Neron, An assassin is hired to kill the Emperor Options

[Sir Radont]

Part I: Coin Bags and Tours

The two swords clashed together again but Neron was stronger than his young apprentice and he easily pushed her back. He was a skilled assassin, probably the best in all of Tamriel, or so the stories went. His face was known by a precious few, but his name was known by many. In his line of work it was good to keep his face anonymous while letting his name flow off the lips of many friends and enemies alike. This ensured that when someone needed a fellow citizen of Tamriel dead, Neron was famous enough to get the job, but secret enough not to be hassled by local authorities. When it came to murder he didn’t discriminate between Orcs, Bretons, Imperials, or even his own midnight blue skinned Dark Elves, he would kill anyone – for the right price.

His apprentice was also a Dark Elf. A slender female with long curly jet-black hair and a fire in her red eyes that he had not seen in many years, she was dedicated and it showed in the way she trained. Of all the apprentices he had had, she was the most promising. She usually accompanied Neron on the assassination missions, there is no better trainer than experience, but tonight he would go alone.

“Good, Valyas, now come at me again, faster this time”

He was showing her the art of parrying, something an assassin knows “just in case” because a good assassin shouldn’t need to parry, they should be in and out, unseen and unheard with a corpse behind them and a bright rich future ahead of them. Sometimes the target would be armed and alert or surrounded by angry guards so it helped to be prepared.

Running forward, Valyas stabbed at him with her steel practice long sword. He parried it by stepping to the right and swinging his sword up under hers then used the momentum from the swing to arc his sword over her head and bring it down lightly against her back.

“Your speed is good - what you lack is control. Never commit totally to a swing unless your chopping wood.”

Valyas nodded. Running at him again she swung from over her head, he parried again, this time raising the iron practice sword parallel to the ground to deflect the blow. Her blade slid down the length of his sword and, using the momentum from the swing, she spun around slashing at his legs. Jumping over the blade and landing lightly on his feet, Neron quickly closed the gap between them and put his sword to her throat as she was preparing for another overhead swing.

“Better,” he said, stepping back and sheathing his sword, “we’ll practice more tomorrow. I need to be ready for my job tonight”. This would be his most challenging, and therefore, most rewarding mission yet. If he accomplished this mission, no, when he accomplished this mission he would retire, Valyas would be ready to go off on her own, and he was getting a little too famous to be comfortable. If the entire province of Morrowind new his name today, then after tonight the entire land of Tamriel would speak his name no louder than a whisper - as if he was a divine member of the Tribunal.

A week earlier he had traveled to Vivec, the largest city on Vvardenfell, named after the member of the Tribunal that lived there. Stepping off the Silt Strider, he followed the dirt path to the Foreign Quarter, marveling as he always did at the size of the city. It was built out into the sea with only the first canton touching land. Each canton had three layers to it and each layer was slightly smaller than the one under it, giving the cantons a pyramid shape with flat tops. There were walkways around each layer with covered ramps leading up or down to the different layers. Each canton was 30 feet away from the next one and bridges connected them on every level.

Neron walked to the top level of the Foreign Quarter and entered a tavern. He preferred meeting in larger taverns to help preserve his anonymity. This one was packed full of people and the conversations all combined to make it difficult for anyone eavesdropping to hear anything worth reporting to local authorities. After stepping in from a sunny day and letting his eyes adjust to the dim light he scanned the crowded room. The owner and bartender was a Nord, Neron knew by looking at him that he would be armed and would make a formidable opponent if any patrons got out of line. He had short, brown, disheveled hair and green eyes that scanned the room looking for trouble. He wore a plain brown shirt and pants and was cleaning a mug with his powerful arms. The bartender noted Nerons entrance with disinterest and went back to cleaning the mug. Neron swept his eyes over the room one more time but couldn’t see any more potential threats; his employer had picked a good spot to talk this time. His name was Dranas, a fellow dark elf with crimson red hair that matched his red eyes. His dark blue skin was barely visible under the tattoos on his face and arms. Earlier in the week, Dranas had told him that he had a high profile assassination for him, someone high up in the Imperial ranks; it was the understatement of the century.

Neron sat down and wasted no time with pleasantries.

