Redemption, part 2 Options

[jack cloudy]

Click here for Redemption Part 1


Alright, part 2. Still not much redeeming going on but whatever. Now instead of continuing the story, I figured I'd use this post for all the miscellaneous stuff. Things like a character list and the recap for part 1. So be warned that this post CONTAINS SPOILERS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!


RECAP FOR PART 1 Again SPOILERS!

One night, the palace is breached by unknown assailants. Following standard protocol for such events, the Emperor is secretly transported to the prison by his Blades. The Imperial Battlemage, Ocato, declines to join him, claiming that the situation is under control and that his services aren't needed.

Despite having reached the prison safely, the Emperor soon finds that he is still in danger. It is then that Uriel receives help from an unexpected ally. Angoril Bobardi reveals that the very cell he has inhabited for decades, contains a secret escape route that was built during the simulacrum at the order of Jagar Tharn. With this passage and the considerable magical prowess of Angoril, the Emperor manages to flee the deadly trap.

Also freed from the prison by Angoril is Maorlatta Orgnum, a young (by elf-standards) and somewhat naive girl who was arrested for the crime of sleeping in the park. Once free, she quickly makes herself scarce and eventually finds herself in the shack of an old fisherman who lives on an island in Lake Rumare. The fisherman seeks the help of the thieves guild to rid her of the manacles and prison outfit that would have every Legionnaire arrest her on sight. Unfortunately, the one assigned to pick the locks on the manacles informs Vicente Valtieri instead, who takes a personal interest in the girl’s talent for camouflage. Maorlatta is saved by the Redguard Sorian, a young and rather strange lad who keeps going on and on about something he calls an Ansei. The two team up to go treasure hunting in a nearby Ayleid ruin.

Meanwhile, Angoril returns to the prison. Pretending to be from the palace, he gets a vital clue from the Argonian private investigator Grey-Tongue. The Argonian sends him to Chorrol to find the source of the assassins distinctive red robes. To get to Chorrol, he summons a shiftgate, circumventing days travelling. From Chorrol the trail leads to Kvatch, a city whose precise location he does not know. Unable to summon another shiftgate with reasonable accuracy, Angoril seeks more mundane passage to Kvatch.

While Angoril is travelling, Maorlatta and Sorian hit the Ayleid ruin. After some trouble with a zombie, they strike gold and find an abandoned office with some intact artefacts. They attempt to sell the artefacts in the Imperial city, where they are intercepted by Grey-Tongue and then Vicente Valtieri. Sorian again makes the vampire flee. The next morning Maorlatta wakes up in the Imperial palace with no recollection on how she got there or what happened during her stay at Grey-Tongue’s house. Jauffre interrogates her in the garden at the top of the tower.







Redemption's persons of questionable importance

Main characters:
Angoril Bobardi: An Altmeri sorcerer who inhabited a cell in the Imperial prison, fully aware of the secret escape route. After leaving the prison, he makes it his task to track down the leaders behind the red-robed assassins.

Maorlatta Orgnum: A Maormer from Pyandonea, sent to Tamriel at the command of king Orgnum. Circumstances land her in the same prison as the Altmer. After escaping, she returns to the pursuit of her own goals, one of which is to become filthy rich.

Side characters:
Grey-Tongue: An Argonian private investigator. He is a friend of Hieronymous Lex and has been hired by the guard-captain in the past. Grey-Tongue is hired now as well by the city-guard to investigate the events at the prison and find Uriel’s corpse.
Guard-Captain Hieronymous Lex: Hieronymous Lex is the man put in charge of investigating the massacre at the Imperial Prison. Upon finding that Uriel Septim was seen entering the prison that night, he hires Grey-Tongue to help him uncover the truth.
Sorian: A Redguard who saves Maorlatta from Vicente Valtieri. A simple wandering swordsman with a slight Ansei-obsession.
Rajn Geydar: A Wood Elf who lives in Kvatch. At one point possessed a piece of the Balac-Thurm.

Others:
Guard-Captain Argelius: A colleague of Hieronymous Lex who describes him as the man to call when you need subtlety.
Bannon: A merchant who travelled with Angoril from Chorrol to Kvatch
Baleni: Daughter of Rajn Geydar
Doruk: The Bouncer who worked at Rajn Geydar's restaurant. Deceased.
Penald Baurus: Blade and bodyguard of Uriel Septim.
Berius: Lord Protector and Head of the palaceguard in the Imperial City.
Valen Dreth: A Dunmeri prisoner. Not the most pleasant sort.
Jennifer Renault: Blade, recently promoted to captain.
Glenroy: Blade and bodyguard of Uriel Septim.

