib as well. After recovering from the agony, he gently went to inspecting the rest of his injuries.
Softly he touched his left cheek with the tips of his fingers. The tan shard had made a shallow gash, about one, maybe one and a half inch long. At least it had already stopped bleeding and there was a crust of dried blood covering it.

He also realised in disgust the beating he got by the guard had caused Hargeth to have fallen exactly in the spot where he had lost his breakfast earlier. The smell of the regurgitated food in his shirt almost made him gag.
The garment hadn’t been too clean before the incident, now it was almost too dirty to touch, let alone wear it. To add to his misery, try as he might, it was virtually impossible for him to take the sackcloth shirt of with the broken rib. He couldn’t raise his arms enough because of the pain so he would have to reside with it. He was really starting to dislike that particular guard.

‘You alright?’ A gentle, throaty voice, probably a Khajiit female, asked from the cell next to him, breaking him out his contemplations
‘What do YOU care?’ he snarled. The prisoner didn’t respond again. ‘Nice Hargeth, real nice, finally someone to talk to and you bite of his head. Just great.’ His temper hadn’t improved at all.
Piece by piece he had been puzzling back together some of the circumstances that had got him thrown in prison. From what he had recollected, things were looking bleak for him. It appeared to him unless some kind of miracle would happen he was going to be stuck here for a long time. The Imperial Legion didn’t take kindly on murder. Especially when a guard is involved. Most of the details were still fleeing him but he remembered vaguely it was a contract gone sour. Had he been betrayed? He really didn’t know. He didn’t really care either. His profession had taught him not to look back unless you don’t care what’s ahead of you. That usually was the tip of a sword so he’d better care what’s ahead.

The harsh words awoke the Dunmer in the opposite cell. Dreth had a strange smile around his lips. The grey haired, light blue skinned Elf obviously had enjoyed seeing Hargeth being beaten up. Hargeth couldn’t really blame him; he would’ve probably done the same in his place. It had been a long time ago he had felt so utterly helpless. He made a promise to himself to never let that happen again. And then threatened the Dunmer to toss a fireball into his cell if he’d open his gob again. Ofcourse Hargeth knew that wasn’t really useful with Dunmer being heridatary fire resistant, but it at least would be good for a laugh.
‘Maybe I’ll do it anyway, just to annoy him.’ The thought made him smile, which was quite rare. But then he realised that would probably lead to another beating by the guards.
‘Bugger..…’

The days grew shorter and longer again. In the passing weeks and months he had decided now was a good time to catch up on his restoration skills, rather than waiting until he got out.
He had to be careful not to let the guards catch him practicing his magic though, so he only practiced at night. A few days before he had been careless and the guards had caught him practicing. He had paid a bitter price for his carelessness. Another beating and, as a result, a dislocated shoulder. He thought that after the fractured rib other injuries could hardly be more painful. How wrong had he been. He had to use a wall to slam his dislocated arm back into his shoulder. The sheer pain of this had made him loose his consciousness. This setback didn’t put him off practicing though, it only made him more determined. The determination had started to get him somewhere. The restoration spell he never had managed to cast wasn’t so hard for him anymore and he used it to ease some of the pain of his broken rib that still plagued him.
Next, he applied it to his shoulder. He could feel the strange light tingling sensation of muscles contracting and regaining some strength. When he also tried it on his nose, it only made him sneeze, changing nothing. He rested with the fact his nose would forever be visible in the inner corner of his right eye.

More weeks passed, nothing much changed. Dreth had annoyed him some more and eventually Hargeth actually lobbed a fireball in his cell while the Dunmer prisoner was soundly asleep. The dry grass in the cell had caught fire in no time, clouding the cell in thick, black smoke.
Valen woke up because of the smoke penetrating his nostrils. ‘What the..’ Dreth didn’t continue his tirade because of a sneeze and then got up from bed, while cursing Hargeth in several languages, to put out the fire. The Dunmer was jumping around in his cell to stamp it out, still swearing, much to the other prisoner’s hilarity. Inevitably, it alarmed the guards and it got Hargeth in trouble once again. He was almost getting used it to it, hadn’t it been for the beating to his head. At least it made the day less dull.

