Bloodlust - The Continuation, And the likely conclusion as well!!! Options

[jack cloudy]

Self-mutilation to please a Daedra? Really, if it wasn't for the fact that the Daedra can be pretty tough customers, I would say that this goes a bit too far. Ah well, the plot gets even thicker than before so I'm pleased. Yes, very pleased.

[Black Hand]

Going too far? I must disagree with the gentleman from Cloudydania! Boethia really seems to get off from the suffering of people...come to think of it....MOST of the Daedra Princes do!

Oh yes, and I am pleased as well! Do keep it up Mallet!

[The Metal Mallet]

Well I decided to take another creative interpretation of a familiar Morrowind character (well, familiar for you Telvanni fans) for the sake of my story. Though I think it still fits, I guess I'll see how you're opinions go with it. On with the story!



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The annoying squawk of a cliffracer reminded Taris of some of the things he was glad he didn’t have to experience during his absence from Vvardenfell. Still, the pests of the sky were in the distance and Taris thought they would not be prone to attack him, especially since the ramparts of Moonmoth Legion Fort rested just on the other side of the foyoda. The Imperial Legion fort was not Taris’ destined location though, it was the nearby town of Balmora that Taris sought to enter. For it was there that he hoped to find someone to examine Silverbrand, and hopefully discern its properties.

The dagger was carefully sheathed upon his belt, hidden from view. He did not want any thieves attempting to pluck the valuable weapon from him before he found out all that he could about it. Taris was certain that by knowing how the dagger works, he’d be able to defeat Simion with the gathered information. Taris knew this was the only object that connected his father with Simion, this had to be what he was looking for! There was nothing trivial about this!

As he passed the fortress, which was cradled by the mountains separating the West Gash area from the Ascadian Isles region of Vvardenfell, he could see the shimmering reflection of the Odai River. In the distance he could see the palisade walls of Balmora, and the distant moaning of a Silt Strider.

Balmora was almost a third home to Taris, only precedent after his villa and the Guild Headquarters. His father had to travel to Balmora often to attend to House business and he would often bring Taris along with him. Taris would spend his time at the Council Hall, or simply roaming the city, studying its every intricacy. Over the years Taris had grown quite familiar with the layout of the city. He knew that the Thieves Guild ran the South Wall Cornerclub while the Commona Tong had been firmly established at the Council Club. An unknown assailant, thought to have been working out of interest of the Legion, had unceremoniously slaughtered the Commona Tong members. He also knew of the enchanters who held their practice in the city.

Taris knew that there were at least three enchanters in Balmora, the two obvious ones were the ones appointed to the Temple and the Mages Guild. The third though, Taris thought not too many people knew about. It was this enchanter that Taris hoped to see, though there was the possible chance that the Dunmer skipped town a wile ago.

Taris entered the familiar sight of the market square, his plain cloak wrapped around himself to conceal anything underneath it. Even though Guild duties had kept him away from Balmora for an extensive amount of time, the place still looked unchanged. He didn’t bask in the sight for long though, he had duties to accomplish. He walked behind the Mages Guild and arrived at the Odai, the river splitting the town in two. He kept on the same side of the river, heading for a collection of two story apartment homes instead of crossing over to the housing division of town. At the last house, Taris walked up the stairs and knocked on the door.

The distinctive rustling of someone moving within brought a slight smile to Taris’ face. He was still in town, which meant that the Telvanni had yet to bother him again.

The door creaked open and a suspicious Dunmer face peeked through the other side. As recognition registered, the Dunmer’s eyes widen and he threw open the door. “Taris, my friend! Come on in, and don’t mind the mess,” the enchanter said, ushering the assassin in with eager joy.

Taris carefully stepped over the junk littering the floor of “Fast Eddie’s “ apartment. Eddie was a former agent of the Telvanni until a slight with the wrong person left him banished from Telvanni-controlled cities like Sadrith Mora, and Tel Mora. Eddie had decided to reside in Balmora privately, but he still kept up the telltale Telvanni paranoia of expecting to be killed anytime. To say he was a little odd would be an understatement.

“So, sera, can I get you anything? Scrib jelly on bread? Some scuttle?” Eddie replied in his quick, raspy voice as he rummaged through his pantry.

“No thanks, Eddie, I actually want you to look at something for me,” Taris replied, getting straight to the point. He didn’t have the time for pleasantries.

