Agent, Ebonheart's finest Options

[jack cloudy]

Yesterday was my birthday so here's my belated gift to all of you. The start of a new fanfic! (Wings of Light will be continued as well.) You may notice a shift of focus compared to my earlier fanfics.




Agent.
Chapter 1: In training.

My knees were shivering. For a good reason, I might say as the Duke towering over me looked very intimidating in his heavy suit of Ebony armour. Just to compare the two of us, the helmet would have been enough to crush me. Also, being dressed in cheap rags has never been a good source of courage. As it was, I had more than enough reasons to be afraid of him.

Who am I? I no longer use the name I was born with. I changed it upon my arrival here on Vvardenfell. Now I finally I have a name I can spell. Anyway, my name is Ro-El Frost. Sounds Khajiit? Maybe, but I am really closer related to the Nords, though without the muscles, the alcohol tolerance, the noise and without the size. Go figure.

The Duke turned to a man wearing some sort of golden armour. Probably the boss of the guard who was blocking the only way out of the room.
,,Is this the kid you were talking about?” The Duke asked with a stern voice. This did not sound well.
,,Yes, that’s the one.” Was the equally stern reply. This was one of those moments that your life would start to fly past your eyes.

How did I get here? Well, I don’t really know to be honest. People claim I must have been on the Skooma to have forgotten how I ever found myself in that mine. I didn’t like it there. The slavers forced me to do hard labour every day. I could feel my life slowly seep away with every single egg I harvested. I had to get out.

My plan took time but it worked in the end, except for one small detail. I harvested some poison one of the Kwama warriors had been spitting at the wall and mixed it with my food for the day. The day after that, I dumped it into the lake that was somehow inside the mine. The food had been swallowed by the Slaughterfish before I’d stepped away. The next part of my plan was the hardest. I’d been warned that the smell of their queen’s blood puts the Kwama into a killing frenzie. This information was meant so that the slaves were careful not to kill themselves, but it could also be used to my advantage.

So as you might guess, tapping blood from the queen is a potentially lethal act. Fortunately, I knew that by tapping just a little through a tiny wound made with my fingernail, the Kwama would not even notice. I carefully kept the blood sealed away inside a bottle till after four days, I’d finally collected enough. That night came the last part of my masterplan.

I managed to convince the slaves to go swimming in the lake, after showing them that the Slaughterfish had died through my act of poisoning. Next, I sprinkled the collected blood on the clothes of the slavers. I managed to get out to the lake before the killing started. I’d never been so glad that Kwama can’t swim. Those things were completely out of control. Which leads me to where I am now.

,,You have caused the death of three Dunmer and would have escaped if my Legionaires weren’t performing a raid at the same time.” The Duke spoke directly to me. Remember the little detail that went wrong? Well two dozen heavily armed soldiers who found a whole angry bunch of Kwama in their face, that’s what went wrong.
,,I thought they would run when the Kwama went mad. I didn’t expect them to die.” Was the weak defense I managed to whisper.

My arm was brusquely grabbed by the guard. The slave bracers I’d been forced to wear clattered on the floor.
,,Ro-El Frost, you have closed down an illegal egg mine and punished those who were responsible. You have further freed their prisoners who are being returned to their families as we speak. All that without harming the Kwama themselves, my men are responsible for that. As such, it is my pleasure as a servant of the great Emperor, Uriel Septim, to grant you your freedom and to take you into my service as an agent in the order of Ebonheart. Serius will escort you to your room.” The Duke now said with a smile and pointed at the guard who had released me from the symbol of slavery.

In a flash of inspiration, I snatched the bracers from the floor before I was dragged out of the room by Serius. We ascended many stairs before he finally threw open a wooden door and pushed me inside. ,,Consider everything in this room to be yours. You’ll be summoned tomorrow at 6 am. Wait inside your room till we come for you.” Serius ordered me before slamming the door shut. Not the nicest guy in the world.

I sat down on the bed and looked around, still unable to believe what had just happened. Instead of being branded as the bad guy and possibly executed, I had been turned into some sort of hero. Not exactly something that happened to me every day.

After I finally admitted to myself that things had turned out alright, I took a look around the room they’d given me. Apart from the bed, there was a closet, a mirror, a desk with several books on it and a sturdy wooden chest. It wasn’t big, but not small either. I opened the closet with the intention of swapping my dirty old rags with something more comfortable. It was cold this time of the year. The closet did not disappoint me. It was filled with all kinds of clothes ranging from simple but sturdy to downright extravagant and fit for a noble. There were shirts, pants, robes, shoes and even a few skirts, though I did not know what I was supposed to do with those. Men don’t wear skirts where I come from. Finally there were a few gloves on a separate rack.

I choose for a simple blue shirt with matching pants and a pair of shoes fit for indoor use. As the last action of the day, I picked up the book lying on top of the pile. ‘History of the Empire, part 1’ it said on the cover. If my idea of an agent was somewhat correct, these books had been placed here for a reason. I had some reading to do.

[jack cloudy]

Dang, mallet. You just don't give up. And all that for a sword. Though I have to admit, I'm now torn between Chrysamere and Forgeheart. No, I must be loyal to the Paladin's blade. I must wield it against the evil that threatens Vvardenfell. I must, even when another sword tries to claim my heart. (Too bad Oblivion doesn't have Chrysamere, or the Lord's mail. I'll miss those two when I get to play it. )




When Serius was finally finished with me, I was exhausted. If this was his rapier skill when he was rusty, I couldn’t even imagine how dangerous he would be with his skill brought back to full. Maybe I was worried about nothing and Ebonheart castle was as safe as Vivec’s palace though speaking about that, we didn’t have a god in the throne room so maybe Ebonheart was not quite as safe as the palace.

