Family Matters, The second part of my Assassin's story. Options

[Ahrenil]

Well here we go for part 2, I would suggest you read Interviews with an Assassin first, as some of that will become important later. But for now, let's deal with some...Family Matters


Part 1

On the choppy waters off the Gold coast, a small wooden boat rocked silently amidst the waves. On board hunched a group of figures, hoods pulled up against the rain that drove in almost horizontal sheets against them. Occasionally one taller figure amongst them would throw out his arm in an overly dramatic gesture, and a light spell would flare amidst as particularily suspicious collection of rocks, or some dense long grass on the coast.

The local mud crab population was not pleased.

A hundred feet further down the coast, lying flat behind a sand dune, two other figures lay. One was checking a collection of rings and amulets, and was dressed in simple leathers in dark earthy colours. The other was clutching at a broken nose, and nursing an ego that, if real, would have been sporting a quite vivid purple bruise.

“Ipff depfinately brokthen” the second figure moaned “You coulbdof warned meh”

“How was I supposed to know your grandfather gave you a water walking ring when I tossed you overboard” the first figure hissed. Poking its head above the dune to check the progress of the party in the boat.

“Anyway, that pirate stopped long enough to laugh at you that I could kill him, be grateful” The figure dropped back down and pulled out a small ring with the name “Fargoth” engraved on it. “Hold still”
The healing magic washed over the over man, knitting the broken bone and sealing up blood vessels. “It still doesn’t look right” sulked the man, attempting to wring out the hem of his robe. The other figure glared at him and grabbed the nearest silence charm he had.

“Don’t worry, i’ve got a better one here” he muttered “just let me have another go”
“Don’t both, it’ll be fine” whispered the other man. “We should get out of here in case they search a shore.”
“Fine, but you owe me one. You know this place better than me, which way to Anvil?”
“Down the coast, as long as we follow it we’ll get there.”
“Right then, stay low and behind the dunes, that search party’ll head back in a few moments.”
“I still can’t believe we were robbed, by pirates!”
“Technically on you were robbed, and it wasn’t worth much anyway.” Muttered the other man, a Bosmer in his mid 20s, dark brown hair curling around and framing his face.
“Yeah...I guess so” whispered the other man, a Breton in his mid 30s, dressed in a fairly simple brown robe. “Anyway, you never did finish telling me how that story ended, my book would be worthless without it’s ending.”
“Who knows” whispered the elf, positively sliding between shadows like some form of jaguar covered in oil...and a chameleon spell. “Maybe i’ll finish telling you some day.”

Martinus Serruq watched him go, and attempted to follow as stealthily as a man in a water drenched robe could, which roughly equates to a one legged guar. He was still not sure why Threndafel, the Bosmer assassin he had met in Morrowind had saved his life, he also wasn’t sure why the Bosmer assassin was in Cyrodil, beyond the likely chance of assassinating people, but the man’s attitude on the few days they had been on the boat the “Racer’s Beak” had implied there was something infinitely more personal about the matter...

-Four Weeks before the pirate attack-

Eno Hlaalu was a quite, friendly faced man, he also killed people for money, though less and less these days. He was getting older, and a bit bored with his line of work. Still, he knew that the God Mephala had plans for him, and for someone who was on their way, someone he would know when they arrived. But first, he needed someone to leave the province, to help with some family matters...And he knew just who to ask.
Threndafel had been with the guild for a good few years, and he was good. Not the best, but he was very good. What’s more, he had nothing much to lose, not that he was looking for death, he just didn’t mind the idea. Not many people knew how he had made his way to Morrowind, or why, he didn’t talk about it much and none felt like asking. But Eno Hlaalu knew, he had made sure of the man before offering his place, and so he knew exactly why this job would appeal. And a man with a cause was always more likely to get the job done than a man fulfilling a contract.

The Bosmer stood before him now, dressed in leathers the colour of rich soil and vibrant plants. He had a youngish face, creases around his mouth seemed to allude to someone that loved to smile, but his eyes were always watching, always moving, and had that haunted look of a man who’s seen more than his share of the darker side of life.

“Cyrodil?” the Bosmer asked, a slight hint of tension in his voice.
“Cyrodil yes, it’s that big province in the middle” replied Eno Hlaalu, as he rummaged in a small chest he had on his desk. “I need someone there to help with the movement of some items, they all need to reach Vvardenfel in the next few months, they’re very important to the Tong.”
“I see, but...why me?” the Bosmer asked. “Surely Edward, or Garrok would be better suited, they’ve both lived there for longer, know the terrain...”
“I also need someone to deal with some...family matters. You could say a matter of brotherhood” Eno replied, turning to watch the Bosmer’s expression. As he had expected it darkened instantly. The man’s hands, that had already been resting on the bone handles of his long knives tightened, and the blades shifted a fraction of an inch out of their sheathes.
“You...you know why I can’t...won’t...do deals with them” the Bosmer hissed.
“You misunderstand me” replied the grandmaster, and set out a roll of several scrolls on the table, they bore no seal, but were tied with grey ribbons. “I want you to deal with them”

A dark light crept into the Bosmer’s eyes, the kind of fire that had been waiting for a spark.