Eddie caught onto Taris’ serious tone and his happy mood dampened to one that matched the situation. He pulled up a seat across from Taris and fixed him with an attentive stare. “Well, what is it?”

Taris reached into his cloak and removed the dagger, placing it on the table to his right. “I need to know anything to everything about this dagger. It’s called Silverbrand and I believe it’s related to the Daedric Lord Boethiah, I also think it connects with a current problem my Guild is facing,” Taris said plainly, not seeking to embellish anything.

Eddie studied the dagger from afar; his eyes fixed intently on the weapon. “I can hear its power ringing even from here,” he muttered as if he was talking to himself. He turned his attention back to Taris. “I’ll need time to study this, if indeed you say this is a weapon blessed by the Daedra. Come back in 24 hours and I’ll tell you what I’ve discovered.”

Taris rose from his seat, satisfied for now. A day wasn’t that big of a deal if progress was being made. As he approached the door he turned back around. “I’m sorry that we don’t have time to actually talk, but once this is over I’ll do my best to pay you a visit.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure we will. Now leave me to my studying,” Eddie said in an annoyed tone, his eyes still fixed on the dagger and his hand waving in a “shooshing” motion.

A slight grin on his face, Taris closed the door.




Taris had spent the night at the Balmora chapter Guildhall. Free rooming and food was something one couldn’t just pass up. After that, he spent the morning walking around town. Reintroducing himself was what he felt like he was doing. In the afternoon he would stop by Eddie’s place.

When he knocked on the enchanter’s door, he was surprised to not get any answer. He knocked again and still no answer. Worry crept through him once again. He silently hoped that Eddie was just so focused in his studying that he couldn’t hear the knocking.

He tried the door and to his dismay he found it locked. Something wasn’t right. Eddie wouldn’t have his door locked at this time of the day. Cautiously, Taris scanned his surroundings for signs of guards. Feeling that he wasn’t being watched, he casually took out a lockpick and carefully went to picking the lock while trying to look inconspicuous. After several stressful moments, the door lock opened with a satisfied click. Taris eased the door open and went inside.

The sight that greeted him briefly stunned Taris. Eddie stood at the back of his home. His whole body was tense and rigid, and his eyes were glazed over in a trance-like state. Within his hand was Silverbrand, poised to strike directly into the mer’s heart.

Panic raced through Taris as he lunged across the room towards the enchanter. Before Eddie could plunge the dagger into himself, Taris crashed heavily with the Dunmer, taking them both to the ground. Silverbrand clattered to the floor beside him.

“What the hell were you thinking!?” Taris shouted at the dazed Eddie.

The glazed looked vanished from Eddie’s eyes as he looked around frightfully. His eyes finally made contact with Taris’ and he visually relaxed, sighing in relief. “Praise Azura you came!”

“What the hell were you doing!?” Taris said, deciding to reiterate his question.

Eddie blanched. “It wasn’t me doing it, Taris. It was the dagger,” he said nervously, casting his eyes towards the fallen dagger. His eyes returned back to Taris and Taris could see the fear plain and clear on the Dunmer’s face.

“That dagger, Taris, is bad news. Very bad news.”

[canis216]

Dun-dun-dun!

Very interesting indeed... I wonder how bad the news is?

[Black Hand]

Hmm. A 'Daedric' dagger so to speak....maye there is an evil Daedric Spirit inside it?

[jack cloudy]

That dagger is scaring me. Nice use of Eddie though.

[minque]

EEEk! Hah! Nice interpretation of Fast Eddie....and the story is heading on just excellent. This dagger interests me, a dagger that wants to kill it´s bearer? I do agree wth Eddie....."That dagger surely is bad news!"

[The Metal Mallet]

And now, to deviate a little! Hehehe!



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Savlian’s frustrations were growing as the search for Simion continued. Simion had virtually become the needle hiding in the haystack that was Kvatch. Only this needle’s point was more than just pointy, it was deadly. It doesn’t simply want to wait to be found either, it wants to kill its searchers, and to end all attempts to be captured.

Taris had left days ago, off to search for clues to his radical claim. Savlian had then released Rah’mirr and instructed him and Sethyas to remain searching. What he didn’t tell them was that he now had people watching their movements; he wasn’t going to let them go unnoticed anymore. They seemed to make a habit out of getting themselves killed, and Savlian could do with fewer corpses on his conscience. He hoped they wouldn’t take his actions the wrong way.

