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Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 19 2006, 12:15 AM

Greetings, I have been a fairly longtime reader of the Fan Fiction section of these forums (back when it was still W4O) as a guest. I thought it was about time to get out of "veil" per se. Hopefully, this Fan Fic will be enjoyable for you guys as your fics have been enjoyed by me. Criticism is always appreciated. Anyways, here it is!


- Bloodlust -

The knife slashed through the man’s throat with ease, causing an eruption of blood to pour out the gaping tare. A shocked gurgle escapes the man’s lips as he begins to pale. The only warmth he feels is the body that is holding him up and the bodily fluid running down his chest. His eyes finally cloud over, still locked in their state of shock. The body is then silently lowered to the ground.

The killer stares down at his latest handiwork. What a rush! The sound of the blade tearing through skin and flesh, the sudden burst of blood spouting out the wound, even the sickly sweet scent of the man’s life force intoxicated him. He inhaled the scent deeply as he bent over to clean off his knife on the man’s shirt. This was just another stepping stone in order to prepare himself for his main goal.

Vengeance, he thought, I will have it soon. I just need to make sure my skills are up to par to get away with this. Hopefully this gets you quivering in those expensive boots of yours as well.

The figure cloaked in darkness exited the alley where he committed his crime, casually integrating with the night’s pedestrians. As he passed a homeless man and his fire barrel, he casually tossed his bloodstained gloves into the flames. An experienced killer will not leave any incriminating evidence. Fortunately he didn’t get any blood on his clothes this time.

After handing the homeless man some coins, he continued on. The journey home was uneventful after that. No one paid any attention to the moderately well-dressed man walking down the street. No one knew the chaotic thoughts running through his mind at the moment. No one knew the pain and suffering he has gone through to get this far, or the lengths to which he’ll go to achieve what he wants. All they see is an average man who prefers black colours and cloaks. No one would suspect he was the one behind the current string of murders that have been happening.

The killer arrived at his home, located in a quiet, peaceful part of Kvatch. As he hung up his cloak, he contemplated his next move. The best approach would be to wait a couple of days before initiating his next murder. There was no need to be hasty and become careless. The point was to get away with his mission in the end; suspicions must be avoided at all costs.

As he climbed into bed, his thoughts were still running through his actions of the night, reliving every beautifully bloody moment. He closed his eyes and knew what his dream was going to be. It has always been the same recently.

Sweet, bloody revenge.

Posted by: DarkHunter Jun 19 2006, 01:09 AM

Wow... This is a story to rival ... ummm... (blankspace)

I wonder where has the sudden rush of sadistic story writers come from?

Posted by: Mazelure Jun 19 2006, 02:36 AM

From me!!!... but seriously this is a realy good story... it is such a discriptive story... I have not read a story this discriptive in a very long time... so keep the good work coming man ....

Posted by: Lord Revan Jun 19 2006, 04:07 AM

mmm... well you've got me stuck , I wait with anticipation for the next update

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 19 2006, 08:01 PM

Sadistic am I? Well that could certainly change, for all you know this could all be a dream and the killer actually loves to snuggle bunnies and chipmunks and such.... Oh who am I kidding! The character himself is sadistic. On with more!

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A small ray of sunlight splashing across the eyes of Count Vernon Goldwine causes him to wake. Muttering curses, Goldwine rolls over and tries to fall back asleep. After a few moments he throws off the sheets and sits up. There was no point. Once he was awake, he was awake.

Goldwine drags himself into his washroom to prepare himself for the day. Ideally, Goldwine always wants to look his best when taking care of Kvatch’s daily procedures. While splashing water onto his face, the Count stares at himself in the mirror.

“You’re not the young and handsome man you used to be are you, Vernon?” Goldwine asks his reflection. The only remains of his youth are contained in his eyes. They still spark and cackle with the power of his youth. Unyielding, determined, and sharp. The rest of him has followed his age; his stomach protrudes, his once lush brown hair is now thinning and flecked with grey, even his face has become creased and saggy.

A rapping on his bedroom door causes the Count to choke on his toothpaste as he was brushing.

“Sir, I have some mess-”.

“Dammit, Brixley! Just leave my messages down in front of the door! You know I don’t like being disturbed in the morning!” Goldwine yells, cutting off his butler.

“Certainly, sir,” comes the humble reply from the butler, his footsteps all ready receding.

A few minutes later, Goldwine steps out of his bedroom dressed in an expensive robe and cloak. Today he felt formal. He bends over and picks up the messages Brixley left then begins to stroll down the hallway, reading the messages.

Tax reports, town coffers reports, wage schedules for his employees, an upcoming court case that needed to be held, all seemed like usual daily messages. The next message was an article taken out of the Black Horse Courier. Scanning the headline alone stopped the Count dead in his tracks. He looked up, hoping the next time he looked down at the article it would change. He looked down, and reread the headline:

MYSTERY KILLER SLAYS ANOTHER TOWN GUARD

All of Kvatch Castle could hear the yell of fury that came from their beloved Count.

“This is the fourth time! The FOURTH!! What does Savlian thinks he’s doing!? Brixley!”.

Almost immediately, Brixley appears, “Yes sir?”.

“I would like my Captain of the Guard to attend lunch with me today. We have things to discuss”.

“I will see to it, sir” the humble Breton replies.

“Good. Things are beginning to become unsettling around here…”.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 19 2006, 08:50 PM

Well, I won't call you sadistic.
But I have to agree that lately stories seem to have gotten a bit bloodier and more destructive. Still, I like your story.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 19 2006, 09:18 PM

Well, lets just say that the fanfic reflects the ESRB rating of the game. Though I purchased it while it was still rated Teen. I'm trying to keep it at a Teen level content because the forum suggest that. So if I do go overboard, just give me a heads up and I'll get to editing. Thanks for the comments so far!

Posted by: minque Jun 19 2006, 10:07 PM

Ohaha......cruelty, thy name is The metal Mallet!!! Well written story, I´ll keep an eye on this one!

Posted by: Lord Revan Jun 19 2006, 10:23 PM

your still going on strong, Mallet keep it up!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 20 2006, 04:48 PM

It's always nice to have an ego boost when a moderator comments on your fic! Hopefully it won't go to my head too much.... I RULE HAHAHA!!!.... Oops, sorry. Anyways, back to the story!

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Captain Savlian Matius expected the message to attend Count Goldwine’s lunch this afternoon, considering what happened the previous night. Another one of his men were found dead in an alley with their throat slit. This would be the fourth guard taken out by, most likely, the same person who murdered the previous three. All of them were identical, and they were all found in the same vicinity. Obviously, this person had a personal grudge against authority. The scary part about the situation was that the murderer was skilled. No witnesses, no fingerprints, no suitable evidence whatsoever. The person was a ghost.

His thoughts were still troubled as he entered the dining room of Count Goldwine’s castle. The Count was all ready helping himself to his venison, but Savlian still snapped a salute to avoid insulting Goldwine. He knew about his short temper. Goldwine waved him over to a chair by his side, chewing his venison the entire time. Supposedly, the Count does not need to show the same courtesy as Savlian.

“So,” Goldwine begins, still working on the meat in his mouth, “I think you know the reason why I asked you to come see me today, correct?”.

Savlian knew he had to choose his words wisely to avoid further anger on the Count’s part. “Yes I do. I now have some ideas to help us out”.

“Oh, so “now” you have some ideas. Good job. It only took you four murders!”.

Dammit, thought Savlian, I all ready have him on his bad side… “Sorry sir. Sometimes it takes drastic events to spur one’s thoughts. The plans I have should work effectively”.

“Okay, lets hear them,” Goldwine says dismissively.

“Well, all of the murders were done in secluded spots and the man was obviously alone at the time because we don’t have witnesses. So, if we just keep the guard away from these secluded spots, they won’t fall into a trap. Also, if we keep the guards in pairs, at the least, then that should deter the killer because you can’t silently kill two men. One of them will notice what’s happening, then, being the trained fighters that they are, they should be able to apprehend or kill the murderer. Once the element of surprize is broken, the murderer more than likely will give up”.

“Sounds effective enough. But I warn you now, I’m not pleased with your progress on catching our culprit. I want someone to hang for this, not laugh about it once they’ve had their fill of killing since it has become too dangerous for them,” Goldwine scolded Savlian as if he were a child, “Now go see to your duties”.

Savlian snapped another salute as he rose from the table and left. He didn’t even had a chance to have at least one bite of that venison. Damn that greedy Count.


Later on...

The soldiers within the barracks could tell by the loud bang of a slamming door that the Captain was in a bad mood. Throughout the day, all conversation was about the previous night’s murder. Now they were about to hear the backlash from the Captain.

“Men, gather around. Right now,” Savlian ordered the men. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself down. He knew he shouldn’t take out his frustrations out on his men. They were doing the best they could, considering the situation. So was he, but they needed some headway in the case. If he didn’t, for all he knew the Count would put the rope around his neck. Therefore, the sooner this killer was caught, the better.

“How did the meeting with the Count go Cap?” one of the soldiers asked ignorantly.

“He isn’t pleased. For the most part that’s my fault since the investigations have not been doing well and preventative measures haven’t been made. But the latter will be fixed as of this moment. From now on, while you are out on your patrols, you will remain in groups of two at the least. I suggest three but I’m leaving that up to you. Also, use extreme caution when entering the alleys, I would even go as far as to avoid them unless it is absolutely necessary to investigate them. You all know that has been where this person strikes so be smart. I don’t want any heroes,” Matius says, looking sternly around the room, making sure each man understands. He then smirks, “Leave the hero stuff to me”.

His small joke brings a few chuckles from the men, or a couple of smiles. One must do things like that during trying times like these. Everything can’t just be doom and gloom. There needs to some light for which someone can try to hold on and pull themselves out of the darkness. Or else, how can hope exist at all? Without hope, there’s nothing to strive for, and then all is lost to our own personal darkness. Yes, sometimes just lightening up the mood with a laugh reminds someone that there is still some light to cling to.

“In light of the new patrol procedure, I will have a new patrol schedule set up. These changes are immediate. It works just like the old one, the only difference is that you include who is patrolling with you,” Savlian states and he takes down the old schedule and posts the new one, “Oh yes, and it’s first come, first serve for timeslots”.

With that statement, the entire barracks decides to hurry over to the schedule and Savlian Matius decides to take his leave of the barracks to visit the latest crime scene.

Posted by: Kiln Jun 20 2006, 04:52 PM

If I were to guess I'd say Mazelure.

Anyways its the first time I'd seen this story man so I was pretty surprised to see how many updates were here...so much content and its filled with violence and drama...very interesting, please continue.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 22 2006, 12:37 AM

The first thing Savlian noticed about the crime scene was the acrid scent of decaying blood. It was nauseating. As he finally stepped into the alley, the smell was nearly overwhelming. Surveying the scene, Savlian noticed the Breton resting in a pool of his own blood. Looking around, Savlian could tell that it would’ve been nearly pitch black in the alley; it was likely that the Breton was relieving himself just before the attack happened. There obviously wasn’t a struggle, as the only wound was the deep cut into the throat.

Savlian took a closer look at the Breton. He was young, definitely too young to have this happen to him. Upon seeing the small scar above the right eye, he realized who the victim was. It was Ramone Damaclus. Savlian had given him that scar in a training accident. The fool was trying to show off his sword skills during sparring practice. Ramone tried a risky move on Savlian which led to Savlian smacking him above his eye, opening it up. This brought up the lovely topic of technique versus flashiness. After that event though, Ramone straightened up, he showed some initiative. He had potential, but it was now lost due to carelessness on Savlian’s part. Savlian looked away from the corpse in pained frustration.

I can’t let this happen again. I need to find something. They can’t be perfect. Something must be here…, Savlian thought as he looked around the crime scene, paying careful attention to avoid keeping Damaclus’ corpse in his view for long.

With any case, a profile of the perpetrator can start to form upon studying the crime scene. With the first murder, the death of an Imperial, it was thought that the motive was a personal vendetta with the victim. But new conclusions were made once a similar murder happened. This time a Dark Elf was the victim so now a crime of racism could be excluded. There was also no affiliation between the man and mer, so the personal vendetta was now out of the picture. The only conclusion that could be drawn from the crime scenes was that the killer didn’t like guards. But who could have a vendetta against the whole town guard?

Then it clicked. Former criminals.

Most people when they are arrested aren’t happy about the situation. They often feel they didn’t deserve their sentence, which leads to anger against the guards. So, what if someone was so upset with their sentence that they felt they should punish the guard for what they did? It sounded like the best reason so far. Sensible and it fit the crimes, especially if the crook was arrested for a violent crime, like assault, or attempted murder. All that needed to be done was to monitor released prisoners and see if they were up to anything suspicious. Then act upon the ones who were suspicious. It seemed foolproof in Savlian’s mind.

In the next few days, I’m going to catch you and end this madness, thought Savlian as he left the scene to set his plan in motion.


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

I'm surprised I've been able to keep these posts a day going so far. That'll probably change in the future, but it will still be quite frequent over the summer hopefully, I don't see why it shouldn't.

Till the next post.

Posted by: Mazelure Jun 22 2006, 01:02 AM

I dont know about you guys but I think that Savlian has the potential to rival Sherlock Homes... Great job Metal Mullet and keep up the good work...

That is so sweet Kiln... but I could not have possibly drawn in all this artist by myself... or did I?... I dont know... thats for you to answer... but thanks anyways...

Posted by: DarkHunter Jun 22 2006, 01:33 AM

I suppose this guy IS sherlock holmes... Of TES!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 22 2006, 05:29 PM

My hair might grow long in the back, but I hope to avoid mullets at all cost! I think they would look terrible on me. Of course, this is all in good humor.

The Sherlock Holmes comments are quite flattering But I do see the relation, forensics can't really exist in either of those times. And right now, I can't see cases being solved with magic. So logical deduction would fit the best in TES.

Anyways, thanks for commenting so far, on with more!


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With Captain Matius dealt with for the day, the Count could now continue with the rest of the day’s more… rewarding duties. Tax collections. Oh how the Count loved collecting his money. He had a nice comfortable sum locked away in the town’s coffers. Sure, he had to give some of it away due to the provincial laws for pension plans, widower funds, and orphanages, but he could control how much he gave out. This left some people unhappy, angry even, but the Count had long since developed a method to keep these people from voicing their feelings to the public.

It just so happened that his method needed to be invoked today. The proprietor of a local bank was beginning to raise complaints about the insufficient amount of funds to provide for his customers, according to the Count’s observatory network. With situations like these, it is best to have it taken care of before it became a problem. The Count planned on using his problem solver. Seemed logical enough. A problem exists, who better to solve it than a problem solver?

“Brixley!”

Moments later, a soft pattering of feet lets the Count know that Brixley has arrived. “Sir?”

“I need to speak with Hlodir please. Let him know it’s rather urgent.”

“As you wish sir.” With that, Brixley quickly vacates the Count’s room. His footsteps quickly fade away.

Goldwine slides into a more comfortable position in the cushioned chair. He stares intently into the flames in the fireplace, as it was a chilly day in Kvatch, and takes a sip from a vintage Tamika wine. He could all ready hear the septims spilling into his hands.

Meanwhile, in town...

A cry of anguish rises out of the Bosmer as Hlodir nearly breaks his opponent’s hand against the tavern table. Laughter erupts from the rest of the patrons of the tavern as the Bosmer silently sulks away, clutching his injured hand, and Hlodir scoops up his earnings from the “friendly wager” of an arm wrestle. Strangers were always so gullible to Hlodir’s tactics. He enjoyed playing up the stereotypical Nord; a drunken, slow-witted people from the cold, harsh north. Unlike some, Hlodir had brains. Sure he was a drunken brute at heart, he was a Nord, but he enjoyed using his cunning to take advantage of people. Generally strangers, as they were generally ignorant. When they meet Hlodir, they see the massively drunken Nord they expect to find at a tavern. In reality, Hlodir wasn’t drunk, he knew the feeling well enough to put up a showing of being drunk, but his mind was as clear as a Skyrim river in the spring. Once a challenge is made, the stranger thinks they can win a large sum of coin, taking advantage of Hlodir’s drunkenness, but they soon find out that Hlodir is indeed, not drunk. Today the unfortunate Bosmer found that out.

“A round for me friends dear barkeep!” cries Hlodir, which is quickly followed by cheers from the patrons of the tavern. Hlodir returns back to his mead; since his fun for today was done, it would be fine to get drunk now. He downs the large mug quickly, gulping loudly. Upon completion a large bang is heard from the mug being slammed onto the table. A hearty belch follows shortly after. Hlodir sighs happily. There’s nothing better after a fine amount of winnings than a large mug of mead.

Around 3 or 4 mugs latter, Hlodir never was one to remember how many mugs he drank, a tap on his shoulder turns him around. A sneer began to spread across his face from noticing the rags and dirt that covered the fellow, beggars were always bothering him to spare his coinage, but it stopped short once he saw the face. It was Brixley, his employer’s butler. “What do ya want, lapdog?”

“Our employer wishes to speak with you; he said it was rather urgent,” Brixley meekly stated.

“Well you go tell him that I’ll show in the next half hour, I got a drink t’finish,” Hlodir said, all ready returning back to his drink. He knew that Brixley was all ready on his way to the Count. He also knew the limits of Verny’s patience. At least it looked like his fun for today wasn’t going to end. Goldwine always had interesting duties for him. Good thing he wasn’t too drunk yet.

Hlodir the Nord finished off the last of his mead, sat up, fixed his collar on his expensive shirt, then proceeded out the tavern. More earnings were to be made today.


Later on...

Adamus Prophilis, proprietor of the Kvatch local bank was glad the day was about to end. Today had been exceptionally busy; many customers wanted to make transactions but most were left disappointed. He simply couldn’t give out so much money anymore, the town taxes kept pulling money out. It was rather frustrating. Having to deal with complaining customers each and every day made him wish to do something violent. Just something to make them quiet. Anything. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that to a person. What he could do though, was question why so much money was being taken from him. Taxes normally do not cost that much. Many other establishments seemed to be doing just fine, so why was his business nearly bankrupt? No matter, these were thoughts to think about for another day. For now, Adamus just wanted to get home.

Adamus was just about to lock up the front door and leave out the back when the door popped open. Adamus groaned inwardly. The last minute customer, how I despise you, thought Adamus as he put on his best fake smile for the well-dressed Nord who walked in. “Hello sir, welcome to the Kvatch Bank! How can I help you?”

“Greetings t’ya good sir, I would just like t’make a small deposit this evening. Sorry about arriving so late, am no trouble am I?’ asked the large Nord nicely.

“Absolutely not good sir. Like I say, ‘any business is good business’,” Adamus replied, “Now lets see how much you’re going to deposit.”

The Nord pulled out a rather large purse of septims. Adamus had never dealt with this much money before. This was definitely good business indeed. “Ya see, the situation is that I’m making sure the damn town doesn’t take my money. Taxes have been killing me lately. It almost seems as if they’re trying t’rob me,” the Nord said, looking rather upset about the situation.

So, this poor fellow has the same problem as I do. Maybe I should share my sentiments…

“I know exactly how you feel. I think the town is doing the exact same thing with me. I was actually thinking about complaining to the Count. I now have more incentive to if other people are suffering from this like me,” Adamus said eagerly, hoping the Nord would think it’s a good idea.

“Well that does sound fine and dandy but I gots a better idea. Since the town has been messin’ with you, I think it is your turn t’mess with them. Sounds good, no?” rumbled the large Nord.

“And how would I do that? Do you all ready have an idea?” asked Adamus. He couldn’t believe the good luck he just struck. A way to screw over the Count! It was perfect. It would only take the information this Nord could provide. His wife would be overjoyed!

“Well…,” the Nord looked over at the front door, “I want t’avoid anyone hearing about this. Do ya have a way to make this more private, lad?”

It took a second for Adamus to catch on. “Oh! Sure, it’s past closing time anyways,” he said, attempting to cover up his moment of stupidity. He locked the front door and tugged on it a few times to make sure it was locked. This was a bank, there’s always a chance criminals would want to attempt to break in. “My office is a nice quiet place we can talk about this. Follow me.”

Adamus led the Nord into the back of the bank, where his office was located in a quiet corner. He loved that his office was windowless. There are just too many distractions outside when you need to get work done. Lamps work perfectly fine for light.

“Okay, so what is this pla-” Adamus said while turning around before abruptly being silenced by a mound of flesh compacting with his face.

Flashes of light and darkness filled Adamus’ mind when suddenly he realized he wasn’t standing up anymore. Somehow he had fallen. It was rather confusing; so much that his head hurt. A sudden coppery taste washed upon his tongue. It took a moment for Adamus to realize it was blood. But whose? Surely it couldn’t be his. How could that happen?

He was about to ask that question aloud when suddenly he felt nothing but air between his feet as someone was holding him up. The flashes and fuzziness stopped for a moment to show Adamus that it was his new Nord friend holding him up. How nice, he’s helping me up, I must’ve fainted or something. Work has been so hard on me lately…, he thought.

His thought process began to change when suddenly no one was holding him up anymore, yet there was still air between his feet. He first felt the bone-jarring hit against the wall before he felt his feet crumpled against the floor. Pain racked up and down his body.

“Ya know, ya shouldn’t say things that could get a man hurt in front of strangers. Ya never know who might be listenin’.”

Who was saying that? It sounded familiar but Adamus couldn’t place it. The flashes had returned and the coppery taste in his mouth was making him feel sick. A slap jarred his senses and left the right side of his face numb. A quiet splash of blood hitting the floor was heard.

“Hey! Look at me lad when I’m speaking to ya!” the familiar voice said harshly.