“So who exactly is my target?” Neron asked with a hint of boredom in his voice. He hoped this target was worthy of his skills, this line of work was getting to easy for him and he was growing tired of it.

Dranas quickly glanced around the room to make sure no one was eyeing them, then, leaning closer, he whispered the name to his assassin. Nerons face remained expressionless as his mind began forming a plan on how a mission this big could be accomplished.

“When do you think it can be done?”

“A week” he said after making some calculations in his head. Scouting the location would take a day, maybe two, and then he would have to get black “Dark Brotherhood” armor to blend into the shadows. He would also need scrolls for “mark” and “recall”, but that would be the only magic he would use for this mission. He prided himself in being able to accomplish missions without the use of an invisibility or chameleon spell, and the target he was going after deserved a fair chance more than anyone he had ever killed.

Dranas nodded his approval, “Good, you will be paid once I have confirmation that the target has been eliminated. Also, the Dark Brotherhood is sending a lone assassin to Balmora in three days to kill the leader of one of the great houses; you might want to check it out. And one last thing, when you go to Cyrodiil to scout the location look for a recruiter named Quintus, he’s a corrupt soldier and will let you tour the castle for the right price”

With a nod Neron got up, and picked his way through the noisy crowd to the exit. Outside he went straight to the edge of the balcony and looked over. Citizens of Tamriel were going about their daily lives, oblivious to what had transpired moments earlier. A plan had been set in motion that would shake the very foundations of Tamriel and Neron, master assassin, would be the catalyst to start the chain reaction that would end in the Imperial Legion leaving Vvardenfell.

Of all the races in Tamriel, he enjoyed killing Imperials the most. As a young dark elf growing up on the island of Vvardenfell, he had been taught to hate all Imperials, especially ones wearing the silver and purple colors associated with the Imperial Legion. To Neron, they were the oppressors, the enemy, and they deserved to be routed and run off the island. That wouldn’t happen as long as their leader, the imperial Emperor of all Tamriel, Uriel Septim, was alive. It was now up to Neron to kill him, and with the chaos that ensued the red-eyed dark elves would drive this pestilence from the island, drive them back to Cyrodiil where they belong.

The next day Neron took a boat to the mainland of Morrowind and found a caravan going to Cyrodiil. The Caravan came to a creaking stop three days later just outside the capital city, also named Cyrodiil. Neron jumped off, stirring up dust on the dirt road, and thanked the caravan’s owner for the ride. A 40-foot high impenetrable wall of gray stone surrounded the massive city. The wall was 15 feet thick with Imperial archers patrolling along the top, eyes out and bows in hand. A river lazily wrapped around the wall further fortifying the capital city.

Neron crossed the wooden drawbridge and entered the busy city buzzing with activity on a warm sunny day. Just inside the wall on either side of the road were barracks made from logs with black-shingled roofs. Past the barracks were various shops with patrons hurrying in and out buying and selling their wares. The main road went straight to the center of the city and ended at the archway of another massive wall. This one was half the size of the outer wall but was still wide enough to have emotionless, stone faced archers stationed on top. Neron made his way down the busy street to the archway. He passed through getting sideways looks from the guards stationed on the ground.

There was another log building immediately to his right, directly in front of him was the Emperors castle, an intimidating stone structure towering in the center of the city. Neron turned and walked into the log building that served as a recruitment station for the Imperial Legion. Inside, a man sat at a wooden table scribbling something on a parchment with a feather and ink quill. He looked up when he noticed Neron standing there. His head was bald and shiny and his brow was slightly wrinkled from age. Strong, piercing eyes were set into deep sockets, his armor was purple colored with a golden dragon on the breastplate, the pauldrons from his shoulders to his elbow were silver and he wore golden bracers on his wrists. A purple cape hung from his shoulders and rustled against his armor as he stood.

“Can I help you?” He asked, picking up the paper he was writing on.

“Are you Quintus?” Neron asked.

The soldier was annoyed at the lack of respect for his rank and replied, “Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I came to tour the castle”

Quintus grinned inwardly at the thought of using his power to make this red-eyed ruffian leave, “I’m sorry, only members of the Imperial Legion or citizens that have business with the Emperor may enter, now if you’ll excuse me I have work to do”. He sat back down and began writing again.

