Interviews with an Assassin, From the journals of Martinus Serruq - Professional Author and Mage Options

[Ahrenil]

Introduction

I arrived in Morrowind from Cyrodil in the year 427 of the Third Era and was immediately struck by how exotic the place was, in the heartland you could stand on the plains and see for miles upon miles, to the great snowy peaks of the North to the steamy Nibenay bay and Leyawin. But after I emerged from the hold of the Pelagius, which had agreed to take me to Ebonheart before it unloaded it’s prisoners at Seyda Neen, I was immediately struck by the dense fog that lurked over the waters behind me, and the great hills and trees that blanketed the land, blocking off the horizon and permeating the land with a strangely claustrophobic feel.
I came to the volcanic island to try and make a book out of the local customs and institutions in the land, some of which bore a keen resemblance to those of the Imperials and other human races, and some that seemed completely alien to me. My journey led me to Vivec, perhaps the most spectacular city I had seen in my travels. Saying that the city is situated on the coast would be a lie, it is built directly out of the sea, the fat multi tiered cantons rising out of the muddy waters and mist like elegantly carved mountain peaks.
Unfortunately on arrival I was struck by how tired I was, as sailing had never sat well with me. After getting off of one cramped wooden prison ship and onto a cargo ship I was completely sapped of any will to begin my studies, or so I had thought. I had sat down to a strange meal in the first inn I found, a plate of the largest egg I had ever seen and some tough local tubers and plants mixed into salt-rice, when I noticed the Bosmer.

I had sat down at a table I had thought was deserted, but upon carefully examining the large “kwama” egg and not deducing any obvious way to eat it I had looked up to try and observe the locals and found myself staring directly at the man sitting opposite me. I hadn’t seen or heard him sit down and he was posed to an extent that spoke both of comfort, but also of constant awareness, that made me realise he had been here long before I had arrived. I chastised myself inwardly for being so rude and introduced myself.

“Sorry friend” I apologised quickly, smiling sheepishly at the man “I hadn’t seen you there, my names Martinus Serruq, do you mind if I sit here?”
“Not at all” the Bosmer replied, his eyes flicking to me. “I’m Threndafel”.
There was something about the man that put me on edge; he had a bluntness and carefulness you don’t usually associate with the “Tree Sap” people. He never seemed quite relaxed, his eyes moved constantly around the inn, as if he was trying to absorb as much information from his surroundings as possible, and the way the staff watched him made it seem like they expected trouble.
I coughed nervously and returned to my egg, carefully poking it with my knife while contemplating the idea of the lovely imperial barmaid who’d served me snickering in the stockroom at the stupid foreigner.
“Slice away the shell”, I nearly jumped out of my skin when the elf spoke, his voice was surprisingly hard with a hint of either boredom or annoyance in his voice. “Then section up the inside and mix it in with the rest, it’s all bland together but the tastes on their own will make you retch until you get used to the dining”
“Um, thanks” I replied, while following his advice, he was right it was quite bland, but something didn’t sit right with my palate that suggested I’d regret my order in the morning. “Could I get you something in return? Maybe a plate of, what was it, Hackle-Lo?”
The elf regarded me coolly for a moment “You don’t know much about Bosmeri do you?” he declared in a manner that suggested no matter what I thought he was right. “We’re carnivorous, or at least we Valenwood natives are.”
“Ah, well perhaps something else, maybe...” he cut me off quickly with a slight motion of his hand
“A flin would be good though”

A few drinks later we’d opened up to each other as only two and a half flasks of sujamma and a mutual dislike of mudcrabs can make you. I was busy stuttering out my plan for my book, how I’d visit all the cantons and try and get interviews with the highest ranking, and some of the locals, to learn about how the influence of Imperial guilds was changing Dunmer tradition when he stopped me in my ramblings.
“I can help” he muttered, taking another swig of the potent drinks we’d ordered “You don’t get much more traditional than my institute”. He declared, perhaps a tinge of pride creeping into his voice.
“Lemme guess” I blurted out “Telvanni, magicka and mischief righ’?”
“Do I look like ah mage?” he grinned. His eyes flicked towards a dunmer staggering out of the door in that disconcerting manner of his. As soon as the man was gone my Bosmer friend straightened, and I realised he had been acting drunk this whole time. “You don’t get more Dunmer than the Morag Tong” he said before standing, and it was only now I noticed that under the loose fitting cloth shirt and leggings he wore was a dark set of leather armour, and around his waist was a selection of knives. Then he was gone, following the man out of the door.
When I finally left in the morning I was confronted by an Ordinator, one of the elite guards of the city and of the local religion. “Sir, do you have any information regarding the assassination of a male Dunmer last night? By the name of Feruren Oran?” he growled at me, one hand resting always on the hilt of his sword.

