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]

Alright, I've finally returned to this forum. I can't say how often I'll be updating in the future, as my job this summer will be taking me into the backcountry quite a bit. All I can say about these last couple of months--my absence--is that I was both busy, busy writing RL stuff (somewhat autobiographical in nature) and that I was a bit burned out from Morrowind and my character, a situation somewhat akin to Black Hand's past hiatus. I'll try to avoid staying away for so long again--I mean, I missed the beginning of a new tale from Treydog! It's good to be back, as inconstant as my being back might be. Here is my update.


Collecting Debts

Mournhold, it is said, is a city of light and magic. Gavis Velas had been drawn by its magic—the power within those indomitable walls. He had meant to put out the light, it would seem, or whatever light was left. Now all that was left of the powerful conjurer was blood, dried and drying. It pooled on the floor of his elaborate manor or it splattered on the walls—art, of a sort, if you look at the world from the hilt end of a blade.

An argonian crouched by the door, surveying the scene, reading the story of the battle, murmuring to himself.

“The wizard stood here… here was an ogrim, look at the size of that print…ooh, one of Sheogorath’s minions…”

He moved about easily and quietly in his dark brown robe, finally to opposite side of the room.

“Impressive leap… daedra spreading… the wizard turns to face…”

He looked up at the blood splattered on the manor walls.

“Long blade. Not bad, not bad at all.”

The argonian walked up the stairs, and found it undisturbed. The scattered chests, large and small, were still locked. The argonian opened them, yielding a smattering of septims and a few restorative potions of quality.

Seeing nothing else of interest, Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun made his way to the front door, letting out a sigh before taking the knob in hand.

“Where are you now, Sethyas Velas?”

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I stepped out of Velas Manor and right into the path of a hulking nord. Any hope I had that he might know where to find my quarry disappeared as he blurted out, “Hello, nice man! You see Dilborn? Dilborn my friend! Dilborn gone three days now, and Thrud sad.” I had stumbled upon the dimmest bulb in the city of light. Thrud continued, “Dilborn big and mighty wizard. Dilborn read books to Thrud... all the words, big words, two, maybe three times. Now Dilborn gone, no one read books to Thrud. Thrud sad. Thrud miss friend Dilborn. You help Thrud find Dilborn?”

Dilborn, I now remembered, was the name of the naked breton I’d seen being held hostage down in the sewers. I felt a small pang of guilt as I remembered his face, crestfallen, as I practically told the thugs, “Sorry, not interested. Go ahead and kill him.”

“Oh, all right Thrud, I’ll go find your friend Dilborn. You just stay up here and wait—I’ll go get him.”

I left the nord standing there—he tried to come along, but I distracted him by pointing away at a “dragon”—and hustled over to the sewer entrance. Thankfully the goblins had yet to repopulate that stretch of sewer, so I was able to make my way back to Drathas Nerus and his captive with relative ease. He greeted me warmly.

“Oh, the lizard again. Come to rescue your little debt-ridden friend, perhaps? How are you doing down there, Dilborn? Not so well, eh? Well, that's what happens to people who owe me money and neglect to pay.”

“Don’t call me…” I stopped myself. “Nevermind,” I sighed, “yes, this time I’m here to cover Dilborn’s debt.”

The thug smiled, and talked as only those who love the sound of their own voices can, “Excellent. That's right, lizard. We indulge in a bit of gambling down here from time to time, away from the prying eyes of the guards, you know? Dilborn is one of our best customers. He currently owes... if my memory serves me right... yes, Dilborn owes me the sum total of 3,000 septims. And he's not leaving here until he pays his debts.”

“Can you knock that down at all, Drathas? Professional courtesy, perhaps?”

The mer looked me over, smirking. I hate that. “Not for you, my little lizard friend. If they owe me money, even my closest associates have trouble persuading me to back off a debt.”

“Alright Drathas, I’ll pay you your 3000 drakes. Here.” I pulled out a small bag of hundred-septim coins and tossed it over, containing my frustration with the thug.

“All right, he can go.” The thug waved a hand to one of his lackeys. “Alam, remove his bracers. Dilborn, never show your face to me again, or I'll slice it off with a rusty spoon, you hear me?”

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“Thank you, argonian. I am in your debt. Alas, in my present financially embarrassed condition, it is a debt I cannot repay. I hope that, under the circumstances, your own virtue will be sufficient reward. I assure you ... I'm everlastingly grateful to be united with my faithful friend Thrud.”

“I figured as much, Dilborn. But I’ll deal with the loss of my gold a lot better if you take this robe of mine, too. You’re pathetic to look at, you know.” Dilborn hung his head, but he accepted my brown robe, after I emptied its pockets and pulled my other robe—the black one—on over my armor. “Now get the hell back to the surface, Dilborn—Thrud is waiting for you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Drathas owes me 3000 septims. And he’s not leaving here until he pays his debts.”

As I pulled out my crossbow I added, “Assuming that somebody collects his body.”