‘If they beat me enough, maybe they can straighten out my nose again,’ he thought, while being punished by the guards. It appeared the guards hadn’t much better to do but tormenting prisoners. That moment he promised himself he was getting out of this godforsaken prison alive and rather sooner than later. Besides practicing his restoration skill he also started getting back in shape by doing physical exercise, as far as the small, square dank cell allowed, to get his strength back up. Months of basically doing nothing had weakened him. He wouldn’t stand a chance against anyone outside in this condition.

Clang, clang, clang.. The jailors were doing their round again. The ruckus had awoken him from his sleep. Since a couple of weeks the guards started to stray from their usual schedule and started patrolling more random. Hargeth didn’t like it one bit. Did the guards know about his secret plans? Once again, the guards found a reason to torment the blonde Altmer. In his sleep, unknowingly, he had tumbled the bowl for his excrements over. The smelly guard, as Hargeth started to call him in his mind, was about to enter his cell to punish him for the hidious crime Hargeth had committed by kicking over the waste bowl when another guard shouted:’Captain Avidius, Hayn wants to talk to you!’ The fat, smelly guard grumbled something barely audible but Hargeth could tell with his, for a Mer, keen sense of hearing Avidius had little respect for his collegue.

‘Interesting,’ he thought, and abscent-mindedly pulled his pointed ear. Of-course he didn’t let the smelly guard show he had heard the comment Avidius had made about Hayn. Avidius gave Hargeth a final cruel kick in his back and left the cell. From the corner of his almond shaped eyes the Altmer prisoner spotted something else interesting. Avidius was carrying around a small bottle. ‘That could be useful,’ he thought. Hargeth had always been quick in spotting opportinities in the simplest of things. For instance, broken bottles make excellent weapons. He grinned slyly when he thought about how he had found that out. Spending a lot of time in shady inns did have its advantage after all.

Avidius slammed the gate shut with a loud bang to make sure all the prisoners were awake. Angrily the guard made his way back to the offices, grumbling and swearing at everything and about everyone. Hargeth noticed he was possibly even more drunk than usual. The ale smell on his breath alone was enough to notice he had been drinking heavily. A more amusing telltale was that Avidius could hardly walk in a straight line, bouncing into the grey stonewalls, when he made his way back to the guardroom. ‘I really need to get out of this place.’ A cunning but dangerous plan was starting to form in his head.

[Remko]

Thank you! It's more of textwall than the Memoires of Rales Sarethi but it's an entirely different way of writing.

Chapter2: Escape

Weeks went by as he thought about the aspects of the escape plan he was brewing on. It was a fairly simple plan; he had to lure a guard into his cell, somehow overpower him and use him as some sort of hostage. He knew that was going to be the most dangerous part of the plan. If that would go wrong, he wouldn’t be beat up; the guards would kill him for sure. He needed to pick a guard hostage he could, relatively, easily overpower and keep under his control. What he needed was Avidius, better yet; he needed Avidius as drunk as possible. It was his only option. How was he going to lure Avidius in? And when? The answer to the how question was fairly easy. After all, Hargeth was the smelly guard’s favourite sparring partner. All he needed to do was provoke Avidius enough for him to come in to Hargeth’s cell. He probably would have to improvise from there. There were just too many uncertainties to keep track of.
He decided to act as if he were ill when Avidius would be in the right state. Drunk that is. Really, really drunk.

Uneventful another few months went by before the ideal opportunity arose. The exercises he, secretly had been doing through the months of biding his time, brought back most of his strength back, although the shoulder that had been dislocated months ago was still sensitive if he strained it too much. A lot of time would have to pass by before it would be fully healed, if ever. In his profession he never had much need for a shield so it didn’t really bother him, figuring he could always have an adaquate healer look at it when he got out. When, not if, determined as he was to getting out of this deathtrap.
Clang.. clang… clangclang…clang. Hargeth recognized the irregular clang of Avidius doing his round drunk. Really, really drunk. ‘Now’s the time,’ he thought. The clang stopped briefly as the smelly guard stopped before the cell next to him. The Khajiit, that had occupied it, had been long gone and a male Bosmer now occupied the cell.

