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.

----

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]

Ok, here's a short update........

-------

Chapter 7 (cont.)

As Ian left the shop he noticed the Bosmer, Methradel, scanning the street for something. He had a feeling that she was looking for that diary. Well, I don't have any use for it...... He mused as he approached her.
Methradel caught sight of him and stood there with her hands on her hips. "I suppose that your the one who has Amantious Allectus' journal?" Silently Ian produced the diary and handed it to her. She held it in her hand for several moments with a look of surprise on her face. "I didn't expect that you actually had it, you must have stolen it when I ran into you." Then her surprise increased. "You got in my way on purpose!"

Ian nodded and cracked a smile, and Methradel shook her head chukling lightly. "Well, thanks for giving it back, I'll do you a favor in the future, you just wait." And she melted back into the throng of citizens in the plaza.
When she was out of sight Ian's grin grew and he tossed a small pouch of coins in his hand. Then the agent strode into the "Devine Elegance." A young female Altmer stood behind the counter, polishing a golden amulet and holding it to the light to inspect it. She set it down in one of the many display cases, and nodded to Ian.
He scooped up a new, white winter cloak, and a matching pair of boots. The elf, Palonirya, glanced at them. "No less then fifty." Ian furrowed his brow, no wonder they say she is a tough customer. "No more than thirty." Palonirya glared at him for a second then waved her hand at him. "Fine, fine thirty-eight, my final offer." Ian nodded, "Deal."

As noon arrived the salty air of Lake Rumar engulfed the city, in a way it was refreshing. Ian mulled over the nightmare he'd had last night. Close shut the jaws of Oblivion? He didn't have a clue what the Emporer meant by that, but one part was clear. Take the amulet to Juaffre, and find my last son..... According to what Buarus had said back in the prison, Juaffre was the Guildmaster of the Blades and he currently lived in the city of Chorral. Every agent new what the Blades were, in a way they were competition, but mostly they were to be avoided at all costs for the agents that were privateers.
Still Ian really didn't have anything else to do, why did he have to give it to me? Why not one of his precious Blades?

This post has been edited by Lord Revan: Dec 10 2006, 11:51 PM