Tossing a bag of coins on the table Neron said in an icy voice, “I have business with the Emperor.”

Quintus waited, drumming his fingers on the desk with a thoughtful expression on his face, before answering. “Well, in that case, please wait here”.

He stood, turned, and walked through a door behind him, cape rippling with each step. He emerged a minute later with another soldier wearing steel armor.

Quintus motioned to the soldier with his palm up, “This is Dragis, the newest recruit here in the Imperial City, he will show you around the castle”.

Quintus sat back down as Dragis and Neron exited. They made an immediate right and walked 50 meters to the castle doors. Dragis heaved the heavy oak door open with a creak and went inside with Neron in tow.The young soldier was overly friendly and showed Neron everything he wanted to see, including the Emperor’s room. He told him about the guards in the castle, sparring no detail as he explained their patrol routes and when the next guards went on duty. He was a trusting person and Neron took advantage of it.

When the tour was finally finished the sun was low in the sky bathing the city in orange light. Neron took his leave and walked back to the main gate of the city and found a caravan going back to Morrowind. From there he sailed to Vvardenfell to get his Dark Brotherhood armor. He found his prey sneaking around Balmora near the Great Houses, right where Dranas told him he would be. Neron paid the assassin with a knife to the back for his armor and snuck out of the city.

Now Neron sat in his well-furnished house in Seyda Neen with his newly acquired armor. Glancing outside he noted that it was time to start. He pulled the black cloth helm on to complete the Dark Brotherhood armor. The rest of the armor was cloth as well, not made so much for protection asit was made to sneak through theshadows undetected devouring any light touching it. He sheathed his short sword into the black cloth sheath and took out his scroll of recall. After reading the daedric runes on the scroll Neron disappeared in a blue flash, his mission had begun.

[Sir Radont]

Part III: New Motives

Neron made his way through the darkness of the Cyrodiil sewers heading in what he guessed was a southern direction towards the outer wall of the city. He moved slowly and carefully along a narrow stone walkway always keeping his hand on the damp wall as a guide—a dip in the brown sewer water would only make his shoulder wound worse. The assassin stopped after stumbling upon a ladder and decided he had walked far enough. Ascending the latter was the easy part, pushing the solid steel door open above him strained what was left of his strength. After several attempts he managed to heave the door open and hoist himself out onto the street. Neron lay on the stone road for a few seconds, his shoulder throbbing with each beat of his heart. When he finally resolved to get up and continue he saw, much to his amazement, a healers shop that remained open through the night.

The dark elf stumbled into the establishment and collapsed onto the carpeted reception room floor. A graying Imperial ambled out of a back room to investigate the sound. Seeing Neron on the floor bleeding, the healer quickly moved to his side to help the assassin to his feet and usher him to a room with a bed.

“Looks like you’ve had a little trouble there, son,” said the Imperial as he helped Neron onto a bed.

Nerons words were slurred and his sentences fragmented. “Valyas… she… with the sword… no money…”

“Heh, woman, never know what they’ll do next. Just lay still son, I’ll have you healed in no time.” The Imperial uttered a healing spell and the effects went to work on Neron’s shoulder, closing up the wound and repairing the damage inside within seconds. The assassin’s eyes focused for the first time in hours as he gazed up at the old healer. His blue eyes had kindness in them and the lines around them showed that he had laughed a lot during his life. Laughter, it seems, is never far from someone noble—someone with honor. They wear their laugh lines as a badge, a symbol of a well-lived life.

“Don’t worry about payment, the first one is free. My name is Julius and, obviously, I am a healer.”

“My name is Neron,” why did I tell him my name? The assassin thought, Julius seemed to exude an air of trustworthiness that was easy to get caught in. He is an Imperial, he can’t be trusted, right? Are not all Imperials a plague on this land? Don’t they all secretly hate us?

The confused look on Neron’s face gave him away. “You’re not used to being around Imperials? From your accent I’d venture a guess that you aren’t from Cyrodiil.” Julius stated.

Neron was surprised at his intuitiveness, “Not kind Imperials, no. I live…” Neron caught himself and also gave away his profession.