Fenasim: A member of the emperor's Palace guard.
Mankar Camoran: The father of both Raven and Ruma. He is the leader of the Mythic Dawn and its prophet.
Raven Camoran: The ‘Hand’ of the Mythic Dawn, an organization with an unknown purpose. What is certain however, is that the Dawn wants Uriel Septim dead.
Ruma Camoran: The sister of Raven, she serves the Mythic Dawn as Priestess. In the same night that the attempt on the emperor’s life is made, she infiltrates the vaults beneath the Imperial palace to steal two artefacts.
Harrow: A member of the Dawn, Harrow used to be an Armiger stationed in Vvardenfell.

Ludius Bester: Member of Bester and Bester, the Kvatch Hall of Mercantile Interests. He runs the office in lower Kvatch.
Aelwin Merowald: An old fisherman who lost most of his leg to Slaughterfish. Friend of Delmar Tunius.
Rajn Geydar: Owner of the Eight Provinces, a restaurant in Kvatch.
Ra’Jezhr: A Khajiiti lockpicker in the employ of the Thieves Guild, Ra’Jezhr is also coerced into serving the Dark Brotherhood’s interests.
Simanuel Rosendorf IV: The owner of a silk-plantation near Chorrol

Umbacano: An Altmer who lives in the capital city. A well-known collector of Ayleid artefacts.
Uriel Septim VII: The Emperor of Tamriel.
Brother Tanner: A priest who serves in the Kvatch-temple. Looks like a Septim.
Delmar Tunius: An old fisherman who lives on a small island in lake Nibenay.
Vicente Valtieri: A member of the Dark Brotherhood, he takes interest in Maorlatta’s talents at stealth, and desires to make her an assassin, with or without her cooperation.

Latta’s evergrowing list of people only she knows:
Levvelyn of Glashorn: The hero of a popular series who spends most of his books saving the world, slaying vicious monsters, duelling devious Altmeri warlords and chasing the girl.
Irrillys: A fictional princess of Pyandonea, she is Levvelyn’s love interest. Posesses an unfortunate talent for being kidnapped by devious Altmeri warlords.
Mettildi: The Maormer that taught Maorlatta how to fight, though his methods traumatized her to the point where she is mentally incapable of defending herself.
Master Zelthir: Another Maormer put in charge of educating Maorlatta. Master Zelthir is a well-known and highly respected healer.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Sep 22 2013, 07:36 PM

[jack cloudy]

The guy at the tavern who attacks Baurus? Nah, I think that was just a random Dawnie. Raven is the interviewer in the sewers, the one that carries the last book you need to figure out where the Mythic Dawn's base is.

For today's bit, we're going to do a little jumping back and forth. I don't tell which viewpoint is which as I think they explain themselves well enough. Besides, the breaks are indicated by the dotted line. Can't miss them.


Chapter 8.6


Outside

He didn’t like it, didn’t like it at all. For the past two minutes or so the barrier that spanned the city had been lighting up in all directions, its glow spreading till it reached the far walls. It had made magicka-enhanced sight mostly useless and even the mundane eyes were discomforted by the light. People pushed their heads out of windows and craned their necks to see while Raven led his troops by them in the hope that no one would have the wit to report his heavily armed group.
“It is a small blessing that everyone is watching the skies instead of the streets. But I wished there had been no reason for them to look beyond their windows in the first place.”

Worse perhaps was that he’d been forced to put away the eyepatch. While bright enough on its own, the light he now saw was merely a fraction of the blinding radiance on the Arcane plane. As such, he could not keep the palace under observation as they jogged towards it. He did risk the patch once, to scan the streets on groundlevel. There were a great number of signatures scurrying about. Far too many for any day and too many to track them all down, even if he did split up his group into lone individuals.
And that was something he would not do. Apart from himself, he doubted that anyone on his team could subdue even a single guard. And guardsmen never worked alone.
“I know the man’s got doubles, but he can’t have that many. Perhaps they are trained animals, small birds and cats.”