Savlian was scanning a map of the downtown section of Kvatch when someone knocked on his office door. Without taking his eyes off the map, Savlian called whomever it was inside.

“Yes, what is it?” he asked in an annoyed tone.

A clearing of the throat caught Savlian’s attention, ripping his eyes away from the map. Upon seeing who it was, Savlian grimaced.

“Sorry, Ormeillus, sir. I should’ve seen who it was before speaking like that,” Savlian said apologetically to the Count of Kvatch.

The Count wore a hard smile. “You’re forgiven, as I see you’re hard at work on something.”

“That I am, that I am…” Savlian sighed, slumping into his chair.

Ormeillus approached Savlian’s desk and peered at the maps and reports that littered the desk.

“Would all of this happen to be about a report I recently received about two bodies found in the alleyways? Supposedly, two men, drenched in blood were taken in, but you released them,” Ormeillus inquired, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“Somewhat,” Savlian answered hesitantly.

Ormeillus leaned in towards Savlian, so that he was eye level with the sitting Captain. “I would like to know why you released them,” he said levelly, yet in an authoritative manner.

Savlian tried to look back into the intense eyes of the Ormeillus, but he faltered. He couldn’t lie to the man anymore. “Because I had met those two men before.”

Ormeillus’ eyebrows raised slightly, the only indication that he was surprised. “And how do you know these two men?” he asked, furthering the investigation.

“We all share the same interest in finding the person responsible for all these murders, sir,” Savlian answered, visibly shrinking before the towering Count.

“You’ve told me before that these recent murders were committed by someone else though,” Ormeillus stated, his eyes taking a hard, darkened tone.

Savlian swallowed deeply. If he admitted to his lie, how would the Count react? Would he be arrested and reprimanded? Would he be forgiven? Or would Ormeillus be angry that Savlian had let him kill Vernon? Fearing that lying would only make things worse, Savlian decided that the truth had to do.

“Sir, I have been misleading you. Ever since your brother was murdered, I knew who was behind it,” he began and then proceeded to speak of his deal with Simion, and the odd alliance with the Morag Tong assassins.

After Savlian’s speech, Ormeillus was left speechless, a blank look upon his face. The Count finally took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, and simply stared off in no particular direction. The silence of the moment was beginning to become unbearable for Savlian.

“I did what I had to for Kvatch. I will always put it before anything else,” he said with conviction, his eyes shining in the lamplight.

“Yes, I can see from your point of view. Your love for this town is truly one of a kind. I just wished you would’ve simply let Simion kill Vernon then arrested him. That way, we wouldn’t be in the present mess we’re in,” the Count said, his reverie broken.

“Am I to face any punishment?” Savlian asked. Though he feared what the punishment might be, he would accept his fate.

“I only wish for you to continue your search for this madman,” he said to the relieved Savlian, “I didn’t care much for my brother; he was the odd one of our family. While I did know of his… activities in Kvatch, I could do nothing. The Emperor would not allow cities fighting amongst themselves within his capitol province.”

“That is understandable, sir. I’m glad you’re willing to see things my way,” Savlian said.

“Even though I can, that doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed in you. I suggest you don’t keep things from me again. For the next time, I might not see things your way,” Ormeillus said, the threat evidence in his voice.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Savlian said humbly.

Ormeillus then rose from his chair and stretched. “It is late. I suggest you go get some rest. We’ll start the hunt once more tomorrow,” Ormeillus said and stopped before exiting the office, “Oh yes, I’d also like to meet this Sethyas Velas.”

Savlian nodded as the Count exited his office. Once more he sighed in relief, happy with the fact that you wouldn’t be incriminated for the offence he had done. He also began to wonder whether how thrilled Sethyas was going to be when Savlian would tell him he was going to meet Ormeillus.

He could guess that he wasn’t going to be that thrilled. Far from it actually.

[Black Hand]

You cruel, cruel man! Taking away from the Taris' discovery!! Good scenery switch there! Keep it up I say!

[The Metal Mallet]

Sorry about the delay. Saturday was quite busy and I always have bit more trouble writing at home due to the fact that they're are plenty more distractions! But I guess a good writer shouldn't make excuses... Ohwell, I still do! Here's today's update! The next one should be a bit more action-packed for those of you anxiously waiting for some more bloodshed.


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“What!?” Sethyas asked incredulously, his fork clattering upon his plate.

