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]

Wow! Thanks everyone!! Gop figure, this piece was massively ignored and when I got a comment it usually: atrocious spelling and too much fluff. Granted, I edited (most of the) spellingerrors out but still....
Thanks for the support!

Since you asked for it:

Chapter4: The Hunt

The moment Pilatus vanished into the thicket of the Heartlands forest, his entire being became the predator his appearance less contradicted to than the seemingly civilised humanoid. Unheard, unseen the hunter prowled the woods for game, hoping his stomach wouldn’t betray him by rumbling in the least convenient moment thinkable. He stopped for a while to stick his highly sensitive nose high in the air to take a good smell of his surroundings. Small groundcrawlers scurrying back to their burrows.

Drops from the trees crashing down on the green pastures of the hills and leaflets blowing in the wind reached his senses. The cat in him couldn’t imagine anyone would want to live in the foul smelling, stone cities with the sewege odour always linguiring. The primordial being inside loved the outdoors and cherished every second of it.

The scents, the sounds, it made him feel alive. A short gash of wind carried the scent of a deer just northwest of him. The wind was coming from the north so there was little chance the deer would notice his presence as well. Slowly, not to alarm his prey, he snuck towards the whereabouts of the deer on all fours and, slowly, drew his bow. He didn’t notch an arrow yet so he still had at least his left arm free. After a tense few minutes, he caught sight of the deer, grazing happily, totally oblivious to its gruesome fate about to catch up on it. A couple more deer were dancing around in the vicinity. For a moment he feared the other deer would warn the one he had chosen but Lady Luck was with him.

Since it was mating season the deer were emitting a heavy aroma of feromones masking the scent of the feline predator. He could hear bucks clashing their antlers in combat over a mate in the vicinity. Making no sound except his heartbeat and slow breath, he closed in on his prey, still without alarming the rest of the herd. He sat himself down on his left knee after having checked for small twigs that could give his position away by cracking. Satisfied nothing was going to alarm the deer, he stuck one arrow into the ground and notched another arrow. He laid aim and awaited his moment. If he’d miss, the deer would flee. He wouldn’t miss. Patiently he waited for his prey to come from its current cover. A large tree was in the trajectory of his arrow and the deer’s neck. He was patient, a decent opportinity would arise, his experience in hunting had taught him to be patient and await just the right time to take the shot.

It took the deer far longer than he had hoped. After about half an hour his left leg was starting to go numb to the point it was really starting to break his concentration. Luckily, his patience wasn’t to be tested much longer. Finally, the deer had decided to graze a few meters up the hill, just what Pilatus was hoping for. Once more he laid aim carefully, fluently pulled full tension, checked his aim the final time and loosed the arrow. Suddenly, a horse's distressed whinny broke through the quiet morning, scaring the deer off but it was already too late for the animal he had chosen as his target. Although, the arrow didn’t hit it in its neck, it embedded itself deep into its torso, just beneath the spine. The deer tried to escape but its legs and strength failed and after a few seconds it ended its deathstruggle and slowly, almost like in slowmotion, it dropped to its knees, then to its side and died.

Directly after the whinny, a muffled curse ‘Damned horse.’ An Imperial voice.
‘Guards?’ He knew he had heard the guards long before the guards could even be aware of his presence but in his opinion, something was wrong. The Imperial Legion never strayed this far from the road. They were here with a good reason. Quickly but silently he made his way to his prey, lifted it on his broad shoulder, leaving a bloody trail on his bare chest, staining his fur and made his way back to the hidden camp. About two hours later he arrived. The sun had just crept over the ridge hiding the camp, shrouding the camp in the shadow of the Jerall Mountains. The only thing giving the location away was the smoke coming from the small fire. He dropped the deer from his shoulder, letting out a relieved sigh and extinguished the fire.

Hargeth and Rhialla gave him a questioning look. ‘What did you do th...’ Hargeth started but Pilatus quickly intervened ‘Shhh. We’re in trouble, there’s a couple of guards nearby and I’m pretty sure they’re not here to have a picnic.’ He turned his head towards Hargeth. ‘What did you do to Avidius to upset the legion to come after you all the way here?’ he asked, almost whispering. That remark puzzled Hargeth. ‘Did to Avidius? How does he know about my running in with Avidius?’ He decided to suspend his thoughts on that to another time. He had more pressing matters at hand. Like escaping the Legion.