They stopped before the gates to the palace district. Raven thought that he’d rather avoid going up to the front door as the guards would never shirk their duty this close to the Septim’s eye, weather or no weather.
“Where would he flee to? Well, I doubt the man would be stupid enough to leave by the front door, or anywhere on the same side of the building for that matter. The Imperial Suites are too obvious as well. So…that leaves east or north?”
He looked both ways. Circling right through the arena would be the shorter path. However, a sizable portion of the city’s watch was stationed in that district to keep an eye on the gladiators. Or anyone else going that way. He did not want to lose his acolytes to a fight which he could just as easily avoid by going left instead.
“The man is old, we are on an island and I already have the bridge and the waterfront under watch. Really, I think we can afford to waste some time.”

“We go clockwise. Keep an eye out!”

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Though for Raven the possibility of a citizen noticing his group was merely a grave concern, for Uriel Septim it was a reality. The simplicity of the matter was that he stood out with the shining jewel on his chest that pulsed in rhytm with the waves overhead. To that the official escort and his awfully out of place sleeping-gown were merely an afterthough. Oh, the citizenry’s attention was initially focused on the barrier, but no one watching at street-level could ignore him.

“Look mum! It’s the Emperor!” One young child yelled into the night and the man held back a sigh.
“Everyone will know where I am.” He thought and when Renault steered him to the cover of an awning, he resisted her gentle hand.
“No. No rest till we get there.” He whispered. His voice was lost in the storm but the meaning was not.
“Baurus! Double-time!”


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“I warned you not to look up!” Raven snarled when an agonized cry disturbed his thoughts. The group came to a halt as he wheeled to face the Bosmer that had shouted. The mer was clutching his eye with one hand, and a smoking patch in the other.
“Forgive me, master Camoran.” He squealed inbetween his sobs. “Something came from…I think it was the Battlemage’s mansion. It went straight up. Like an arrow.”
At once Raven Camoran’s anger was gone. This was a new development and his mind set to work on how to exploit it.
“So Ocato sent a whisp. Did you see where it landed?” He asked the smaller man who shook his head.
“I didn’t, master Camoran. My will wasn’t strong enough. Please forgive my weakness.”

The Altmer waved for everyone to continue moving.
“Save those words. Your perception is to be praised, not shamed.”
“Whisps are patterns of semi-intelligent magicka. With the barrier agitated like this, it is effectively trapped within the city. So the recipient of the message must be close.”
As they ran, he looked around with enhanced sight himself. Though his skull itched and his eye watered, he stuck with it. Even as his own eyepatch began to burn away and singed his flesh, he still looked.
“Now who would be important enough for Ocato to send a whisp at this hour? They’re too rare and valuable to be expended in frivolity. Given the night, it can only be one man.”



The Altmer nearly missed it. Moving so fast it’s body appeared as a thin line, the whisp came down again next to a cluster of spell-signatures. There it reshaped its nonphysical form to draw a message in the air before promptly vanishing back up towards the rainbow umbrella.
“We got him.” Raven said as he stepped into an alcove and threw aside the now useless eyepatch. Out of the rain, he took out the book he’d taken earlier and opened it.
“The Septim and two of his shields are north-east of us, about three blocks away and moving slowly. Given their current location and heading, I think they are headed…for the prison.” He frowned and reread the paragraph again. The prison had not been in their plans for interception, though they had hidden their boats at an old pier nearby for the evacuation. If the Emperor was headed the same way, he wouldn’t let the opportunity slip him by. And then there was a loose scrap of paper which he just now found had been slipped into the book.
“Listen closely. There is a tunnel leading from the prison to the undercity. And from there they have a straight path to the dock we left our boats.” He held up a hand to hold off the questions. Like his compatriots, this was the first he’d heard of a tunnel leading from the prison. One would suspect the Thieves guild to be very interested in it if such a thing did exist. But their contacts in the guild had never spoken a word of it. Even his father had never spoken of it, though he evidently knew given the small piece of paper. That he’d not informed either of his children was testament to how unlikely he’d expected the information to be of use.
“So does the emperor even know of it? He is heading that way though. Damn that Berius. Damn us for underestimating him.” He thought and then wondered about the exit.

The pier they used wasn’t a secret, though this time of the year it was deserted. Come harvest-season, farmers who could not afford the Waterfront’s exorbitant fees would land their boats there. Such being as it was, he was surprised no one had discovered that exit. There was a barred entry to the sewersystem, but the undercity lay further below.