Savlian couldn’t help but look around the Inn to see if anyone was drawn to Sethyas’ outburst. Satisfied that no one cared, he repeated himself.

“The Count wishes to meet you. I suggest you’d don’t deny him.”

Sethyas leaned in towards him so that his face was merely inches away from his face. At this distance, Savlian could tell that Sethyas hadn’t been sleeping well lately. The assassin’s ember eyes seemed dimmer than they should’ve been, and they also sported heavy bags hanging underneath making his face appear as if it was drooping. Unkempt stubble littered his chin and the tone of his skin seemed paler than it should’ve been. Perhaps the stress of the situation was having its way with him.

“I came here under secrecy! I have a duty I must see to. I do not have the time to congregate with politicians! Especially Imperial ones!” Sethyas whispered harshly, his eyes briefly lighting up to an intense red.

Savlian was slightly taken aback by Sethyas’ prejudice remark. He couldn’t understand why Sethyas would be so hostile about this situation. If anything, Sethyas should be privileged to receive the Count’s audience. Obviously, there was something beyond the current situation that was making Sethyas react this way.

“Well I should warn you, Sethyas. If you don’t meet with Ormellius, your cover will most certainly be blown. On the other hand, you will more than likely preserve your secrecy if you do meet him. I can vouch for Ormellius; he’s a fair man.”

Sethyas’ eyes drifted downwards to the table, where they stayed while he thought on his decision. Savlian thought by the set of the Dunmer’s jaw, he was clenching his teeth. Finally, after a few moments, Sethyas ran his hands through his black hair, eventually clasping them behind his neck.

“Fine, I’ll go see this Count, but this better not take long,” he said in a defeated sigh.



Sethyas was more than a little agitated that he had to meet the Count of Kvatch. He had more pressing issues to deal with, namely finding Simion. But on the other hand, when your much needed secrecy is being threatened, a slight inconvenience can be tolerated in order to maintain your secrecy. So it was upon this reasoning that Sethyas now being led to Count Goldwine’s private office by Savlian.

There had been no conversation between Sethyas and Savlian as they had made their way to the castle. Sethyas was still somewhat sceptical of the Imperial, especially since he now revealed that they were willing to manipulate him in order to get what they wanted. Even now it seemed that Sethyas could not escape the Empire’s clutches. It was this that did little to improve his thoughts about Imperials in general. Very few had managed to earn his trust, and while Sethyas thought that Savlian might eventually earn that trust, this present manoeuvre had left Sethyas with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Savlian knocked upon the office door three times then waited for a reply. A muffled, stern voice called them in. Walking through, Sethyas immediately examined the surroundings of the office. There was a subdued aura of elegance encompassing the office. It wasn’t heavily furnished; just a grandiose mahogany desk and three large, and comfortable looking chairs. Draped along the walls were expertly drawn maps, some of which focused on certain areas while others were complete provincial maps. Sethyas attention then drifted to the man sitting behind the desk.

Ormellius was a broad-shouldered and fit middle-aged man. His face was clean shaven and his expression hard. Intelligence danced in his eyes. He was garbed in fine cloth, but it was cut in a rather conservative and militaristic style. No sense of elegance or vanity seemed to emanate from the man. Sethyas figured that this was the kind of person that took everything and anything seriously.

“Sir, this is the mer you asked for,” Savlian said, gesturing to Sethyas.

Count Goldwine rose from his chair. “Thank you, Captain. You may excuse yourself now,” he said as he rounded the desk.

Surprise flashed across Savlian’s eyes briefly before it was replaced with blank servitude. Clasping his right hand to his heart and bowing slightly, Savlian turned on his heel and exited the office, leaving Sethyas with the most powerful man in Kvatch.

The Count extended his hand. “Greetings, Sethyas Velas, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said humbly.

Sethyas gripped the hand with a black gloved hand. The Count’s grip was firm, but not crushing. As the handshake broke away though, Sethyas thought that the Count’s hand brushed against his ring in a purposeful way. “The greeting is humbly returned,” Sethyas replied.

The Count then beckoned Sethyas to take a seat, while the Count returned to the seat he had previously used. Under the desk, the Count retrieved two glasses and a bottle of Cyrodillic Brandy. “Care to have a glass? I have heard that our brandy is a favourite of yours,” the Count offered nonchalantly, popping the cork off the bottle.

Sethyas was caught off guard by the comment. “Sure…” he replied hesitantly as he looked carefully at the Count.