Adamus tried to focus his eyes, he didn’t want to get hit anymore. Everything hurt. What did he do to deserve this? “Please… no more,” he said weakly.

Adamus’ eyes focussed to reveal that it was the Nord who was looking down at him. It wasn’t the same person though. His face was covered in darkness and his eyes burned with hatred. Adamus was petrified.

“Ahhh, so ya want me t’stop, eh? Well the Count does not want to hear anymore talk about your money problems then. Ya see, me job is t’make sure people keep their traps shut. Next time ya see me, I’ll make ya disappear. Understand?”

Adamus nodded slowly.

“Good,” Hlodir said as he brushed himself off, straighten his collar, and headed to the door. Just before exiting he stopped and looked back at the bank proprietor, “Next time ye be careful when going down the stairs, ya hear?”

With that, he was gone.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 22 2006, 05:57 PM

Corruption, horrible. That count is going down someday. Great update like all the others before.

Posted by: DarkHunter Jun 22 2006, 09:00 PM

Woot! Corrupt the World.. I mean.... good story.

Posted by: Toroabok Jun 24 2006, 02:34 AM

WOW! AMAZING STORY!!! I like how you fill the couple of days that the murderer is waiting before his next victim with information on what other people are doing! I hope your next instalment is another murder from the umm...well...murderer (he's my fav) keep up the good work!!!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 24 2006, 03:44 AM

I just want to mention something for my piece. For some reason I think I'm having tense issues with some of my paragraphs. I'm not too sure myself, but if anyone notices any tense issues, I'd be grateful if you pointed them out.

For someone with English as their native tongue, it's weird that we can still have problems with this kind of stuff. English, what a fickle language!

On with more!


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Over the last few days, an eerie silence had fallen over the town of Kvatch. The patrons of the town hurried about with their duties. They very rarely stopped to converse with each other. Doors were often locked during the day; even when the residents were still inside. None of them wanted to tempt the “Kvatch Killer”. Just because whoever it was has only been murdering guards, did not mean they wouldn’t move onto the citizens of the town.

Savlian did not like the current situation at all. His guard and the killer had seemed to have reached a stalemate. While Savlian’s new patrol method seemed to be working, his spies for the released convicts had yet to report any suspicious behaviour. It was a stalemate that the killer still had the advantage in. Savlian still had no idea who this person was and until he did, the killer was free to do as they pleased, so long as they kept up the effort of leaving no evidence.

Frustrated, Savlian continued his patrol. Living up to his own plan, he had the rookie, a Redguard by the name of Ferrik, on patrol with him. He was the younger brother of one of the veterans of the force, Henrik. What Savlian intended to do today with Ferrik was teach him the ropes of being a town guard. He wanted to show him what to look for while on patrol, how to take care of situations in a non-lethal matter, and how to follow up on leads given to the guard by citizens. Standard stuff. Ferrik didn’t really need any pointers on how to defend himself. Like most Redguards, his swordsmanship was extraordinary. He still needed to know that the responsibility of a guard is to prevent violence, not provoke it. If a situation could be handled without drawing your weapon, Savlian expected his men to solve it without violence.

It hadn’t always been that way. Before Savlian became the Captain of the Guard, there were many accounts of unnecessary violence of behalf of the guards. After enduring his previous occupation as long as he could, the Captain of the Guard position called to him. He needed to atone for the deeds he committed in his past…

So lost in his thoughts was Savlian, that he didn’t notice the person walking around the corner of the upcoming street and walked right into him.

“Are ye blind lad! Why don’t ya-,” began Hlodir but then noticed who he was talking down to, “Well, would ya looky at this. It do be Savlian! How are ya?”

Savlian’s eyes darkened.

“I’m fine. Now if you’ll excuse us…”

Savlian attempted to continue on but a muscular arm blocked his way. Savlian followed the arm up to Hlodir’s grinning face. “You do know it is an offence to lay your hands on a town guard, correct?”

Hlodir lowered his arm but kept his wide grin. “Well that’s no very nice t’say t’a friend. You must be stressed from this murderer thingy. Have ya caught ‘em yet?” Hlodir asked, faking concern.

A cold stare was the only answer Savlian gave.

“No yet then? Ohwell, I guess ya have things t’do, so I best be leavin’ ya,” Hlodir finished before continuing on his way down the street, chuckling the whole time.

“Umm … sir? What was that about?” Ferrik asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about. Let’s keep going,” replied Savlian coldly.

Savlian hated everything Hlodir represented. He knew about Hlodir’s duties as a “problem solver”. In fact, he knew them quite well, as he first started his work with the Count as his “problem solver”. At first, he thought he was punishing criminals. They payout was excellent, and it was easy to rough up criminals to try to straighten them out, so why not do it? Once he did find out though…



Savlian slammed the scrawny Bosmer onto the table, causing the table to splinter loudly. That wasn’t a problem though, the Bosmer’s farm wasn’t close enough to anything for someone to overhear the “business” that was taking place.

“Okay, you scum, the Count knows what you’ve been saying about him, and he wants your slanders to desist. This is your warning, if we happen to cross each other again in this situation, no one is ever going to see you again. Got that?”

“What are you talking about?” sobbed the Bosmer, “I haven’t said anything criminal. I just said I was being overtaxed…”

“You dirty liar!” Savlian yelled as he grabbed the Bosmer’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him into the wall violently, “Now admit your slanders, or more pain is going to happen…”

“But I’m not lying! I’m not lying! It was just the taxes! By Talos I swear! Stop please!” wailed the little Bosmer.

Dumbfounded by the Bosmer's outright swearing to Talos, Savlian slowly released his grip on the Bosmer and backed away. He stared at the Bosmer intensely, “You’re not lying are you?”

“Why would I!? I’m just a farmer, what could I do that’s possibly criminal? I can barely afford my home, that’s why I’ve been saying that I’m being overtaxed…”

Speechless, Savlian quickly vacated the small farm. He needed answers from the only person who knew the truth…



The truth from that pained memory was that the Count had lied to him about his “problems” being criminals. They were merely people who were catching onto his money scam on the city who needed their mouths shut. It tore Savlian up inside that he did such horrible things to innocent people. In order to try to make up for what he did, he requested to the Count to be his Captain of his Guard. The Count granted that request and hired Hlodir to take over the “problem solving business”. Unlike Savlian, Hlodir knew exactly that he was hurting innocent people, he relished it. That made Savlian sick to his stomach. He couldn’t do much about it either. If he were to arrest or kill Hlodir, he would be only killing himself as the Count would likely charge Savlian for treason. Savlian now tried to fix things indirectly. He tried to convince the Count to give back more of the money, and lower the taxes on the residents he was overtaxing. He hoped that the little effort he could do would be enough to keep people from openly voicing their complaints.

Savlian sighed. There’s only so much I can do for this town, and it’s still not enough for what I’ve done…

Savlian, now silent continued down the street with Ferrik, who was now concerned about his Captain. But being the rookie that he was, he didn’t know if he should voice his concern. He shrugged inwardly. There must be a lot going on in his mind right now…


Later that night…

The sensation was building up again… “Blood!” it screamed, “Give me blood!”

The pounding of the sensation was beginning to give the killer a headache. This was the worse this sensation had gotten for him so far. Never before had the feeling of reckless… violence been so strong within him. He desired to release his fury upon his enemy immediately. To bathe in his blood, to inhale the wonderful fumes of his life force. He wanted to witness the spark and cackle in his enemy’s eyes fade away to nothingness.

But in order to do that successfully, he needed to wait. He needed to make sure he was ready. He needed to be calm…

“Blood!”

Remember your training…, he told himself, void your mind…

“Blood! It calls! Don’t you hear it!?”

A flash of anguish crossed the killer’s face. Patience! He thought, the time for blood will present itself shortly. Hopefully then this pounding will leave…

The killer strolled casually along the streets of Kvatch, eyes always searching yet not appearing so to the passer-by. Something seemed… different tonight, as if the atmosphere of the town had morphed into something more uncomfortable for him. A hint of reluctance was beginning to creep into his mind. But the raging pulse taking up the core of his mind fended it off into the dark recesses of his mind. There should be no reluctance at all. He was a trained killer. What he ran into, he should be able to deal with. Tonight he would further his conquest.

I can hear the blood spilling all ready, he thought as a smile broke across his face.

Posted by: DarkHunter Jun 24 2006, 09:10 AM

Hee hee! Sadistic, Insane and carefully planning... perfect enemy. Too bad about the hero having emotional problems...

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jun 28 2006, 04:43 AM

Bah! My daily update schedule ruined! Ohwell, it's not a huge deal. As long as you get material some of the time my readers will be happy right? RIGHT!?!?!?

Well, I'll continue and find out...

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Patience is a necessity if a killer expects to work on their craft for a long time. Any fool could just approach their target and behead them before they realize what’s going on. Unless the victim isn’t a fool, and guards are naturally suspicious, so the direct approach would definitely cause problems. Even if the target was a fool, the direct approach still can lower the lifetime of a killer just because there are the chances for witnesses. Witnesses tend to tell guards what a killer looks like, therefore the length of a killer’s career is substantially lowered.

The killer knew all about this. That was why he took his time to find his target for the night. He needed to be as inconspicuous as possible, and keep his eyes open for the right opportunity to rise. He was constantly peering into the alleyways, his amulet resting underneath his shirt allowed him to see in the darkness. It seemed the guards were smartening up their act; not a single guard was lurking around in the alleys this evening.

Looks like tonight is going to be more of a challenge, he thought as he thumbed at the scar above his right brow, I hoped it was so. Preparation is key for what I need to do…

As the killer progressed down the streets of Kvatch, he quickly noticed that the guards were no longer alone, they always had a partner with them. Some even had parties of three or four. He quickly decided to focus on a party of two. Given the right situation, he could take both out before they realized what was going on. Hopefully the sensation pulsating in his head didn’t drive him into anything too hasty.

“Blood! I demand it! Can’t you feel it? It’s calling…answer it!”

I will, I hear it too. I just have to maintain my control, one mistake and I could ruin everything.

“Yes… his blood calls the loudest. I want to see it sooo much! The sound of it spilling will sound better than any symphony ever created. I can picture it so vividly… the sound of ripping flesh… the geyser of crimson… the fear in his eyes before the life fades away from them… beautiful, picturesque isn’t it?”

It is… I want it now… No! I mustn’t be tempted right now! I have work to do, the blood of two men will satisfy for now. All I need is to figure out which two…

Raucous laughter suddenly erupted from around the corner ahead of the killer. Instantly, the killer made his way in the direction of the laughter, intent on who was behind this boisterous laughter. A rush of excitement began pulsating in union with the odd sensation that had been travelling with him.

Peeking around the corner, the killer witnessed two men stumbling around with their arms over each other, laughing hysterically. They were obviously drunk and it looked like they were moving on to the next pub. The swords strapped around their waists told the killer that indeed, they were Kvatch guards, supposedly off-duty this evening. The killer smirked, a guard was a guard, these two men were going to be his targets this evening. The real hunt had just begun.

Trailing at a safe distance away, the killer observed the two men carefully. The one was a young Redguard, who seemed to be more inebriated than his partner. It was likely that this was his first time hitting the pubs, as the alcohol was making his stumble quite often. The other was a tall Imperial, drunk, but he was able to move straight, despite having to drag his feet along to do so. The killer decided he should still be cautious with this one as with age, a man could still be dangerous while drunk. As they entered the next pub, ‘The Flying Bosmer’, the killer knew exactly what he was going to do. The maddening pulse quickened as he crept into the alley, prepared for what was to come. It would only take patience to get away with his plan. Hopefully the urges wouldn’t ruin his frame of mind…



As expected, it took roughly an hour to hear the slamming washroom door in the upper story of the pub, followed by the young Redguard vomiting into the washbasin. A sudden rush flooded the killer’s mind. “Now! Now! Bleed him now!”

Suppressing the rush took effort and the killer began to perspire. Why was this happening? Never before had this been a problem. He was so close to what he wanted accomplished and yet this madness within his mind could ruin it all. He must suppress it!

Fortunately the Redguard was taking his time emptying his stomach, his loud retching was reaching the killer’s ear from outside on the roof quite easily. It took only a few moments to flood the urges within the calm void that his training had long since created. He then waited patiently for the retching to stop. Once it did, he leaned over the roof’s edge, and tapped on the washroom window. A shift in the light emanating from the window told the killer that the Redguard was investigating.

As quickly as he could, he slammed his fist through the window, causing a loud shattering, then grabbed the body by the shirt, and yanked the body out the window. A cry of shock escaped the drunken Redguard’s lips before plummeting from the heights of the pub. A sharp, wet crack accented the ending of the fall.

The killer then slipped into the pub from the broken window, and placed himself behind the door leading out into the hallway, knife at ready. Stumbling steps approached the door and a slurred voice called out, “Hey rookie! Ya okays in there? I tolds ya, you shouldn’t drink ‘o much!”

A few moments later the door creaked open and the Imperial walked in. Noticing the window, he stumbled closer to investigate.

“Now! Do it now!”

Almost instantly the killer reacted, viciously wrapping his arm around the forehead of the Imperial and slashing his throat open in one deft movement. He held the body up for a moment, the proceeded to toss him out the window as well. This time, a faint, wet splat told the killer the body had reached the end of its fall.

Quickly he exited via the window back onto the roof of the building. There he stood, eyes fixated on the two bodies sprawled on the ground before him. It was visionary, artwork at its finest. The blood spilled across the rivulets of the cobblestone like many small creeks, but were soon flooded into a lake of blood. He finally released the void of his training and let the rapture take over. The smell of the blood became stronger in his nostrils, the crimson more vivid, he could nearly taste it. Satisfaction protruded from ever pore of his soul. It had been too long to do this.

His thumb then brushed the scar above his brow and his feelings of rapture subsided. How could he be satisfied with this? Killing a couple of drunks was no challenge at all. Sure, there was two of them, but there did not seem to be any apparent danger at all. Maybe he was ready… maybe the fear was instilled high enough to act upon his true target. To finally achieve his revenge.

No, my tasks have been too easy so far, I need something more challenging. If I don’t I WILL get caught if I try to get my revenge at the moment. Preparation will have to continue, he thought as he began to head to the drainpipe leading back down to ground level. His moment’s bliss was ruined because of a scar, a scar left by the man he sought revenge for.

It wasn’t the mark above his right brow that drove him. No, the scars ran deeper than that. They went to his very soul, the very essence within him. Those scars had changed him, they drove him away from Kvatch, his home, for a long period of time. Since then, many changes had happened, but one thing didn’t change. The one who had scarred him still lived. He intended to change that. But first, he intended to scare him half to death. Let the paranoia sink in to torment him. The killer almost hoped that he would beg him to kill him once he got his chance, almost. Begging for his life would sound sweeter to his ears as he would ignore them. Then he would reach completion as he would spill the blood of the one who tormented his thoughts for so long…

Yet again, the killer paid homage to the homeless man with the fire barrel by giving away a few coins and relieving himself of his gloves as he engaged in a short conversation with the man. The man didn’t notice the smell of burning leather at all, his own filth would’ve easily overwhelmed most other scents. The killer didn’t mind the man’s stench though, he understood what it was like to down on his luck. He had been forced to live in similar fashion for a time. Before a significant change turned things around for him. He did not want to dwell on that memory though, his past provided the skills he needed for the future. That was all he needed from the past. That, and absolution.

As he continued back to his home, he noticed something. The pulsating sensation was all ready returning. A frown crossed his face. So soon…

Exhausted, he entered his home to formulate his next action.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 28 2006, 01:56 PM

Rule number 1: Never drink on the job.
Rule number 2; never drink after the job.
Rule number 3: Better yet, don't drink at all.

Hmm, the killer is getting impatient. He'll start making mistakes like this.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 1 2006, 10:05 PM

Well I thought my readers, possibly limited as they are, I have no idea, deserve another installment from my fic! I apologize in advance for what lies ahead......


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

The grisliness of the scene displayed before Savlian brought waves of nausea and frustration. The killer had indeed broken the stalemate, in perhaps their most violent offering so far. Two mangled bodies were sprawled across the street in front of ‘The Flying Bosmer’. One was Dalewin, a veteran of the guard, the force will suffer from his death. Tragic as Dalewin’s death was, the second body caused more grief for Savlian. The body of Ferrik laid smashed against the cobblestones of the road. His head was split open, blood and brain matter was pooled around his head. Savlian could barely suppress the bile that was rising up his throat.

Henrik is going to kill me…, Savlian thought, Unless the Count kills me first.

Savlian bit on his lower lip in nervousness as he surveyed the scene. It was still early in the morning, the streets were basically void of life. It was the patrolling guards that had awaken him to bring the news of what they found outside the pub. He had immediately travelled to the crime scene to look for evidence. Yet again, very little physical evidence was found. All that could be deducted was that Ferrik was killed by the fall out the window while Dalewin had his throat slit before being thrown out the window as well.

Hopelessness began to grow within Savlian. He still had no leads, people around him were dying, and the pressure the Count had on him was driving him insane. The stress was keeping him awake at night, and once he fell asleep his dreams were instead plagued by nightmares. It was always the same dream as well. He was always trying to catch an elusive object shrouded in darkness, all the while, a wall of darkness was steadily gaining on him during his chase of the object. The dream always ended with him being consumed by the darkness before catching the elusive object. Savlian could tell his mind was troubled as of late.

With a sigh, Savlian ran his fingers through his dirty brown hair and contemplated the repercussions for the night’s tragic event. Surely, the Count was going to blow his top over this. He could all ready picture the Count’s face, purple in rage because Savlian wasn’t doing his job as effectively as the Count wanted. That one of his “precious” guards was murdered yet again. Savlian knew deep down the Count didn’t care one bit about what happened to the guards. He was more concerned about how the murdered guards reflected his rule of Kvatch. People would want to leave if the situation were to get worse. If people were to leave, fewer taxes would be collected for the Count. Less money for the Count’s own use would make him furious.

While the Count could possibly throw him in jail for negligence, Savlian had a greater concern for how Henrik would react to the death of his brother. The bond between them was strong. Ferrik idolized his older brother from a young age and wanted to emulate everything about him. Henrik encouraged everything Ferrik did. He trained him, and told him about the duty of a guard. He inspired Ferrik to follow his brother’s footsteps and become a guard. That bond worried Savlian though. If Henrik thought that he was to blame for Ferrik’s death, Henrik would likely try to kill him. He still had time to try to break the bad news to him quietly. It was the best he could do.

Savlian finally looked over to the guards who brought him over to the crime scene. “I’ve seen enough, get a mortician and clean this up. Do a good job of it.” He than went off toward where he knew Henrik was staying.


Along the way, another guard stopped him. Horror filled Savlian’s thoughts, No, not another murder! This can’t be happening!

Fortunately, it was better news than that.

“Sir, I believe one of the ex-convicts you have me following is up to something. Do you want to follow me?” asked the guard.

The hopelessness that gripped Savlian only moments ago began to dissipate, and a drive began to grow. A drive that he could catch this monster. “Yes, lead the way.”



The place was a dive. It reeked of rotten food, soiled waste, and decay. The wooden shack was rundown, weather-beaten, and falling apart. The wood was stained with a brown substance that Savlian better thought was left unknown. It seemed as if the convict could leave prison, but the prison didn’t leave the convict. Savlian was glad he didn’t have to visit the cells very often, because the overwhelming stench would drive him insane. This place reminded him too much of that.

It almost seemed stereotypical that this was the place to harbour a homicidal manic. It was the perfect picture of a deranged mind. Savlian’s pulse raced as he hid behind a ruined stone fence, observing the house of Uragh zub-Grech, an Orc who had been charged with assault of the Town Guard. The picture fit well in Savlian’s mind, but there was something there, trying to tug on his thoughts but his anticipation pushed it away.

“So what’s suspicious about Uragh?” queried Savlian.

“She’s been lurking around town, talking with other shady looking people. I think she’s at least connected to what’s been going on. A scout maybe. We’ll find out once we question her I guess.”

Savlian just nodded. A movement caught his eye and he immediately took lower cover behind the fence and motioned the guard to do the same. He held a finger over his mouth to signal for silence. The guard nodded in understanding.

Just over the wall, a faint grumbling was heard by a gruff, feminine voice. Instinctively, Savlian knew that must be Uragh so he slowly peeked over the edge of the fence to observe what she was up to.

Uragh was large for a female Orc. She looked incredibly strong, which left Savlian to wonder just how due to the living conditions she was living in. The apparel did fit the conditions on the other hand. Her farmers shirt, once white, did not recognize its original colour anymore. It was more of an off-yellow with many brown blotches spread throughout the shirt. Her black pants were not in much better shape, they were quite tattered and mud caked.

Her grumbling was over carrying a large crate that she appeared to have difficulty carrying. The crate was closed, so Savlian could not tell what was in it, but the objects were definitely rattling loudly. His curiosity changed as a red-stained knife fell out of Uragh’s belt as she fumbled with trying to open the door to her shack. The red stain screamed murder weapon to Savlian as he sprang over the fence and rushed over to the shack.

“Hold it right there! Put your hands up!” Savlian called, placing his hand over his sword in case things were to get out of hand.

Uragh dropped the crate in shock. With a curse she went to her belt for her knife. Upon realizing it wasn’t there she cursed again and took off towards town.

Savlian gave chase. He heard his partner call out to him but the excitement of the situation caused him to ignore it. I have the killer! She ran, so it MUST be her! He thought as he leaped over the stone fence again during his pursuit.

Uragh’s speed was surprising given her size, she had a sizable lead on Savlian. Savlian was a fit man though, and he was steadily gaining on the Orc. He hoped he didn’t lose her in the crowds of Kvatch. He did not want to lose his chance at ending the madness sooner rather than later. He was not going to let her escape.

