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]

The Grandmaster

“Ulmesi, have you heard from Yatuse?” the orc’s voice boomed. If Ulmesi had not seen the concern on his face she would have thought that Rogdul was angry with her somehow. She sighed, “No, I haven’t heard from him yet. But that’s no reason to worry; Gnaar Mok is far away, and such a backwater, and I did tell him to be careful with this one.”

“Careful?” the orc nearly shouted. He composed himself before continuing, “I know I’ve said it three times already, but this should have been a writ for the Grandmaster. The mark is too dangerous for Yatuse. Look at what happened to—“

“I know what happened Rogdul, and I appreciate your concern. But I think that this writ is not worthy of the Grandmaster’s attention, and anyway, he isn’t anywhere on Vvardenfell right now. And Yatuse is a very promising assassin. His grasp of the school of illusion is unprecedented for a mer his age.”

“I’m sorry Ulmesi, you are right. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Still, I hope he can make it back tonight. I worry about him… he’s a little arrogant in his use of nightblade magick.”

“We’ll work on his strategy when he returns. Perhaps he can see Master Andarys.”

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

Long past midnight a faint sound, close by her bedside, roused Ulmesi from her slumber. She tried to look around, but she found she couldn’t move at all.

“Yes, Miss Baryon, I’ve paralyzed you,” a masculine voice hissed into her ear, “the better for you to listen. It would be a shame if you cried out before I have my say. Your… cult here just last night made a second attempt upon my life—in spite of an accord I made with your Grandmaster, Eno Hlaalu, some time ago. I would talk to him directly, but he doesn’t seem to be here. I want to know where he is, so I’m going to un-paralyze you, and you are going to answer me quietly—or I’ll kill you and every one of your associates. I hope you understand.”

Ulmesi felt restorative magic flow through her—a great pressure upon her chest vanished, and her muscles all relaxed at once. She whispered, “E-E-Eno retired, he’s gone.”

“Then who is the Grandmaster now? Surely it isn’t you.” She thought she heard a mocking quality enter the hiss in her ear.

“I can’t tell you.”

“What? Don’t be foolish, Miss Baryon.” She felt cold, jagged daedric metal pressed to her throat—but she didn’t dare look. “Feel that, dunmer? That is your fate, unless you tell me what I need to know.”

“A Morag Tong assassin does not fear death. I will go to my ancestors, with honor.”

The hiss grew harsher, if that were possible. “Don’t try to feed me that guar dung, Baryon. I know assassination—far more than you. When was the last time you struck another living, breathing soul down? When was the last time you faced death? We fear death, all of us assassins. Any who don’t are guar-dung crazy. We overcome fear, fight through it—but we don’t forget it.” The hiss paused, but its dagger continued to press firmly down upon Ulmesi’s throat—and then it spoke again, “But death is not the worst. No, Miss Baryon, before I kill you and everyone else here, I think I’ll torture you. Have you ever been treated to a barrage of destructive magicka, while paralyzed? It can be quite brutal to watch. I can’t imagine how it feels. You have fifteen seconds to tell me what I want to know, or you won’t need to use your imagination. One…two… three… four…five… six…”

“The new Grandmaster is Sethyas Velas!” Ulmesi croaked out, eyes wide and brow sweating.

“Ah, I know this mer. Yes, I believe you. But where can I find him?”

“I think—I think he went to Mournhold.”