‘Misjerable treehugger, wake up!’ Avidius bellowed to the Bosmer occupying the cell next to him. ‘Insjpectjion time!’ Avidius could barely talk straight. Hargeth heard the squeek of the gates opening and the, unmistakable, sound of the Bosmer prisoner in the cell next to him being beat up severely. ‘Poor bugger. Better him than me though.’ Hargeth thought.

‘Ya Elves are all the sjame.’ More insults by the Imperial guard and more sounds of the Bosmer being beat up. Hargeth could hear Avidius clanging out of the cell, the agonised grunts of the beaten Wood Elf and another squeek of the gate closing again. ‘Here we go,’ he thought and started with his act.
He laid down on the stone slab with his face to the wall while making loud, vile noises as if he were really sick to the stomach. Considering the food they got, it wasn’t even very unlikely. He knew Avidius wouldn’t be able to refuse such an easy target to “inspect”, as Avidius called it. And, as sure as the sun goes up in the east, indeed Avidius wasn’t going to let this opportinity pass by to torment a helpless prisoner. When Avidius caught sight of Hargeth lying still on his bed, a mean smile formed around his thin lips, exposing his rotten teeth, in anticipation. Hargeth could hear the iron key being inserted into the slot and turned with a squeek. Another squeek and the gate to his cell opened. Hargeth had heard correct. Avidius was drunk out of mind.

‘Hmm, this might be easier than I could ever have hoped for,’ Hargeth thought while he grunted as if in agony. ‘Little bit closer,’ Avidius was approaching Hargeth, briefly stopping his approach to pull something from underneath his cuirass. A plop and a gulp. Hargeth could smell the ale in the bottle and on Avidius’ breath. ‘Wa’s up wif ya?’ Avidius growled and carelessly set the, now probably empty, bottle down next to Hargeth’s bed. ‘Ya sick? Answer me, sjcum!’ he rumbled with a double tongue. Avidius grabbed Hargeth by his shoulder, sending a spur of pain through the Elf’s upper body. His shoulder still hadn’t healed entirely. Avidius yanked Hargeth from the stone slab and Hargeth hit the ground rather unsoft. ‘Hnnn,’ grunted Hargeth, keeping up his act. The pain in his shoulder made it a lot easier to act as if he were in pain. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have to act at all. Avidius kicked Hargeth in his side but still Hargeth wouldn’t stand up. Slowly, so he wouldn’t lose his balance, Avidius leaned over Hargeth to see if maybe Hargeth was unconscious.

‘NOW!!’

The thought almost exploded in his mind and he reacted faster to the opportunity than the guard could have ever anticipated from a prisoner who had been incarcerated for months. Hargeth snatched the bottle from the ground, slammed it in the ground, jumped up, violently grabbed Avidius from behind before the drunk could react and stuck the broken bottleneck very near Avidius’ jugular in his throat.
‘Now, if you want to stay alive, I suggest first you unbuckle your sword-sheath with your left hand,’ Hargeth hissed in Avidius’ right ear while keeping a strong hold of Avidius with his left arm around his neck, to the point of choking Avidius. The smell of ale coming from his breath was almost overwhelming.

‘Slowly, unless you want me to cut you another airvent,’ Hargeth hissed again. Obeying, slowly Avidius’ left hand went to his belt and unbuckled it. The belt and sheath with the officer’s silver longsword still in it, dropped to the ground quietly. ‘Now, move!’ Hargeth ordered Avidius while pushing him towards the metal gate.
‘Open it!’ Avidius did as he was told and opened the metal gate.
‘Now, you and I are going to leave this rathole and nobody is going to get hurt, geddit?’ Hargeth could feel Avidius’ body tremble in rage. He knew if he let his guard down for a brief moment he’d lose the grip he had on his hostage.

Slowly they made it up the stairs to the door, separating the guardroom from the actual dungeon. ‘Open the door!’ he growled in Avidius’ ear. The hostage guard captain’s body started to shake of the effect of the alcohol because of the adrenaline rushing through it. Avidius was starting to show some more resistance. Hargeth simply responded by putting a bit more pressure on the broken bottleneck to Avidius throat and a small drop of blood started to surface where the broken bottleneck had pierced Avidius’ skin.
‘You’ll pay for this!’ Avidius hissed through his teeth.
‘Yeahyeah, sure, but not today,’ Hargeth replied calmly.