Uragh entered a rundown warehouse located on the outskirts of the city. Carelessly, Savlian followed her into the warehouse. Upon entering, he found Uragh standing in the middle of the vacant warehouse. He soon realized that vacant wasn’t the truth of the situation as he heard multiple pairs of footsteps echoing in the vast warehouse. Looking around Savlian discovered 3 other grimy looking people slowly surrounding him. Two of them were Dunmer, while the third was another large Orc male. None of them were happy to see Savlian here. All three of them were armed with knives.

Savlian had ran into a trap and his partner was no where to be seen.

Posted by: minque Jul 1 2006, 11:48 PM

Ayyye......many updates I see, getting more and more interesting......keep it up ya hear!

Posted by: Black Hand Jul 2 2006, 07:41 AM

Well, since you often drop into my thread and give me praise, figured I'd do the same for you.

Wonderful, Bloody Wonderful! Pardon the pun.

You seriously have a way with words that I wish I had, each sentence flows with a jen ne se quias. Eloquence, yeah thats the word I'm lookin' for.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 2 2006, 09:46 AM

No, not the hero! Hmm, daggers against a sword. If he's better than the average guard and actually up to the level of a PC, he might get out alive.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 2 2006, 11:30 PM

Time to see if Savlian survives this... who knows, I might pull a George RR Martin and kill off a main character just for my own amusement. No one is safe! Hahahahaa! Ok, the power is getting to me...


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

The eyes of the thugs surrounding Savlian sparkled with malcontent for him. They wanted to hurt him. Badly. A sly grin broke across Uragh’s face. “I think it’s about time the good Captain here met his maker. Kill him.”

As the three goons crept closer Savlian drew out his broadsword. While his attackers may be armed, there only possessed low quality daggers. They needed to get close to use them. Unfortunately for them, his broadsword was long enough that he could possibly keep them from getting close. The nearest Dunmer pounced first, flicking out with his dagger. Savlian easily intercepted the flick with his broadsword and pushed him off, quickly turning to parry the attack on the second Dunmer. He rewarded the Dunmer with a kick to the midsection to ward his off.

The male Orc had yet to act, he was busy talking to Uragh, obviously questioning her for the appearance of Savlian. His angered expression clearly showed that he wasn’t happy with it. Savlian put a mental note on the Orc’s position as he returned his attention to the Dunmer.

Savlian tried to keep both the Dunmer in his sights, but they were trying to keep one of themselves behind him so the effort was proving futile. Savlian opted for an aggressive attack. He made a sudden rush at the Dunmer ahead of him to try to take him off guard but his cross swing was avoided by an agile roll to the side by the Dunmer. Savlian had to quickly regain his footing as the Dunmer behind him went in for the attack. The attempt brought a small slash to the Dunmer’s arm. A quick yelp escaped his lips before he backed away again to reform his stance with the other Dunmer. They were obviously hesitant to break through Savlian’s guard. Personally, Savlian wished he brought his shield. This problem would be fixed by now if he did have it.

It seemed with the yelp of the injured Dunmer, the male Orc decided to join in the fight. This was going to make things more difficult for Savlian. His attackers now formed a rough triangle around him, trying to keep two behind him now. Suddenly, the Orc rushed Savlian, raising the dagger high over his head and roaring. Savlian was able to deflect the dagger with his sword but the force of the attack, as well as the force the Orc colliding with him, knocked him to the floor violently. A flash of light, and a brief moment of blackness enveloped Savlian’s eyes.

Immediately, the two Dunmer sprang onto the downed Captain. Amidst the tangle of bodies, flashes of blade strikes appeared, followed by grunts and groans. A sudden shriek of pain erupted from the struggle and one Dunmer was kicked away. Savlian rose out of the tangle bloodied, but relatively unharmed. His chest heaving under the effort of surviving the twin attacks of the Dunmer. The other Elf was writhing on the ground, clutching at his abdomen, vainly trying to hold in his organs. Savlian decided to spare him the pain with a stab to the heart. The remaining Elf cursed at him, then charged wildly at him. Savlian easily side-stepped the attack and swung his sword at the Elf’s exposed back. A loud thud, brought by the flat of the blade, sent the attack sprawling across the floor. Savlian mentally cursed at himself for making that small mistake.

Now the odds were back to two versus one. Savlian was not relieved though. He had used a lot of energy to avoid being stabbed to death on the ground, and the injuries he did received ached as the sweat mixed with the blood. He needed to finish this quickly or else he would tire out. With a determined set to his eyes, he raised his sword and began to engage the Orc. This one was obviously running the organization, so it was likely that if Savlian disposed of the Orc, the other would give up.

Unlike Uragh, this Orc has much slower footwork so Savlian all ready knew what he was going to do. He charged at the Orc, but before reaching him, he dove down at the Orc’s legs, holding his broadsword out, he slashed his sword and rolled back onto his feet. The attack made a deep laceration on the Orc’s thigh which staggered him to the floor. The Orc roared out in pain as he collapsed to the floor, no longer able to support any weight on it. All the while, the Dunmer stared, dumbfounded that his leader was down. The Orc decided he wanted to go to his death fighting as he lunged at Savlian with his good leg. The attack caught Savlian by surprise, so his reaction to avoid the attack wasn’t fast enough. The Orc’s dagger was planted firmly into Savlian’s calf as he attempted to jump away. Savlian crashed awkwardly in pain, he quickly yanked out the dagger. He bit down on his lip to avoid yelling out in pain. At least the Orc was now unarmed.

Savlian got up, and stumbled over to the Orc, who was now yelling any profanity that came to his mind. A few quick stabs later and the string of profanities ended. The Dunmer suddenly jumped out of his shock and bolted for the door. Savlian couldn’t give chase due to his injury so he picked up the Orc’s dagger, took quick aim, and tossed the dagger. A sound of metal sheathing into flesh echoed across the room as the dagger planted itself in the middle of the Dunmer’s neck. Soundlessly, the Dunmer went rigid before collapsing loudly on the floor. Savlian knew he was either paralyzed or dead, possibly both. What concerned him now was where did Uragh go?

His question was answered quickly as a green blur began to head toward to warehouse exit.

No! Was all Savlian could think as his only lead reached the doorway.

As she did, a fist suddenly appeared from the entrance and clocked Uragh right in the jaw. The bone-jarring blow sent Uragh crashing back into the warehouse. Another Kvatch guard walked in. It was the one he thought had abandoned him.

“Sorry I was late, if I knew this was going to happened I would’ve followed you right away. I wanted to investigate that crate she dropped,” he said as he nodded to the now unconscious Orc, “It was filled with skooma. So I don’t think we’ve got the right suspects here. But I got to say, capturing skooma dealers is a very good thing.”

Savlian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But her knife, it was bloodied I saw it.”

“Sorry sir, it wasn’t blood,” the guard said hesitantly as he pulled out a rusty dagger, “It was only really rusty. This is her dagger.”

Anger surged through Savlian’s thoughts. I can’t believe how foolish I was to think that an Orc could be a sneaky assassin! I was blinded by my own eagerness to end this! Look what it got me! An injured leg, and still no suspects. At least they were skooma dealers…

Savlian wiped the sweat and blood from his face. “Good investigation work then. I’m glad to get skooma off the streets any day. Arrest Uragh on accounts of drug trafficking, resisting arrest, and attempted murder. Get word to healer, I can’t walk on this leg right now.”

The guard nodded as he picked up the large Orc and walked out. Savlian sat down on the cold warehouse floor. Hopelessness began to creep back into his soul.

What am I going to do now?

Posted by: DarkHunter Jul 3 2006, 12:17 AM

Oohhh.... What can happen? what will happen ... all right no more pointless questions.

Posted by: Toroabok Jul 3 2006, 05:41 AM

MAN! this story is getting more compelling each time i read it. truthfully, i dont care if the heroes die. i just want the murderer to survive!

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 3 2006, 10:27 AM

Skooma? Oops, wrong suspect. I'm glad to see that Savlian survived. He is indeed above your average guard.

Posted by: Lord Revan Jul 6 2006, 02:48 AM

Keep up the good, if not sadisticly bloody, work.

Sometimes though the murderer sounds like a vampire, but oh well.....

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 6 2006, 03:01 AM

So far, the day for Savlian could be compared to walking in the planes of Oblivion without any clothes. Absolute misery. He had received word shortly after getting mended from his injuries that the Count wanted to speak with him. The little sense of accomplishment of capturing drug dealers were vanquished with that summons. Savlian knew he was going to get a verbal lashing, and it would get worse the longer it took for him to get to the castle. So he had immediately set off in the appropriate direction. Just thinking of the trip caused his hand to instinctively massage his sore jaw. He had ran into Henrik along the way, the result didn’t go too well. Henrik’s words still echoed in Savlian’s head after the punch to the jaw by Henrik.

“You’re failing everyone Cap. I’m going to get things done, my way, and you better stay out of it.”

Failing. That’s all he’s done so far. Fail. Sure he had made attempts to discover who the killer was, but so far all his methods had failed. His failures had cost him 6 lives of men and mer who worked for him, and expected him to succeed. They looked up to him. The best thing he could do for them was let them die it seemed. A successful leader would not have let this happened, he would’ve had this monster behind bars or dead by now. Not Savlian though, he let the killer continue his now more violent rampage. Kvatch was beginning to fear its streets. He was doing an injustice to his fair city. He needed to figure out some way to make up for it. Regretfully, Savlian entered the castle grounds, he figured that the Count would be lounging in the garden at this time of day.

Observing the scenery of the sprawling gardens, Savlian found it ironic how such a beautiful place could contain such a despicable person. The gardens were a lavish, organic, and serene place with colourful flora, towering trees, and trimmed hedges. It was truly a peaceful looking place. It just simply boggled Savlian’s mind that someone with is inconsiderate, egotistical, and brutal would spend time in a place like this.

Indeed, Savlian did find the Count in the gardens. He was lounging in a chair that was looking out over the scenic gardens. His butler, Brixley, was holding a parasol over the Count’s head so he would avoid the possibly chance of being burnt by the sun. The smug expression on the Count’s face told Savlian that he was going to enjoy ragging on him.

“Well it’s about time you arrived, Captain. It has been over an hour since I sent word to speak with you, I wanted you here immediately,” the Count said cynically.

“Sorry, sir, I ran into the older brother of one of my deceased men. It didn’t go well.”

“No less than you deserve I assume… Now has your investigation improved?” asked the Count.

“We have been following the lead that the murderer was someone who was previously in prison. This method has just recently stopped a local skooma dealing operation. I expect this method will discover the identity of the killer soon,” replied Savlian. He knew the last part was a lie. This person definitely was not a former criminal, at least not in Kvatch. He hoped that showing confidence in the investigation would lower the Count’s rebuttal.

The Count’s face contorted in a wicked looking way for a brief moment before answering. “Which is more dangerous, Captain? Skooma dealers or a homicidal maniac? Hmm?”

Savlian stood silently.

“That was not a rhetorical question!”

“The maniac, sir,” Savlian practically sighed.

“Right. The maniac. So I strongly suggest you focus on the maniac instead of the dealers from now on. I’m beginning to question my decision in making you the Captain of the Guard if you can’t keep my town safe. That is the duty of the Captain is it not?”

“Yes it is, sir,” Savlian answered through gritted teeth.

A cold expression crossed the face of the Count. “Well then, do your job. Make sure it is done soon, or else I will need to replace you. I personally think Hlodir would make a good replacement. He is exceeding beyond your capacity in the job he replaced you for previously. I’m sure he would be able to do both jobs even, if need be.”

Savlian simply nodded, snapped a salute, and vacated the gardens. He had work to do. It was upsetting that such a beautiful place made him so angry…

Posted by: Lord Revan Jul 6 2006, 05:14 AM

Who here HATES the count?.........................

well, anyway he gets his when the Deadra visit Kvatch, but whatever it was was too good for him

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 6 2006, 09:23 AM

Eh, everyone seems to hate the guy. He isn't exactly trying to be pleasant, so that could be expected. I'm waiting4updates.

Posted by: sins_to_dark Jul 6 2006, 06:23 PM

Great story looking forward to updates

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 9 2006, 01:41 AM

A little bit of a shorter one today, surgery does be bothering my concentration. I'm expecting my next update to be a bit more interesting.


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

The Count blew a sigh of relief once Savlian vacated the gardens. He now had a situation to deal with. He needed to find out if any of the skooma dealers were apprehended. If one of them were, Goldwine needed to relieve the guard of their prisoner for “private interrogation”. If the Guard were to interrogate any skooma dealers his whole operation could be blown! Even the Count of a town can be executed for dealing with the stuff. It was Imperial Law, it was above him. A sense of panic and anxiety was building up in him.

“Brixley, I want you to immediately find Hlodir. Tell him to pay a visit to the town barracks and relieve any prisoners that have been arrested under charges of drug smuggling. They are to be interrogated by the Count’s private enforcement,” the Count ordered Brixley. A simple nod confirmed the message and Brixley calmly strolled away.

The stress had been unbelievable lately for the Count. Now things had become worse. Another murder threatened the reputation he had for running Kvatch, and now there was the chance that he could get arrested for breaking Imperial law.

He needed to get out of the sun now that his parasol was gone, so Count proceeded into his castle to try to cool himself down. Unfortunately the anxiety was making him perspire intensely. He almost felt like praying to the Nine that this current situation would work out for his benefit. He knew though that his success was based on his motives and not that of the Nine. What he needed right now to calm him down was food. Food always did his nerves good. It was the most probable fact of why he possessed a little pudge with his body.

After helping himself to some cold mutton and some cheese Brixley appeared in the dining hall. The ever blank expression across his face gave no sign of what he was going to say. Goldwine hoped that it was good news.

“Sir, Hlodir has brought an Orc by the name of Uragh into your private dungeons for interrogation. Would you like to see her?” asked the butler.

A broad grin crossed Goldwine’s face as he rose out of his seat. “Lead the way, Brixley.”


The dungeons of Castle Kvatch held a special place in the Count’s heart. He had many eventful experiences within these cold, stone walls of his dungeons. Many screams have echoed across the empty halls. Many pleas for mercy have went unanswered. Many supposed “runaways” ended up here; their intelligence rewarded with their death. Just hearing the pained panting coming from the upcoming cell sent chills of pleasure down Goldwine’s spine. Hlodir had all ready started his work.

The Count entered the cell in time to see Hlodir give Uragh a solid slap across the face. The flesh on flesh exclamation echoed loudly. Fresh blood trickled from the corner of Uragh’s mouth from the blow. She cursed audibly. When her eyes glimpsed the Count, they widened in fear. She knew what was going to happen.

Goldwine sadly looked down at the Orc chained to the walls. “Uragh, Uragh, Uragh. You screwed up. You do know what that means, correct?”

Tears streamed across Uragh’s face now. “Please sir, you don’t have to kill me. I tried so hard not to get caught, just like you asked. I never told none of the guard that it was you who wanted the skooma. I didn’t tell no one!” she begged, dropping down to her knees.

“I can’t trust you back on the streets, even if I did pardon you. It would get suspicious eyes on my back. I’m doing you a favour. Would you rather stay locked up in the dungeons for the rest of your life, or just end your miserable existence, you good-for-nothing Orc!” the Count’s anger had finally snapped, “You ruined my whole operation! Now I have to find some new lowlifes to get my operation back on track. That could lead to me getting caught again and the potential chance of me getting arrested! All because you could not simply keep the operation hidden. I pretty much had the whole thing planned out, but your stupidity lead Savlian to find you!”

In the heat of his rant the Count grabbed a nearby dagger and stormed over to the now cowering Orc. Each stab accented each word, “You! Failed! Me! MISERABLY!! You! Failed! Me! MISERABLY!!” screamed the Count.

He stopped his frantic stabbings for a moment and looked down at himself. “Now look what you’ve done!” he screamed at the corpse of Uragh, “You even ruined my good suit!”

From behind his back Hlodir chuckled.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 9 2006, 08:13 AM

What an arrogant, self-centered, wimpy, fat son of a Cliffracer. His logic horrible and he's so.....words can't describe it. Wow Mallet, you really know how to make me hate the bad guys. If Savlian finds out.....Skooma-sweet revenge.

Posted by: Toroabok Jul 10 2006, 12:20 AM

this story is great. needs to be a book in oblivion i dont usually hate bad guyz, but savlian sucks kwama eggs. is the bloodthirsty criminal (my fav) after savlian? i hope so. maybe, like, that one bosmer guy that died was the killers brother or something? and the bosmer that got hurt real bad is the killer? idunno...deems more like a dunmer than a bosmer, though. (hes more evil) but yea, this is a great story. keep up the good work

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 10 2006, 12:28 AM

Things will reveal themselves in time. For instance, this post will reveal something...


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

An unknown presence snapped the killer’s eyes open immediately. A shadow in the corner of his eye flickered across the room, a flash of silver flying from the folds of wispy blackness. Instantly, the killer twisted his head as the throwing knife penetrated his pillow. He withdrew his knife in a swift motion and squared off before the shadow. Two burning red embers for eyes stared back at him. The shadows around the figure receded and a robed Dunmer calmly strode up to the killer.

“It’s good to see you still have your sense of awareness, Simion,” the Dunmer quietly stated as he strode past the killer to take a seat.

Simion kept a straight face, masking his shock, and followed the newcomer to a seat across from him. “I thought testing was only for trainees, Lavos,” Simion said as he took a seat. He still kept his knife at hand though, the initial shock of the attack still clung to him.

Lavos chuckled to himself. His red eyes glowed as he looked at Simion. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I had to get you back from the time you tried that on me.”

“You didn't come a long way just to break even with a little game we played a long time ago. What actually brings you here?” Simion asked, rubbing his finger along the side of his knife.

A serious tone suddenly came from Lavos, the previous mirth in his eyes had changed to a stern, penetrating burn. “We like to keep tabs on retired guild members. Back in Morrowind we heard word of a string of murders happening in Imperial Province, Kvatch to be more specific. Since you’re here, I thought I would see what you were up to,” Lavos said, inquiry reflecting in his eyes.

“I know full well that it is against guild policy to continue my profession after I’ve retired. I’m not a fool. I would be breaking the law, writs aren’t even issued in the Imperial Province. I came here because I needed to get away from the House Wars,” Simion calmly said, staring directly at Lavos.

“Well I’m glad you still remember the rules, you did teach them to me, so I shouldn’t have questioned you about it. I have been reading about these murders though. They seem to have your… flair,” Lavos said suspiciously, fixing him with a penetrating stare as if he was trying to pierce through Simion’s defences.

“Personally, I think it’s the Dark Brotherhood. Some rich outlaw wants to weaken Kvatch’s defences so they are hiring a Dark Brotherhood agent to assassinate guards. Makes sense does it not?” Simion replied. He knew all the tricks of the trade that the Morag Tong used for interrogation. Inside he was furious that they were observing him. After all he did for the guild! They get involved with his personal goals.

“Yes, the Brotherhood is likely the culprit to this, the guild just has to make certain of these things, that’s all Simion. I apologize again for the stupid stunt I tried there, I might’ve killed you if you haven’t kept up with your skills,” said Lavos.

“It was all instinct there, Lavos. I accept your apology all the same. Would you please leave me to my retirement though? If the Dark Brotherhood knew there was a former Morag Tong member living in their territory, I could become a potential target,” Simion said as he began to usher Lavos to the door.

As they reached the door, Lavos turned around. “We must keep in touch. The guild has missed you terribly, the stories have been less interesting without you there. Why don’t you come out of retirement? You’re still young, and it seems your technique won’t take long to refresh,” Lavos asked with a dash of hope mixed in with his voice.

“I’m sorry, the killing became to much for me. You saw what happened with my last contract, I almost killed you. I need to stay away from it, less that madness takes me over again,” Simion sadly said, “Goodbye, Lavos. I will try to write to the guild though, or at least to you.”

“Farewell,” Lavos said as he exited the house.

Simion slowly closed the door. If Lavos honestly thought he fooled him, he thought wrong. Lavos was going to be sticking around Kvatch now, snooping on him, and likely vying for information from the guards on the conditions of his murders. This was going to be another obstacle to overcome, he now must avoid suspicion from his former guild member. He knew that Lavos really thought he was the culprit, but Lavos’ loyalty to him gave knowledge to Simion that the guild was, indeed, suspicious of him.

He must die! If he suspects you, he must bleed!

It has only been a day since the last murder and yet the pulse inside his head was nearly driving him mad. It was alarming how quickly the pulse had returned. It threatened his very control over himself it seemed. He must achieve his vengeance soon, or else he would lose his mind to this chaos within his mind. Yet, with Lavos now watching from the shadows, he must be more wary…

He made up his mind; he was going to hunt tonight.

Posted by: Toroabok Jul 10 2006, 02:38 AM

niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.....this story gets better and better....hmph...he needs to just slit Lavos' throat.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 10 2006, 09:17 AM

Oh, exciting. Our killer is former Morag Tong. Oh my, a servant of Mephala. Savlian should be carefull.

Posted by: doubleimage Jul 10 2006, 09:01 PM

If this is your first attempt at fanfiction...then colour me impressed

Here, have a to sustain you so you can keep writing. You'll need all your energy to update as often as I hope you will

Posted by: Lord Revan Jul 11 2006, 03:53 AM

so he's an ex-morag-tong? well he seemed like a vampire, but Revan slaughters vampires......[size=1]and werewolfs.


well good work so far........

Posted by: Toroabok Jul 12 2006, 09:16 PM

yeah, i thought the same thing, but he never drank the blood of his victims.

