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]

I agree, this one was a bit long but I didn't want to cut it short because of the significance some of it will have throughtout the rest of the story.

Thank you all for the awesome comments. It means a lot to me to hear the story and development of it is far better than I was led to believe. Winter Wolf, you are right, this is just the start.

Maybe when I was posted this story on that other forum, nobody knew me and just ignored it being just another DB/Assassin story? Which, imho, it isn't. Whether or not it is a good story, it's deffo NOT a DB story. I think Hargeth said it for me

Chill bumps... good one! Thanks!


Chapter 9 Dreams

Ocato bowed his head in reverance. ‘My Lord, all is going according to plan. Our pawn is still oblivious of your scheme and his past.’
‘Can we be sure about that?’ the voice replied booming through the Chancellor’s private chamber, secured with mundane and arcane traps to prevent eavesdropping. No-one that wasn’t supposed to would be able to get into his privatechamber or be able to secretly listen in on the conversation behind the magically sealed door without paying for it dearly.

Had Ocato been a normal person, rather than a powerful wizard, his ears would be bleeding by the sheer volume of the voice adressing him. Embarrassed he realised he wasn’t absolutely sure and hoped that his doubt wasn’t showing. His palms were dry, in spite of his temporary unease.
Confident his voice wouldn’t break he replied: 'Ofcourse, My Lord. We thoroughly wiped his memories about all the occurrences, the only mortal powerful enough to break through the mist of illusion we’ve cast on his memory is me.’ The Altmer High-Chancellor and former Arch-Mage didn’t mention their unknowing assassin had escaped before they were able to break his spirit completely. He blamed that fool Avidius. They still needed the assassin, even though he wasn’t aware of the role he had already played in the current war.
‘It better, Mortal!’ And with that last sentence, dripping with hostility, the presence was gone.

Ocato shook his head,’What have I got myself into?’ he mumbled,’If the Council finds out, they’ll have my head. Or, at least, they’ll die trying,’ and grinned slyly.

***

Rhialla returned to the camp around noon, thirteen days after she set off to convince the guilds to assist the Empire in the struggle she was sure about would come.
Do’Sjiri was sharpening his huntingknife on a rock with a recently caught pair of rabbits laying next to him. No doubt he was sharpening the knife to gut and peal the animals. Shortly he raised his head and greeted his sister with a warm smile. ‘All went well I presume?’

‘Not as good as I had hoped, but good enough,’ she replied and took a look around. ‘Where’s Hargeth?’

‘Dunno, think he went to that cave you mentioned, I think he was bored.’
‘Somehow, I doubt that,’ she said with a smile. ‘Knowing you, you kept him busy enough.’
A toothed grin was all she needed as confirmation. ‘I’ll go see if I can find him.’
‘Did you bring some food?’ Do’Sjiri asked. Rhialla threw him the bag with some bread, lettuce and tomatoes.
‘Help yourself.’

An eery sensation was bothering her on the way. Something in the back of her mind was warning her something was wrong. A shimmer in the air, an evil presence, an intangiable sensation of fear and concern plagued her. Something she just couldn’t put her finger on but she knew it to be close by.

Halfway the cave she encountered Hargeth. Dirty, but smiling from ear to ear and some crown in his hand, one of the like she had never seen before. Even from a distance, she could feel power emitting from it. Something was either very wrong or very right with it. ‘Where did you get that?’ and pointed at the crown like it was a venomous serpent about to sink its fangs into her skin, her voice trembling in fear and wonder and her tail waving nervously.

‘Found it in a hidden ancient room in a cave, due west.’
‘West? The cave I mentioned is…’ she paused a while to orientate herself and get a hold of herself again, ‘…slightly east from here. I guess you found a hidden one because I am unaware of other caves in the vicinity. You mentioned a hidden ancient room?’

He told Rhialla about his little adventure in the cave, especially the part of the pendant and the crown caught her interest and was disappointed he hadn’t brought the pendant, although she understood why. While he told his story she decided to visit this cave herself some day.
‘Can I see that crown for a moment?’
‘Sure.’ Hargeth handed her the crown and added: 'I think it’s Ayleid.’

