Anima Di Nerezza Chap. 2, Hope you enjoy this chapter Options

[Sirin]

Chapter 1

Anima di Nerezza
Chapter 2: Part 1-The Return

The worn, wooden gates were opened, as I had expected, yet under heavy surveillance by the city militia. Not that it really mattered, thought, for this was a peaceable time, and neither fiend nor beast dared venture too close to the city. What need did they have for worry? It was almost as if they had expected a resurrected assassin to infiltrate the city.

With little regard to the ever-watchful guards, I strolled into the Imperial City casually. I wasn’t armed, nor was I a criminal anymore, having already served punishment for past afflictions. Also, I had no plan to murder the Emperor again. At least not yet. But even so, they could arrest me for nothing. Had I the desire, I could even give my name. Names of the recently killed draw surprise, yes, but little belief. So I continued into such a familiar place.

I kept walking for some time with little aim. I stopped outside of a bakery and examined some tasty looking goods. The thought arose that I should steal one, but I was not willing to give up my freedom and, perhaps, life so soon. Moving on, I halted at a seedy little tavern and examined the swinging wooden sign. This was obviously an advertisement or welcoming sign, even, for its name was painted in cracked, but still bold letters: “The Blue Bandit.”

As I ducked inside the pub, I stopped for but a second, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark, humid atmosphere. The tavern was aptly named. There was no Blue to be seen, but it looked as though the Bandits had overrun the place. The shadiest of characters inhabited the dimly lit drinking room, some dressed in dark robes, others adorned with scars and disfiguring injuries. I briskly, but cautiously strode over to the splintered countertop. The aging bartender looked up swiftly, only to step back in dread.

“Why are ya…? I mean, what… no, how are ya….?” he whispered in the most alarmed voice such a gruff man could offer.

“What’s wrong, Kerric?” I asked sarcastically. “You look like you’re speaking to a ghost!”

Leaning forward curiously, he reached forward as if he wished to touch the imaginary nails in my hands and posed the undeniable question, “Is it really you, Mabe? I mean, alive an’ all?” It bears mentioning that, had an ordinary man called me Mabe, I would have nailed his face to the wall. But seeing as though Kerric was no ordinary man, but rather a close friend (and I didn’t have my daggers) I indulged him in answers to his frantic questions.

“Kerric, it’s a very long story, and one you would find no worth in believing, but, yes, it’s me.” Once again, he looked as though he needed physical proof, so I placed my hand on his bearded cheek.

“Blast, Mabe, yer hands are freezing!” he exclaimed after flinching. “Might as well be a ghost if ya can’t get your body to be any warmer.” He chuckled softly and poured me a glass of ale, explaining that it was the “good stuff” that he’d been saving for any “special ‘ccasion.”

After we had been talking for some time, I changed the subject to more grave, and dangerous, matters. Not, of course, without softening him up to the upcoming query.

“Kerric, my old friend, I’m so glad I get to spend this time with you. You look so much better from the last time I saw you!”

“Don’t butter me up, Mabe. What do ya want?” Yes, I failed that time. I guess I couldn’t fool the old man.

“Well, simply put, I need to know how I can contact…” I lowered my voice now,” the Brotherhood.” The old man’s face grew long and solemn at this. I almost considered saying that I must leave, that this had been a mistake.

“I knew ya’d ask soon ‘nuff, Mabe.” Ah, so maybe the old man would talk? A stroke of luck to be sure. “I gots a key, I do. Er... I really wish ya wouldn’t get mixed up with ’em again, though, Mabe,” he added.

“Who’s the one mixed up with the Brotherhood now, Kerric?” I countered, partially joking with him. “One doesn’t get a key to their base by chance, now do they?”

“Maybe so, girl, maybe so. But if ya must go, the Altmer Vercindelle is here in the Imperial City. He’s usually in the back of the Leaping Lion. That key’ll get ya there.”

“Vercindelle?” I almost cried, “He’s here? That’s fantastic!” Vercindelle was another old friend and a long-time employer. We went way back, and I figured things would start going my way. I briefly thanked Kerric and walked out to the street.

Before I made it to the door, though, Kerric threw one last comment. “Please be careful, Mabe.” I paused shortly to think on this, but moved out with not another word.

I made my way to the Leaping Lion in unusually high spirits. It wasn’t the ale, for certain, but instead the luck which was falling before me. Or was it luck? The Daedra Lord’s words echoed in my head. ‘Don’t make me regret this’ he had said after remarking that I was his tool. His tool was I? Millions of thoughts swarmed through my head at once. Was this so-called ‘luck’ Mehrunes Dagon’s doing? Even so, was I disappointing him? And if that, what could he do to stop me? We were on two separate planes, yes, but his minions did roam the wild. More luck, for I’ve said before that the Daedric fiends rarely visit the cities, most likely for fear of extermination. But would they attempt to attack if they were ordered to do so by their Master?

The Leaping Lion was before me too soon, and with too many questions left unanswered. Reluctantly, I stepped inside. Unlike the Blue Bandit, the Lion was rather bright. It was packed with loud, boisterous conversations and the constant flurry of barmaids making their way to their customers. I wondered if I would be able to find Vercindelle had he been in this crowd, but such thoughts were of little value. Kerric has said that the Altmer would be in the back room.

I did not want to draw attention to myself by stepping inside and instantly moving to the back, but attention was an impossible thing in such a swarming bar. With this in mind, I pushed my way through the drunks.

The door to the back, or at least what I imagined was it, was no more than twenty steps away when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I stood face to face with a short, ugly Bosmer. The fat Wood Elf looked ready for a fight more so than he was ready to win the Ugliest Drunk award.