Posted by: minque Jul 12 2006, 09:46 PM

Yes.....another great update! I enjoyed reading it quite a lot! Good work!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 15 2006, 01:50 AM

Well my mouth is feeling much better, and the stitches from my surgery have basically all fallen out. So to celebrate, here's an update! Enjoy!

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


Savlian needed to take the rest of the day off, less the stress would drive him insane. His talk with the Count had finished around midday and his mood had changed for the worse because of it. He had set off to the barracks, informed his Lieutenant that he was taking charge for the remainder of the day, and then he immediately headed to the nearest tavern. Fortunately, it wasn’t “The Flying Bosmer”.

Savlian took a long drink from mug of ale, gulping quietly. He set the mug onto the table and sighed. He had no idea where to take this serial murder investigation any further. He had reached an impenetrable roadblock, one that sucked the very life out of him. It was disturbing how this monster could remain completely undetected through 6 murders. It was baffling! Savlian finished off his mug and signalled the barkeep for another one; he had all ready finished off 4 previous mugs, a warm headiness filled his senses but it was not enough to fill the hopeless void within him.

Savlian was not one to drink a lot, he avoided it most of the time. Being a guard, he had seen what the stuff can do to a person. He decided that it didn’t matter today, escape was what he needed and if alcohol can escape his feelings, he was going to use it. There was only one other previous time that he had gone to such extremes before. It had been that night where he realized his real role of being the Count’s “Problem Solver”. He needed to numb the guilt he felt that night. Today, he needed to escape from this helpless situation he was stuck in. He was all ready well on his way.

Of course while drinking, his mind began to wander. It wandered to a time where his thoughts were clear, when what he did made sense. At least, at the time he thought they made sense…


“The Count wants you to pay a visit to Warvil Dibbens, a commoner in the town, he’s been spreading slanderous lies about his Lordship so he wants you to solve his problem, so to speak,” Brixley informed Savlian who simply answered with a curt nod and was on his way.

This problem seemed like an easy one to Savlian. If it was just a commoner, he was likely not to have any fighting experience so a fight probably wouldn‘t take place. All Savlian needed to do was simply get his point across, and he was good at doing that. He provided incentives that were hard not to agree upon.

While approaching the house of Warvil, he came up with the perfect idea to get inside. He knocked on the door and waited patiently. Footsteps approached the door which soon opened to reveal an old pair of Breton eyes as blue as the sky on a clear day. “Yes?” inquired the elderly man.

“Tax Collector. Might I enter?” Savlian asked.

Anger flashed across those old eyes but the door opened to allow Savlian to enter the cozy little home. It looked like the old man was alone, as no other activity could be heard throughout the house. The silence was almost death-like. Shrugging off the awkward silence, Savlian turned towards the Breton. “May I take a seat?”

“Sure,” came the gruff reply, it was obvious that the man didn’t enjoy Savlian’s company. Unfortunately Warvil thought Savlian was an employee of the town so had to be hospitable at the most.

Savlian took a seat in an old, creaky chair and pulled out a piece of parchment. “Looks like fifty-five septims are owed to us,” Savlian lied, actually reading his grocery list.

“Fifty-five! That’s highway robbery if I ever heard it! I won’t pay,” said Warvil, outraged.

Savlian had no clue how much taxes should normally cost so he decided to do some quick thinking. “Oh! My mistake. That’s for another poor soul, Varvil is his name, a simply mix up, my apologies sir,” Savlian said off the top of his head.

“Good because if that son of a guar of a Count thinks he’s going to get that much out of a honest man like myself, that --,” Warvil’s next words were quickly cut off due to the fist colliding with his face, sending him crashing to the floor.

“That’s enough of your filthy slanders old man! The Count was right to send me to “talk” with you. Your nothing but a no good crook!” Savlian said angrily as he accented his anger with a solid kick to Warvil’s chest, sending the elderly man rolling across the floor gasping in pain.

“Now, here’s the deal,” Savlian said, returning to a calm state of voice and turning his back to the man, “you hold your tongue with these slanders and you won’t lose your life? Got that, old man? Or do I need to speak louder so you can hear?” asked Savlian. This man definitely deserved this, slandering the Count was a criminal offence. Warvil should be lucky he’s just getting a fair warning.

Savlian had yet to hear an answer from the old man so he turned around to make sure he understood but paused. Warvil was convulsing on the floor. He was having a heart attack. This caused Savlian to pause momentarily. Should he help him? Or leave him to his demise? Was this the justice that this man deserved for his crimes against his boss or not? The usual routine was to warn them, and if they continued to get rid of them. Did Savlian think that this man would not have heeded Savlian’s warning, thus resulting in his death anyways? Savlian decided he should probably stick to routine. Unfortunately, the convulsing body of Warvil was silent by the time Savlian began to act. His head was tilted towards Savlian, dim cast eyes staring up at him, judging him even in death. Savlian shifted awkwardly on his feet, trying to avoid looking at the man’s eyes, but he still felt the stare. Still felt the judging. Hastily he knelt down and forced the man’s eyes closed. It helped immediately so Savlian vacated the room, hoping that whoever found Warvil would just think he had a heart attack and nothing more.



Reality came crashing back to Savlian as a loud, rambunctious group entered the tavern, cheering and yelling. Savlian cringed as he recognized one of the voices within the group. It was a distinct Nordish accent that could only belong to Hlodir. Savlian hurriedly ordered another mug. Hopefully it would help this new situation.

This is just what I need, more perfection to my perfect day…, Savlian thought bitterly as he began to gulp down his mug of ale. He prayed silently that Hlodir would be too involved with talking with his friends to notice Savlian sitting off by himself. That prayer was unanswered as an exclamation of “Hey!” came from Hlodir’s table. Soon after that, the man himself was standing in front of Savlian, smirking down at him with a mug of ale in his hands.

“Aww the poor ole Cap’n o’ the Guards has resorted t’drinkin’, what a shame,” chuckled the Nord, looking back to check if the rest of his table was chuckling along with him.

Savlian ignored Hlodir’s remark by taking another sip from his mug and not making any eye contact with him whatsoever.

Slightly angered by the lack of comment by the Captain, Hlodir continued, “Ya know, if I had that job o’ yours, this murderer would be hangin’ from the gallows ‘bout now. It’s obvious since I’ve all ready improved upon you on your previous occupation.”

“Be that as it may, Hlodir, I am still a much better man than you’ll ever be,” Savlian said calmly, still keeping his eyes firmly contented with his mug of ale.

Hlodir’s patience snapped. No one was going to talk down on his manhood. He placed a heavy hand of Savlian’s should and bent down to get his face right into Savlian’s. “Now you listen hear. You--,” his remark was interrupted by a head butt from Savlian right to his nose, causing him to recoil and stumble away from Savlian, the pain instantly caused his eyes to water. He tenderly touched his nose and flinched, it was definitely broken.

“Keep your hands off me, Hlodir,” the calm still remained in Savlian’s voice.

Growling, Hlodir charged at Savlian, and tackled him over his table, causing ale and mugs to go flying in all directions. Cheers of “Fight!” erupted from around the room and people milled in a circle around the now scrapping opponents.

The fight began with the two rolling around on the floor, crashing into other tables, spilling more ale. Hlodir then brought the fight back onto the feet by dragging Savlian by the shirt, hauling him up and slamming him onto a table, breaking it with a loud crash. Savlian recovered by carrying Hlodir down with him while landing on the table, throwing him over his head. Hlodir landed with a loud thud onto the ground, the air escaping his lungs. Savlian drunkenly got to his feet, his balance obviously hindered by the ale, he tried to keep his focus on Hlodir as he rose from the ground.

The fight took a momentary standstill as the combatants circled each other, Hlodir with his fists cocked and Savlian shuffling around drunkenly, trying to keep Hlodir in front of him. Savlian’s reactions were too slow to stop the two quick jabs Hlodir flicked out, followed by an uppercut the swept the ground from Savlian’s feet. Black flecks speckled across Savlian’s eyes as his head met the tavern floor. Suddenly, a heavy forearm was pressed tightly against his throat. Slowly through the haze, Hlodir’s face materialized.

“Here’s a point for the next time, matey. If you’re expectin’ a fight, don’t get so drunk next time. It could get ya killed,” Hlodir said as blood ran freely from his nose.

The forearm left Savlian’s neck and instantly Savlian rushed out the back end of the tavern to throw up, but not before stumbling into a few tables that caused him to fall over.


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

Yay! Now time to celebrate with some Morrowind. I just got it back from my buddy!

Posted by: minque Jul 15 2006, 10:06 PM

Ahhh a lot of good reading here! Excellent work!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 17 2006, 02:17 AM

The night was deathly silent. Secunda and Masser were hidden by an overcast sky, blackening the world underneath. The only light visible for this night would be from lamplight. A perfect night to hunt as any night would be.

Simion sauntered down the lonely streets of Kvatch, sporting his black suit, cloak fluttering briskly yet silently behind him. The enchanted necklace rested comfortably against his skin underneath his shirt. He kept his dagger concealed behind his back for now, the cloak blocking pedestrians from the sight of it. It wasn’t a good idea to get anyone suspicious. Specifically, anyone who was connected to Simion’s past. He hoped that the Morag Tong agent wouldn’t expect him to be out on the prowl the night of their confrontation. He had checked before he left his home that Lavos had not setup a stakeout, which would hamper his excursion tonight. Fortunately, he found no signs of the assassin watching his home so the coast was clear. Needless, Simion was still apprehensive.

Lavos could be anywhere, and if Simion happened to come across him during his hunt, trouble was going to brew. Assassins would be crawling all over his home, hunting him down for breaking the code. The way of the assassin is supposed to end upon retirement or death. Simion knew the risks he was taking when he decided to retire from the Morag Tong. It was the only way for him to get back to Kvatch though. He needed to finish the deed that sent him to the guild in the first place. He was so close to being ready; he could nearly hear his victim’s death.

Simion’s hand brushed against that all too familiar scar above his brow. Anger and pain flashed before his mind every time he felt that indentation. Hopefully in a matter of days that anger and pain would be rectified. As long as Lavos only had suspicion rather than certainty would Simion be able to complete his mission.

Despite the apprehension, a different sensation within his mind was trying to overtake him. That constant beating pulse, almost like a heartbeat now, along with its voice had begun to plague him. The harsh whispers, demanding vengeance, and most importantly, blood tested his endurance. If it weren’t for the guild techniques of calming one’s self before a mission Simion didn’t know what kind of state of madness he would be in.

Casting glances down the alleyways, Simion wondered how the guard would prepare themselves. He noted that they had improved the previous time by avoiding the alleys and travelling in groups. If Captain Savlian was smart, he would’ve instructed his men to avoid the pubs and taverns as well. Simion would still take a look around in the pubs, just to make sure, but it was likely the guards would know not to go to the taverns by their own judgement.

There was almost a point where he felt guilt for what he was doing to these guards. For all he knew, they were completely innocent men who defended the town with honour. Then again, considering who was in power, they might as well be corrupt and crooked as any smuggler or brigand. He could be possibly be helping Kvatch rather than hindering it with these murders. Time would tell.

A non-expectant shadow in an alley caused Simion to take a closer look. Activating the enchantment on his necklace caused the shadows of the night to dissolve, showing Simion a lone guard observing the ground in the alley.

The fool, he’s committed himself to his own doom, Simion thought as he slipped into the alley. As soon as he descended into the alley, the pulse within his head quickened. Not only did it quicken but the heartbeat had grown in volume. A war drum was a more suitable comparison.

Simion clutched his head, falling into the shadows. He needed to remain calm, but the voice than began to whisper its pleasing words.

“There he is, can’t you hear the blood flowing through his veins? It’s just begging to come out. All that’s needed is a little rip in the flesh…”

Simion attempted the techniques, he began to slow his breathing, but with each whisper brought on by the voice, his concentration broke. Frustration began to grow, which began to feed a sense of hysteria within his mind. It seemed as if to accomplish what he needed to do, he had to give in to the voice.

“That’s exactly what should be done. It’s simple, take out your knife, and cut his throat! DO IT!!”

Simion couldn’t stand the bothersome noise within his head any longer. He unsheathed his dagger, and closed the distance between himself and the guard quickly. All the while, the drums banged in his head and the voice practically screamed for blood. Before the guard could react to anything, Simion wrenched back the guard’s head, exposing his neck. With a fluid motion, Simion viciously slashed through the guard’s throat. Blood sprayed against the alley walls. Delighted, Simion began to drink the vision up. The pattern of blood across the walls was more beautiful than any piece of art he had ever viewed.

His enjoyment was interrupted by a body crashing into him, slamming him into the alley wall. Instinctively, Simion rolled backwards back onto his feet as a broadsword clashed the ground where he previously was. Anger blazed across his eyes at the person who ruined his moment with his victim. This was quickly followed by confusion as his assailant looked familiar. It was if he was looking at an older version of the Redguard he killed the previous night.

“So you’re the monster who killed my brother!” spat the Redguard who took a moment to look down at the corpse of the fallen guard, “I didn’t mean for him to get to ya first, George, I was too slow. But I’ll avenge you as well as my brother.”

This was not the ideal situation for Simion; he now faced an angry brother. Actually it was worse; he was facing an angry Redguard brother that had a sword. This man needed to die too; he couldn’t let him tell the rest of the guard his description. He readied his dagger. Just then the voice cried from the recesses of his mind.

“More! Spill more blood! Spill his!”

The suddenness of the voice caused Simion to jump, giving an opening for Henrik to attack. The strike meant to take his head off ended up as a deep slash to his arm as he narrowly backed away from the strike. Pain flooded Simion’s mind, which only fed the voice.

“How DARES he spill our blood! He must pay!”

The pain and anger surged through Simion. One mere person was NOT going to ruin his mission! One mere person would not be able to kill a great assassin like him! It was a necessity for him to succeed in what he needed to do! Nothing was going to get in his way and live. Nothing! And at the moment, this Redguard was in his way.

Encompassed with fury, Simion recklessly threw himself at the Redguard, taking him by surprise. The collision of bodies sent the two men to the ground, tumbling over each other. Simion was too close to Henrik for the broadsword to be effective. Simion had Henrik’s life in his hands now that he was in his proximity. Unfortunately for Henrik, Simion had long decided his fate. Before Henrik could throw Simion off him, Simion planted his dagger in Henrik’s heart to the hilt.


A gasp of pain escaped Henrik’s lips as Simion rolled off him. He had failed, Ferrik, George, all the rest… were not avenged. He realized he didn’t hurt anymore; it was just getting cold, really cold. A shadow crossed over his face. It seemed so difficult for Henrik to move his eyes up to see what was casting it. He managed all the same. Once he found out what it was, he wished he didn’t bother. It was him, the one who killed him. He looked into those steel blue eyes. What he saw scared him. For within those eyes he saw a madness like no other he had seen before. He could see the delight in them, how they enjoyed the atrocity displayed before him, it was sickening. It was a madness that would doom many a man and mer before it was ended he thought.

Black was beginning to creep in through his eyes and yet the killer still stood over him, fixing him with that maddening stare. Henrik tried to curse the man but the words were stuck in his throat, he couldn’t force them out. He prayed to the Nine that he could wipe that smirk off his face, but the blackness had enveloped the killer’s lips.

The last thing Henrik saw was the eyes of his killer, burning with madness.

Posted by: Mazelure Jul 17 2006, 02:32 AM

Nicely executed dude... I just regret not replying to your other updates (I've been bussy... in a matter of speaking) and I would like to add that your writing is amazing... and the story is like my day dreams... it is as if you are extracting information from my head without me knowing it... and you deserve for kudos for that alone since extracting my thoughts would not be easy to beggin with... so yeah dude...

Kudos

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 21 2006, 04:00 AM

Woo!! I finally got a Kudos! Even I don't remember if I got one from you the first time you commented Mazelure, I'm too lazy to check. Anyways, to celebrate, I'm posting an update....


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

Simion stared intently into the Redguard’s eyes as they slowly clouded over in death. Although it was the Redguard’s face that he was staring at, Simion perceived it as another face; the one he wanted to see this happen to. He had accomplished what he needed to do! It was over! His vengeance was finally fulfilled and with it the torment would go.

The deception faded with the fading of the Redguard’s eyes, his real face appearing to Simion once the spark of life exited him. Horror struck him as he saw the true face of his attacker again. He remembered what took place. While he marvelled at his bloody work done to the guard, “George”, this Redguard snuck up on him and tried to avenge his brother’s death. A fury had built up within him, likely fed by the infernal voice within him, which enabled him to defeat the assailant. In his state of fury, he perceived he was killing his true target in all of this. It was unsettling how badly his mind was behaving for him, he was getting delusional now.

Given his present state, he didn’t even feel any particular interest in this grisly scene displayed before him. The pooling and sprayed blood didn’t appease his eyes. The scent of it didn’t spread a smile across his face. Simion just stood there in cold indifference to his surroundings as anger at himself began to build within him.

I can’t believe I fell into such a predictable trap! He scolded himself. It’s as if I’m some amateur! While I’ve been doing this stuff for years! This damned voice is going to get me killed.

A throbbing pain in his arm brought to Simion’s attention that he had been injured. Wincing, he stripped a corner of his cloak and applied it to the wound. Examining the wound, Simion deducted it was just a large graze, fairly deep, but not deep enough for stitches or serious blood loss. All he needed to do was properly bandage it once he returned home.

Only once before had he been injured while on the job. The memory still stung on his reputation he had for himself…


“This is going to be a tricky one,” Falen muttered as he brought out the map of the Dren Plantation. He looked at both of the other assassins with him, Simion, a promising youth in the guild, and Avelili, a trusted veteran.

Avelili simply nodded in understanding while Simion had a glint of expectation in his eyes and fidgeted. Falen sighed; outlanders of the Morag Tong always seemed to lose the calm exposure they needed to get the job done. He had to give the lad some credit though; he didn’t run into a single problem with the Telvanni mage that was assigned to him previously. Given the Telvanni’s paranoid mindset, they were generally quite prepared for Morag Tong attacks. Simion successfully had slain the mer without him uttering a single spell. The reward, joining his team to take out Orvas Dren, leader of the Commona Tong. Both the other houses finally figured out that Orvas’ crime ring were involved in several of House Hlaalu’s endeavours, and insisted on having a writ issued for him.

“Now remember the plan, Orvas is likely on the top floor of his mansion, there’s only one other guard inside, but there’s plenty more outside. We also have to take in account that the Ienith brothers could be anywhere at anytime; we couldn’t get any intelligence on their current whereabouts. Remember, Orvas is the target, none of the others, only take them out in self defence. Preferably, I only want one dead body. Avelili, you’re going to monitor outside the mansion, if any of the guards from the outside enter the mansion I want you to make a dead Cliffracer call to warn us, hopefully we’ll hear it. I want you then to try to create a distraction. If you hear a dead Cliffracer call, then we need a distraction. Got that?” Falen looked to Avelili, who again silently nodded. Falen turned his attention to Simion.

“Simion and I are going to scale the walls behind the mansion. We’ll then proceed to infiltrate the mansion via window or back door. Then Simion here is going to give it to Orvas while I cover him,” Falen said to the grinning face of Simion.

After reconfirming the plan, Avelili split apart from the duo to her lookout position while Simion and Falen proceeded to the rear of the Plantation. All under a starless night.

Simion could barely contain his emotions. He was ecstatic that he was given the privilege to work with two of the top assassins in the Guild. They must have seen a great deal of potential in him as he had only been recruited by the Guild a scant year and a half ago. Now he was going to end the life of a figurehead in Morrowind! The infamous Orvas Dren! He could barely suppress the sense of glee he was feeling.

Falen and Simion silently scaled the walls with ease, it was surprising how a criminal mastermind didn’t post guards near the very likely spots to infiltrate his base of operations. Upon reaching the ground on the other side of the wall, Simion scanned his surroundings for guards. Looking over to Falen, Simion pointed to an opened window over in the corner of the mansion. Falen nodded in approval and the assassins headed towards it. Anticipation scaled up and down Simion’s spine as they approached the opened window. Simion rested a shaky hand on the windowsill as he peered into the mansion. Silence and emptiness greeted him fondly. Simion looked over to Falen for affirmation to enter. Falen fixed him with a look that meant “Are you all right?”. He must’ve noticed his shaky hand. Simion nodded that he was fine and Falen made a motion to signal to enter the mansion.

Looking around at his surroundings, Simion was impressed. Orvas definitely liked to display his wealth. Intricate rugs covered the floor, priceless vases and porcelain rested among the shelves and richly detailed pictures filled any empty space between the shelves. Simion wondered how many countless people had suffered at the hands of the Commona Tong to achieve such wealth. Shuddering, Simion followed Falen to the stairs.

Footsteps echoing down a hall told the assassins that the guard was patrolling downstairs at the moment, perfect for their situation. Falen hand signalled to Simion that he would keep watch down here while Simion was to go upstairs to finish the job. Simion nodded and proceeded to head up the stairs.

By now, Simion’s mouth was as dry as the Ashlands were, nervousness began to creep alongside the anticipation. Simion attempted to swallow, but it felt like he was swallowing a lump of gravel. Despite that inconvenience, Simion continued up the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones he identified by sight.

Once he reached the top floor, Simion no longer fancied looking at the displays of wealth surrounding him, so focused on the mission he became. He now focused on the teachings of the Guild. He paced his breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose, avoiding all possible noise. He shuffled silently down the hallway towards Orvas’ bedroom, keeping on the balls of his feet, the padded Guild shoes absorbing the sound of his footsteps.

Simion approached the closed door of Dren’s bedroom. A quick test of the door handle proved it was locked. Fortunately, Simion had his trusty lock pick. Probing the lock with his pick, Simion discovered the lock was of moderate quality; it would only take him a minute at the most to open.