“An assassin?” Julius asked.

“How did you…” Neron started.

Julius finished his sentence, “Know?” He chuckled. “Son, you might as well hold up a sign. You’re wearing Dark Brotherhood armor, you seemed concerned that you told me you’re name and you don’t want to say where you live.” Julius seemed amused at his own findings and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He looked more like a wise sage than an old Imperial healer. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I think you should get out of that business though, use your talent for good instead of for money and fame. I probably won’t sway you, I’m just an old rambling man, but at least it will give you something to think about on your way home.” Julius said with a warm smile that only someone that had lived a good life can give.

“I will think about that, thank you for your help.” Neron said, truthfully. “I think it’s time I went on my way.”

Neron stood, renewed by the healing spell, and made his way to the door followed by Julius. “Stay clear of crazy woman now,” Julius said as Neron headed for the door.

The assassin grunted, “I wish it was that easy.”

Neron opened the door and walked out into the night. The city was quiet except for the occasional dog, cat, or drunk wandering the street. The guarded gate leading out of the city posed a problem, Neron was a wanted man now and a dispatch had certainly reached these guards. He found a passing drunk and cornered him.

“Excuse me, good sir, would you be willing to do me a favor?” Neron asked

“Eh? Flavor? I don’t like those new drinks, no sir, give me ale or give me death, that’s what I say,” said the inebriated citizen. He seemed to be a somewhat wealthy Breton with expensive clothes that smelled of tavern smoke and cheap ale, a strange combination for someone seemingly well off.

Neron tried a new tactic, “I will trade you the armor I’m wearing,” He said holding his hands out to let the drunk get a look at the Dark Brotherhood cloth, “for your clothes and that ale you’re carrying.” The Breton tried to look intently at the armor as if it would do a trick any moment now. The drunk citizen blinked and shook his head to clear his vision. The Breton then started howling with laughter, his eyes watered and he put a hand on Neron’s shoulder to steady himself. His laughing stopped as abruptly as it had started.

“Sure, sure, I’ll trade you. In my day, back when I was young like you, I collected rocks; you don’t have any rocks do you?”

Neron shook his head.

“Pity…” The drunk mumbled incoherently.

Neron traded clothes with the Breton and bid him farewell. He could hear him laughing and rambling as he approached the gate leading out of the city. Neron took a long drink of ale and spilled some on his clothes. He walked in unsure, jerky motions towards the guards, tripping a few times and nearly running into a building. It was all an act, but it worked, the guards stopped him as he neared the gate.

“Whoa there citizen, what’s your business here?” The guard said slowly to the drunken Dark Elf.

Neron gave a toothy, drunk grin, “I was jus’ goin’ out huntin’ sirs.” He held up his short blade and toasting the guards with his bottle of ale before taking another drink. “I can hunt with the best of ‘em for sure. I can out-hunt YOU even.” He said, stabbing a shaky finger at the guard. “I can prove it; I’ll go right now an’ catch me the biggest nix hound you’ve never seen.” Neron threw his arms out to his sides to show how big the nix hound would be, he stumbled back with the gesture to convince the guards.

“Fine, you go show us citizen. Move Along.”

As he stumbled through the open gate he continued his act, “Uriel Spetim hisself will give me a medal. Don’t go stealin’ it now.”

Neron moved in a drunken stupor until he was out of view of the guards, he was pleased with his performance and smiled to himself as he walked along the road waiting for a caravan to pass. An hour later, as the first rays of sunshine marked the beginning of a new day, he was picked up by another Dark Elf heading to Morrowind. Once he arrived he found a boat going back to Vvardenfell.

During the ride to his home island he mused on what Julius had said. Maybe he should settle down, give up the assassin business. If an Imperial in Cyrodiil could show kindness to a wounded Dark Elf assassin then Neron could do anything, including live an honest life. Maybe he could even get married, slow down, Neron, one step at a time. Valyas would be the last person he killed, with that traitor’s death he would give up his career, however lucrative it may be. No, I will hunt assassins, I will put fear into the hearts of the fearless. Before he got to that he had other business to attend to, Dranas would want to know what happened with the mission. He wouldn’t be happy.