I refreshed myself back at my room, changed into a set of clothes that wasn’t soaked with my own sweat and then proceed to wander around the castle. As I came by the painting of what I now recognized as Red Mountain, I got an idea. When no one was nearby, I slipped through and entered the familiar dark maze of hidden passages. Instead of going directly to Leroth’s place, I decided to actually explore a bit, something I hadn’t done before. I used the most simple method of exploration devised by mortals. Follow the wall at your right side.

As I moved further into unexplored territory, the tiny markings carved into the walls reflected that by turning into symbols I did not recognize. The air smelled different, faintly resembling the distinct scent of an ash storm. The sound of steel hammering on steel echoed through the tunnel. This brought back memories of golden forges, hot flames and fantastic tools worthy of gods being made. I stopped where I were. Those memories were not mine. More lingering thoughts of Dumac? Or some other Dwemer, or perhaps simply my imagination having gone out of control?

With a mental curse at all these confusing thoughts, I moved on towards the source of the sound and smell. Soon, the tunnel was bathed in a flickering light coming from a chamber whose door had been left open. I looked inside and saw a familiar Altmer in a blue robe working on his machine. It was the first time I saw him without his hat which normally covered his head. Zarador was bald.
,,Hand me that cog. The little one, about the size of a coin.” The mage ordered without even looking. I shrugged and put the cog in his outstretched hand. He quickly put it to use by pressing it somewhere inside Centurion.

,,No, it doesn’t belong there.” I suddenly spoke up. I looked as surprised as Zarador. Till now, I had absolutely no knowledge about the fine intricacies of Dwemer machines. Or so I thought. To hide my own surprise, I grabbed the cog out of his hand and pointed at the inscription on its surface.
,,See these markings here? This cog is part of the mechanism that enables the neck to move. Hold on, I’ll put it in the right spot.” I crouched in front of the Centurion and looked at its exposed skeleton. I soon noticed the right gap in the neck and inserted the cog. A few gentle taps with a hammer and the cog was secured into its proper position.

When I looked up again, Zarador was scratching the bald top of his head.
,,Wow, I guess the Bosmer wasn’t joking when he said you were a Dwemer. Funny, you don’t look like the ghosts I met in Dwemer forts.” He said with a peculiar trembling voice. I would later find out that he always spoke like that when he didn’t quite know what to think of something.
,,More like a reincarnation of a Dwemer. So, did Fargoth return to Seyda Neen? I haven’t seen him around in a while and no one wants to talk to me.” I replied. This caused more headscratching on Zarador’s part.
,,The little guy with the bow? Oh, he went back to Seyda Neen. Not for long. After selling his house, he moved on to the north. To Ghostgate. I don’t know what happened after that.”

I was a little bit worried. The small amount of information I managed to get through public channels, also known as asking the occasional traveller, told that the Sixth House main base was beyond Ghostgate. Still, Fargoth knew what he was doing. I was sure that he’d stocked up on silver arrows for his expedition. He would be fine. With that matter taken out of my system, I gave Centurion a closer look.

The machine had been beaten up pretty badly. Both the outside and the inside was a mess. Joints were smashed, plates were torn, vital parts were missing. To make matters worse, it turned out that Zarador’s work on the machine was horrible. Tiny, handmade parts had been forcibly pushed into the wrong place, simple ropes replaced steel wires, what looked like the remains of someone’s meal was smeared all over. In short, there was no chance in Oblivion it could be fixed. Not without a proper supply of the right parts.

,,Lies! You dare doubt my wisdom, my knowledge? I’ve studied the Dwemer longer than you have lived! No one knows more about them than me!” The Altmer objected when I presented my findings to him.
,,I am a Dwemer, remember? Who knows better than the one who built it?” I countered with a slight grin. Zarador mumbled some more complaints but he couldn’t find anything against the point I’d made.
,,Fine, you’re the expert. What do you need?” He asked after a long silence. I shrugged at hearing the question. So far, my Dwemer memories required an external trigger.
,,I’ll know when I see the right parts.”

,,What?! You expect me to bring a whole Dwemer fort with me just so you can look for the parts you need to fix your Centurion? How am I going to do that, put it in the pocket of my robe perhaps?” I rose an eyebrow. My Centurion? Zarador was clearly shoving his responsibility away. Now I would be the one to blame if anything went wrong.
,,Then find a way. It’s not my problem because it is not my Centurion. Have a nice day.” I told him in a decisive tone and left before the Altmer could go any further. I would not use my heritage just to clean up the mess he’d made. Even if a Centurion was a fearsome foe in combat, it was not my problem.

I froze in the tunnel for the second time. Fearsome foe in combat? Any assault on the Sixth House’s main base would be troubled thanks to the eternal Ash storm, not to mention the ranks of Sixth House minions. Even the Houses, with their armour that was adapted specifically for these harsh conditions, would rather not seek battle in that weather. Dwemer Centurions on the other hand, as long as their armoured shell was properly sealed, could function in even the worst Ash storm as if it was a clear day. Vvardenfell was littered with ruins, each protected by these metal guardians. A whole potential army, just waiting to be used. I shook my head hard and called myself an idiot. No one could command the Centurions. This army was hostile towards anything that dared enter their home. It was no miracle really that no one looked towards the Dwemer artefacts as an army.

My growling stomach told me that it was time for diner. I would no longer worry about our current crisis till after I’d filled my stomach with some good food. A man must know his priorities. Hunger was more important than a long death Dwemer.