Ian, I was thinking of something new..... Options

[Lord Revan]

Well, for anyone who's read Revan don't worry I'm not abandoning it. I just decided to do a story on my actuel oblivion character. So I'm hoping you guys like it.

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Prologue: Vice and Graft

It was "happy hour" in the Flowing Bowl of Anvil. Most of the patrons were sailers on leave, "leave" in drunk sailer meant: take a break and get broke by drinking 'til you pass out. Beanlorn glanced around the crowds, and saw a familiar shape stride through the door.
Beanlorn knew the man and had even expected him. Ian did favors for certain people, and those people often did transactions in the Flowing Bowl. It steered some paying customers Beanlorn's way, so he kept quiet about the shady work going on in his establishment.

Ian spotted Beanlorn at the bar, and approached him. He casually dropped a pouch of coins on the counter, which Bealorn peeked into (he never was very subtle) to check that those were septims not some trash before he gestured to the rooms. As Ian stood in front of the 'wall' a board slid aside to let two eyes appear and make sure it wasn't some drunk Nord or something. The board closed again, and then a crawlspace revealed itself. The small meeting room, which was was illuminated by four blue lanterns in each corner, was occupied by his Argonian client and his two handmaidens.

Ian distained such flaunty displays of wealth and power (although he himself was a wealthy Imperial), but this was an Argonian, after all most were poor or only slightly rich. The client -Hurmun- squinted at him, with his lizard eyes. "Have you recovered to artifact? Or are you just wanting a chance to annoy me?" touchy little lizard, he thought. Reaching into his satchel, Ian removed a spherical humming rock. Yeah I got the sigil stone for you, Hurmun. Now do you have my fee? Or are you trying to waste my time?" Hurmun stared at the deadric artifact in his hands, then nodded at Ian. One of the Argonian maids brought a huge bag of gold, and handed it over.
"Now, Ian, I have a little matter that you can help me with before we depart." Ian furrowed his brow and frowned, "What would that be, lounge lizard?" Hurmun gritted his teeth (he did that when he was losing his patience) "A few of the bar patrons here don't want me to leave the inn.... alive anyway. I want you to.... dispose of these drunks." "Fine, but this had better be worth it." Then as an afterthought, he said "If you got gutted, it would be no skin off my bone -I have other clients"

Ian made his way down the stairs, there were four target he would have to kill: two Nords, an Imperial, and a Redguard. They were all leering at him, as he strode out the door. There weren't many bystanders on the docks, but the four brigands followed him out. He spun on his heel and unsheathed his elven shortsword, which was met by three cutlasses. The drunks were bigger and stronger, but they weren't thinking straight, and were clumsy. The commotion caused all the other patrons to come and watch in earnest. Ian held his sword loosely before him; the two nords tripped when they met less resistence than expected, and were caught between the hammer and anvil. Suddenly shouting came from the city gates and five guards charged toward them. The Redguard and Imperial, in a drunken frenzy, charged screaming at the watchmen, but were stabbed by the Anvil guard. Not eager to make a similar mistake, Ian sheathed his blade and set it on the ground along with his bow and arrows. "You have been found illegally brawling in the city limits, but you surrendered without conflict; that will be recognized by the judge, come with us...."

[Lord Revan]

Chapter 3(cont.): Tussle and Murder....

Ian breathed in the crisp air, as he sat on the bow of the Bloated Float. Which was on its return trip to the Waterfront. He used this time to mull over what to do next, he wanted to find this other agent and pay him-or her- back for the theft of his gear. It wasn't so much the gear as to the act itself, Ian did like to think of himself as one of the best at his trade. Slowly memories of his training years flowed into his mind.....

The Valus mountains were largly uninhabited, but nestled in the many peaks was a dojo for prospective master agents. it wasn't the only one in Cyrodiil, but no one person (or dojo) knew the locations of more than one. This was strictly for safety, and security. Even former initiates were forbidden to return to their training grounds. Ian looked over the sparring grounds, several dozen other apprentices were sparring. But his partner had yet to arrive. He paced around impatiently, it had been two hours now, and still no one else had arrived.
Ian had 'friends', but as the sensei always said, "You can make friends and contacts for the future, but you have to be ready to lose them any moment. The life of an agent is fraught with danger and perils. You might not survive your first months out in the world. So be prepared for loss." They were all drilled a hundred times to act accordingly in any given situation. It worked for keeping your alias, and help with controling emotional outbursts. You had to be able to shift attitudes and temprements at a moments notice. Be able to laugh, cry, and be angry in one breath. You had to maintain grace and balance in times of perilous acrobatics. Maintain a serene head in great stress, and control your fear.
"Fear is good, it makes you faster and more alert. It is your sixth sense, and can save your life, if you control it, but not control you." Ian had always excelled in the mental disiplines, and in some of the combat exercises. Suddenly his partner strode into view, Marik, a rather shady pasted guy. He was an Altmer, tall, statly, and just as silver tongued as Ian. Marik was an excellent minipulater, that said he was also a danger to everyone around him, even himself. If his mental powers of pursuasion went out of control, he could wreak unimaginable havok. All these traits made him such a danger that he was bunked in solitary confinment, when he wasn't training. He looked down slightly at Ian (he was a few inches taller), and gave a blank emotionless gaze that was typical of him.
Ian (and everyone else) dreaded being partnered up with Marik. But he gripped his bow ready to face the onslaught of the training course, and begged the nine that Marik wouldn't lose it in the combat excercise. Once a new recuit had been stuck with Marik, well Marik lost his focus and mistook the trainie for one of the carbon copies used for these training fights. The victim died later that night in the infirmery, screaming incherently about something that Marik had jabbed into his mind. The bell clanged to signal start, Ian took to sniping the farthest targets with his training bow, while Marik cut them to ribbons.........

Marik got washed out when he caused a epedimic of nervous breakdowns in the nearby settlements. It was decided to execute him, but when they went to his cell, they found him already dead..... nobody knows what happened to him.

The Bloated Float docked, and Ormil thanked Ian (for the tenth time), and gave him the reward for Selene's capture. Ian traveled to the Market, and sold his loot to some merchants. He would have to find some form of client that had contacts to help find this rogue agent. But the only underground types were the Theives Guild, or the Dark Brotherhood. Thieves were very distasteful, but the D. Brotherhood was so ilusive that gaining membership was only rumors. But those rumors made sense, so he would have to kill a innocent, not very ethical but it had to be done. After thinking some plans through, Ian concluded that killing a commoner would be the wisest choice. Beggers didn't have houses, and would stand out in the open. A noble would be missed shortly after being killed. But a common citizen had a house, or a eventful calender. So Ian went to the Elven Gardens District, and found a small outhouse with candle light visible under the doorframe. Silently, Ian nocked an arrow and paused a second to pace before the inevitable violence. He slid the door open to see a well dressed man pull the gold from a young woman's corpse. The man had enough time to gape at the intruder, before an arrow embedded itself in his neck. Ian turned and slammed the door, realizing he had just killed another killer. But he pulled himself together and fled into the night.