The Count busied himself with pouring the glasses, though he looked across the table at the Dunmer and a flat smile crossed his lips. After finishing topping off the glasses, he passed one over to Sethyas. “I won’t toy with you anymore, Sethyas. I have heard of your exploits before…” he said before taking a sip of the brandy, “Nerevarine.”

Sethyas scoffed. “So I take it that’s why you felt my hand for Moon and Star when we shook hands.”

The Count shrugged. “Subtlety was never my forte. I prefer blunt, straight to the point truth. I’m good at that.”

Sethyas took a sip of brandy, but still kept his apprehension. “So Count Goldwine, for what reason is it that you brought here?”

The Count clasped his hands and rested them upon the table. “Well, it does pertain to the current situation we’re dealing with. You see, Savlian had kept me in the dark about most of the details of this Simion problem until recently. He brought up your name, and to find out you, the Nerevarine, was in my town, I knew I had to speak with you.”

The Count’s statement made Sethyas curious about something. “Before we start talking about Simion I have one question: how well known am I here?”

“Well I personally keep an eye on international news. I like to keep on top of things. Plus, I believe we both share an acquaintance. His name is Caius Cosades. Other than that, I don‘t think many outside of the Blades would really know what you look like. They‘ve heard of the Nerevarine, but not many recall your name,” Ormellius replied.

“Caius! That old dog! I haven’t heard from his since he was recalled,” Sethyas exclaimed, “Speaking of which, how is he right now?”

“Last I heard he’s trying to separate himself form the Blades. Or at least, that’s what he told me, though sometimes you can’t trust a single thing that man says,” Ormellius replied as they both shared a laugh. Clearing his throat, Ormellius continued. “It’s time to get serious. I want you to tell me everything you know about this Simion situation. Don’t exclude anything.”

Sethyas followed the Count’s wish. He gave an account of his side of the story, informing him about what Simion was like while he was still in the Morag Tong, to the strange event against the Dark Brotherhood. He continued on, speaking of the trip to Kvatch and what had happened while he was here. The whole time, Ormellius listened carefully to his words, though he took sips of his brandy from time to time. After Sethyas was finished, the Count remained silent for a few moments as he pondered on the information.

Finally, his eyes met with the assassin. “Both of your stories match up, with some slight variances but nothing that would tell me that Savlian was still withholding information.”

Understanding dawned in Sethyas’ eyes. “So that’s why you asked Savlian to leave.”

Ormellius nodded before draining the last bit of his brandy. He looked out of the nearby window and noticed that the sun had moved a significant distance since Sethyas had arrived. “Looks like we’ll have to end our discussion here Sethyas; I have other duties to attend to before the day ends,” he said rising from his seat and extending his hand once more, “We’ll have to talk once again once this situation is taken care of. For now, I hope you choose to co-operate with us in catching Simion. You’re expertise will go a long way with us. Plus…” he paused, “Surely Simion must be less of a threat then say Dagoth Ur, or whatever other beasts you’ve dealt with.”

Sethyas made no comment to that statement as he returned the handshake; instead he simply thanked the Count before leaving. Once he was outside the castle he sighed audibly. The Count believed him to be some sort of hero, someone specifically here to vanquish evildoers with ease. That was never the case. All the things Sethyas had accomplished had been done simply because they had to be done. Had he not been thrown into the mess, he would’ve avoided it. But life had decided not to give him that luxury, instead choosing to involve him in prophecy and bloodshed.

The Count also thought that Simion was a simply challenge compared to what Sethyas had dealt with before. Again, that was not the case. Simion was something new, unique, for Sethyas. This was not some crazed god, inhumane beast, or an inept person underestimating him. Sure, he had dealt with assassins before, but Simion was an anomaly. He could certainly be the most skilled assassin he faced, but it is his sickness, his madness, that left a sense of uncertainty crawling up Sethyas’ spine. Right now, he was involved in a game of cat and mouse, and presently he didn’t know which character he was. Just thinking about that gave him the feeling that he was being watched. Shrugging the feeling away, he continued on, heading back to “The Flying Bosmer”.

He did not notice the quick flicker of black cloth whipping behind the cover of a chimney overhead.

[minque]

Oh yeah....I think good writers could make up any excuse....the readers would wait patiently anyway! And you are a good writer! hehe I like your picture of a tired Sethyas! This story is a good read....I enjoyed it very much.