Avidius opened the door to the guardroom. Another guard was taking a nap and was snoring heavily in a chair with a copy of “The lusty Argonian maid” still in his lap and a bottle of cheap wine next to his chair. There was no one else in the room. Which was weird, usually the prison was crawling with guards. Hargeth was lucky for a change. ‘Now, the next door,’ he thought and started to push Avidius towards it. ‘Open it!’
‘It’s not locked,’ Avidius replied, his voice trembling in anger.
‘I know’ That was bluff, ‘I said: open it, not unlock it, now, did I?’
Avidius grumbled something undistinctive and opened the door. The only thing standing between Hargeth and freedom was a corridor and the final door leading outside. He hesitated briefly, trying to decide to get rid of Avidius here or wait until he was outside. For a moment he worried soldiers outside would have been alarmed by the ruckus inside.

Taking Avidius outside as a hostage was a sure way to get out of prison safe but what would he do with him outside? Kill him? Set him free to warn the other guards? He decided it would be rather suspicious taking a guard as a hostage outside so it would be better to leave him here. Unfortunately he had nothing to knock Avidius out. The sleeping guard in the guardroom had a blunt object but that meant he had to backtrack with the risk of waking up other guards as well. Going back in wasn’t an option. He had to think of something to slow Avidius down and improvised immediately. Before Avidius could react, he quickly stabbed the broken bottleneck in Avidius’ side, let go of his grip on his hostage and dropped him on the cold, stone floor.

‘Aaarggg!! You honoured user!’ Avidius yelled while falling down. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll live,’ Hargeth replied and made his way to the door. He knew very well where to stick a sharp object in someone to end his victim’s life quick and painless. Just like he also knew where to poke a pointy object in his victim to make sure he didn’t die. They would just suffer and bleed a lot, much like Avidius now. Hargeth counted on that the distraction would slow possible persueers down, at least for a little while, having to attend to their captain first.
Surely, they wouldn’t let him die like the stuck pig he is.

He was getting close, he was almost out. The excitement of the events made him almost feel euphoric. On the end of the corridor an ironclad, sturdy looking door was separating him from the outside. After months of patience, starvation, misery and pain, his imprisonment was nearing the end.
‘The moment of truth, stay calm,’ he mumbled and quickly, but without rushing, made his way to the end of the corridor.
He opened the heavy, wooden door and stepped outside. It was getting dark and it was drizzling lightly. A wet fog, promising a clear sky for the day after, shrouded most of his features to the guards outside, causing enough confusion for them to fail to see which prisoner it was that was exiting the fortified prison. He walked off like nothing was out of the ordinary, like he was just another prisoner released by the jailors inside. By the time he had reached the other side of the short bridge, he could hear a couple of alarming sounds from the corridor where he had just stabbed Avidius and decided he’d best disappear completely before the, still unaware of the situation, soldiers outside figured out what was really going on. He jumped on the ledge of the bridge and looked for a place he could land on, without breaking both his legs.

The prison compound was built on a high, hill-like, rock so instead of jumping down he decided to use the steep slope of the rock and slide down. Carefully he chose a spot without too much inclination and jumped of the ledge. It was a risk he was more than willing to take. The early spring rain had made the slope slippery. Much faster than he liked he skidded down the hill, rapidly towards the open road in the valley. With the velocity he was sliding down the hill he was pretty confident he would hurt himself on impact. To try to slow down his rapid descent he tried to grab hold of whatever came within his grasp but not to much avail. What little growth was on the rock had very short roots, barely anchored into the moist surface. Desperately he grabbed a protruding rock halfway down. With all the strength he could muster, he grabbed hold of the ledge and begged the gods it wouldn’t snap of or break his fingers.