The moment Rhialla touched the crown, she knew he was right. When she carefully magically probed the artifact she found a dorment power deep within it but didn’t dare unleashing it until she had more time to examine it more closely. ‘Judging what you told me, I wouldn’t advise you to wear it outside the room where you found it, it could react very differently outside,’ she warned Hargeth. ‘At least, don’t put it on your head before I found out what it is exactly.’
‘Sure,’ he replied indifferently while shrugging. ‘But it does look nice, doesn’t it?’
‘Let’s get back to the camp, we have a lot to discuss.’

When they returned to the camp they found Do’Sjiri next to a cooking pot, making a vegetable stew and the rabbits being roasted above a fire. The delicious aroma coming from it made Hargeth realise just how famished he was.
‘Anything I can do until we can eat?’
‘Yeah, you could go get some water.’ Do’Sjiri gestured to a wooden bucket next to his tent without taking his eyes of the food he was preparing.

The Elf returned a few minutes later, the small pond was only a small distance from the camp but he still managed to spill a quarter of the bucket’s content over the trousers he was wearing, leaving a short trail of water that got almost instantly absorbed by the bone-dry soil. Do’Sjiri was just scooping the stew, that looked more like soup, into three bowls and added a large chunk of rabbit meat and a piece of bread to the side on a plate underneath the bowl.

His stomach rumbled in anticipation. ‘Do we have any wine left?’
The Khajiit burst out in a throaty laughter ‘You and your wine!’ and shook his head in amusement. ‘Maybe there is some left, kinda doubt it though.’
‘I’ll go see.’ Quickly he checked the tents and bags for something to drink with their food and came walking back with a victorious expression on his face and a half-full bottle of wine in his hand. ‘Now we can eat,’ he emphasized “now”, in his opinion it was unthinkable to have dinner and not having something to drink, preferably the rich, burgundy coloured liquid.

***

Today a cloaked character looked me up with a job offering. Not sure I should take it, he’s being too secretive, although that’s not a rare occasion in my line of work. My gut tells me this might be too high-profile. His propistion was just ludicrous. He must be out of his mind. On the other hand, ten thousand Septims is enough for me to give up this profession. I’ll give it some thought.
Ocato’s lips formed a smile that never got to his eyes while playing with the page from the diary he found amongst his pawn’s belongings. Ofcourse he knew the conclusion. After all, he had been the one ordering the task of eliminating the Emperor’s son and the murderer was totally oblivious to it. He and his associates had made sure of that. ‘And to think that oaf believes he was imprisoned for murdering some insignificant Legion soldiers.’

Carefully he crumpled the page and then obliterated it with a powerful firespell. His desk charred slightly in the process and several documents, laying on his desk broke out in flames as well. Angered with his stupidity, he quickly pulled a very expensive robe from the chair next to his desk to extinguish the flames, utterly ruining it.

***

Hargeth woke up in a sweat and was shivering all over. His dreams had been most disturbing. Images of his past were blurred by images of death and blood to the point it had been impossible to tell where one started and the other ended, as if they were one and the same, yet different. The images felt significant, he knew them to be the truth, no matter how unnerving they were. Not that the images scared him, he was accustomed to blood, what was scaring him though, was the meaning of the images.
They appeared as his memories but they collided with other images he recognised as memories. He felt something warm underneath his right hand, in his sleep he had put his hand on the crown he had found in the mysterious cave.

He closed his eyes and slowly rubbed his forehead. Slowly, more recollections from his dream seeped through into his consciousness. There had been a menacing voice. He couldn’t remember what it had been saying, as if it had been a language he didn’t know. Hargeth picked up the crown, immediately throwing it back on the ground in disgust. The sensation from it was malevolant, very different from the sensation it had given him in the ruin. Rhialla’s warning hadn’t been in vain, this thing was dangerous.

‘What is this thing,’ he mumbled while looking at it. It was glowing eerily even though it was pitch black in the dead of night. Was this thing the origin of the disturbing images or were they part of something bigger? He didn’t dare answer his own question. Instead, he wrapped the crown into a piece of clothing he had worn and laid himself down in an effort getting back to sleep.