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]

Wow, I really need to stop forgetting to update this. Thanks for all the feedback, I hope to get this running a bit more regularily soon.

Part 3

Servillius looked up from his desk, a sneer plastered across his face. A tall, solidly built Breton he had long ago made up for his lack of magical skill by forging his body into a weapon of war, and was now the head of the castle guard in Anvil. He was also Martinus’ cousin through marriage, and had long ago labelled the soft scholarly man as a waste of space.
“Ah, Martinus, I was hoping you’d have had the decency to turn a profit and collapse in a pit somewhere but it seems the Nine haven’t decided to grace us with that blessing just yet” Servillius sneered as he leant back in his chair. The office was sparely furnished, but every surface was gleaming and all belongings were neatly ordered, with the kind of precision a lifetime of military training ingrains onto a man.
“I’m sorry, cousin, to disappoint you once more.” Spat Martinus
“Don’t fear, i’ve grown used to it by now” sighed Servillius “But now that you’re here you may as well make some use of yourself. Tell me you at least have a half passable book to try and peddle.”

Martinus twitched, an image of his half finished manuscript left in his bag on the abandoned boat out at sea.
“Well I would have, however as you may not have noticed I was subject to a vicious pirate attack and was forced to abandon my belongings.” Martinus cried out in exasperation. “I sure wish there was someone here whose job was to ensure that Anvil was safe, some form of Guard Captain perhaps!”

“Now now cousin, don’t throw a hissy fit, we are investigating the attack and will bring them to justice” replied Servillius, a slight steely tone entering his voice at the attack. “However, as I see it, you are currently without job, finance, or friends to go too. Therefore it is my duty, as family, to help you out.”

Martinus eyed his cousin carefully, this was certainly not what he had expected, in fact he was expecting more of a night in the cells for forcing an entry.

“How so?” he asked “And why?”

“Well, as you may know cousin, i’ve been looking for a way to increase my standing here in Cyrodil, perhaps if I gain enough here I could return to High Rock, perhaps see about setting up my own Fiefdom. I think you can help me with this. You see, there has recently been some fuss over the Dark Brotherhood here in Cyrodil, in return for your help in bringing them to justice, I shall pay for you to live in comfort and peace here in Cyrodil for the rest of your life” Servillius said a cruel smile playing across his lips.
“Now, I know what you’re going to say, “But Cousin, that’s a death warrant! I can’t bring down the Brotherhood! I won’t do it!”, and yes you do sound like that by the way. But, here is the flipside of the bargain, you just illegally entered Cyrodil and Anvil castle, and may well be working with pirates. Of course, if you were to prove yourself loyal to the Empire then we wouldn’t have this problem, but as far as I can see it you may well be a dangerous criminal, and should be locked away for a very long time...I’m sure you can see where I am heading with this.”
Martinus felt the blood draining from his face, this was ridiculous, his cousin couldn’t just do this to him! But then again...he could. No one knew Martinus was alive, and Servillius could well keep his imprisonment a secret from their family for a very long time. On the other hand, the Dark Brotherhood had eyes and ears everywhere, as well as hands, hands with daggers, investigating them was the equivalent of placing your head in the jaws of a bear trap and ramming the pressure plate with your face.

“I will let you live in a house I own in the Imperial City, watched over by some of my men of course, I can’t have you running away now can I? They’ll bring me weekly reports, and if I feel you aren’t trying hard enough then I am sure the Imperial Prison has some cells free...So what do you say? A chance to walk in the sun for a few more weeks, or a trip down to the cells tonight? We have some lovely ones near the bottom that flood at high tide...”

The two Bretons stood, facing each other, Servillius towering over the smaller man, his face twisted into a cruel smile, while Martinus silently bowed his head, feeling his legs turn to scrib jelly as the room darkened around him.