In reality, it took several minutes to spring open the lock, each time he neared locking the final tumbler, his hand would get shaky causing the tumblers to collapse again, thus resulting in Simion starting over. His growing frustration didn’t help much. The guard could be approaching anytime now. He paused momentarily, took a deep breath to settle his nerves, and resumed his work on the lock. In no time the lock sprung open with a click and Simion stepped into the room.

The room was blanketed in darkness so Simion stood there to let his eyes adjust. As objects began to appear before Simion, he began to see the steady rise and fall of a body in the large bed. Orvas Dren was soundly asleep. For quite a powerful man, Simion thought Orvas was rather small. Of course the size of the bed could’ve been misleading him, but he was certain that he was larger than him, and Simion wasn’t considered a large person.

Silently, Simion unsheathed his dagger and stalked towards the bed, his eyes fixed intently on the sleeping body. This was it. The moment of truth. It felt as though Simion’s heart was stuck in his throat, he was beginning to get uncomfortable. All he needed to do was stab Orvas fatally, and then he would be recognized as one of the best assassins in the Guild. At least, the Guild members would praise him. It was considered a bad idea to brag about assassinations made to non-members, it was considered dishonourable and if one was meant to be secretive, it would be ruined. Simion raised the dagger over his head, and edged another step closer…

Bang!!

Simion’s foot collided with a footstool loudly causing the body in the bed to bolt upright, head whipping in the direction of the noise. Simion froze in shock, dagger still held above his head as he stared directly at Orvas Dren. His state of shock was broken as Orvas pulled out his own dagger from under his pillow and stabbed Simion directly in his belly. Simion cried out in pain and fell off the blade onto the ground. It felt as is his flesh was on fire! The blade was obviously enchanted and he could feel the wound searing with hot pain.

“Assassin!” Dren hollered as he threw off the covers and sprang out of bed, hatred filled his ember eyes.

Simion rolled under Dren’s horizontal slash and tried to roll onto his feet towards the door. The pain laced through his body and with a cry he collapsed back onto the floor.

Dren loomed over him, vicious intent clearly read over his face. “Time to die fetcher!” he said as he raised his dagger overhead.

Just as he did, a knife suddenly seemed to have bloomed from out of his chest. Dren stared down at the knife in horror, he opened his mouth as if to say something but all that was heard was a gurgle of blood as it suddenly began to pour out of his mouth. Dren stumbled backwards and collapsed onto his bed, dead.

Unseen arms wrapped around Simion and pulled him up forcibly. “Flee we must!” Falen whispered harshly into his ear.

As they descended down the stairs, Simion clutching to Falen tightly while trying to ignore his pain, Simion noticed the dead body of the lone house guard of Orvas Dren. It seemed like he was sporting a new knife to the back of his head. As they exited via the window, the pain became too much for Simion and he blacked out.



Simion angrily tossed the memory aside as he exited the alleyway. When he had awoken he was back in the guildhall. After his recuperation, he had received a stern lecture on focus and was forced to do many tedious and mind numbing missions before earning the trust to do serious assassinations once more. Even then, some of the veterans would poke fun of him, always mentioning to “look out for footstools” which had always set off his temper.

Again he had made a foolish mistake and suffered the price for it. At least in this case, his wound was not serious and could be easily looked after. From now on he planned to retain focus at all costs, he couldn’t let something such as this voice in his head ruin what he had to do.

He passed by the all too familiar homeless man and his bonfire. He was in no mood for small talk with the man this evening, but he made a little. Just enough to dispose of his gloves without the man noticing. Even then the man still tried to keep a conversation with him. Fed up, Simion pushed him aside roughly and continued on his way home. He needed rest to settle himself. Tomorrow, he would be a different man, a more focused one.

Too bad Simion did not decide to look back as the homeless man looked down, horror struck, at himself to find a streak of blood wiped across his shirt from where the man brushed him aside.


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Hmmm, now what should I do? Go to bed at a decent time so I'm all rested for work? Or play some Morrowind since I've been too busy the last couple of days? I think the answer is pretty easy!

Posted by: Lord Revan Jul 21 2006, 06:24 PM

You should have probably gone to bed MM , I had to because I had to got to a tournament today

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 21 2006, 09:30 PM

I actually did go to bed, didn't feel 30-45 minutes of Morrowind was worth it. So I watched a TV show then went to bed, but today I'm DEFINATELY going to get some Elder Scrolls in.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 25 2006, 01:05 AM

Hmmm, things seem to be going a little slow over here in the Fan Fiction section. I guess everyone is enjoying their summers a lot. Well I'll reward the few people still around with an update! You're very welcome everyone!


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Savlian woke up with a dull pounding in his head and the vile taste of bile in his mouth. The nauseated feeling in his stomach only added to his discomfort as he slowly rose out his bed. It was going to be a difficult day if he felt like this the whole time. He trudged over to the washbasin and splashed the cool water against his face. Sighing, Savlian looked up into the mirror as he grabbed a towel to dry off his face. The previous day’s events had taken a toll on Savlian. His right eye was purple due to bruising, and slightly swollen, causing his vision to be less expansive. The right corner of his lip was large and swollen; basically, his face was a pale, swollen, and haggard-looking mess.

I am never going to drink again… Savlian thought bitterly as he gently touched his lip. Wincing, he retracted his hand. It looked like he was not going to be in any sort of shape to go out on patrol today. He probably needed a day to rest. First off, it would give him time to get over his hangover, and second, a stress free day would really do him some good. A knocking at his door caused an end to Savlian’s hopeful thoughts. People knocking on his door always meant that someone wanted him to do something.

Begrudgingly, Savlian trudged to the door and opened it up. The face on the other side made a surprised expression.

“What the hell happened to you Cap?” the guard asked.

“None of your business. Now what the hell do you want, I’m not feeling well so you better make it fast,” Savlian replied with an edge to his voice.

The guard stood there for a moment, conflicted. “Sir, we found more bodies… It’s George and Henrik. I think you should see this, being your case and all…”

Savlian cursed loudly, and walked around from the door, leaving it ajar. “Great! Just great! What did I do to deserve this!?” he asked the air and he began to pull out his guard attire. He then chuckled bitterly; I know damn well what I did to deserve this…

A few minutes later Savlian exited his home, wearing standard guard attire; chain mail, and the Kvatch tabard, equipped with the appropriate slashes for his rank. He nodded to the guard accompanying him and began to follow him down into the center of the town.

Shortly after they begun their decent into town, a flash of lightning filled the sky and was shortly followed by a peal of thunder. A heavy torrent a rain began to fall as if to answer the call of the thunder. Slumping his head forward, Savlian muttered, “Perfect…,” and continued on his trek. Though it was likely there would be no evidence if it indeed was the killer who struck again, the rain certified that there would be no evidence whatsoever.

Savlian knew immediately they reached the murder scene as a river of crimson flowed out of the alleyway and into the storm drains. The churning blood did no help to Savlian’s all ready queasy stomach. Suppressing the nausea, Savlian peered into alleyway. Despite not being as messy as the other crime scenes, the image displayed before Savlian was still upsetting. George was sprawled, face down, in a pool of water. The paleness of death covered his exposed body. Meanwhile, Henrik’s cold, dead eyes stared up to the sky. Not even the rain splashing into them would cause them to blink. His whole torso was discoloured with blood. A lump grew in Savlian’s throat as he tried to withhold the emotions rising up within him.

From the looks of the scene, Henrik had indeed tried to catch the murderer “his way”. He had set a trap for the killer by using George as bait. Unfortunately, Henrik must not have been able to intercept the killer killing George. Since Henrik’s wound was fatal, but not instantly, the killer must’ve gotten into an altercation with him. That simply defied logic though, how could an assassin, likely armed with a simple dagger, defeat a highly trained swordsman who had vengeance on his mind? This killer was more dangerous than Savlian ever anticipated if he could defeat a sword-wielding Redguard in armed combat.

Savlian took a moment to offer a prayer to the fallen men.

At least you’re with your brother again, Henrik, peace be with you, friend.

Savlian looked over to his accompanying guard, who was involved in a conversation with what looked to be a homeless man. The man seemed to be talking quite urgently with the guard, and suddenly indicated an action across his shirt. Both Savlian and the guard made a surprised expression as a streak of blood was revealed across his shirt. The guard looked over to Savlian and waved him over.

Savlian walked over to the two men, shivering from the cold rain falling down. “What does this fellow want?” he inquired.

“The name’s Madsen, been living here since that whole Tharn incident a wile back. Rather embarrassing situation wasn’t it?” he looked embarrassed momentarily. “Sorry, I’m getting off topic. I just wanted you to know about this odd thing that happened to me last night.”

Hope flickered across Savlian’s eyes. “Go ahead good sir, anything at this time will help.”

The homeless man cleared his throat roughly, “Well, there’s always this one gentleman who visits me for a little chat from time to time. We make some small talk, he then gives me a few gold septims and goes on his way. He seemed like a nice fellow, until last night. He seemed to be in a bad mood. I just wanted to start up a conversation, but he just brushed me off, quite roughly to add. I kinda glare at his back and then look down at myself and what do I see?” He pulled at his shirt, a disgusted look across his face, “Blood! I don’t know whose, but I would have to say his due to his mood.”

Savlian smiled, things were taking a turning point. He turned the guard assisting him. “Could you please take Madsen down to the barracks, get his nice and comfortable,” he then turned to Madsen, “You would be able to give us a decent description of this man, correct?”

“That I would sir.”

“Excellent, now you’re going down to barracks to give a description of this person. We’re going to try to treat you real nice. You all right with that?” Savlian asked warmly.

The homeless man smiled, “I would love a nice hot meal.”

“We will get you that at the barracks, Lucile here will escort you,” said Savlian, motioning to the guard beside him.

The two men began to set off, but something dawned on Savlian and he called out to them, “Hold on! Which direction did he walk off to, Madsen?”

Madsen pondered the question for a second. “He went off north of here, likely towards the more upper middle class area of town, seeing as his clothes were quite fine.”

“Thank you Madsen.”

“Very welcome sir.”

As the two men headed off towards the barracks, Savlian headed north. Eager to scope out the landscape of where the possible killer would be. Silently, he thanked Henrik yet again for his sacrifice.

Without your help, I don’t know if we would’ve had this opportunity.

Savlian chuckled dryly as his recently vanished determination began to settle in once again. Who would have thought that such a gloomy day would bring a glimmer of light at the end of this nearly hopeless tunnel?

Posted by: Lord Revan Jul 25 2006, 01:45 AM

Looks like our assasin needs to realize that beggers see everything

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 26 2006, 08:41 PM

A bit of a shorter on with this one, ohwell, the next one will probably be more involved. Sometimes, you just gotta be subtle... But enough of my babble! Here it is!


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It had been quite a long time since Savlian had visited this area of Kvatch. He could only guess that the Count didn’t over tax the residents here, because he never had to come here to “problem solve”. For his atonement, Savlian decided he would patrol the likely “rough spots” of Kvatch; the downtown area where most of the pubs and taverns were located, and the district containing the lower class. He considered this place a rather peaceful part of town. Odd that it could possibly house a serial killer.

These houses were of modest Cyrodillic quality; grey stone, two story buildings with thatched roofs, many with smoke coming out of the chimneys to fend off the coolness of the rainy weather outside. Even in the dreary weather, the homes brought a cheery feeling within Savlian. When he retired, this would be the ideal place to live. He could never settle down in a farm, there would still be too much work to do.

Savlian noticed a young Imperial female tending to her garden, so he decided to approach her.

“Greetings miss,” he said modestly, drawing her attention.

She rose from her knees, wiping off the mud caked to her knees. She started once she caught a glimpse of Savlian’s face. “Oh my! Captain! What happened to you? Did you run into a horde of bandits single handily or something?” she asked with concern.

Savlian smiled warmly, trying to brush away her concern. “Oh don’t worry about me; it looks worse than it feels. You should see what I did to those bandits though,” he chuckled. “Why are you out in this kind of weather though?”

“Oh, it’s just a light sprinkle. I actually enjoy the feel of the rain against my skin; it’s refreshing considering the heat over the last few days. I just couldn’t wait for the rain to stop before tending to my garden,” she replied then smiled, “May I ask you the same question?”

“I received word that a suspicious person was seen heading in this direction. I too, am anxious to get something done. That being, catching this suspicious person. I was planning on scoping out the vicinity, but I saw you out here so I was wondering if you’ve seen anything odd over the last few days?” Savlian inquired.

The Imperial looked off to the side thoughtfully. After a few moments she replied, “Well I’ve seen some shady looking fellows visiting Vadame Dralen’s home over the course of a few weeks. They’re always looking dangerously cautious.”

“Which house is Vadame’s?”

“That one,” she pointed, “It’s the last one on the corner there. The shady people always come walking alongside the wall there.”

As Savlian observed Vadame’s home, another house caught his attention. It was three houses ahead of Vadame’s and on the opposite side of the street. It looked like every other house on that street, but that’s what made it stand out. Then he remembered.

“Someone is living in the Mandrake’s old home?” he asked.

“Oh yes, it’s actually their son, Simion, that‘s living there now. Poor fellow, having his parents abandon him with their disappearance. I was nearly shocked that he decided to return here after that. You would think living in that home would bring back too painful of memories or something. That might be the case; he’s a bit of a recluse,” the Imperial said sadly, pity mixed with her sadness.

Before Savlian was employed by the Count, he had heard about the abandoned Mandrake house. Supposedly one night, Mister and Miss Mandrake disappeared, leaving their son, Simion, all alone. Shortly after than, Simion simply left his home; no one knew where he went and it seemed he was basically forgotten. It looked like that had now changed with Simion’s sudden return. It was curious indeed on why he would return to such a place.

Savlian placed his curiosity aside as he thanked the Imperial for her help. He had a certain Dunmer to visit.

Posted by: Black Hand Jul 26 2006, 09:44 PM

Wow. More and more intriguing with each read Mallet! Seriously, a very well written story, and i do hope you keep this up. I'll probably have to try extra hard to be as original in my fanfic though. Keep it up!

Posted by: Mazelure Jul 26 2006, 09:49 PM

Short? I wished my update would be half as long as yours. Anyways I like the update... and I think this shady character Simion is hidding something... well time will tell.

Posted by: Lord Revan Jul 26 2006, 11:19 PM

right Mazelure, long time no post

Posted by: Mazelure Jul 27 2006, 01:13 AM

Yeah I've been kinda bussy lately. But I am trying to cut some time for reading and writing in this forums again. Anyways it's good to be back in the FanFic section again... with my fellow writers. Cheers.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 29 2006, 11:48 PM

Well it's nice seeing you back and commenting, Mazelure, I appreciate them. Especially from those consistantly posted, it's nice to see you're enjoying my writing . Even those just reading, thanks for giving this a chance. But enough of my sappy appreciation Update time!


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As Savlian approached the Dralen residence, voices coming from along the outer wall were steadily getting louder. Silently, Savlian strafed across the road and flattened his back against a neighbouring house. Peaking around the edge, he had an excellent scope of Vadame’s home. Moments after Savlian found his cover, two figures appeared heading to Vadame’s house, cloaks over their heads to avoid the rain. Both the figures were rather large and a distinctive rattling of glass bottles reached Savlian’s ears even from the distance where he was situated. Before approaching the door, the figures cast glances around their surroundings guardedly. Savlian was able to identify one of the figures as a Nord, due to a distinctive beard. Satisfied that the coast was clear, the figures knocked on the door and patiently waited for it to open.

Moments later the door opened and a young, red-haired Dunmer poked her head out the doorway to survey the street before allowing the figures to enter. Savlian was able to see the whole scene from his vantage point. Indeed it did seem these figures were shady. Even Vadame herself had shown a want of secrecy. Not to mention the rattling bottles could be among a number of illegal things. Savlian had a vague idea what exactly were in those bottles. The best thing to do was investigate.

Savlian hesitated a moment. He wasn’t in the ideal physical condition at the moment to confront likely 3 armed suspects, 2 at the least. It would probably be a good idea to go get some assistance. Then again, by the time he did that the suspects could be gone, having completed their business with Dralen. Indecision reflected in Savlian’s eyes. Did he have time to get help? Or could he take on these criminals? Realization then sparked. He still had the advantage of surprise. He peeked around the corner of the house and noticed that Vadame had her drapes blocking the windows. He could get in front of the door without them seeing him getting there. If he could rush into the house and disarm everyone, no conflicts would arrive. Savlian had made up his mind.

He quickly closed the distance between him and the Dralen home, thanking the rain for masking the sound of his heavy boots smacking against the cobblestones. He now stood in front of the door, adrenaline beginning the pump through his veins. The pain and swollenness from last night receded. Flexing his fingers, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his broadsword. Easing the well-honed blade out of its sheath, Savlian took a steady breath to ease his nerves. This was a risk he was now committed to. He couldn’t pull back now, even if he wanted to without jeopardizing catching these criminals. He slowly knocked on the door. The murmurs from the other side of the door quickly died and footsteps approached.

“Who is it?” called a female voice.

“Tax Collector,” Savlian said calmly, taking a step back from the door. It was about time he used this method for something good.

As the door opened up a crack so Vadame could peer out at the would-be Tax Collector, Savlian heavily kicked the door, sending the Dunmer sprawling across the floor. Savlian charged in, sword ready into the room. The Nord went for a hand axe resting on the table, but a quick smash over the head with a broadsword hilt incapacitated the Nord. Turning his sword on the other figure, Savlian said “Hands up!” The figure complied. Savlian approached the now recognized Orc, and removed him of his weapon.

“Sit!” he commanded, surveying the room. The room was lightly furnished with the necessities, a couple of chairs and a table. On the table rested multitudes of skooma bottles. Just as he expected. He looked over at the Orc. “Where did you get the drugs?”

The Orc stared at him angrily, keeping his mouth firmly shut. It looked like some persuasion was needed to get what Savlian wanted. Savlian edged closer to the Orc. “I’ll ask you nicely one last time, Orc. Where did you get the drugs?” Vicious intent was clearly evident in Savlian’s eyes.

Before the Orc could speak, a terrifying screech sounded from across the room. Before Vadame stood a ghostly spectre, shrilling its death-like call. Vadame pointed directly at Savlian, smiling intently. The spirit then rushed at Savlian. Instinctively, Savlian grabbed the silver throwing dagger within his boot. Taking quick aim, Savlian threw the dagger, flying through the spirit and embedding itself in the shoulder of Vadame. The spectre wailed in pain as it dissipated while Vadame collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Turning around Savlian was suddenly bowled over by the Orc rushing out of the house, carrying as much skooma as he could possibly get his hands on. Cursing, Savlian ignored the vacancy of the Orc; he still had two perfect culprits to get answers from. A groan from Savlian’s right revealed that the Nord was coming to. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t going to like it.

Savlian roughly picked up the Nord and shoved him into a chair. “Now you’re going to tell me where you got these drugs from!” he said angrily.

Bewilderment was still evident in the stunned Nord’s eyes. Looking around, the Nord groaned, “Where’s Lug-Arglog?”

An idea instantly formulated in Savlian’s head. “He’s outside, dead. I did you a favour, you would’ve thrown up if you saw what I did to him,” Savlian sighed, “He should’ve talked…”

The Nord stared at Savlian in horror, gulping audibly. “Drugs ya asked abou‘? Right! Err, a Nord by the name o’ Hlodir told use t'deliver this skooma to Vadame. She distributes it to the local dealers… I think,” the Nord blurted out as quickly as possible.

Hlodir! That could only mean the Count is involved in this… Savlian thought. Things had just become more difficult.

“Well then, looks like you and Vadame here are going to pay a visit to the prison.”

Posted by: Black Hand Jul 30 2006, 10:34 AM

Dun-Dun-Dun!! The plot thickens! Seriously, dude. This may be your first fan fic, but you must have written before. And written WELL.

Posted by: Mazelure Jul 30 2006, 04:20 PM

Dumb Nords. Anyways that was a good update man... keep it up... please

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 30 2006, 07:22 PM

Yea, you caught me, Black Hand. I have always enjoyed creative writing since I was child, I guess I just had a roaming creativity. Unfortunately, since the 8th grade, I just couldn't find any time or motivation to do any creative writing. None of my classes until grade 12 let me write anything creative, just boring essays and on spare time I was either busy playing sports or video games. But since I took a creative writing class in grade 12, I got that itch to write again. So I thought I would revive my this idea I had clunking around since grade 6 or 7. I had it based in a time much like TES, so it would improve and integrate well being changed into a fan fiction.

The interesting thing with my creative writing class was that I got my highest mark writing a poem. And I thought I was a terrible poet

Posted by: Black Hand Jul 30 2006, 07:27 PM

Ah yes, I knew it! As my story hardly contains the consistency and structure of yours, I usually just try to write what sounds good based off the many many stories I have read over the years, If I ever pick up what seems to be your style of writing, consider it a compliment, as Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Damn, I even feel inspired to write another post after re-reading your last post......post machine!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 30 2006, 07:43 PM

You do yourself in injustice if you think yours is lacking in consistancy and structure when comparing yours to mine. I find that each of your updates are amazingly consistent in content, each post has either something exciting or interesting to read. You even seem to be drawing a larger crowd to yours than mine, so you must be doing something right! You are the true post machine, I'm more of a Commentasaurus

Though I do believe I'll get in an update today, I'm in the midst of writing it, so it might be an hour or two, possibly three....

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jul 30 2006, 09:00 PM

And here it is! Enjoy!

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Out of habit, about when the light would’ve hit Goldwine’s eyes did he wake. Finding that no light woke him, he cursed into his pillow. “Dammit! Even when there’s no sunlight, I still wake up!” Dragging himself out of bed, he stretched, bones in his back cracking audibly. Sighing, he trudged to his bathroom to relieve himself and freshen up for the day. As was the routine, a knocking was heard on the Count’s door.