[canis216]

Nice update! It's well worth the wait, Mallet.

[jack cloudy]

That was an interesting meeting.

I've been thinking about it, and Simion may be a worse enemy than Dagoth Ur. Why? Simple, Dagoth Ur never moved. You knew where he was at all times and you could trust him to do nothing while you planned for his demise and worked on your skills. Sure, there was the occasional Ash zombie but those weren't much trouble if you knew what you were doing.

Simion on the other hand, is stealthy and downright ruthless. He'll do anything to get the advantage before engaging in combat. And worst of all, he's moving.

[The Metal Mallet]

My thoughts exactly Jack. And as you'll find out with this update, you see why Simion is dangerous to Sethyas... and pretty much everyone! Enjoy!


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“Look at him…Strutting out of that place as if he owns it!” the Voice spat disdainfully within Simion’s head, “I could crush him like an ant!”

Simion crept behind the chimney of the home he stood upon, his nimble feet cradling the thatch roof with ease. Even though it was not even dark yet, his recent attack of the Tong assassins looking for him had emboldened him, pressuring him into more risky situations. Anything to help sedate the waves of pain the Voice would conjure up, Simion would do. The only thing that seemed to please it unfortunately was blood, battle, or risking his very own life. So even though he was escaping the Voice’s pain, he was only trading it in for a different pain of sorts. It was certainly more bearable, but damaging all the same. Simion absently wondered what kind of wreck his looked like. He hadn’t looked at himself in the mirror for quite some time. He could picture his haggard face in his mind. He could see his cheeks sunken from mal-nourishment, his face deathly pale, and his eyes sporting heavy, dark circles. It was a face of agony, a face of pain. A face of the monster he had become.

The Voice snickered. “Here you go again self deprecating. It would be amusing if I didn’t have to witness it every day. We have a task to do; get to it!”

Simion followed the Voice’s wish, using the rooftops to remain hidden from the red robed Dunmer below. None of his thoughts strayed from the task at hand. This was a crucial moment for him. If he took out Sethyas, he was more than certain that the Tong would likely stop their pursuit. He would then only have to worry about Savlian and the Kvatch guard; a much simpler task Simion thought.

Below, Sethyas turned left into a narrow and unused side street. Now was the time to strike. With a mighty bound, Simion leapt from one rooftop, crossed the road, and landed upon the rooftop on the opposite side. Simion cursed mentally as he realised his jump wasn’t as graceful as he hoped for since he feet clattered against the tiles of the new rooftop. Looking down, Simion noticed the Grand Master pause. Immediately Simion backed away from the ledge, his breath held anxiously as he waited for signs of discovery. Finally, after a few agonising moments, Simion heard footsteps from below. Unsheathing his dagger, a sly smile crept across Simion’s face. It was time.

Leaning over the edge, Simion could see Sethyas slightly ahead of him. Simion snaked down a rain water drain and softly touched feet upon the cobblestones. The Voice urged him on, demanding that blood be spilt. Simion desperately wanted it to. His grip tightened against the blade handle. He was now only feet away from Sethyas’ back. He arched the blade. Simion wrapped an arm around Sethyas, knife poised to slash into the Dunmer’s throat.

Suddenly, Simion found himself on his back, his head sundering in pain. Instincts kicked in as he rolled away from a descending dagger. Simion kicked out as he regained his feet, knocking back his opponent. The Voice screamed in dismay at the lost opportunity.

“You’re going to have to do better than that to catch me unawares, Simion,” Sethyas claimed, his Black Hands Dagger gripped in his hand.

“Do you honestly think I was trying?” Simion shot back, attempting to regain confidence after his embarrassing failure.

Sethyas didn’t answer as he lunged in for an attack, the Black Hands Dagger appearing to be a blur in his hands. Simion intercepted each attack with his own dagger. In a dagger fight, everything was extremely close quartered; someone was bound to get cut sooner or later. The advantage was in Sethyas’ hands though, since Simion knew the enchantment that coated the Black Hands Dagger. The thing can suck the life right out of you with just a scratch.

Simion engaged Sethyas once more, landing an elbow strike right to the jaw of the master assassin. Sethyas staggered back, dazed by the blow. Simion launched a leaping kick that caught Sethyas square in the chest, propelling him straight into the brick wall enclosing the street. Simion thrust his blade into Sethyas, only to feel it glance off the concealed armour Sethyas was wearing. Shocked, Sethyas managed to narrowly cut Simion across the cheek.