‘Never mind, tell me later, we have to get out of here before they spot the camp. And they will, make no mistake about it. Gather our gear and bury the remainder of the campfire,’ he told Rhialla and then turned to Hargeth. ‘Come with me, I need your help with gutting the deer I shot, we need the provisions unless you feel like starving.’
Hargeth gave Pilatus a shocked look. ‘I don’t know how to do that.’ Pilatus gave Hargeth a toothed grin. ’You’ll learn soon enough.’

Pilatus grabbed a rope and quickly bound it around the deer’s back-legs and threw the other end over an overhanging branch. ‘Pull it up while I grab a knife,’ he told Hargeth. He did as he was told and pulled the deer up. He flinched a bit when his shoulder played up a bit but bit the pain and tied the rope down.
Pilatus returned when he was just finishing up tying down the rope. Without a word, the Khajiit stabbed his knife in between the front legs of the deer and in a single fluent motion he pulled it up, disembowling the deer. A bloody mess dropped in front of Pilatus feet. With a few more well placed slices the remainders of its entrails were removed as well.

‘Okay, you can cut it down now,’ he told a rather pale looking Hargeth. He had no trouble slicing up people but the sight of the disembowling of the deer had upset him. Pilatus grinned smugly when he saw Hargeth’s face and could hardly refrain himself from laughing at the Elf.
The Khajiit then went to cutting up the deer in easier to handle pieces of meat, undid the deer of it’s hide and threw the remainder of the deer, the head and its lower legs, into the surrounding woods.
‘The wolves will take care of that.’

They had just finished packing their gear and food when Pilatus’ ears turned frantically. ‘They’re closing in, let’s go. Hope your foot isn’t bothering you too much because we have to move rather fast.’
Hargeth gave his left foot a tender inspection. ‘It’ll be allright.’ He wasn’t really sure but he figured it better. Rhialla gave his foot a quick magical treatment and then the party headed of south. The moved as fast as they could but Hargeth inability to run for longer periods slowed them down. And they knew it. The Elf might not hear it but Rhialla and Pilatus, with their far superior hearing, could hear their persueers gaining on them rapidly.

It struck Hargeth they were far further east then he had thought. His sense of directions never had been that good but he really thought the camp had been nearby Bruma while in fact it was situated far further east, nearby Cheydinhal. Had he really walked that far before he encountered Pilatus? His mind started to wander off in the tediousness of their trek towards, well, he realised he didn’t know. Pilatus only mentioned south. And how in Oblivion did Pilatus and Rhialla know about his Avidius trouble? Suddenly the gears of the events of the last couple of months snapped in place, just like with a lock. ‘The Khajiit woman in the prison cell next to me!’ He couldn’t believe he had missed that. It was so damned obvious. ‘Was my encounter with Pilatus even coincidence?’ He was starting to doubt it but that could be paranoia talking rather than his common sense. He made a promise to himself to ask Pilatus and Rhialla when the time was ripe. But for now he concentrated on trying to keep up with the two felines ahead of him.
Hours passed by as they fled. The afternoon slipped into evening barely notacible. A wet fog was conceiling most of their surroundings. It was like they were the only three people in the entire province.

His foot was starting to hurt again. The pain was surging through his body to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He was even cursing his own heartbeat as if that were the source of his pain. He knew he couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. He needed rest. And soon.
As if Pilatus had read his mind, his two companions suddenly stopped and gazed east.
‘I know a small cavern just east of our current location. It should be safe for a few days,’ Rhialla said. Hargeth couldn’t have been happier. ‘How far is it?’ Pilatus asked her.
‘Two, maybe three hours with the speed we we’re travelling.’ Pilatus didn’t seem too enthusiastic.
‘Is there a second exit to the cavern?’ Rhialla shook her head.
‘So it’s a dead end if we are discovered?’ Rhialla didn’t bother replying, it was evident.
Pilatus sighed in concern. He directed his hearing to the direction they had came from to listen whether their persueers had gained on them. ‘I think our persuers made camp. I can’t hear them anymore.’
‘You don’t suppose they gave up, do you?’ Hargeth asked although he knew the answer very well. It wasn’t very likely for the Legion to give up after having chased them for the largest part of a day. ‘I guess not,’ Hargeth murmured looking down to his dirty, mud covered feet.

‘We should keep moving,’ Rhialla commented. Pilatus nodded and picked up their gear he had set down for a minute.
‘Let’s go.’ Without further adue they headed east, towards the cavern Rhialla mentioned. For necessary shelter, nourishment and well earned rest. The Nine knew they were going to need it if they wanted to escape their persuers.