“Hey, lady, you spilled me drink!” he shouted, spraying alcohol and rancid breath alike.

“Well, I’m glad you noticed, sir, but I had best be leaving.” When he wouldn’t release his death grip on my shoulder, I added a quick, “Now.”

I was not eager to attract unwanted eyes, but this fool was asking for it. Placing my hands on the Bosmer’s shoulders and pushing down, I reared my head back and smashed it into his face. By the deep, red blood spraying onto my clothes and the muffled way he screamed, I imagine I did quite a lovely job of shattering his nose. He crumpled to his knees and gingerly held his hands over his deformed nose.

“Adds to the appearance, if you must know,” I seethed ruthlessly at the now weeping drunk. Ignoring the fearful glances, I continued to back room and Vercindelle’s office. As I opened the locked door, walked through, and shut it behind me, the drunk’s cries were finally silenced.

This post has been edited by Sirin: Feb 26 2006, 11:13 PM

[Sirin]

Part 2- The Meeting

The “back room” consisted of a medium sized office, which contained a desk. Of course, behind the desk Vercindelle was seated. The Altmer looked not a year older from our last meeting. Being a High Elf, as they are called in any other continent than their native Summerset Isle, he was unusually tall in height. His shimmering red hair was tied up behind his head. Regarding his hair, he was certainly no front lines assassin, but rather a man who killed from behind a desk and four walls. Most other assassins sported coarse hair or none at all, save, obviously, the females like myself.

“Ah, Mabriel Tan’yadiel. Couldn’t have been subtle in the least? My men reported that you broke poor Minjer’s nose.” Before I could ask how his men witnessed the fight and made it back in here so invisibly, a barely audible man dropped behind me. I turned my head, just barely, to see a dagger pointed at my face. The holder, I assume, had been hidden on the rafters above me.

“Vercindelle, my friend, do you greet all your guests like this?” I asked in an annoyed voice. The image of the original Altmer was not an untrusting, trap springing man, but rather one who was glad to see people like myself. But the new man had an armed bodyguard, who was ready to put a blade in my face.

“Sorry, Mabriel. I’m just not fond of the walking dead,” he said coldly.

“Ah, but you should only mention that when I am about to die a second time.” He understood my meaning and called off his henchman.

“Well, I suppose it’s about time you met my personal guard. Mabriel, this is Geryss,” Vercindelle said in a newer, softer tone. The man walked around to stand eye to eye with myself. He wore the traditional Brotherhood light armor, instead of the cloaks and hoods I preferred. Of course, in wearing this, his face was covered by a cloth “helmet.” In what I took to be a token of good faith (maybe he was worried I could turn him in to the guards?) he pulled of the helmet and revealed his face. He was a Breton with short brown hair and, shall we say, odd eyes. They were a deep, scarlet red. This was rather unnatural, to say the least, but I did not gawk or comment. He stared at me for a moment, and I stared at him. Instantly I felt the connection. We were natural enemies.

Vercindelle sensed this tension and urged me to sit down. We discussed the nature of “business” in the Cyrodiil province for some time. He revealed to me that the Dark Brotherhood was a mere thorn in the side of the Empire, and had little influence on the native citizens. Some still feared us, but that was all. Just the lesser of the monsters in the closet of Cyrodiil.

“We are…in quite a bind, to speak bluntly. After you…left… there were few who could fill your shoes. Geryss is very capable, but I don’t pay him to carry out assassinations. He is my bodyguard and shall remain as such. Therefore, your timely reappearance is only too valuable.”

“Vercindelle, you do realize that I came to look for a job, do you not? If you need an assassination done, that is why I am here,” I reminded him.

“I know this. But there is a grave danger in what I wish to assign you,” he said worriedly.

“Of course, there is danger. This is a killing right?”

“You probably will not believe me, but my life is in danger. The Empire has ripped through the veil that is the Brotherhood and is now hounded me everywhere I go. You don’t think I had Geryss almost kill you for nothing, do you now? If you take these missions, the threat on my life will most likely vanish, but you will be in danger still.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you said ‘missions’. There’s more than one?” I asked.

“Nine, to be exact. Most are high-ranking senators or even military officers. They alone know who I am and what I do. My death is only the beginning of it, too. For if they find me, the rest of the Dark Brotherhood will be exposed and, as expected, imprisoned or executed. But if you take care of this, in all likelihood they will identify you as well. It is a lose-lose situation, but we are desperate now, Mabriel.”

I sat silently for several minutes. The risks were great, to be sure, but Mehrunes Dagon once again appeared in my thoughts. If he regretted me, surely he would send some fiend, or even a possessed servant, to rid him of the annoyance. But, peradventure I was to please him? Would I be given his favor, or his power? Destruction is the Daedra’s game. A Cyrodiil without these nine threats would surely be a little more chaotic. The Empire, for one, would stagger with their loss, especially in such little time. Even if the Empire were to find me and try to kill me (again, at that), what would they do against the power of a Daedra?

On the other hand, though, what if the Daedric Lord didn’t need me to live. What if, in his lack of moral standards, he enjoyed the discord I had caused, but cared not to protect me from those who would chase me to my grave? On top of this thought, the chaos in the Empire would be matched by the chaos in the Brotherhood if key figures were snuffed out from each. He would take even greater pleasure in this outcome.

To accept or decline was a deadly gambit for me. If I accepted, I ran a high risk of being forsaken by my savior and killed by my enemies. If I declined, I would surely be murdered with the rest of my Dark Brotherhood kin. My choices lay in how soon I wanted to die. But my mind was made all the same.

“I’ll do it,” I said. Vercindelle proceeded to fill me in on the other details.