He remembered the steep hill that rose up from that pier to the prison itself. Never before had Raven given the overgrown dirt and the rough path any thought, but now he realized that the hill was the end-result of centuries of mud sloughing down from the top, fixed by the roots of trees and smaller plants.
“Hah! Of course that’s the answer. The exit has been buried for ages. That makes our job easier, but let’s see if we can’t get it done before we have to resort to dirtying our hands.”



“Harrow! Take the parallel road and block the entry to Justice-street. Under no circumstance are you to engage! You are only to seal off the Septim’s escape while I destroy his allies. You, you and you. Go with him. The rest comes with me.”


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He was the first who noticed. A singular purpose moving to obstruct their path. Exactly what had given him the first clue, he didn’t know. It could have been a misty shadow up ahead, the obscuring of a lantern’s reflection in the windows or the tremor of running feet being carried up through the cobbles.

Baurus grimaced. The unknown assailants had appeared before them instead of chasing from behind.
“They know exactly where we’re going.” He noted and ran in front of the Captain and their charge.
“Hold up! They’re in front of us.” The Redguard called out with a nod towards the still unseen nemace.
“Front? How many?” Uriel asked him.

“I don’t know. Three…five. No more.” He replied as he tried to determine what exactly had set off his instinct. For a moment he held hope he’d merely seen shadows, but that hope was dashed by a voice calling for them through the rain.
“Cease running Septim, and you may not die tired! The days of you and your empire are at an end!”
“Definitely hostile.” Renault muttered even as her eyes searched for potential escape routes. There weren’t many. The alleys here were thin and looped back to the main street right before the gates of Justice district. For a moment she inspected the building walls and nearby clutter for a way up to the rooftops, but then she realized that neither her armour or the Emperor would permit a climb.
“Think we could take them?” She asked.

Baurus looked at her for a moment and saw how she was practically carrying the old man by plain strength now. Though he lacked the training to tell, it was clear to him that her spell was running out.
“Forgive me for being frank, captain. I’ve run escorts before and believe me, you do not keep your charge near a battle if you can help it. They’re packed tight though. If we could keep them that way…”
He did not say what was more obvious to her than it was to him. With a gentle push, Baurus sent her and the emperor to a nearby alley that his instinct told him was still safe.
Renault carried the emperor down the alley as fast as she could, which was unfortunately about the pace of a standard march.
“Keep going.” The Redguard muttered at their receding backs and turned around. He drew his sword and waited.





Baurus observed the figures as they appeared trough the thick mist. There were four of them, all wearing the same rusty brown robes. They came at him unhurried with three hatchets kept loosely in their hand and one short sword, still sheathed. Even more evident of their confidence were the hoods drawn deep over their face. They seemed to consider the weather a greater adversary than a man bearing steel.
“Four to one, the numbers alone would justify their confidence.”

The strangers stopped barely within his sight. For a moment they looked around as if they expected the Emperor to be hiding behind a window. But all that showed were the faces of confused and curious citizens. The one with the sword, far taller than the other three, was the first to give up the search and the first to speak.
“Look, the Septim leaves a little dog to play with us. You picked the wrong street to patrol, lawslave. I dearly hope you weren’t planning on ever collecting that retirement fund.”
Taking the hint, heads were hurriedly pulled back and windows were shut tight.



The Blade’s eyes narrowed. In a way, it was good to finally put a face to the nebulous threat the Lord Protector and Uriel Septim had hinted at. But he didn’t see how a trio of Bosmer and one of other descendance could constitute such a threat. Their hatchets looked like they’d been stolen from a forestry camp, not the kind of weapon he’d gamble on against solid plate.
“Then you must be the one who was shouting just then. I take it you have an issue with our emperor. Who are you anyway?” The Redguard responded.
The robed swordsman barked a laugh and swung his arms wide dramatically.
“I have no name to give to you. Call me, Death. It is a name that fits me well.”
“Quite the ego on that one.”

Again the tall one barked his laugh, but one of his companions seemed less confident.
“Is he really a guardsman? He looks kind of different.” He wondered to himself out loud. The swordsman called Death barked his laugh again.
“Well, he’s dressed too pretty to be a mercenary, isn’t he? And I do not care what he’s wearing. There is four of us, one of him. Surely you have enough fingers to count that far.”

