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]

Thanks mALX! I appreciate your kind words!

Chapter3: Pilatus and Rhialla

The long walk granted him plenty of time to consider his options. First he needed some decent clothing and weapons, but most of all, he needed food. Since he was broke he couldn’t buy any. He considered stealing what he needed but that meant he would have to go into town but as he had just escaped from prison and had stabbed a guard, every guard in the province would probably now be looking for him. He’d better stay low for a while. While overthinking these things he gently touched the scar on his right cheek. ‘Bad idea,’ he thought and continued walking, for how long he wasn’t quite sure, northbound while keeping a keen eye out for anything edible, entirely losing track of time and direction.

‘Your money or your life!’ A Khajiit bandit blocked his way, iron mace drawn.

‘Boy, did you pick the wrong customer, fetcher. This surely isn’t your lucky day.’
The bandit grinned. ‘That’s a no, I presume?’ Hargeth simply nodded and prepared for the attack.
‘I hope the exercise in prison pays of,’ he thought while readying himself for the oncoming battle. He knew from experience never to underestimate a well-trained fist fighter. Because they weren’t encumbered by a heavy weapon, they could move fast, dodge attacks and accurately place punches so he didn’t consider himself defenseless at all, against, what would seem impossible odds for most.

The Khajiit let out a mighty roar and launched in. It was obvious the bandit didn’t share his experience with fist fighters. The Khajiit rushed his attack in the false assumption his victim is unarmed and thus completely helpless and came in swinging his heavy mace. Not being bothered by armour, Hargeth easily dodged all the wild and unfocused swings of the mace. The deadly dance carried on for about ten to fifteen minutes and the Khajiit was showing signs of fatigue. Hargeth moved in for a well-placed punch but unfortunately, the Khajiit had changed strategy. The signs of fatigue had been an act! Far quicker than Hargeth had thought possible, the Khajiit raised his mace and swung it in a downward movement. Had Hargeth been ever so slightly less cautious, the mace would have crushed his skull. In stead, the maceblow came down on his left-foot, sending waves of pain through his entire, already quite mangled, body. He howled in pain.

‘You, you…. You idiot!’ he yelled at the bandit. ‘You hit my bloody foot!’ The Khajiit bandit obviously had a strange sense of humour, he was grinning from ear to ear but was looking bashful at the same time as well. Hargeth looked at his foot and saw it was already turning purple because of the injury.

‘If it’s broken I’m making a rug out of you,’ he threatened the bandit who had lowered his weapon. It was hard to attack while laughing at someone who was limping around holding his foot and looking, quite frankly, rather silly.
By now, the Khajiit couldn’t hold his laughter any more. Initially it made Hargeth frown but then saw the funny side of it as well and soon he joined the Khajiit in laughter. ‘You don’t happen to have a healing potion stashed there somewhere maybe?’ he asked the Khajiit. It seemed a bit bold to ask your assailant for help but instinctively he knew the fight was over.

‘You really don’t have anything, do you?’ the bandit asked him and continued: ‘You know, everybody says that when robbed. You are the first who is actually telling the truth.’ Hargeth couldn’t help but smirking at that remark.
‘I kinda just broke out of jail, so yeah, all I am carrying is the hair on my back and the sweat on my brow.’ Now it was Hargeth’s turn to look bashful. ‘I didn’t make time to go…’ he paused briefly ‘shopping,’ adding on a tone the bandit surely would understand. The Khajiit bandit did indeed. Again his face was split in two by a smug grin.
‘I can tell,’ he said, looking the barely dressed Hargeth up and down and grinned again.
‘Come, I don’t have a healing potion on me but my companion in our camp knows some restoration. I’ll warn you though, she’s a bit… crude… in her methods.’

The camp is just over the rise east of us, the bandit pointed vaguely east.
‘Hope it’s not too far. The pain in my foot is excrutiating.’
‘I believe you,’ the Khajiit mumbled while grinning impishly. ‘Can’t you do something about it yourself?’ the Khajiit asked.
‘Nah,’ answered Hargeth, ‘my foot would probably end up standing the wrong way forwards with my restoration skill.’ The Khajiit broke out in laughter. ‘You are a funny man!’ Hargeth’s statement actually wasn’t too far from the truth, although he might have exxegarated slightly. He had improved in jail but his skill in restoration was still pitiful to say the least. He’d need someone to show him the finer intracacies of the arcane arts. Especially restoration. He was fairly adequate in destruction and alteration but he had neglected the other arts most of his life. He was taught never to regret choices he made but he couldn’t help regretting it now. Or was it the thumping in his left foot what made it painfully apparent? He thought it was probably the latter.

After a couple of hours of walking, more like slumping for Hargeth, the bruising in his foot had increasingly gotten worse, rendering it practically useless, they reached the bandit’s camp by nightfall. The bandit’s companion, a Khajiit as well, jumped up when a stranger approached, she immediately drew her bow and nocked an arrow. It was only because of Pilatus, in the hours they needed to make it to the camp, he had found out the bandit’s name, who shouted: ‘Hold your arrow, it’s me. I brought a… guest,’ in the nick of time.