“Well...” he whispered “It’s about time...”

This post has been edited by Ahrenil: Mar 25 2011, 10:28 PM

[Ahrenil]

At first Interviews was going to be a whole seperate story, however during writing I found myself struggling with the style, and deciding that it was better to keep some things secret for the sequel. But yes a link will be put up.

Anyway, thanks for the comments, hope you enjoy this next installment, I felt Martinus needed some love...and well, love is tough.

Part 2

The walk hadn’t been easy on Martinus, while he had thought his time in the harsh lands of the Dunmer had toughened him up, but he was still a scholar at heart. He wasn’t used to days trudging through long grass and over clusters of boulders, and he certainly wasn’t used to the sheer amount of mountain lions that appeared to have set up camp near Anvil. Threndafel however, was moving with the determined pace of a man on a mission, it was as if the grasses parted before him and the rocks were but steps for his benefit, even the mountain lions seemed to decide that it was just one meal not worth risking.

Anvil however, was a welcome site for both men. Martinus had always been good friends with some of the folk in the mages guild there, and was certain that they would be able to help him get back on his feet. Meanwhile Threndafel had been told that there were sympathetic contacts there that would help him get to the heart of the Morag Tong in Cyrodil, where his first set of orders lay, beyond the secrets of the Grey Writs he had been given back in Morrowind.

The men parted ways with only few words, Martinus couldn’t help but be struck as to how the Bosmer had changed. He had always been distant, talkative, but it seemed like he was just going through the motions and his mind was elsewhere. Now though, he had barely said two words, and seemed to burning with some sort of passion that drove him forwards, and Martinus feared that it would not end well.

It was night by the time Martinus had persuaded the guards to let him in, Threndafel had chosen to to head away into the hills surrounding Anvil, and the Mages guild was locked up for the night. However Martinus was well aware that there was always one or two apprentices around who didn’t know a decent unlock spell, and checked all the obviously secret places for a spare key. After despairing that the mat and flowerpots yielded no results he found it on top of the door frame and let himself in, after making a mental note to criticise the mages on their laziness.

“Hello?” he called tentatively, his nose still hurt and so the cry came out more as a moan. “Anyone there?” He heard shuffling and muffled voices from behind the door to the Mage’s quarter. “Can anyone help me?” Martinus called again, his voice echoing from around the empty hall. He heard more shuffling, a key in a lock, and what sounded surprisingly like the words one, two and a very half hearted three.

“BE PURGED SPIRIT” was not what the surprised Breton had expected, neither was the turn undead spell that picked didn’t so much pick him up, as asked if he wouldn’t mind falling over if it wasn’t too much trouble. The group of mages that confronted him appeared equally baffled, and one attempted the spell again, successfully ruffling Martinus’ hair. The Breton recognised the leader of the group, a short round Imperial by the name of Derio.
“Could someone explain what’s going on?” asked Martinus, straightening a painting a third, and particularly lazy, spell had almost sent off centre.
“I’m sorry Martinus, I know it must’ve been traumatic for you, but your dead! Please just move on and stop bothering us” replied Derio, a look of pity across his face.
“I can assure you i’m not dead” replied Martinus. “And i’m pretty sure your an Antronach so stop wasting your magicka on trying to banish me and explain yourself”
“Your boat was attacked, all men lost!” replied Derio
“Wait, but my body wasn’t on board, because I wasn’t” stated Martinus, feeling that it should have been fairly obvious.
“You could’ve been washed overboard...” muttered Derio a bit shyly.
“By what?!”
“Deadra”
“Deadra!” cried Martinus “What in the name of Akatosh’s third nipple would a Deadra be doing on a boat, let along in Cyrodil! Is a gate to Oblivion going to open and just spew a bunch out?!”
“Don’t you take your death out on me” cried Derio in a hurt voice “It’s not my fault deadra took your body and no one cared that you were...” He shut up quickly
“What...what was that?” Martinus hissed.
“Servillius, he...he moved the guard not to search...said...said your family would be better off with the money...” Derio murmured, scuffing one shoe on the paved floor of the Guild Hall.
“Servillius...that no good son of a thrice...sload kissing...dremora...un washed...” Martinus turned, one hand idly catching on fire. “Excuse me, I must go and have a word with Servillius, and then I shall be back. I expect a clean bed, a bath, and quite possibly your letter of resignation.” Martinus hissed, before opening the door and storming off down the street.

Inside the mage’s guild there was a very awkward silence, Derio finally broke it before turning to his two apprentices. “See, I told you turn undead might have a delayed effect but it always works.” The castle guards meanwhile, decided that an earful from the Countess was better than the dishevelled, half drowned, wheezing, slightly steaming Breton that was storming the bridge and let him through. Similarily the first servant Martinus passed gave him a key and murmured a “Happy to help”. Upon finding the right door, and deciding to be civil, Martinus knocked twice before kicking it in with a strength born from sheer unadulterated rage.

“Oh Cousin!” he called in his sweetest sing song voice “I think we need a few words!”

This post has been edited by Ahrenil: Mar 25 2011, 10:28 PM