They all began to yell at him now.
“Get out of our way or bleed in the gutter. It’s not a hard choice!”
“I’d love to run. And come back with reinforcements. But I swore an oath.” Baurus thought and began to whisper. His words were blown away by the thunder, the howling winds and the pattering rain. But his soul heard. And that was enough.

“I am Penald Baurus. Shehai Shen She Ru. The sword is the master, the man is the tool. Shehai Shen She Ru. We are Ra Gada. The wave that drowns the land, that cuts rock. Shehai Shen She Ru.”


While the robed men lost their tongues in taunts and threats, Baurus lost himself. Where once had stood a Redguard from the halls of Skaven, now stood two. One was the poet, always attentive to the words of men, both spoken and those kept in silence. The other was the warrior, silent and stoic. A wiseman in the lore of flesh and murder. Both shared the same form, though it was only the warrior that could move its bones and the poet that moved its tongue.
The two stood in silence as the robed strangers threw insults. The words rolled off the warrior’s skin as easily as the rain and passed through the poet’s ears like whispers. The warrior felt the weight of the ill-fitted armour and the slick water coating the street beneath his feet. He made an inventory of the weapons in his possession and those of his enemies. The warrior considered the likely motions the actors in the upcoming conflict were to take, drawing heavily on similar encounters in the past.

Meanwhile, the poet had been forced to listen to a story about a future meeting between the thugs and any females sharing his blood. Unlikely, he considered, since those women were either dead or likely to cut them down as well as the warrior planned to do right now. In fact, their mannerisms revealed a barely constrained anxiety. In other words, they were trying their best not to be afraid. When the warrior and the poet took one step forwards, their demeanor changed entirely.
“Stay back! Didn’t you hear us?! We’ll gut you, we really will!” They cried, waving their hatchets wildly at the air that separated them. The tall one with the sword was the only one who seemed filled with confidence to the point of arrogance.
“Shut up! Did the dummies make you into cowards? Cut and run!” He spat in anger.



They ran, and cut. The poet filtered out the disbelief that the warrior felt at the tactic being used. He’d expected something more elaborate, something better. The first two came in shoulder to shoulder and swung their axe straight down where he’d stood. They were good swings, basic but efficient. It was everything else which was wrong.
They did not accommodate for the shift in posture the warrior performed, nor the placement of his shield or the area threatened by his sword. Yes, they were both so focussed on that strike they were even unaware of their partner’s position. As one, their arms jerked back again as they stumbled into each other’s path and the warrior merely had to lean aside to dodge the attack and destroy their balance.

Left swung the shield, crushing ribs. Right went the sword to cut across the other’s arm then up the assassin’s chest, parting the robe like water, splitting flesh and following the curve of bone to the throat. Before either man had the chance to fall or even scream he stepped between them and cracked the rim of his shield on the left-side man’s skull.
“Two down.” The warrior thought and the existence of the two left him as they crumbled. Only the awareness of two low obstacles remained, for in the event he had to move backwards.
“Two to go.” Thought the poet.



The third cried as he slipped to a halt on the wet cobbles, just beyond the reach of the advancing warrior’s sword. Rather than moving in recklessly, the warrior slipped one of his knives into his shieldhand and prepared to throw it. As the clatter of a falling hatchet joined the clatter of the rain, the third turned and fled back passed the last of the robed assassins.
“Stand your ground, damn you.” The tall one growled but the frightened man paid him no heed. He kept running and vanished within the fog.
“Uriel isn’t that way. Let him go.”

“Tsk, when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”
The last said, pulled back his hood and drew his blade. Both actions gave the split entity that used to be Baurus valuable clues. The ashbitten face was Dunmeri, the sword like a hewn piece of stone, black and glossy as only Ebony could be. On their own they would have only given a general hint to the mer’s background but together it wasn’t so much a hint as a blazing sign. The poet put his conclusions into words.
“A Dunmer. Let me guess. Vvardenfell, ashlands? You must have been an Armiger, stationed at Ghostgate. A high ranking one at that.”

The Dunmer was stunned, just as the poet had planned. People that thrived on mystery were often unnerved when that mystery was dismissed. He regathered himself in moments however.
“False Incarnate!” He yelled, his features twisted in fury. He gestured, thumb and ringfnger touched, drew a jagged line in the rain. Then he charged. The black sword cut the air where the Blade had just been, its tip gouging a deep groove in the shield. The warrior retaliated, but the mer was already gone. With unnaturally powerful strides, he circled around to keep the shield between them. Again the sword claimed a piece from the steel disc and again the Dunmer dashed away before the counterblow.



