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 8 (cont.)

The conversation was quite civil after that one show of hostility. The youngest monk even offered Ian a sweetroll, to which he declined. Upon the mention of food, he realized he was starving, and left for Chorrol.

According to Juaffre, the heir, Martin, was currently in Kvatch. Ian still wasn't sure why he was aggreing to this insane plan, if that was what one called it. He also doubted it would be as easy as the elderly Blade invisioned.
And then there was that Altmer, Ian had a feeling that she was in Chorrol and was of some relevance. Though how had yet to be seen, he had not asked Juaffre about her on purpose. I might as well find her myself, and get to the bottom of this as soon as possible......
Chorrol wasn't exactly the Imperial City, but it was far from run-down. The houses were all in some state of cleanliness and repair. Following his instincts Ian strode toward the Oak and Crosier, the high-end tavern of Chorrol.

The inn was filled with men around the bar, the Khajiit publican was struggling to kep up with the demands for ale and mead. Ian shook his head, whatever other men see in those poisons, I will never know.
Glancing around, he noticed a robed fingure sitting in a corner, munching on a bowl of grapes. It was clear that this was the woman Ian was looking for, and he sat down across from her. Her face was shrouded by her hood, and her hands were gloved -if he had not known she was a High Elf he couldn't have identified her.
Her eyes, which were partially distingishable, were taking him in. Ian patiently waited for her to speak first. Finally she spoke in a fluent Cyrodiilic voice. "What do you want, stranger?" She did not seem particularly threatened nor was she threatening Ian.
Her Cyrodiilic is too natural to have been raised in Summerset or any other province That led Ian to the conclusion that she was born in this province and had lived her for much of her life, or at least her recent years. "You were at Weynon Priory earlier, correct?" He asked in a measured tone.
"Yes, am somewhat religous and wished to stop by to pray on my way here." She was calm and her voice gave nothing away, but all the same, Ian could tell she was lying. "I seriously doubt that, you talked at length with one of the monks, Juaffre was it?"
He could have sworn her eyes narrowed slightly, but again her words did not betray suspicious in the slightest. "I am an scholar of the Mages Guild, I visited a nearby religous community to pay my respects to the gods, and spoke to one of the worshippers. Is that a crime? I don't know if you believe in the Nine or not, but I do." This might be harder then I thought......... Ian reflected. "Very well, my apologies miss......."
Beneath the hood she sighed and calmed down. "My name is Kirana, I should be the one to apologize I've just been under a lot of stress lately." Ian decided to break one of the most important rules when working with a stranger. "No hard feelings, I'm Ian. Perhaps I could purchase some beverages?"

Something deep in Kirana's eyes lit up for a moment, and she pulled off her hood. Ian thought all elves were exotic, more less then others, but he found it hard to breathe for an instant.
Her eyes were brown like his, and her hair was a metalic grey, it even reflected the light somewhat. Like all Altmer, Kirana's skin was a healthy golden complexion, Ian could have believed it glowed but knew it was also reflecting the light of the candles spread throughout the tavern. Finally her grey hair reached to her shoulders, and loosely caressed her face.
Ian found her utterly captivating, but the wize words of the sensei echoed through his mind. Keep your eye on the pretty ones, don't avoid them, just be careful, looks are what the people who want to kill you will use against you. "I don't like alcahol, I'll have some water."
Those words rang through Ian's head, that's almost word for word what I say....... "Ok, I'd like water myself." As he got up Kirana gave him a ravishing smile, it only motivated him to get the drinks faster. Something isn't right about this woman.........

This post has been edited by Lord Revan: Dec 14 2006, 04:54 AM