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]

A New Year's gift, from me to you!

Divine Intervention

It was late, perhaps two in the morning, when I stepped into the End of the World. I had been informed that it was the local tavern. I was looking forward to a bit of brandy, and a warm bed. I approached the woman behind the counter, a blonde nord lass, with a smile on my face.

“Beg your pardon at this late hour, miss, but I could trouble you for a bottle of brandy and a room for the night?”

She frowned and replied saucily, “We’re all out of brandy, stranger. I’ve got a bottle of flin and a bottle of greef. And I don’t rent rooms this late. I was going to go to bed myself.”

My heart sank and my temper rose. “Flin, then. And good night.” I took my bottle and stepped out into the night, as the woman locked up. Well, this won’t do, I thought as I stood out in the cold night, drinking my flin. So, when I finished when I had downed the bottle, I pulled out a pick and approached the door. A very simple lock, of course—no one wants to prepare a completely pick-proof lock each night before going to bed. Once in, it was a simple manner to walk upstairs, find an unoccupied room, and break into it. I had my bed for the night.

----------------------------------------------------

A few stray rays of light penetrated my window. It was morning, time to get moving. I gathered up my gear and opened the window. No one in sight, and a fine fog caressed the landscape. I hopped out the window, then made my way to the door of the inn. Why not? I needed breakfast.

As I suspected, the morning shift was up, a brawny red-headed nord man. “Top of the morning, argonian.” he greeted me. “What can I do for you?”

I smiled. “Good morning, sera. I was looking for breakfast. Do you have crab’s meat and kwama eggs?”

“Of course. This is Morrowind!” He rummaged about behind the counter a moment, then set a skillet full of crab meat over the fire, followed soon by a skillet of scrambled kwama eggs. I took a seat at the bar, next to a red-haired nord woman in netch leather armor—she was having eggs herself.

“Oh, hey there! Another argonian.” She spoke, looking up from her breakfast.

“Another?”

“Yes, very strange. Don’t see too many of your kind around here. But just the other day I saw a veritable caravan of argonians and khajiit walking down toward Rotheran. With a bunch of dark elves.”

Slaves.

“I see. I’m sorry, but I’m new to these parts, miss—“

“Hreirek. The Lean.”

“Hreirek. As I was saying, I don’t really know my way around. Where exactly is this Rotheran?”

---------------------------------------------------

Just within sight of the old dunmer fortress of Rotheran I encountered a wooden door in the hillside, facing southeast—‘Surirulk’ carved into the frame. A smuggler’s cave—probably connected to the slavers, I thought. I cast a spell of silence upon the door—being cautious—and eased it slowly open. I saw a dunmer some distance ahead of me, but no one immediately by the door. I stepped inside the tunnel and pulled out my crossbow—crouching, aiming between my mark’s shoulders. I released the viper-bolt, and he released the life from his body. I continued through the tunnel, silently, cutting down two more dark elves, both unarmored. One was armed only with a lute. Something wasn’t right here.

But I was set on my course. I eventually came upon a large open chamber, stairs leading down to a walkway that spanned the room and lead into two smaller chambers. Past that, down another set of stairs, stood another dark elf. Still no sign of the slaves—but no time to think about that; I had a sharply downhill shot on my hands, always tricky. But again, my shot was true. I crept down the stairs, and dropped three more dunmer, one to each side, and one in another chamber ahead. They all fell on one shot, and made no sound—it was like slaughtering scribs.

No, not even like that. At least the scrib has the courtesy to fly apart in pieces, an entertaining, if a little gruesome, side-benefit. These dunmer just dropped, dead.

I found no slaves. Instead, I looted potions, gold, and gems from the wooden crates scattered about the cave. I found a bottle of brandy and drank it, sitting on a chest, not fifteen feet from one of the smugglers bleeding upon the stone.