“Sir, I’ll just leave your messages in front of the door,” the humble voice of Brixley called out.

“That’s much better,” Goldwine said to himself aloud as he splashed water against his face in the washbasin.

Goldwine emerged from his room in a fine purple tunic, complete with a red and purple cape, trimmed with gold along the edges. He felt regal today. “I almost wished I had a sceptre…” he said quietly, smiling to himself. He picked up the stack of notes on the table beside his door and began scanning through them. It looked like most of them were standard business for the Count, but then that dreaded report showed up in his hand. His smile vanished as he read it:

2 GUARDS SLAIN IN ALLEY. PROBABLE SUSPECT UNKNOWN AT TIME OF REPORT. LIKELY SERIAL KILLER PRIME SUSPECT.

Throwing the stack of messages across the hall in anger, Goldwine hollered, “Why can’t my guards do anything right!!!! I ask them to do the simple thing of catching one murderer, and they haven’t caught him yet! By the Divines! Don’t they know how this reflects on me! It looks like I have no control over my cursed town!” The Count was now stomping the ground and flailing his arms around, venting his frustrations and anger openly. Any servants, nearby that witnessed the display quickly ventured out of sight to avoid the Count’s wrath.

To the Count, his breakfast tasted bitter and the tea tasted sour. The gloomy, and rainy weather reflected his mood rather well. He did wish there was more thunder and lightning to compliment his anger though. A servant asked if he needed anything and he swiftly waved him off, frowning the whole time. Soon after that Brixley arrived.

“Would you like me to get any services done for you, sir?” he asked politely, avoiding eye contact.

“Get my disgrace of a Captain in here, immediately,” Goldwine said, restraining the anger welling inside him. Brixley bowed and exited his presence.


It seemed that immediately for Savlian was early afternoon. Much to the dismay of Goldwine’s servants, who had to suffer through his irritable mood for much of the day. They had no sympathy for the verbal lashing, and possibly more, that Goldwine was going to give to the Guard Captain.

When Savlian stood before the Count, it took Goldwine a second to realize that he was facing his Captain of the Guards. It looked as though he had been in a street brawl. His one eye was slightly swollen shut and had a sickly blue and purple tint to it. A corner of his lip was badly swollen and it had slightly cracked open as well, a trickle of blood running down the corner of his mouth proving such. His brown hair was matted to his forehead from the rain, but his face was flushed so some of it would likely be sweat as well. Goldwine also noticed a little blood on his hands.

“Where did that blood come from?” the Count inquired.

Savlian looked down, looking as if this was the first time he noticed he had blood on his hands. “Hmmm, I believe this was from retrieving my dagger from the shoulder of a criminal I ran into today.”

“Well it certainly looks like you had quite a day so far.”

Savlian grinned, “It has been a good day.”

“You call the death of two guards a good day!” the Count said heatedly, “How can you honestly call that a good day!”

The grin across Savlian’s face vanished. “Sorry sir, indeed my day started sadly, but since then the day has picked up. We now have a suspect. A witness has given us a description of our suspect and we’re posting the picture up across town as we speak,” Savlian said, eagerness and pride clearly evident in his voice.

“It is about time, Captain. Now I hope you get this monster soon.”

“We certainly will now, sir. We know who we’re looking for,” Savlian said and suddenly became very serious, “I have an inquiry to make, sir.”

“Yes?”

“I would like to arrest Hlodir on offences of drug trafficking.”

“On what evidence?” asked the Count, suddenly experiencing a feeling of anxiousness.

“I ran into a drug trafficking operation on my patrol. Upon questioning the criminals, they fingered Hlodir as the one dishing out the drugs. As he’s under your jurisdiction, I need your permission to invoke the law on him,” Savlian said matter-of-factly.

“Denied.”

“Why?” Savlian said, shocked.

“Insufficient evidence. They didn’t give you a last name, so it could potentially be another Hlodir, and given the credibility of a criminal, they could be lying,” said the Count, returning the matter-of-fact attitude.

Savlian stood silently, looking as if he had just been punched in the gut.

“Is that all, Captain?”

“Yes, sir,” Savlian said hollowly.

“Then pursue this murderer, I expect you to catch him any day now.”

“Yes, sir,” Savlian said, bowing and leaving the room.

The Count sighed audibly. This was terrible news! He had to get word to Hlodir to halt operations momentarily until the situation was fixed. If Savlian tried to investigate the drug trafficking, the trail could very well lead to him. He now realized how foolish it was to have Hlodir run the trafficking operation, but he was good at what he did. This slip up was dangerous though. The situation had to be fixed. Unfortunately for the good Captain. That would mean death.

Pouring a glass of wine, Goldwine toasted the air. “Here’s for your years of service, Savlian. Unfortunately they must end.”

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 2 2006, 12:50 AM

Simion woke to a reeling sensation in his head. Bolting upright nearly caused him to vomit from the sudden movement. The stench of blood was rank in the air and it only added to Simion’s nausea. It surprised him that blood would do that to him. He then realized why, as he was looking down at his arm. The blood was his. Looking at his bed, he saw the large red patch of dried plasma on his bed. With that sight still in his eyes, the remaining strength in his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor, panting loudly. He scolded himself for falling asleep with a mild wound, for the blood loss had sapped nearly all his strength. He crawled over to his lower cupboard where he kept a various assortment of poisons and potions. Opening it, he searched through the bottles until he found the one he wanted. Downing it in one swig, Simion immediately felt the affects of the restore strength potion.

With his replenished strength, Simion examined his wound. The wound wasn’t deep, merely a wide gash that would bleed a lot, and bleed it did. It was now bruised around the edges and his shoulder was stained crimson from the seepage of the wound. The wound itself was now a coagulated mess of dried blood. It would likely leave quite a scar once fully healed. Simion was just fortunate that it didn’t bleed more than it did, else he wouldn’t know what kind of condition he’d be in. He felt very foolish. He could’ve bled out during the night and all his effort would be for naught.

He then set out to clean up the mess. If he were to get a visitor, it wouldn’t be a good idea for them to see a bloodstained house, less they get any ideas. He first cleaned himself up by washing the blood coating his arm and dressing the wound with a salve. He then went about cleaning the bloodstains on the floor as best he could and incinerated his bed sheets. That much blood was not going to come out. He sighed as he saw the mattresses itself was stained. He couldn’t afford a new one at the moment so he simply flipped the thing over, chuckling at his ingenuity. It had taken him all morning to clean the place up, so he was famished.

After finishing his meal of boar meat with steamed vegetables, he then set about formulating his next move. He was about to make a big decision. Due to the previous night’s fiasco, he couldn’t trust his mind with more preparation missions. Then again, his condition caused him to make a rookie mistake, and those had to be avoided like the plague if he were to successfully complete his revenge. He rested his head against the table, torn with indecision. If only his mind was fine! His choice would be a simply one then. A knocking on his door snapped him out of his dilemma.

Opening the door, Simion found himself staring into the all-too-familiar eyes of Lavos, burning in their intense reddened gaze. “Back so soon, Lavos?”

A hint of amusement flickered across Lavos’ face. “Yes, I just stumbled across something quite… odd I guess would be the word for it.”

Simion registered that something was going amiss, but still kept the conversation light. “Well what was so “odd” about it?”

“Oh, I just noticed the town guard posting these up all over town,” he said, laying down a piece of parchment.

Simion could barely keep a straight face as he looked at the piece of paper with his face on it. The headline read:

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ON SUSPICIONS OF MULTIPLE HOMICIDE
ANY LEADS ARE TO BE REPORTED TO THE TOWN BARRACKS

“Have you been lying to your apprentice, Simion?” Lavos inquired darkly, agitation lurking just on the edge of his voice.

“First of all, you’re my former apprentice, and second, that could be anyone,” Simion said, disregarding the notice.

“I don’t think “anyone” would have a scar above their right brow, much like this one shown here,” Lavos rebutted.

“Well if they are suspicious of me, they can simply take me in. If you didn’t notice from before, I’m a bit of a recluse. People tend to be suspicious of that. I have nothing to hide though,” Simion said, giving a look of certainty to Lavos. Confidence was key here. If Lavos was unconvinced, definite trouble would arrive.

Lavos decided not to press the issue any further and looked around the modestly furnished room, and sniffed indifferently. “The place smells nice, all fresh and clean.”

Simion smiled, he saw through Lavos’ questions like a glass window. “With a rainy day like this, there’s not much else to do but spruce up the abode,” he replied chuckling.

“Do you really think he buys this? He’s no fool! Kill while you have the chance!”

The voice suddenly erupted in Simion’s head causing him to stagger and drop to his knees on the floor. A look on anguish crossed his face as Lavos bent down next to him.

“Simion! Are you all right?” he asked, concern reflected sincerely in his eyes. Simion turned his head towards Lavos and nearly recoiled from the expression in Simion’s eyes. What he saw was pure, malicious intent. It disappeared quickly, but Lavos had all the information he needed now.

“Sorry to scare you there, Lavos. I just had a rough night. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. To be honest, that’s why I cleaned this place up. It reeked of vomit and… other things,” Simion said weakly.

“Well I definitely know how a hangover feels,” Lavos said smiling, “The best thing for me to do is to give you some peace and quiet. Even a little noise can give you such a headache, I know. Trust me.”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Simion said rising from the floor, massaging his temples, “I just hope you’re not offended, friend.”

“Not at all,” Lavos said, reaching the door, “I do hope you feel better.”

“I hope so too,” Simion said, opening the door, “Farewell.”

“Farewell,” Lavos said, returning the formality. Before the door could close though, Lavos grabbed it. “Could you just do me one favour before I leave?”

Simion looked at Lavos’ serious expression for a few moments before answering. “What would you ask of me?”

“Would you turn yourself in to the barracks? This picture is obviously of you, and it’s deeply disconcerting for me to see this,” Lavos asked, though it almost sounded like a plea.

Anger flared up within Simion. “As I said before, if the guards want me badly enough, they can come to me. I’m not going to turn myself in like some guilt-ridden criminal!” Simion said heatedly.

“It’s not like that though, you’d be simply telling them your alibi or something,” Lavos said calmly, tolerating Simion’s heated words.

The anger remained in Simion for a few moments but resignation crept in. “You’re right, once I get over this hangover, I’ll pay a visit to the barracks. Thank you again for your wisdom, Lavos,” Simion said gratefully.

“Bless your intelligence, Simion. It is the right thing to do. Farewell!” Lavos said and finally released the door.

After the soft click of the door closing Simion turned around, the hidden anger now apparent on his face. Turn himself in? He planned to avoid the guard at all costs. But now he was in another dilemma. Knowing Lavos, he’d would “privately escort” Simion to the barracks. If Simion didn’t, he’d be caught lying, and the Guild would come crashing down on him. If he did, then there was the possible chance that the guard would get even more suspicious of him if he answered their questions improperly. Any slip of the tongue and he was done for. He couldn’t risk that with his problem. All most as if being heralded, the voice arrived.

“You know what must be done then. Lavos must die! His blood must be spilt! The Morag Tong will not be suspicious if some thug managed to kill their operative. Kvatch, like any town, has it’s dangers. None will be the wiser…”

“You’re right,” Simion said aloud, grinning maliciously, “It’s the only way…”

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 6 2006, 05:20 AM

Well it seems things have sloooowed down here Ohwell, I had difficulty getting this one out, I really wanted to get to another flashback but writing just this little bit just has drained me, so I decided to get the preamble out now and post the flashback next time. So sorry about the slight boredom with this one in advance


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Lavos walked down the streets of Kvatch with a grim expression. His second visit with Simion left no doubt that he was behind these murders. It grieved him deeply that he would now be forced to kill the man who trained him in the ways of the Morag Tong, but that was what their doctrine stated: Those who retired must end their practice of the assassination art. The punishment for breaking it was death without mercy. Yet, even with that rule, Lavos did not wish to kill Simion. For example, he wasn’t sure his technique would be capable enough to defeat his former master and trainer. Simion still possessed some of the best natural skill that the Guild was privileged to have received. He would need assistance.

He entered “The Dining Lodge” where he was staying for his duration in Kvatch. The room was slightly hazy from pipe smoke and the pleasant scent of roasting mutton wafted out of the doors leading into the kitchen. A few of the tenants looked up from their mugs or conversations to see who the newcomer was. They turned away once they got a looked at the Dunmer wearing a simple robe (wearing a Guild robe would be asking for the Dark Brotherhood’s attention). Lavos waved to the innkeeper as he headed to his room. The Imperial, cleaning out a mug simply nodded a greeting and returned to the conversation he was having with a patron.

Closing his room door, the din of the inn was immediately silenced. Lavos stood in place for a few moments, drinking in the silence. An assassin like himself seemed to find comfort in silence. When there’s silence that means there generally isn’t anything that could surprise you. With silence there was safety. Most of the time. A great assassin can instil fear even in the silence. Only a few could do that, and Lavos wasn’t sure if he was one of them. He knew for certain that Simion was though. Fortunately, Lavos felt confident that Simion was still within his home, or else he would have reason to feel some anxiety.

Lavos took a seat at the desk provided for him and took out a piece of parchment along with quills and ink. He took a moment to compose his thoughts and then began to write.
Upon completion, he looked at what he wrote:

To my fellow guild members,

I arrived in Kvatch safely; the journey was long but it gave me time to collect myself. My hopes for Simion’s innocence were forsaken. He is indeed the culprit and thus, must be removed. The madness in his eyes gave away his lies. I fear that I may need assistance, as he has maintained his skills. I intend to monitor him and attempt to prevent him from killing again, though doing so will likely end my life. I’m quite sure he will not expect me to send this letter, so use discretion upon arrival. Only then, will we be able to end his madness once and for all. May Mephala guide my hands in this endeavour. Since this may be the last thing I write, I want you to know I value my time spent with the Guild. I couldn’t ask for a better second home.

Lavos


Lavos reread the letter, making sure he had written down what he wanted. After folding up the letter into the envelop, Lavos melted some black wax onto the letter to seal it. He then stamped the letter with the insignia for the Morag Tong. Looking at the note in satisfaction, Lavos headed back downstairs with it.

Lavos walked up to the innkeeper, concealing the letter. “If I needed something sent with urgency and moderate secrecy, who would I go to?”

The innkeeper looked at Lavos thoughtfully for a few moments. He then smirked. “I happen to employ someone who deals with those types of “somethings” quite well. I need a few more details though,” said the innkeeper, keeping his voice low.

“I need this letter to get to Mournhold. From there, my informant can pass it on to the right people,” Lavos said calmly. The reaction he read from the innkeeper told him this wasn’t going to be cheap.

“Mournhold’s quite a distance away… but if you want it rushed, I can get it there in a week at the earliest. Though from the looks of you, I don’t think you can afford it,” the innkeeper mused.

Lavos cautiously revealed two small purses, fat with septims. “They’re gold too, if that was what you’re wondering,” Lavos said casually, “If you want them, just deliver a letter to the innkeeper at “The Winged Guar” in Godreach. Tell him, “The Webspinner spins a message”. He’ll understand.”

The Imperial nodded and said, “Come. We need to update your lodging fee.”

Lavos followed the Imperial into an office-like room beside the bar table. Closing the door behind him, the din of the inn died once more.

“I understand your apprehension about exposing that much gold, so I thought it best to finish our business in here. My inn is generally a safe one, but you never know who’s paying too much attention,” the innkeeper stated, looking expectantly at Lavos.

Lavos simply handed over the money and letter and reminded the innkeeper of their agreement. The innkeeper assured him and gave him a bonus. Drinks tonight were on the innkeeper. Now that was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Posted by: Lord Revan Aug 6 2006, 08:53 PM

(continues to laugh ruthessly) who will triumph? Master or apprentice?

My moneys on Simion, who's with me?

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 8 2006, 04:30 AM

Okay, I may have said there would be a flashback with this post. Now it does flashback somewhat, but it wasn't the expected flashback I wanted to write, that one, I promise you, will be the next update. So again, I give you a bit of a shorter one, but I believe it's quite informative... Hope it's somewhat enjoyable


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After several drinks, Lavos mind drifted to his past experiences with Simion. When he joined the Guild, Simion had established himself as a proficient assassin with a gift for teaching the tools of the trade. Lavos had received the privilege of being trained under Simion. A friendship quickly bloomed during the training sessions between the two assassins. Their mannerisms just meshed together and they were able to talk to each other easily. Sure, harsh words were exchanged between them from time to time, but they usually quickly resolved them after a little time was given. There was one thing that they would never discuss, at least for one of them.

Simion would never talk about his past, or at least his childhood. Lavos had tried to pry the information from him, but Simion had setup large defences. Trying to get Simion to talk about his childhood was like trying to scale a perfectly smooth, twenty-foot wall without a grapple. Impossible. He simply emptied all emotion from his eyes, looking at Lavos like a cold, dead thing, and said he didn’t want to talk about it. From that, all the Lavos could assume was that it was a traumatic childhood. For a lot of the Guild members, that was a reason that drew them to the Morag Tong. Many were abused as children and grew up to have violent tendencies, the lucky ones ended up finding the more just, and legal, Morag Tong while the unfortunate ones are discovered by the despicable Dark Brotherhood.

Lavos’ reasons for joining the Tong were different. He wanted to achieve perfection in his dagger-craft. At a young age, knives fascinated him and he was drawn into their use. Just the efficiency of them amazed him. You could conceal a dagger, or throw it, or slice and stab with it. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t find a home to enhance his craft. Sure House Hlaalu offered some training for daggers, but they also wanted him to help them with their money getting schemes. He also heard rumours on where to join the Thieves Guild, but upon inquiry, Lavos found out about their policy on avoiding the use of violence. He only stumbled upon the Morag Tong by chance on his visit to Vvardenfell.

He had grown up on the mainland of Morrowind but had relatives in Vvardenfell. He received news of his grandfather’s death and decided to go to the funeral held in Balmora. After the services, he decided to roam the streets of Balmora, just to observe the city. It was much less elaborate than what he was used to on the mainland, yet it made it that much more interesting to discover. During his journey he found a guildhall nestled in the back of the Manor District. It struck Lavos as odd, since it was quite far removed from the more popular Fighters and Mages Guilds. It was as if this Guild was saying that they were different. The name of it was even striking to Lavos, the Morag Tong Guildhall. Now being from the mainland, Lavos had only heard little about this Guild. Most of which consisted that they were assassins that rivalled with the more popular Dark Brotherhood, who had more influence on the mainland. But he had his curiosity picked so he entered the building.

Upon entering, he instantly felt the atmosphere. It felt mystical, secretive, and right. He talked to the patron of the Guildhall and upon hearing their philosophy on how the Guild operates, and that they provided extensive training in short blades, marksmanship, stealth, and illusion, he immediately knew he wanted to be a member. He was shocked when the patron of the Guild said that he couldn’t until he discovered their hidden main Guildhall. He received a book that gave him a hint on where to find it. Being new the Vvardenfell, it took him a wile to get to Vivec, and even longer to figure out where in the gigantic city the Guildhall was located, but he was determined, even a little time wasted wasn't going to deter him. After watching a match in the Arena did he realize the answer to the riddle in the book. Shortly after that he found the Guildhall, met with Eno Hlaalu, and passed his initiation test. Straight after that he met his teacher and master, Simion, and from there on he had enjoyed a happy career as a Morag Tong assassin.

At least mainly happy career, he mused to himself as he took another sip of his drink. A couple of months before Simion went into retirement, they ran into an incident during a mission. It still stung him as the memories flooded his mind…

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 8 2006, 09:16 AM

I haven't read this one in a while. The plot is definitely thickening. Keep it up.

Posted by: Axlynch Aug 9 2006, 01:59 AM

Wow, I just caught up with this story and to say I'm hooked would be a definate understatement. Wonderful writing. I look forward to the next installment.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 11 2006, 04:55 AM

Realizing how big this flashback is, I'm kinda glad I posted that smaller one. This one is pretty large for my postings. Hopefully you enjoy it, because I enjoyed writing this one.


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“Parry. Parry. Lunge!” said Simion as he stroke out at Lavos, who was following the commands given to him by his teacher. “Good. Now it‘s time for a break,” Simion said as he blocked the lunge.

Lavos stepped away from his instructor, smiling at a job well done. It still fascinated him seeing Simion use his daggers. At first it took him a little bit to get used to his skills being humbled by Simion, but since then he figured that it was a good thing. How else could he get better at using his daggers if there wasn’t someone better than him? He now appreciated every session he had with Simion, drinking up all the possible knowledge offered.

Both assassins were busy towelling off their sweat when the Grandmaster himself entered the room, a serious expression on his face. “Good, you’re both here. Meet me at my quarters as soon as possible. We’ve serious business to discuss,” Eno Hlaalu quickly stated and vacated the room as both assassins nodded their understanding.

“Let’s step to it then!” said Simion said eagerly as he quickly patted at the sweaty areas on his body. Moments after he gathered up his cloak and ushered Lavos along to the Grandmaster’s quarters.

Lavos knocked quietly on the door before entering. The first sight he saw was Eno huddled over a desk, staring worriedly at a piece of parchment. Before thinking, Lavos said, “Is there a problem, Master?”

Eno jumped from Lavos’ question, looking across the room at them with wide, practically frightened eyes. It shocked Lavos to see the Grandmaster in such a state; his earlier calm demeanour was now shattered. It would take something very serious to scare Eno Hlaalu.

Eno sighed audibly, “Oh, it’s just you, good. Come.”

Both assassins shared a look with each other as they approached the Grandmaster. Both knew that something strange was going on. They also knew it was very serious if Eno was acting suddenly paranoid.