Simion fell backwards, gasping as the enchantment of the dagger sapped the health from him. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Sethyas was carefully getting back to his feet. His face was a mask of grim determination. Simion’s eyes gazed upwards where he was a bird drift across the blue clear sky. In his weakened state he knew that he was no match for the virtually uninjured Sethyas. Only the inevitable awaited him.

“I am not going to sit here and watch that happen!”

Simion found himself yet again suspended above himself in the hazy, grey cast world. He could his body surge to his feet just as Sethyas prepared the final stroke to end his life. His body caught the descending arm mid strike, instantly stopping the attack. Shock and confusion registered in Sethyas eyes as he stared into the malevolent grin of the Voice. Almost with ease, Simion body managed to toss aside Sethyas, who instinctively rolled with the fall and regained his feet easily. Simion’s body simply stood there, patiently waiting for Sethyas to make the next move.

Sethyas exchanged his Black Hands Dagger for a mean looking Daedric katana, hoping to use the length of the deadly weapon to his advantage. Sethyas charged in and swiped horizontally. Simion’s body ducked under the attack and shoulder charged right into Sethyas. Air exploded out of Sethyas’ lungs as he was tackled to the floor. Simion’s body stood up and kicked the fallen assassin, buckling him even further.

Simion watched his body brush away the crimson staining his cheek, a wry smirk now crossing his face. “Get up, Sethyas, there’s still plenty of fight left in ya,” the Voice said mockingly.

Sethyas struggled to his feet and forced his sword into a guard position. Simion’s body casually stalked around Sethyas, his eyes full of disdain and contempt. His body feinted and Sethyas flinched, causing the Voice to chuckle. Sethyas tried to lunge in for an attack, his katana was sent whistling towards Simion’s head. Simion calmly ducked under this attack and swiftly punched Sethyas right in the nose, snapping the Dunmer’s head backwards. Crimson now trickled from the nose of Sethyas, who absently brushed it away as he thought of a new approach.

Still, Simion’s body decided to wait for Sethyas to act first. Sethyas answered this by swinging his katana yet again at Simion’s head, only this time he swiftly followed the attack with a kick that caught Simion right in the jaw. Simion’s head snapped back and fell to the floor. Sethyas went for an overhead chop, yet somehow Simion’s body recovered enough that catch the attack in both of his daggers, held in a pincher formation. Simion’s body kicked Sethyas’ feet from under him and he managed to get back to his feet.

Now, Simion’s body decided to press the attack, as he used both his daggers simultaneously. The daggers looked like a whirlwind as swiped at Sethyas. Sethyas was defending the attack well until one of the daggers caught his forearm, causing him to drop his sword. He then resorted to ducking and weaving, which didn’t work at well. Fortunately his armour was providing enough protection against the silver daggers. Sparks flew as each blow struck the armour with such force.

He has him finished. It won’t be long now…

It just so happened that at that instant, a cry rose from down the street. Several Town Guard were heading towards the fight. Simion’s body caught sight of this and frowned sadly. He kicked Sethyas down to floor yet again.

“Consider yourself lucky, Archmaster, next time I’ll make sure you don’t survive,” the Voice said coldly as he withdrew a throwing knife. Once the Guardsmen were within range, Simion’s body threw the knife, which expertly entered into the throat of the closest guard. Flinging himself backwards into the other guards, the dying guard gurgled on his blood in horror. It was at this moment that Simion’s body took the advantage and fled.

As his body was fleeing, Simion managed to look back and see the guards huddling over Sethyas and the dying. The grey world only enhanced their expressions of dismay and horror. Even from this distance, the crimson blood still stood out like a beacon.

And all Simion could think was “Damn, we didn’t get him!”

[Black Hand]

Duuuulce!

[The Metal Mallet]

Duuuulce!

??????

Not quite sure what that means, Black, my friend.

[minque]

It means something nice..it just has to...because this update was indeed a ...well not exactly nice n´but well written as always.....go for it Mallie!

[Black Hand]

Dulce is Sweet in spanish.

Duuulce = Sweeeet.

[minque]

Dulce is Sweet in spanish.

Duuulce = Sweeeet.

Ahhh I just thought it meant something like that! Well I agree anyway

[canis216]

Sweet indeed... and it seems that the voice is somehow more skilled than Simion, or perhaps fully unlocks his deadly potential. Quite chilling.