Interviews with an Assassin, From the journals of Martinus Serruq - Professional Author and Mage Options

[Ahrenil]

Introduction

I arrived in Morrowind from Cyrodil in the year 427 of the Third Era and was immediately struck by how exotic the place was, in the heartland you could stand on the plains and see for miles upon miles, to the great snowy peaks of the North to the steamy Nibenay bay and Leyawin. But after I emerged from the hold of the Pelagius, which had agreed to take me to Ebonheart before it unloaded it’s prisoners at Seyda Neen, I was immediately struck by the dense fog that lurked over the waters behind me, and the great hills and trees that blanketed the land, blocking off the horizon and permeating the land with a strangely claustrophobic feel.
I came to the volcanic island to try and make a book out of the local customs and institutions in the land, some of which bore a keen resemblance to those of the Imperials and other human races, and some that seemed completely alien to me. My journey led me to Vivec, perhaps the most spectacular city I had seen in my travels. Saying that the city is situated on the coast would be a lie, it is built directly out of the sea, the fat multi tiered cantons rising out of the muddy waters and mist like elegantly carved mountain peaks.
Unfortunately on arrival I was struck by how tired I was, as sailing had never sat well with me. After getting off of one cramped wooden prison ship and onto a cargo ship I was completely sapped of any will to begin my studies, or so I had thought. I had sat down to a strange meal in the first inn I found, a plate of the largest egg I had ever seen and some tough local tubers and plants mixed into salt-rice, when I noticed the Bosmer.

I had sat down at a table I had thought was deserted, but upon carefully examining the large “kwama” egg and not deducing any obvious way to eat it I had looked up to try and observe the locals and found myself staring directly at the man sitting opposite me. I hadn’t seen or heard him sit down and he was posed to an extent that spoke both of comfort, but also of constant awareness, that made me realise he had been here long before I had arrived. I chastised myself inwardly for being so rude and introduced myself.

“Sorry friend” I apologised quickly, smiling sheepishly at the man “I hadn’t seen you there, my names Martinus Serruq, do you mind if I sit here?”
“Not at all” the Bosmer replied, his eyes flicking to me. “I’m Threndafel”.
There was something about the man that put me on edge; he had a bluntness and carefulness you don’t usually associate with the “Tree Sap” people. He never seemed quite relaxed, his eyes moved constantly around the inn, as if he was trying to absorb as much information from his surroundings as possible, and the way the staff watched him made it seem like they expected trouble.
I coughed nervously and returned to my egg, carefully poking it with my knife while contemplating the idea of the lovely imperial barmaid who’d served me snickering in the stockroom at the stupid foreigner.
“Slice away the shell”, I nearly jumped out of my skin when the elf spoke, his voice was surprisingly hard with a hint of either boredom or annoyance in his voice. “Then section up the inside and mix it in with the rest, it’s all bland together but the tastes on their own will make you retch until you get used to the dining”
“Um, thanks” I replied, while following his advice, he was right it was quite bland, but something didn’t sit right with my palate that suggested I’d regret my order in the morning. “Could I get you something in return? Maybe a plate of, what was it, Hackle-Lo?”
The elf regarded me coolly for a moment “You don’t know much about Bosmeri do you?” he declared in a manner that suggested no matter what I thought he was right. “We’re carnivorous, or at least we Valenwood natives are.”
“Ah, well perhaps something else, maybe...” he cut me off quickly with a slight motion of his hand
“A flin would be good though”

A few drinks later we’d opened up to each other as only two and a half flasks of sujamma and a mutual dislike of mudcrabs can make you. I was busy stuttering out my plan for my book, how I’d visit all the cantons and try and get interviews with the highest ranking, and some of the locals, to learn about how the influence of Imperial guilds was changing Dunmer tradition when he stopped me in my ramblings.
“I can help” he muttered, taking another swig of the potent drinks we’d ordered “You don’t get much more traditional than my institute”. He declared, perhaps a tinge of pride creeping into his voice.
“Lemme guess” I blurted out “Telvanni, magicka and mischief righ’?”
“Do I look like ah mage?” he grinned. His eyes flicked towards a dunmer staggering out of the door in that disconcerting manner of his. As soon as the man was gone my Bosmer friend straightened, and I realised he had been acting drunk this whole time. “You don’t get more Dunmer than the Morag Tong” he said before standing, and it was only now I noticed that under the loose fitting cloth shirt and leggings he wore was a dark set of leather armour, and around his waist was a selection of knives. Then he was gone, following the man out of the door.
When I finally left in the morning I was confronted by an Ordinator, one of the elite guards of the city and of the local religion. “Sir, do you have any information regarding the assassination of a male Dunmer last night? By the name of Feruren Oran?” he growled at me, one hand resting always on the hilt of his sword.

My mind reeled with the possibilities as I politely lied my way past the masked guard and made for the balcony outside. Had I spent the last evening talking to an Assassin? A legalised murderer? Little did I know as I made my way towards the Redoran canton that I would meet the man again, and that he would form the basis of what may be my best work?.

This post has been edited by Ahrenil: Jan 18 2011, 01:58 PM