Eno brought his voice down to a whisper, “Now you both know that we’ve been at war with the Dark Brotherhood for a long time, correct? Now what I thought was a minor threat a few minutes ago has changed. Read this note I found as I entered my quarters.”

Lavos and Simion both read the note and their eyebrows raised in shock. By chance a Tong operative entered the Arena under works and discovered a large contingent of Dark Brotherhood agents. The operative could only guess that they’ve been slowly swimming into the under works over a long period of time. He only spotted five agents in view, but he was certain that he heard activity that numbered closer to 3 times that amount.

“We knew of their recent occupation of a Daedric shrine in the St.Olms canton, but this… This astounds me. We’ve become lax in our defences close to home. I fear they may have found our headquarters, or at least deducted that it’s in this canton,” Eno continued, fixing them both with a worried gaze. “Now, the problem is, how do we deal with this threat? If I send too many, our pre-emptive strike will be discovered and a good many lives on both sides will be loss. If I send too few, the great number of opponents might prove too painstaking to take out, and they’ll be discovered.” The Grandmaster pondered silently for a few moments, then continued. “What I’ve decided is to send my two best agents, you two. So prepare yourselves quickly, they could all ready be on our doorstep and if any word of our true location were to get back to their main headquarters, the Guild as we know it could be doomed!”

“Lavos and I will do our best, we won’t fail the Guild, Grandmaster,” Simion said solemnly and vacated the room with Lavos in tow.

Both assassins geared up quickly, grabbing every necessary apparatus to get the job done as silently as possible. While Simion grabbed an impressive looking bow, Lavos loaded up on heavily poisoned throwing knives. Marksmanship, had never interested him. Simion carried two sturdy daggers and had a shortsword strapped to his back. Lavos decided to go with four daggers, two were of Ebony, his family heirlooms. The other two, which he planned to use more readily, were of simple steel. They both doubled checked that they had everything and headed towards the exit of the Guildhall.

Right after Lavos exited the Guildhall, Simion laid a hand on his shoulder and motioned for silence. He silently stalked into the storage room while Lavos hung back, listening intently. A muffled cry reached his ears, shortly followed by Simion reappearing. He waved at Lavos to follow. As Lavos entered the storage room, he noticed the dead Dark Brotherhood agent slumped against the back wall, out of view from those entering the main entrance of the storage room. Lavos swallowed heavily. Seeing an agent that close to the Guildhall was worrisome. There could be a dozen of them roaming the canal works as they stood there. Lavos noticed Simion striding away and quickly followed him.

Lavos wasn’t surprised to find the Ordinators normally guarding the canal works face down in a pool of their own blood. Obviously, the Brotherhood didn’t want any distractions while they searched for the Guildhall. It always troubled him how the innocent are always the true victims during wars such as these. These Dunmer were simply at the wrong place during the wrong time. The whole canton was going to get into an uproar once their bodies were discovered. At least he knew the Guild wouldn’t be threatened by that, as he was quite certain that not even the Temple guard knew of the Guildhall hidden right in their Arena canton.

After searching the rest of the canal level of the canton, they found no other signs of the Dark Brotherhood. Knowing that, Simion decided to break the silence. “We must act quickly. It seems that the agent we ran into was a scout, and I figure they’ll get suspicious if he doesn’t return to report soon. I suggest we take separate entrances into the under works and work our way along. That way, if they begin to catch onto our presence they might believe we are overwhelming them with attacks from different sides.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Let’s just hope that we don’t kill each other while doing so,” Lavos said lightly.

Simion went to the nearby trapdoor. “I’ll take this one, you pick one away from here, that way we’ll likely run into each other when most of them are dead, hopefully,” Simion said grimly. Lavos wished Simion wasn’t always so grim about his work; the man never took a mission lightly. Unlike Lavos, who liked to lighten up the mood with quips every now and then. But now was not the time. He couldn’t take this mission lightly. He quietly watched Simion climb down the trapdoor and then proceeded to find one himself on the opposite side of the canal works.

The stench of fetid water entered Lavos’ nostrils as he entered the under works of the Arena. He had to admit, it would take a strong stomach to swim through that water. He cautiously scanned his surroundings. He realized that no assassin was guarding the trapdoor. He shook his head sadly at the Dark Brotherhood’s ineptitude at conducting cautious protocol. He fingered at his throwing knives nervously, figuring that they would probably be used before the up close and personal daggers.

He stalked through the under works, keeping in the shadows. He knew he had to employ every skill possible, because he was hunting the most difficult prey an assassin could hunt. Another assassin. For if you knew the practices of an assassin, you could better defend it. It took exceptional skill to elude these defences, for he had to be silent enough that the trained ear of an assassin would not hear him. He would have to be precise in every action he was to commit to, for if he didn’t his cover could be blown and he would have multiple trained murderers upon him. It was unnerving to Lavos, who now understood what he was up against. Setting aside his nervousness was difficult, but doable because of his training, and he continued on his path until voices ahead stopped him in his tracks.

“I do believe Jessup should’ve arrived back now with his report These canal works aren’t that big are they?” a foreign voice questioned.

“Give him a few more minutes, Brother. He knows what he’s doing, maybe he found something and is heavily studying it. He is the thorough type,” another voice answered and torchlight was slowly becoming visible to Lavos.

Lavos’ heart jumped. Two! So soon! This would require some risky work. He slid out two throwing knives into his hand and angled himself where he would get a good view of them but remain out of their torchlight. It felt like an eternity for the two assassins, still in conversation to appear, but once they did Lavos prepared himself. He held the knives comfortably in his hands, took careful aim, throw both simultaneously and chased after their path. Two soft sounds of metal piercing flesh reached Lavos’ ears as he reached the two assassins before they fell to the ground. He absorbed their weight and eased them to the ground. Closed-in dark areas were perfect for that technique. A swift footed assassin could throw a knife and catch their victim before they collapsed to the floor loudly if their aim was good. If it wasn’t, the initial shock of the thrown object would normally leave them open for a shortsword or dagger strike once the assassin reached his victim. Lavos was fortunate to achieve a textbook move.

Setting his victims in a dark corner, Lavos continued on, keeping his senses as heightened as possible. He discovered a single patrolling assassin and easily finished him off by slitting their throat. It nearly shocked Lavos that these assassins weren’t in tune with their surroundings at all. Not once did he see the assassin look behind him nervously, even though they knew they were nearby the Guildhall of their enemy. It was almost as if they thought this was their headquarters all along.

A brightly lit area caught Lavos’ attention. Right away he knew this was the main encampment and settled to scope it out before acting. Raucous laughter reached him as he edged closer to the encampment. He saw about 10 assassins huddled around a bonfire talking loudly amongst themselves and drinking. He did noticed that all of them were still armed though, and that posed a serious problem. There were absolutely no shadows to disguise himself in and he lacked the technique for Illusion magic to make himself invisible. He was vastly outnumbered as well…

A small smile crept across Lavos’ lips. He decided what he was going to do, it was risky, but then again, this whole mission was. Hopefully it would attract Simion as well, which would help greatly. The first thing he did was study the assassins and picked out what he could only guess was the possible leader. He then picked out another assassin who looked like a threat. Seizing two throwing knives, and remaining in the darkness outside of the fire, he threw the knives at his intended targets. Both hit true, killing both men instantly and immediately the assassins rose to their feet, cursing loudly. Lavos quickly threw two more knives, but just to injure rather than kill. He then spoke loudly.

“Give up, Dark Brotherhood! The Morag Tong has you surrounded and outnumbered! Drop your arms and surrender peacefully, else enact Mephala’s wrath!”

The assassins looked amongst themselves, hesitation and fear evident across most eyes. Some even bent down to set down their weapons. Suddenly, two assassins cried out and fell to the floor. Simion appeared behind the group and slashed out viciously with his shortsword, cleaving down two more assassins. The remaining assassins instantly set their attack on Simion. Lavos, shocked by Simion’s attack, quickly entered the melee, drawing his steel daggers. The fighting area was suddenly condensed into a frightening mob. Both Lavos and Simion had the near advantage of striking at any body within their site while the assassins had to worry about hitting their own brethren. The fighting was frantic and messy, basically hack and slash. Very unlike an assassin, but it was done to survive.

It felt like hours of fighting had taken place in Lavos’ mind, but in actuality, it was only mere minutes. His body ached from exertion of the battle as he stood there with Simion. Simion had his back turned against him and was panting loudly, apparently from exertion as well. The scene before them was a bloody mess of crumpled bodies, none had survived the fight, they had made certain. Lavos turned to Simion.

“Good job, Simion. Let us go back and report that the Guildhall is safe,” he said tiredly, clasping his teacher’s shoulder.

Without warning, Simion swung around, slashing out with his shortsword. The sword grazed across Lavos’ torso, sending him to the floor, hollering in pain. “All enemies must bleed!” Simion hissed at the sprawled body before him.

The last thing Lavos saw before darkness enveloped him was the maddening glint in the eyes of Simion.



The burning sensation across his chest snapped him out of his state of unconsciousness. A Morag Tong member was applying a dressing to a large gash across his chest. He also saw Eno Hlaalu hovering over his bedside as well, looking down warmly. “You did well, both of you.”

Lavos looked over at the bed beside him and saw Simion asleep atop of it. He recoiled instantly, causing everyone to jump. “Keep him away from me!” Lavos silently hissed at the others, “He did this to me!”

A look of concern crossed the Grandmaster’s face. “Are you certain? We found him collapsed atop of the corpses of the Dark Brotherhood members in the Daedric shrine in St.Olms. When did he attack you?”

“When we finished off the members in the Arena under works, I clasped his shoulder and told him that we did a good job and he attacked me with intent to kill me! He said “all enemies must bleed” and stared at me. There was madness in his eyes!” Lavos said, fear ebbing from his voice.

“This sounds grave indeed…” Eno quietly mused, “I’ll have to look into it.”



“Would you like another drink, friend?” the innkeeper asked, snapping Lavos out of his reverie.

“…Oh! Umm, no thanks, I think I’ll just head to my room now,” he said slowly, rising out of his seat. He should really cut down on drinking. Digging up the past like that was painful.

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 11 2006, 10:54 AM

Painful, and scary. So I guess that this forced his retirement?

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 11 2006, 05:27 PM

Yes, shortly after he decided to retire. I meant to add that in the after flashback but the way I wrote that felt like it would sound odd to muse about

But the answer is yes.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 14 2006, 10:37 PM

The gloomy day had its up and downs for Savlian. He finally had a lead in his multiple homicide case, and he uncovered the leader behind the recent drug smuggling rise in town. The downside to his day was that while he did have posters of the suspect’s description posted up all over town for most of the day, no one had yet to make a report. The Count’s refusal to let Savlian arrest Hlodir didn’t help either. In fact, it made Savlian suspicious. What he needed was more evidence, and he had the perfect way to incriminate Hlodir.

The Kvatch Barracks was located just to the southeast of the Count’s Castle, an impressive work of solid stone. In case of invasion, it was the primary defence of the castle. The multitude of murder holes and the varying levels of causeways would provide plenty of projectile fire while providing ample protection of the archers. The streets of Kvatch were specifically designed to wind past the Barracks in order to reach the Castle. It the Barracks was attacked, it also gave the Castle plenty of time to prepare itself. The Castle itself was built soundly for defence. Savlian admired the capabilities of the two structures, but his attention was needed at the Barracks.

The off-duty guards saluted Savlian as he passed by, asking him about the hopeful capture of the murderer plaguing them. Savlian waved them off, putting that problem aside for the moment. He proceeded down into the depths of the Barracks. To the dungeons. Walking down the spiral staircase, dampness began to become more apparent. While Savlian made sure the dungeons were sanitary, there was no way to avoid the dampness of being underground. He did insist on the relative darkness though, the spacing between the torches began to grow farther apart as he continued down, the pitch causing his nostrils to twitch.

He finally reached the bottom of the staircase and entered the dungeons. They glowed faintly in the torchlight, casting flickering shadows throughout the room. Savlian approached the cell where the Nord was detained. He found it empty. Brow furrowed, Savlian proceeded to the cell where Vadame was kept. Her cell was empty as well. Something odd had happened. He called over the attending guard.

“Yes, sir?” asked the guard, snapping a salute.

“Where are the two criminals I brought in for drug trafficking? They were a male Nord and a female Dunmer,” Savlian asked, examining the other cells just to make sure he hadn’t misplaced his convicts.

“Sir, the Count’s servant came with some of his personal guard. He told me they were taking the prisoners to be privately interrogated by the Count. He gave me this decree. It’s signed by the Count so I couldn’t refuse it,” the guard replied, handing the decree over to Savlian.

Savlian hastily read the decree. He then angrily crumpled it up and threw it to the floor.
“Something is going on here and I don’t like it one bit!” Savlian said angrily, frustration etched across his face. This was the second time that the Count had taken prisoners involved with the drug trafficking in town. A normal citizen would think that he was taking the fight against drugs personally, but Savlian knew better. The Count was keeping them away from Savlian. He knew that, but the Count wouldn’t admit to that. Now his only leads to incriminating Hlodir were gone. He would have to wait until he caught another drug dealer. Next time he would immediately get a description from them. He pitied the next one though; they were going to be quite sore once he was done with them. He thanked the guard and stormed out of the Barracks. It had been a long day and he was tired.

When Savlian arrived home, he practically collapsed onto his bed from exhaustion. He had the mind to take off his armour, else he wake up sore, and placed his sword beside his bed. Almost immediately did sleep take him.

A creak of a floorboard caused Savlian’s eyes to slide open. Seeing a black form in front of him, with an upraised fist sent Savlian’s instincts flying. Rapidly swinging his feet out of bed caught the form off-guard, catching the form in the ribs and with a bellow it collapsed. Savlian rose out of bed and grabbed his sword. He suddenly realized that there was more than one form inside his home, black forms surrounded him. The form below him tried to get up, but a swift kick to the face kept him on the floor, still and silent this time. Another form slid towards Savlian, striking out with a dagger. Savlian nimbly dodged the blow and dealt one of his own, felling his opponent. The forms, realizing the folly of attacking one at a time, began to close in on Savlian. Savlian kept them at bay as best as he could by swinging his sword widely. The assassins, only carrying short daggers, weren’t eager to risk injury to kill Savlian. Suddenly pain bloomed from Savlian’s shoulder. One of them had thrown their dagger and found a mark. The pain inhibited Savlian’s use of his arm.

The forms began to close in once more, encouraged by Savlian’s injury. Savlian knew his only option now was escape, but the door was blocked. The assassins had managed to place a heavy dresser in front of it. They had left the window open though. He had to get through the descending circle of death first. His hand gripped an unlit lantern he kept beside his bed. He threw it at the forms closest to the window, their arms raised up to protect their faces instinctively. Catching the break he needed, he bulled past the distracted forms, catching a few scratches from the other forms, and dived out the window onto the street. He looked back and saw the assassins clamouring out the window, but running off down the street away from Savlian. Looking down the street Savlian knew why. The torches of the town guard were racing towards his home, the commotion had obviously gotten attention from the neighbours.

“Sir, are you all right?” the closest guard asked.

“Yes, just a few minor injuries I think,” Savlian said, wincing as he tried rotating his injured shoulder. “There should be two of them in there, one dead, and another unconscious.”

Savlian sighed loudly as the guards broke down his door in order to get inside his home. Another guard approached him.

“Do you think that these guys are the assassins that have been killing our guys?” he asked hopefully.

Savlian sadly shook his head. “No, they were too sloppy to be the ones murdering our guys. They were sent for some other reason…” he said as a flicker of realization began to form.

The pieces instantly fell together as they dragged out the unconscious form of the Orc that had run from his drug bust at Vadame’s. He approached the guards carrying him.

“Wake him up,” Savlian demanded coldly.

After a few moments of smacking the Orc across the face, his eyes fluttered open. Confusion was plain over his face as he took in the scene before him.

“Who hired you to kill me?” Savlian asked as his voice took on an edge, “And don’t make me ask a second time, or else you’ll regret it.”

The Orc examined Savlian’s face for a brief moment and swallowed raggedly. “Hlodir…” he admitted.

Posted by: Kiln Aug 15 2006, 04:05 AM

Hey Mallet, I've nearly caught up with your story...and it took me some time to do it considering how much content you've added since I last checked this...sadly I simply hadn't noticed that you'd updated, there are so many writers that your work was pushed close to the bottom every time I checked in and I assumed that there wasn't any new content. Luckily it was near the top this time and I realized just how much you'd added.

There is so much in each post to keep me reading...anyways sorry for the lack of comments here mate, I'll try and do better in the future.

*Goes off to finish reading*

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 15 2006, 06:10 PM

Hey, no problem Kiln, it's nice to know you're getting back into my fic though.

I usually look at the dates on the forum to doublecheck if anyone updated recently. But yea, I've missed updates myself for periods of time. Harmless if you ask me, as long as you eventually get back to it.

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 15 2006, 06:27 PM

Ah, finally. Proof! Though unfortunately I doubt that the count (or Hlodir) can be grabbed with something as simple as that. He's too rich and I bet that even he will choose his own skin over all the coins.

(I wonder what he does with all that money. I mean, he can't quite use it for anything else but improving his own luxury. Raising private armies right inside Cyrodiil would get the Emperor, the Blades, the Legion and who knows who else on his head.)

Posted by: Kiln Aug 15 2006, 07:03 PM

There's still no excuse for neglecting it for so long. I'll just be sure to check more carefully from now on so I don't miss so many updates.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 20 2006, 02:29 AM

A bit of a shorter one again, but there's always the chance I'll get in another update tonight. I'm feeling creative...


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Simion paced around his room throughout the night, contemplating his course of action. He still remembered the friendship he had with Lavos. There were plenty of good memories of joking around, and laughing. With those good ones come bad memories though, terrible ones even. One such memory drove him to retirement.

He didn’t recall much of the night that Lavos and him had defeated the Dark Brotherhood threat in Vivec. He remembered infiltrating the under works and disposing of the sentries along his path to their main encampment. He remembered thinking of an appropriate tactic to take out the assassins at the encampment. During his thought process, Lavos had enacted on his plan. With the diverted attention of the assassins, he had snuck up behind them. Once the blade hit the flesh of his first victims everything dissolved in a haze which soon followed darkness. Next thing he knew was waking up back in the Guildhall and being told he nearly killed Lavos. He had taken the news terribly; guilt and fear encompassed his thoughts for a long time. Long enough that he had made the decision to retire; he simply couldn’t trust his abilities anymore.

With his return to Kvatch though, his vengeance rekindled itself. He had hoped that the time off from killing had quelled this… bloodlust, but it hadn’t. With each time with each time he spilt blood, the voice became stronger, more controlling. Yet, he needed to do this, and if Lavos got in the way Simion would have to get him out of the way.

Consciously, he didn’t know if he could. The guilt from just injuring him still lingered in the recesses of his mind. The interference that Lavos could make must be avoided though. An idea crossed his mind.

Maybe he could bargain with him.

He could tell Lavos his situation, in confidence as friends, and hoped that he would allow him to do what he had to do. The Guild trusted Lavos so if he claimed that Simion had no involvement with the murders, he would have free reign to do what he must. If he declined, then he would send Lavos to his ancestors.

“No! He must die now! He knows what you’ve done… I can feel it…” the voice hissed within Simion’s head.

“I don’t care! Even if it’s just speculation right now, I’m going to tell him anyways. The point is to try to make him understand,” Simion said aloud to the air.

Great… it’s starting to get to me…

“He is not loyal to you. He is loyal to the Guild! He will kill you before you have the chance to finish. Strike him down now while he is unaware of our suspicion!”

“He’s my friend, he will listen. He will understand!” Simion said defiantly. He had to overcome this. He had to show he still had control.

“Enough years has past for the friendship to die. I saw your “friendship” die in the sewers of Vivec along with those assassins. All by my hand as well…” the malicious intent echoed within Simion’s mind. Pain erupted with each syllable causing Simion to drop to his knees, clutching his head.

“Stop!” Simion cried in pain, uncontrollable tears streaming down his cheeks. The pain was excruciating. What felt like hours of pain only lasted moments and the pain ceased its existence. He realized that if the voice could do that, control was limited. “Do not fear, I will be well prepared if he thinks he can kill me. You just have to trust me.”

The next time he met with Lavos, he would either be an ally or dead.

His thoughts were answered by the dark laughter of the voice.

Posted by: Black Hand Aug 20 2006, 07:51 AM

AAaah. Treachery thy name is Insanity. Wonder if Sheogorath has anything to do with this? Or has a the Idea of being a legal Assassin within the Morag Tong created a schism within this poor outlanders mind? Will Batman defuse the bomb before the Joker gets away?....oh wait, wrong channel....

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 20 2006, 02:58 PM

Who will win, the master or the apprentice? Oh, I can't bear to think about the fight. Whatever the outcome is, I think that the survivor (if any.) will regret what has happened.

Posted by: minque Aug 20 2006, 04:35 PM

oh aye....exactly what he said.....*shrugs*

Posted by: Kiln Aug 20 2006, 07:23 PM

Intense internal conflicts here make this update an interesting read, plenty of emotion throughout it but it doesn't seem to move the plot forward much. Please do continue when you can, I'd like to know what happens next.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 23 2006, 10:16 PM

Whew! Well I hope this one furthers the plot, just because this one is probably the largest update I've done yet. Hopefully the work I put into it turns out well. I particulary proud of it Enjoy!


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Lavos descended the stairs of the tavern, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His head was throbbing with a headache due to lack of sleep and drinking. Even under the influence of inebriation he couldn’t rest soundly. His thoughts were plagued with his near death experiences with the Guild, particularly the instance with Simion. Throughout the night all that Lavos could see was the maddening gaze of Simion and hear his haunting words. “All enemies must bleed!”