He could hear the small ledge crack, it wouldn’t hold for long but it had done its job, most of the speed was now out of his descent. Now, much slower, he continued sliding down the hill, keeping his balance with his right hand, creating a small rockslide. Several small sharp pebbles made many tiny cuts in his hand and feet on the way down. The strain on his legs had left him exhausted and made him tremble on his feet, he almost collapsed with fatigue when he finally reached the bottom of the slope and safely stood on the soft, wet grass. Gasping for breath, he granted himself a minute’s rest and thanked the Gods for the fog, covering the dustcloud his escape down the hill had swept up. He wasn’t really religious but, in his opinion, it couldn’t do much harm thanking them anyway. The sweat he had built up was drying on his skin, causing him to shiver in the cool night air. The salt in his sweat was burning in the countless small cuts he had in his hand. ‘Where did these come from?’ Looking up to where he just came down from, it appeared a lot more steep than going down, he saw countless small sharp rocks rolling down, ending at his feet, covered with countless small wounds as well.

‘Aah, that must be it.’

The wounds in his feet barely hurt. The months barefoot in prison had hardened his footsoles; the cuts were hardly an inconvenience. His hand did hurt; he stuck it in a small, muddy, puddle to wash away the perspiration and most of the dirt in the small, offending wounds. It wasn’t ideal but would have to do until he found cleaner water to wash in and a healer willing to help. Longing to wash all the dirt from his skin he started to run northbound. It didn’t take him long to reach the banks of lake Rumare surrounding the prison and the adjecant city. The fog was now so dense; he couldn’t even see the other side. Swimming across would be too perilous as he wasn’t much of a swimmer.

‘Damn it, wish I had gills, just like those bloody lizards.’ Cursing his Elven origin and wishing he could change into an Argonian, if only for a while, he took of his clothing and waded into the water knee-deep in only his loincloth. Gratefully, he washed the sweat and all the dirt from his pale skin underneath. The water was cold but refreshing. Most of his exhaustion washed away with the grime from his battered body. With both hands he splashed water onto his face, took a couple of sips and rubbed the dust from his green eyes.

He wasn’t much to look at, rather short for a High Elf, a cruel mouth with thin lips and hard jaw lines. The scar and his broken nose didn’t improve his features either. His eyes always had been the most attractive, or at least, that’s what he was told but he had always doubted the sincerity of that. For a moment he just stood there, surprisedly gazing at the, again dirty palms of his hands to see how much dirt and dust actually came from his face and out of his long yellow blond hair.

‘Whaddayaknow,’ he uttered, walked a bit farther and submerged to wash all the remaining dirt out of his hair. Deciding he was clean enough for now, he treaded back onto shore. He shook the most of the water out of his hair but didn’t really have something to dry him further, except for the dirty prisonclothing.
‘No way I’m wearing that again,’ he mumbled grumpily and hurled a weak fireball towards the pile of clothing he left on the bank, incinerating it to dust instantly, even though it was moist with fog and sweat.

Noticing the water on his hands and arms had been dried up because of the heat emitting from his spell he just cast, he improvised. He cast a slightly stronger fireball but instead of throwing it, he held it just above the stretched palm of his hand, focused his will on the ball and increased the size of it until it effectively had dried off most of the water. To him, a few scorched hairs was worth being dry and warm again. He couldn’t see the smoke and vapour coming from his hair, if he had, he’d probably have been a bit more worried. After some consideration, Hargeth decided he’d best get some space between him and the Imperial City isle although he preferred to find silent, dark corner and sleep for a few hours. the bath had taken him too much time already.

‘I guess, it’s true, there really is no rest for the wicked,’ he sighed as he made his mind up on what to do. Even though he didn’t fancy crossing the lake in the dark he cast a minor water walking spell and treaded slowly onto the water. He wasn’t very confident in his spells but risked it anyway, having no choice. Swimming across was out of the question. Lake Rumare, surrounding the Capital of Cyrodiil, was renowned for being infested with Slaughterfish. Rumours went the local Rumare Slaughterfish were even more ferocious than the smaller, regular Slaughterfish. Without weapons, he’d be fishfood in no time. The first few of his steps onto the water did sink a few inches underneath the calm waves. He imagined fish nibbling his toes and shuddered. Scared he’d sink even farther he concentrated harder on the spell and he was truly walking across the surface of the deep, dark water. Only minutes later it occurred to him his first few steps wouldn’t have sank much further. After all, the water was only ten centimeters deep there.