My mind reeled with the possibilities as I politely lied my way past the masked guard and made for the balcony outside. Had I spent the last evening talking to an Assassin? A legalised murderer? Little did I know as I made my way towards the Redoran canton that I would meet the man again, and that he would form the basis of what may be my best work?.

This post has been edited by Ahrenil: Jan 18 2011, 01:58 PM

[Ahrenil]

Hi again all, sorry it's a bit late but I had an exam to revise for. Thanks for the feedback and i'll take it in mind, hope you all enjoy this next installment, it's a bit short but it's meant to be leading up to the follower really.

Also this is gonna be a bit of a short series, but I was mianly using it as an introduction to the characters who will have a proper adventure in the next one.

--Interview 1--

Interview 1
I spent a few days looking for the Bosmer, in between my futile attempts to interview high ranking house members, but much to my displeasure no one seemed to remember any wood elf by the name of “Threndafel” and I quickly gave up hope of finding him. A week and a half later I was becoming more and more frustrated by the task I had set myself. It appeared that simply my being an “Outlander” was enough of an incentive for people to avoid giving me interviews, and after following up some rumours about a group called “Dissident Priests” I quickly discovered that free speech was not a very highly regarded concept on the island, and that anything I published would of course be under intense scrutiny.

I had sat down in the one of the seats surrounding the Arena which seemed surprisingly ill used, a massive contrast to the arenas in Cyrodil, to try and write up some of the few notes I had managed to gather from some of my contacts in house Hlaalu. After a few minutes I heard one of the massive doors creak open and close and the soft scuffing of leather boots across the floor. Imagine my shock as I looked up to see the dark eyes of the wood elf regarding me from the bottom of the stands. It took me a minute to process during which the man climbed up to sit a few feet away from me.

“Um...Hello again?” I whispered nervously.

“Why are you whispering?” He replied bluntly “We’re alone in a giant arena, it’s not a library”

“Oh, I um...y’know with you being an....assassin...” I hissed the last word, quickly scanning the room to see if any of the non-existent spies I feared would swoop down and arrest me for being a conspirator. However I was surprised when the Bosmer burst out laughing, up until this moment he had struck me a very sullen and dark fellow, but the way his face creased showed that he was actually a lot more used to the slightly quirky smile that spread across his face.

“And? We’re a respected guild here! By the gods man, our Grandmaster is practically a celebrity!” he replied. “I know it must be a bit scary, it was for me when I started, but we’re nothing like the “Dark Brotherhood””, he practically spat the name “Or any other two bit thugs with a knife who claims to be an “assassin””

“Oh” I managed weakly, slumping back in my seat. I had been partly enjoying the idea of having to fight my way through some guards and escape back to with a good reason not to write my stupidly impossible book. “But, how do you know that someone’s in the, what was it, Morag Tong? Am I saying that right?”

“It’s fairly simple really, we’re the only ones legally permitted to write “writs”, basically we have the paperwork, by the roots these Dunmer like their paperwork.” The Bosmer replied, pulling a scroll from his bag, it was sealed with red wax and red ribbons. “If I’m required too I present this scroll and the guards have no choice but to let me walk free. Of course that doesn’t stop the few angry witnesses or family members from coming after me so I always head off and lay low for a while afterwards.”

“I see...no wait I don’t, I can’t believe you’re just allowed to go out and kill people!” I exclaimed as my mind worked overtime processing what I was being told. “I mean, how can people make a career out of killing people? It’s just...barbaric!”

“You’ve got to understand, the kind of people we are.” The Bosmer replied gently “And the kind of people the Dunmer are. And I think the easiest way to do both will be to tell you how I got involved with the Guild”
My mind reeled, two weeks ago this man had barely spoken to me, and he had only done that to get to a target! And now he wanted to tell me his life story! I double checked the arena to make sure there was no one else around for him to kill. Before giving up, for one I didn’t want to refuse a man who was trained to kill for a living, and if he was going to kill me I might as well have dragged it out and hope an ordinator turned up.

“Okay” I replied weakly, grabbing my quill and sheets of paper, my previous notes discarded and forgotten.
“Well” he began “It all started back in Valenwood...”