The warrior began to retreat, zigging and sagging with the Dunmer. As if by coincidence, he stepped between the dead and the dying. This broke up the relentless assault. Fast as he was, the Armiger could not step onto the two bodies and he couldn’t reach across. As long as the Blade stayed where he was, he could only be attacked directly from the front or rear.
He could easily turn either way in the time it took the Dunmer to get around his beaten compatriots.

It was an impasse, one that suited the warrior well. With every breath Renault was carrying the emperor closer to safety. All he needed to do now was to keep his enemies attention.
“Ebony weapons are unparalleled in mass and their ability to keep an edge. Unfortunately, a weapon is only as good as the mind that wields it. And your perception is lacking.” The poet laughed, raising the ire of the Armiger once more.
“Ancestors take you!” The dark elf cursed but did not attack.

It happened a heartbeat later. A cold pierced the warrior’s guts, an ethereal hand closed around his spine. He swung his shield at the ghost that had appeared behind him. His arm was gripped by the killing chill and fell lifeless to his side. In that instant, the Dunmer attacked


“N’wah…” He croaked.


He looked down.


The ghost was no more, its incorporeal flesh cut.


His blood washed away in the rain.


The Redguard’s katana was buried deep in his gut.


Something whizzed by them.

The Blade pulled back his sword and ran.
“Damn I feel weak.” Baurus thought.


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Raven Camoran had only seen the aftermath. One fighter had swiped his shield behind him while simultaneously thrusting his sword forward where the other fighter obligingly impaled himself upon it.
“Archers, fire!” Raven had ordered. One fighter had ran off, the other fell down next to two lumps.

They had drawn closer where Raven saw one of the worst situations he could think off. The fallen fighter was Harrow, the lumps were two of the men he’d sent with him.


“My commands to you were clear. You were not to engage!” The Altmer growled to the wounded Dunmer, who gasped a reply between gritted teeth.
“Shut it Raven. I’m dying.” Harrow said.
Raven threw his head back and laughed loudly. It was a haunting laugh, one that made those around him shiver. He looked down again at the Dunmer.
“Yes. It is a mortal wound. To think that faith smiles upon me so. It has taken the leech from my sister. This is glorious!” He thought to himself. Then another thought came to him and he smiled.

He could let Harrow die, but it would be better if he saved his life. He pulled both of his hands from their sleeves and began to draw the arcane signs of healing over the mer.
“You won’t die, Harrow.” He said as he casted spells that mended the flesh and revitalized the blood. He was not concerned with removing the pain however, or sealing the wound in a way that would get the man back on his feet. Harrow cried out as his guts bent, as torn muscle flexed.
“Oh no. I am going to give you your greatest desire. The continuation of your worthless life. You think that is a mercy?"
"I shall do more for you.I won’t tell the prophet of what you’ve done. I won’t tell him how you charged ahead like a fool, got two of the faitful killed and stole the heart of a third."
"I won’t tell the Prophet of your phenomenal failure.”
The healing was complete now, as far as Raven cared. His smile grew wider, like the hungry grin of a predatorial beast.
“You get to do that yourself.”

He liked the terror he saw in Harrow’s eyes. That alone made it worth it.



A glint on the street, between the two dead Bosmer, caught his attention. Raven knelt down to see it was some sort of knife. It wasn’t like any kind he’d seen before, very thin, flat on one side and rounded on the other. The metal was like layer upon layer of steel and silver. Instead of a leatherwrapped grip, the blade simply narrowed down into a narrow strip. He picked it up and turned it in his hands but could not find a craftman’s signature. What he could tell was that this knife was not a guardman’s weapon. Neither was it part of the palace guard’s toolset. Which left only one answer.
”We picked today because we saw the inauguration of the Blades as a weakening of security. But it seems that the new hands of the Septim were skilled enough to compensate. Well played, Berius.”

He rose and waved his arm at the two martyrs laying side by side.
“Look around you! This is a Blade! When in the future you come upon one, remember this scene! Perhaps it will temper your lust for glory and let wisdom have its tongue.”
He shouted. He looked at Harrow and spat upon the ground.
“Take that cretin, that heretic, to the boats! You can all go guard that passage I told you about. I’ll chase down the Septim myself!”

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Feb 24 2013, 03:22 PM