Neron stepped off the boat onto his native land, Imperial guards were patrolling the area but he didn’t mind as much now. The Dark Elf went immediately to Seyda Neen to change his clothes and wash the smell of ale off his body. With a fresh set of clothes hanging from his powerful frame and a short blade sheathed at his side, Neron made his way to the outskirts of Pelagiad, an Imperial city complete with a fort for the Legion. Dranas had his base of operations there and would be expecting Neron to show up—he had spies that reported the activities of his assassins.

Neron didn’t bother knocking on the door; he swung it open and stepped inside. Immediately he sensed a hostile atmosphere, a feeling he usually only got on missions. He went on alert as a guard escorted him into a back room where Dranas was sitting behind a desk waiting for him. Neron sat across from his Dark Elf Employer.

“Neron.” He said in cold greeting.

The Assassin became more uneasy, “Look Dranas, it’s not my fault. They knew I was coming before I even got there. Valyas is a Blade, she works for the Emperor.”

Dranas waved his hand to cut him off. “I don’t care who she is or who she works for. Your assignment was to eliminate Uriel Septim and you failed, no one fails me and lives, Neron, not even my best assassin.”

At the conclusion of his threat the door behind Neron opened and six Dark Brotherhood assassins spilled into the room with blades drawn. They stood behind the blue-gray skinned Dark Elf waiting for orders.

Nerons eyes narrowed, “Don’t do something you’ll regret, Dranas.” He said with enough venom to kill a city.

“You’re a good assassin, Neron, but there will be more like you. Take him.” He commanded.

Neron wouldn’t go easily; he jumped up onto the desk in front of him and pushed off, flipping backwards over the group of assassins. In mid-jump he unsheathed his short sword in one quick motion. Landing behind the group he grabbed the nearest black clad lackey and put the blade to his throat. Neron backed closer to the open door, nobody moved.

“Drop it,” he commanded his hostage. The Dark Brotherhood assassin obliged and dropped his blade to the floor. Neron thought about leaving them and running through the door but decided to make an example out of the situation, an example Dranas wouldn’t soon forget.

The master assassin pushed his hostage forward towards the group as a diversion. It worked; two of the six assassins caught their comrade. Neron took the opportunity to sheath his short blade deep into the chest of the nearest assassin. He cried out in pain before slumping to the ground in a pool of blood. Before the body had hit the ground Neron had removed the head of another. Two down, four to go. By now the assassins had regrouped, the hostage scooped up his blade and swung powerfully at Neron. He was nimble enough to dodge the attack and smash the hilt of his blade into the face of the Dark Brotherhood member. The assassin grunted and reeled, giving Neron enough time to deal with another attacker.

A couple parried swings later and another of Dranas assassins was lying in a pool of his own blood. Neron leapt onto the desk and jumped over the swing of another enemy. He landed behind the black clad citizen and put his arm around the cloth encased neck. With a powerful jerk and a satisfying snap of bones the assassin went limp. The body fell to the ground as Neron slashed at one of the last two assassins. The strike cut his chest deeply and splattered blood on the walls but didn’t kill the lackey. Nerons next strike removed the arm holding the short blade, the assassin screamed. The Dark Elf moved in and put his short blade through the chest of the Dark Brotherhood member, ending his misery. The last assassin had the sense to flee the room; he was not going to end up like the rest of his comrades at the hands of this… this god.

Neron let him go, turning his attention to the unarmed Dranas. He strode up to the shaking Dark Elf and grabbed him by the neck.

“So this is it, then? It’s my time is it?” Asked the frightened employer.

Neron smiled wickedly and put his blade to the neck of his former boss, “No…”

Dranas breathed a sigh of relief—prematurely.

“Not yet, I will kill you someday, but not today, and not tomorrow. You will live in fear for a while; I will be a constant shadow looming out on the horizon. Every morning when you wake up you will wonder if today is the day. Every night you will fear the shadows that were so innocent to you yesterday.” Neron released his grip and sheathed his sword.

Dranas swallowed hard and rubbed his neck as the assassin left the room. Arrogant fool. Dranas had work to do; Neron would pay with what he valued most.

Neron knew what Dranas would do next. I have to get to her, I have to warn her, Neron commanded himself.