Killing in the Emperor's Name, A collection: An argonian assassin's world Options

[canis216]

Here you, the reader, will find works associated with Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun's life and work all together. His future stories will be found here, primarily. I think it's appropriate, as his tales have taken on a more serialized form--if not strictly so. I still intend to experiment with different perspectives and styles within his general narrative, so don't expect every installment to flow perfectly into the next--that isn't what I'm going for. I'd like to think that I'm using Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun's stories as a medium--evocation of the rough existence that is life on Vvardenfell.

[canis216]

Marshwalkers

Three argonians sat around a table at the Suran Tradehouse, a short distance from the bar. The one closest to the bar dressed in the manner of a nightblade, a black shirt and black pants, and was drinking shein. The one to his right wore the plain brown shirt and pants of a commoner—a bottle of greef accompanied his plate of roasted crab meat. The third, to the nightblade’s left, wore an old brown robe. Two bottles of flin, one empty, sat on the table in front of him.

The nightblade was speaking, “I can’t believe you dared return to Suran so soon, Sun-Lingerer. The town guard has not threatened to arrest you?”

Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun grinned ruefully. “You should know better, An-Zaw. They don’t have any real proof, do they? No witnesses, right? Hides His Eyes saw to it that none of the slaves were recaptured, yes?”

The commoner nodded. “Im-Kilaya arranged their return to Argonia.”

“I’m glad to hear that. That leaves only you two. You’re not telling, right?”

An-Zaw grinned, “Of course not. I’m as guilty as you are.”

Hides His Eyes put down his drink. “As am I. And we don’t have the Empire covering for us.”

“I take care of my own business, friends. The Blades… well, let’s just say I was persona non grata, shall we? But enough of that. How is life, marshwalkers?”

“I should be promoted to journeyman next week” announced An-Zaw. “It’s about time, too. I was afraid the fools in the Balmora guildhall might actually get promoted first—Skink is a much more demanding guild steward, but the rewards are worth it.”

“How is Skink? I haven’t been to Sadrith Mora since that incident with the guard.”

“Which incident?”

“Those silly hospitality papers.”

“Oh… that one. Skink is as well as one can be in Telvanni territory. He is trying to study the Sixth House, I think.”

“The Sixth House… I’ve seen something of it. But that can wait. Is the Council of Mages going to wise up and appoint him Arch-mage?”

“No, the imperial flathead is still in charge, for whatever that’s worth. You’d think some Telvanni hedge wizard would have roasted him by now, but they’ve shown unfortunate restraint.”

“I could just kill him.” Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun took a big pull of flin. “Come on, friends, I’m only kidding.”

Hides His Eyes broke the silence, “How can you jest about murder, Heik-Auri? How do you sleep at night, in your profession?”

“I don’t. Not usually. But I don’t want to talk about that. What have you been up to, Haj-Ei?”

“The usual. I lead that damn fool Daric Bielle up and down the Ashlands for the last week or so. Idiot is still looking for his ‘slave’. I should just leave him out there, but he pays surprisingly well.”

“And you think me bold? You think he will never recognize you?”

“Oh, he would, if he was sober. But he never is. I make sure to pack plenty of mazte on our ‘slave-hunting’ expeditions. I don’t worry much about myself. But you, friend, why must you always court trouble? What have you been up to, anyway?”

“I freed four slaves yesterday.”

Hides His Eyes smiled, “Fighting the good fight, eh?”

“I killed thirteen smugglers, too. Eight in the cavern of Zainsipilu—that’s where I found the slaves. My crossbow took the redguard just inside the door, and the dunmer shortly after. I surprised the she-bosmer, so she died by my dagger. A nord was guarding the slaves. I filled him with bolts. I did the same to the orc female—she came charging right at me, but from too far. I drank some sujamma after that one—I don’t know why. I just picked it and gulped it down. I don’t really remember how I killed the next two—dunmer, they were; the male was a thief, I think, because he carried a nice pick. The female… I don’t know. The ringleader was an imperial, at least I think so. They all sound so haughty, even the paupers, so it’s hard to tell. But he was sensitive to viper-bolts.

"Later, I walked along the coast. I found five nord smugglers and their ship. They didn’t have any slaves, but I’m sure they must run a few—everyone on the Bitter Coast does it. I cut all their throats—the bigger they are, the harder they fall, right? It wasn’t hard. I don’t regret killing them, I think. They were carrying ebony—a crime against the Emperor—and ash statues. The Sixth House, friends.”

For a few moments, quiet reigned. The publican, Ashumanu Eraishah, cleaned a few glasses in the back of the bar, while the bard in the far corner tuned his lute, preparing for the evening crowds. A slow, sporadic drumming on the roof was audible—it was starting to rain.

An-Zaw was the first to speak. “Really, my friend, how can you sleep at night?”

Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun took another sip of flin, then stared into the bottle. “I really don’t, friends. Not anymore.”