A split second later and Hargeth could have added another scar to his, already quite substantial, collection. Or worse. He shuddered briefly and sighed in relieve when she lowered her bow, although, she still didn’t quite trust it. Who could blame her?
By that time, he was pretty sure his foot was indeed broken. Considering a heavy, blunt object had landed on his foot, it wasn’t much of a surprise the Khajiit female confirmed his suspicion. In fact, it was what she called a “compound fracture” whatever that was supposed to mean. All he knew it hurt. It hurt a lot.

He had a sneaky suspicion the Khajiit’s restoration skill was a lot better than Pilatus had let show through. ‘Crude methods…. Pfff,’ he scowled He had known certain ladies with an entire different occupation who were a lot more….. crude. The thought made him chuckle. Anyway, the pain in his foot was already diminishing after the care. She even handed him a shirt and a pair of trousers after the treatment.
The clothes had been in better shape a long time ago. The knees were almost worn through, even though it had been patched several times. He had seen and worn far worse. At least he wouldn’t have to walk around practically naked anymore. The Khajiit healer did warn him he wouldn’t be running anywhere soon and he still needed a lot rest to fully heal his foot. There was only so much she could do with such a complicated fracture. The bones needed to set themselves straight so it could heal properly. Rest sounded fine with him. If only he had something to eat.

‘How’s the foot doing?’ Pilatus asked. The question brought him back from his memories. ’Hmm?? Oohh eeuhmm.. The foot’s fine, it’s my stomach that concerns me more actually,’ Hargeth said with a crooked grin.
‘I figured as much, how about some stew? Just don’t ask what’s in it hahahaha!’ Hargeth frowned at Pilatus for a brief moment and then joined in on the laughter until both their bellies ached. Hargeth was still gasping for breath when he said:’Do you really think I care? I’ve been imprisoned for months.’
‘No,’ Pilatus replied, ‘I guess not.’
Pilatus sat himself next to Hargeth at the campfire with a warm bowl of stew. His stomach reacted to the smell of the food making him aware he hadn’t eaten in quite some time.

‘Fancy a drink?’
‘Thought you’d never ask,’ Hargeth replied and gratefully took the held-out bottle of cheap wine from Pilatus’ hand. ‘And then to imagine I swore I’d never drink that cheap rubbish again… Ah well,’ he said and took a large gulp from the bottle. ‘Y’know Pilatus, it never tasted as good as it does now.’
‘That’s prison for ya.’ Pilatus replied.
‘You’ve seen the inside as well then?’
‘What do you think?’ Pilatus reposed with a sly grin. Hargeth just nodded. For a while they just sat, drinking and staring into the flames until the bottle was empty. They emptied some more bottles and retreated to their bedroll rather unsteady. The alcohol had done its job.

The morning after, it was raining and rather cold. Hargeth awoke just before dawn and a lot more fresh than he thought he would. He shivered in the cold morning air, a reminder he was still wasn’t wearing much, his eyelids still half closed with sleep. He feared he’d wake up hung over but the fresh air must have done him good. No sign of a hangover. Gently he rubbed his eyes to get the sleep from them, without much success. He directed his face upwards to let the rain wash the sleep from his eyes instead. The campfire in the centre of the camp had died out long ago. Empty winebottles were still lying on the place where they had left them the night before. They had drunk more than he had thought. He gathered what little firewood was still left and cast a fireball to make it into a fire. The wood was wet so he sustained his spell a bit longer to dry the wood. Finally it caught fire after some hesitation. The fire wasn’t much to look at, but it would have to do until more wood could be gathered.

His foot was playing up so he decided he’d best take Rhialla’s advice and rest it, rather than limping out and gather some wood himself. He wouldn’t know where to look for it anyway. He knew exactly diddly about the outdoor life. He sat himself down at for what would have to pass for a campfire and grabbed something to eat. There wasn’t much left, he had to do with a raw carrot and an apple.
He watched the sun come up and thought about his course of action for the next few days. He knew he couldn’t leave yet; his foot hadn’t healed enough yet. But with Rhialla’s care he was sure he’d be up and running again in no time. He sighed, ‘A few days Hargeth, a few days of rest, that’s not so bad.’

‘Overthinking your sins?’ Rhialla had awakened as well.
‘Not really, just thinking,’ he replied. She sent him a knowing or understanding smile. It was hard to tell with the Khajiit race. ‘When are you leaving then?’ she asked.
‘Dunno,’ he replied and shrugged. ‘I can still barely walk so you’re stuck with me a few more days.’ Rhialla nodded but said nothing.
After sitting there for about an hour or so he could hear the sounds of Pilatus waking up as well. The Khajiit leisurely stretched himself and yawned, like only Khajiit know how.

‘Morning.’
‘Goodmorning to you too.’
‘What’s for breakfast?’ Pilatus asked Rhialla. ‘Whatever you can catch.,’ she replied dryly.
‘Right.’ Pilatus made a face and went about getting something for breakfast. He grabbed his bow and arrows and an old bread loaf, soaked with water that was lying on the table. With a disappointed face he threw the soggy loaf away. ‘Bah!’ Then grabbed his trusty iron mace just in case he ran in something more struggly than a rat.
Longingly Hargeth watched him taking off and disappearing into the thicket. He wished he could join him but knew he would just be a burden. Cities and sewers were more his territory and the woods were Pilatus’ territory.

This post has been edited by Remko: Mar 31 2010, 11:45 AM