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]

As he strode down the road, Ian looked over his cloak. The apparel was now rough and blackened from the deadroth's fire. For the love of, I just bought these and their already ruined...... Ian wasn't into fashion, but it was prudent to dress well when in an influencial person's presence....... and it was his gold he had to pay with.

Ian sighed and checked his satchel, surprisingly it was relativly intact, aside from being soaked from his fall. This must be made of fire-resistant material..... I wish I had clothes like that too. He still had five healing potions, a dozen or so poisons, and some hacle-lo leaves.
Dwarves were fine craftsmen, the metal bow had't taken any damage in the fall or from the flames. Too bad they're all extinct now, sure could make a good weapon, those mer...... The ruins of Kvatch were still burning, but Ian didn't pay too much attention to it, he'd never really visited the city. So he didn't feel particularly angry or frightened by the town's fate.

He noticed something else, smaller fires, too small to be anything but campfires. Refugees, Ian concluded. His guess was proven correct as he left the main road and made his way through the trees. There were several crude tents, only big enough for a single bed, a couple of fires, each with a group of exhausted looking people sitting around it.

As Ian walked into the camp he was partially disgusted that everyone seemed to brim with so much self-pity and fear that they simply sat there, hardly taking in his presence. Do these people honestly think that the world isn't like this all the time?
Ian knew that normal citizens looked to the watch to protect them, and they never thought about what sort of tragedy could befall them in the future. Their like leeches, they can't live without a structure to surround them..... Having no true home for himself, Ian couldn't help but feel a measure of revulsion at these people's weakness.

After several minutes of watching the scene, Ian decided that if he wanted to find Martin he'd have to find whoever was in charge. That is if he's still alive...... He began to ascend the winding trail to the gates of Kvatch, but a man in a priest's robes stopped him.
"Don't go up there, you'll be killed like all the others. If you leave then you might be safe!" The priest gripped him tightly on the shoulder, but Ian grabbed him on the wrist and lifted his hand off his shoulder. Staring the old man hard in the face, Ian released the man's hand.

"I have a reason to go up there, and I can handle myself." The priest rambled, "there's no point. The covenant has been broken, the Emperor and his heirs are dead, and the enemy slaughters us. Where is our protection? Where are our gods? Lord Dagon spills our blood and we are helpless against his legions!"

Ian's eyes narrowed and his voice was full of contempt. "Look at how pathetic you are, you kneel before a statue of some deity and mutter at the air all your life. When something razes your city you whimper like a frightened animal, while others take up arms to fight back, and you claim it is the work of something that might or might not exist."

"I don't care if I go to hell, I'm going up there to do what must be done. Sit with the other refugees, but don't spread this non-sense about some devine's inevitable conquest, because they're bad enough as it is!" With that he brushed past the priest, angry and disgusted he to marched up the trail.

This post has been edited by Lord Revan: Jan 14 2007, 01:38 AM