---------------------------------------------------

“Please. Llaren Terano is a sorcerer and worshipper of Molag Bal. He is a terrible sorcerer, but he also carries a deadly sword. He stripped me and made me his prisoner. That's all I can remember. I can't recall how I got here, or why. I think he has poisoned my mind with spells. If you can recover my ring from Llaren Terano, I can use its enchantments to escape. Please, rescue these slaves, too, if you can. Llaren Terano has their slave key. Bring me my ring. Please.”

These were the words of Adusamsi Assurnarairan, when I encountered her deep within Rotheran. I already had her ring, of course, having killed Llaren Terano. I can’t say that I’m especially proud of how I did it, racing about the ruin like some kind of berserker—but let me start from the outside, and work my way in.

The slavers had stationed a pair of sentries atop the ruin, an archer and a warrior, both dunmer females. The archer was nearest, fiddling with her bow, when I crept up and put a viper-bolt through her heart. Thankfully the warrior, sporting a bonemold cuirass, was distracted by the flight of a cliffracer overhead. I aroused her from her reveries with a bolt, then sent her into an entirely different sort of reverie with a second, before she could close the distance.

Then it was a matter of choosing the right door. First I approached a sort of dome—I heard footsteps inside, soft, away from the door. I silenced the door, then gently pulled it open, blades at the ready. A solitary dark elf man was inside, facing away. I crept up behind and cut his throat.

The next door lead into the ‘arena’—that’s what was scratched on the door frame. Again, I managed to step inside unnoticed—my good fortune in this regard continues to amaze me. I was greeted by a ramp, angling down away from me, yet another dunmer man at the bottom. I crept down the slope a bit, blades again at the ready… to discover yet another dunmer was standing about fifteen feet from the first, at my left—and that I was in huge space, practically teeming with enemies. I counted at least four more enemies, at a distance, standing at vantage points over the arena. What had I gotten myself into?

Quickly, before I could be seen, I pulled out my crossbow and placed a shot into the mer to my left, killing him, and another shot into the one directly ahead. Not killing him. He gave a roar and charged at me with sword drawn, as I dropped the crossbow and pulled out my blades yet again. I ducked his swing, and thrust my shortsword into his heart. I heard shouts from all over the ruin, in all directions it seemed. Choosing to go left, I ran down the corridor, hoping to overwhelm my enemies quickly. A pair of dunmer females were coming up the corridor, my way—one readying a spell, the other a bow. I worried more about the bow—I plunged my ebony into her chest as it was being strung, while raking wildly at the sorcerer with Kills-You-Dead. I caught her—the sorcerer I mean—on the arm, breaking up the spell and seizing away her health with my blade’s enchantment. Almost reflexively, the next blow with my shortsword hacked away her head.

Still more shouting, more running. I sprinted down the corridor, to the bottom, where I met a single mer wielding a massive glowing claymore—Llaren Terano. He was just raising the huge blade to strike… so I tackled him, thrusting my ebony into the belly, bringing Kills-You-Dead to his throat. I can almost laugh about it now—the super-stealthy professional assassin rolling around on the floor with his mark! By Akatosh, if Caius ever hears of this…..

But somehow, in the chaos, I managed to kill the sorcerer, and not get cut up myself in the process. As I gathered my bearings and stood once again, an arrow flashed past my ear. The last two! Instead of facing the pair of dunmer racing down my way, I turned and ran around the corner, ran as fast as I could. Of course they would catch me, but as I suspected, the archer fell behind his compatriot. I made a quick stop around the next corner, and caught my most immediate pursuer in the heart with my shortsword as he made the turn. The archer tried to stop—I aided him with a spell of paralysis, and a slash across the throat.

In the midst of all the fighting a dremora and two scamps had been going mad down in the arena. I walked back toward the door, picked up my crossbow, and banished them back to Oblivion.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Yes! That is my ring! Please! It grants me Divine Intervention! Now I can escape! Give it to me NOW! I don't care about anything else... just let me out of here!”

The dunmer woman, an imperial cult member as it turns out, teleported from Rotheran nearly naked. I turned to the freed khajiits and argonians, ten in all. “I don’t suppose any of you want a robe?”