Shuddering, Lavos quietly ate a small breakfast and mulled over what he should do today. His binge had caused him to forget about checking up on Simion. Lavos didn’t know if Simion had turned himself in for questioning. Given his suspicions, Lavos figured he didn’t. He knew Simion was the stubborn type, but it was more than that this time. It was guilt keeping him from turning himself in.

Lavos looked up from his meal and nearly choked. Standing in front of him was Simion. Lavos broke into a coughing fit to clear the food caught in his windpipe. After recovering he noticed Simion nodding to a chair, asking if he could take a seat. Lavos nodded a confirmation and Simion casually pulled out the chair and sat down, facing him directly.

Lavos cleared his throat. “Did you turn yourself in?” he asked quietly, using his peripherals to see if anyone was paying any specific notice of the two assassins talking.

“No, I decided not to. They can find me if they wish to speak with me,” Simion said, keeping his tone low. Lavos couldn’t read any emotion across his face.

“How did you find me?” Lavos asked. Still in disbelief that he was talking to Simion at the tavern. Where he thought he was safe. He would’ve known if Simion followed him back to the tavern. Lavos was reasonably sure that he wasn’t that good to go unnoticed. Now his base of operations was compromised.

A small smile crept along the edge of Simion’s lips. “I know you Lavos. You’re not the type to stay at a dead end cesspool of an inn. You like things clean, yet fun, since you’re a talker. That tells me you would want to stay at a quality establishment, but not the Ritz. Now there’s a few inns like the one I described, but I knew you were here to see me. Logically that means you’ll pick one close to my home. This happens to be that inn.”

“I see that you’ve kept your mind as sharp as your skills it seems,” Lavos said, while scolding himself mentally for picking a place so obvious. After his first meeting with Simion, he should’ve realized what he was up against and moved to somewhere further away. With Simion now here, Lavos decided he may as well know why.

“Why are you here, Simion?”

“I need to speak with you, but not here. I have some explaining to do. Meet me at my house at midday. Do this for our friendship,” Simion said, a pain expression crossing his face with his last words. He then abruptly rose and exited the inn.

Lavos simply stared at the door for a few moments, the food on his plate no longer held any interest. He slid the plate aside and rose from his chair. He then went up to his room. Silently, he gathered up his belongings, consciously concealing a dagger on his back. Simion may have seem sincere in his words before he left, but there was always a chance that it could be a crafty ruse. Lavos couldn’t risk any possible danger to himself. He wanted to continue his existence and start to enjoy life.

Since arriving in Kvatch, Lavos had begun to sense weariness within himself. The continual test on his nerves since arriving were taking a toll on him. It was very difficult to predict what Simion would do. His sudden appearance this morning proved that. The simple fact that Simion could just be around the corner, ready to sheath a knife into his back, set his nerves on edge. After this issue was settled Lavos figured he would give retirement a serious thought. The stress was finally starting to get to him.

Sighing, Lavos shouldered his pack and left the room. He didn’t know what he was going to do until midday, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to stay at the inn.



Lavos stood outside the door of Simion’s home. He looked up to the sky, a hand across his brow to shade his eyes. The sun hovered directly overhead at it’s zenith. Lavos judge it was roughly close to midday. It was time to see Simion.

During his wait, Lavos had spent most of the time contemplating what exactly Simion was going to tell him. He surmised it wasn’t going to be good. No one says “I have some explaining to do” and tells you something nice. It’s always something that is either going to shock you, repulse you, scare you, or sadden you. In most cases it was a bitter mixture of some of those elements.

It definitely told Lavos that Simion was involved with the murders in some way or another. The best case scenario that Lavos could come up with was that Simion was a scout for the murderer, and was merely assisting him that way and not killing. That look in Simion’s eyes told of a different story unfortunately. They told Lavos that indeed it was Simion committing these acts of murder.

Worse, they told Lavos he enjoyed it.

Lavos made up his mind that he was not going to wait any longer. He stepped up to the door and knocked softly on it. After a few moments the door creaked open and the steel blue eyes of Simion peered at him. Simion stepped back from the door and opened it wide to allow Lavos in.

“Greetings, friend. Come right in and take a seat,” Simion said cordially, gesturing towards a pair of chairs around a small table.

“Greetings,” Lavos returned the greeting and stepped over a lantern on the floor, blackened with overuse that it would take a solid cleaning for any light to pierce through. Lavos thought it was a peculiar place to leave a lantern, but then again, Simion wasn’t a normal person. Not anymore.

Lavos took a seat on the closest chair while Simion walked around the table to take the chair on the opposite side. Simion rested his hands on the table, fingers folded together, and looked across at Lavos. Lavos suddenly began to feel uncomfortable and shifted in his chair in an attempt to find comfort. It almost seemed as if Simion was interrogating him with just a look. Perhaps he was. Reactions from Simion’s stare could give him the answers that Simion wanted.

The silence was starting to grate on Lavos. “Well, what do you have to explain?” he nearly blurted out.

Simion took a deep, heaving sigh and sat back in his chair, breaking the eye contact. He stared up at the ceiling, as if asking the Divines for the proper words to use, and slowly began to explain.

“You should know better than anyone that I wasn’t one to talk about my past before the Guild, right? I figure you probably assumed that it was a bad past. Well you’re right. Just before I discovered the Guild, I was wandering the cantons of Vivec begging for food. I would sleep in the under works because I knew that the Ordinators didn’t patrol those areas…” Simion stared off once more, a distant look in his eyes.

“Do you know what raw sewer rat tastes like? I’ll tell you right now, it’s not pleasant. But a starving youngster has to do what he must to survive, correct? In fact, it was the hunt for food that brought me to the Arena Storage Room. I had hit the jackpot I thought; actual food! There was even a discarded sleeping pallet in one of the side rooms. It was as if I had finally found a home. That’s when I heard a noise.”

“I thought it must’ve been a bandit of some sort, coming to drop off some loot. The place was filled with an array of weapons and currency, common to a bandit hideout now that it dawned on me. I hid behind a crate, and found out something surprising. I thought the person approaching would be entering through the entrance that I came in. Instead, they appeared coming out one of the side doors in the storage room. Once I spared a glance at this person I realized it couldn’t be a bandit. He was dressed to formally in a very expensive looking robe. I was obviously intrigued by this stranger so I decided to follow him as he exited the storage. After a few minutes of tailing him, I just couldn’t take the urge anymore and decided to tug on his robe to get his attention. Boy did he jump at that! I did regret it immediately when I found a dagger suddenly pressed tightly against my neck. Turns out I had been tailing Eno Hlaalu himself! He was stunned by my account of following him, and actually sneaking up on him. He didn’t believe me until I described the room he appeared from. From that moment, I officially became a member of the Morag Tong.” A wry smile had begun to form across his face at his relation of his past. It quickly vanished. “But I digress, that’s not what I really wanted to explain.”

Lavos simply sat there, transfixed by Simion’s reminisce of his past. He had always wanted to hear about Simion’s path. To know if his assumptions were right. To know that he had such natural talent left him dumbfounded. At any given moment, Simon could’ve ended his life with ease. Lavos wouldn’t have known what hit him.

With the opportunity to find out more, Lavos pressed him on. “Then continue, friend. Tell me everything.”

Simion took a moment to recollect his thoughts and continued. “You know that Kvatch was the town I was raised in. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I had to leave to escape the pain and memories that lingered in my home. This home. For this home has been stained with far too much blood… most of which is my father’s…” Simion trailed off, his words coming out slightly louder than a whisper.

“My family was murdered right before my eyes, for reasons unknown to me at the time. It took me a long time to figure out why. When I did, it was still unjust. The one responsible left this scar above my eye. Almost every time I see it, or brush my hand against it, brings back that horrifying night. How I stood mute, clutching my bleeding head, as I witnessed the terrible things they did to my father before they granted him his pleas of death. The fact I could do nothing has constantly bothered me. My time with the Guild was beneficial; it distracted my mind from my past. I could completely forget about it and start anew. Since retirement though, I felt a calling. It called me back here. Once I came back I realized why.”

“My parents’ killer still lives. I’ve seen him. The calling was for vengeance. My skills with the Guild has given me the tools that I need to achieve it. I have yet to do it though. I needed to make sure that I was still able to do what I must…” Simion trailed off once most, and looked intently at Lavos, attempting to read his reaction.

Lavos felt cold all over. He caught the meaning behind Simion’s last words. He couldn’t avoid asking the obvious question. “So you’ve been killing Town Guards to make sure you are prepared to murder your parents’ killer?”

A solemn look took over Simion’s face. “Yes. The murders done have been by my hand.”

Lavos couldn’t believe the absurdity of what Simion was doing. “Simion, you’re an assassin! If you sought vengeance with one man, why must innocents suffer? The one you’re after sounds like some street thug, it would’ve been simple to sneak into his home and cut his throat. One murder wouldn’t have caught our attention.”

Simion’s eyes darkened. “Lavos, you should know fully well that in some missions innocent lives are taken. They get in the way, and the only way to get them out of it is by the edge of a knife. In this case, the guards are the innocents,” Simion quietly explained, restraining his obvious anger at Lavos’ remarks.

Lavos wasn’t convinced and pressed on his attack. “The guards weren’t in the way. You’re playing some sort of sick game with this person. You’re intending to instil fear into him by showing how hopeless it is to get away from you.”

Simion couldn’t suppress his feelings any longer as he lurched up from his seat. “So what? The honoured user deserves what I’ve been doing! I want him to be looking around every dark corner, fearful that I’ll be lurking there, ready to do him in! It is the least I can do for my family,” Simion barked into Lavos’ face, spittle collecting on his lower lip.

Lavos averted his face, and casually wiped a glove across his face. “Why the Town Guard then? They’re good men, here to protect Kvatch. I would understand you killing street thugs. Killing the guards just doesn’t make sense,” Lavos said calmly, returning his vision on the heavily breathing Simion.

Simion tensed visibly and returned to his seat stiffly. “You have no idea who I’m after that’s why. The Town Guard protects the man I’m after. He’s connected with them. By hurting them, I’m hurting him. I’m not after some street thug. If you want some assurance, I can offer you the promise that I will not be going after the Town Guard anymore. Unless they get in my way. I intend to finally end this. I need you to accept that,” he said, his voice taking on a pleading tone, “As a friend, you would let me do this.”

Lavos studied Simion closely, putting his skills to use. He needed to discern whether Simion was being truthful. He had to put his friendship aside in this matter. Innocent lives had been taken and now it was up to Lavos to decide if more lives were to be taken.

Looking at Simion, Lavos saw his old partner from the Guild, only worn down. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes seemed hollowed under darkness. Yet, he did see his friend there, asking him for forgiveness and approval. That alone made Lavos want to say yes but somehow the word seemed caught in his throat. Something seemed to nag at him for further assessment.

The time it was taking Lavos to deliberate with himself seemed to be taking a toll on Simion, as something flashed across his eyes that made Lavos remember. Simion was mad. Right now, he had control, but that wouldn’t last forever. It was that madness that expressed itself through Simion’s eyes that told him despite what Simion said, he wouldn’t keep his word. The madness wouldn’t allow it. It wanted mayhem, relished in it. Lavos’ mind was made up. Simion had to die.

Lavos cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Simion. The answer is no. There’s something wrong with you, and as a friend, I have to help you the only way I know I can,” Lavos said sadly, cautiously edging his hand to his concealed dagger.

A look of outright pain etched itself onto Simion. “No? How can you say no? You’re my friend… You’re supposed to understand…” Anger suddenly burst forth from Simion and Lavos knew that look in his eyes. “The Voice was right! You’re not my friend! I should have dealt with you from the moment we met again. Just like the Voice told me to do!” Simion hollered, standing up.

Lavos pushed aside his chair as he rose and drew his dagger. “Calm down, Simion. Just calm down…” Lavos said as gently as possible.

“No! And how DARE you draw a weapon on me!” Simion cried, stomping his foot.

Before Lavos knew what happened. Red hot pain laced across his entire body. It was so excruciating that he couldn’t even admit a cry to emote the pain he felt. He felt cemented to the spot where he stood, eyes spotting a broken lantern, charred black, resting shattered in front of him. He couldn’t comprehend how it had gotten there, or how it had shattered. His eyes found Simion, whose face was red with anger and frustration.

“You should have let me do what I must do, Lavos, like a good friend would’ve. I can’t let the Guild get involved with this. It grieves me that this must happen,” his face then took on a sick expression, “Though I am really enjoying the site of what’s flowing down your back.”

Lavos couldn’t even feel what he was talking about. It was becoming hard to concentrate on anything. At least the pain was going away, but a numbing coldness was taking it’s place. It was hard to keep his eyes open. He wanted to say something, yet the words wouldn’t come forth. He wanted to tell him it was too late. That the Guild was coming after him once they got here. He wanted the last laugh. The only thing he could do was smile at the madness before him as the darkness overtook him.



Simion watched Lavos’ eyes close for the last time. He raised his foot off the loose floorboard and the knife embedded in Lavos’ spine fell out, causing the body to collapse. Simion knew he should’ve felt sad about the death of his friend, yet the blood pooling behind him made him enjoy every moment of it. From the moment the lantern concealing the dagger sticking out of the floor went flying over Lavos’ head and the knife planted itself into Lavos, Simion felt an intoxicating euphoria come over him. Each moment of watching the life drain from Lavos was bliss to Simion.

The only thing that marred the whole experience was the sudden rueful grin that came across Lavos just before he closed his eyes.

Posted by: Black Hand Aug 23 2006, 11:16 PM

**Standing Ovation**

Brilliant! Keep it coming!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 24 2006, 06:11 PM

Woo! Another update, this one comes straight from the job! I have a bit of spare time on my hands.... Ohwell, enjoy!


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

Simion sat on a chair, hands buried in his face. His shoulder racked with silent sobbing, the ecstasy of the murder had long since diminished. He raised his face from his hands, revealing a red and tear stained face. Grief, sadness, and shame encompassed his being as he stared down at the body sprawled on the floor.

He had just killed his only friend he had. No longer would he have someone who understood him to talk to. Sure, he had plenty of disagreements with Lavos before, but they had always been able to settle them eventually. In this case, all arguments were settled permanently. Simion hated it. He couldn't believe that he did it. But wait... It wasn't him who did it. The Voice did it, not him. Since the incident, the throbbing in his head and the mutterings of the Voice had ceased. It was satisfied for now. For how long, Simion had no clue. It would come back, and Simion had no idea if he could resist its persistence.

He couldn't even resist it to save his friend.

A knock at his door caused Simion to jump, hand instinctively going for his dagger. He realised that the knock was too polite to be the Town Guard, so it must be a neighbour or some stranger. He couldn't let whoever it was see the body of Lavos. It would be hard to make up a suitable excuse to explain why there was a dead body in his house.

Wiping away the wetness from his cheeks, Simion tried to compose himself as another polite knock sounded against his door. He opened the door slightly to see who it was and saw the young Imperial who lived across the street. Her concerned expression made him uneasy. "Yes?"

"Sorry to disturb you Mr Mandrake but I thought I heard some odd noises. Is everything all right?" the Imperial asked.

Simion had hoped that the daily noise of Kvatch would mask the argument and the potential noise of a struggle if he ended up having to fight Lavos. It seemed it hadn't worked perfectly. "I broke a lantern and cut myself cleaning it up. Got a bit angry with myself. Sometimes yelling at your stupidity helps," Simion said, attempting a smile.

The Imperial smiled back warmly. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I cut my fingers while preparing vegetables and I just feel like screaming at myself," she said, admitting a chuckle.

Simion let out a soft chuckle as well. "I think I have the situation under control now. But thanks for your concern Miss...?"

"Bernise," she finished.

"Bernise," he repeated, "I'm sorry for not knowing your name, I've been here long enough that I should know. I guess I'm still getting used to being back," he continued, sounding embarrassed.

"Oh, it's understandable, Mr Mandrake. Just take your time," she said kindly, "Well, since my concern is satisfied, I'll take my leave then. Have a good afternoon Mr Mandrake."

"You as well, Miss Bernise," Simion said softly as he closed the door.

He sighed loudly, happy he defused a possible situation. It was then that he realised the throbbing sensation was returning. With that he knew the Voice was soon to follow.

"Do you honestly think she buys that? If she did, she's sure to change her mind once she spots one of those posters around town. She'll turn you in on an instant!"

"No! I've done enough needless killing! It's your fault Lavos is dead! I will not let anyone else be harmed. There's only one more person to kill and then I'm done with it. Done with you!" Simion said determinably.

Simion could almost sense the Voice grinning inside his head. "You seem to be forgetting something... You have a dead body in your house. If the Town Guard were to suddenly showup, just the bloodstains around the house would ruin everything. So what are you going to do with the body?"

"It's the middle of the day so right now, I leave him as he is. Once it's late enough, I sneak out of my house and stash him in an alley. I'll remove his valuables and make seem as if he was mugged. The wound is unlike any I've done to the Town Guard; they'll think it's someone else," he said, hoping to believe his words.

"Fine. That's good enough. For now, clean this place up and stick the body in the corner or something..." the Voice trailed off and the throbbing ceased.



Later that night, a stealthy Simion exited his home with a large lump hanging over his shoulder. He peered into the darkness. Satisfied, he carried the lump to the nearest alleyway.

Little did he notice the flicker of closing curtains coming from the home of a young Imperial woman from across the street.

Posted by: Black Hand Aug 24 2006, 07:46 PM

Ohh, poor Bernise. Or poor Simion...we shall see.

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 29 2006, 08:55 PM

Ah, yes. There's great tragedy and despair here. It's so sad.

Normally I would get depressed from these situations but you make it all good. The descriptions, the thoughts, the voice. They give shape to the story and force me to keep reading.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Aug 31 2006, 04:27 AM

Another shorter one, kinda hit a fit of laziness plus long hours of work this week tired me out. Enough of the excuses though! Hopefully I'll get the next update out a bit sooner than this one.

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

Savlian’s mood could be described as furious at best. Someone obviously thought Savlian was sticking his nose in business that was better left alone. That someone was Hlodir if the Orc was speaking the truth. Unfortunately, the Orc’s word wasn’t going to be enough to arrest Hlodir. The Count would demand better proof and Savlian intended to get it.

Hooking onto the Orc’s arm, Savlian said, “You and me are going down to the barracks for a talk,” and began dragging him towards the barracks.

Savlian knew exactly what had to be done to get ample proof of Hlodir’s guilt. If, indeed, the Orc had been issued orders by Hlodir to murder Savlian, then the Orc would’ve seen his face. All that was needed was to get the Orc’s description of Hlodir, and see if it actually looks like Hlodir. The Count would not be able to deny that proof, as well as the Orc’s testimony.

Unceremoniously, Savlian tossed the Orc onto a chair in the interrogation room. The room was completely unfurnished, excluding the chair, and there was a steady drip of water hitting the concrete floor in the corner. Savlian at first intended to get that problem fixed, but once he found out that the incessant dripping got answers from crooks better than standard procedure he kept it.

The Orc was in rough shape, considering he was beaten down twice in one day. His green trousers were caked with mud from the rainy weather, and his shirt was in ruins. Not only was it ripped from the struggles he had been in that day, but a large red stain filled the upper portion due to a wound to his head being struck with a sword hilt. His face was bruised from Savlian's foot to the face that had finally knocked him out and a trickle of blood still ran down his chin from a tooth being kicked out. He looked exceptionally tired, his eyes downcast at the floor, guilt written across his face. He could only guess at what was in store for him and he did not like his possibilities.

Savlian paced before him, gathering his senses. The adrenaline was still pumping through his system from the narrow escape from the assassins. Interrogating took time and precision, the point was to get every possible piece of information from the suspect. If one was too hasty, something valuable could be missed.

After enough pacing, Savlian figured he was calm enough to proceed. He looked at the Orc intently, measuring him up. The Orc had a look of defeat, so the procedure should go quite well. He then looked over at the scribe next to him, waiting with ink and parchment. Nodding that he was ready to the scribe, he turned his attention to the Orc once more. “What is your name?”

The Orc wetted his lips and hoarsely said, “Barlok gro-Mann, sir.”

“Well, Barlok, today you and I have had a few altercations have we not? First I catch you in a drug bust, you run away and then later tonight you try to kill me in my sleep. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir,” he said weakly, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Those are serious crimes, Barlok. Considering it was me you were trying to kill, death seems to be the only suitable punishment for yourself…” Savlian trailed off, observing the horrified look of the Orc and decided to continue, “But, I could always be convinced to show you some mercy. You just have to help me with a few things.”

Eager to save his own neck, Barlok blurted, “Just tell me what you want and I’ll do anything that’s possible to help you!”

Savlian smiled. That’s exactly want he wanted to hear. “Well first off, I want the names of those you’ve been working with. My job is to get skooma off my streets. It’ll be a lot easier to do my job if I know who is involved with this drug operation.”

With that, the Orc began to list a barrage of people involved in the drug trafficking operation that he knew of. Savlian kept a careful eye on the scribe, just to make sure none of them were missed. When Hlodir’s name was vocalized, Savlian cut the Orc off.

“Hold on a second. Wasn’t Hlodir the one who told you to kill me?”

“Yes he did. If you ask me, I think it’s because he didn’t want you catching onto who is behind the drug operation,” Barlok said plainly.

Savlian’s curiosity was piqued. “Does that mean you know who is behind the operation then?”

Barlok went to speak but hesitated. Savlian immediately jumped on it.

“They’re not going to get to you here, it’s safe to tell me,” Savlian said, attempting to encourage the Orc.

The silence before the Orc spoke felt like torture to Savlian. But the name Barlok uttered at barely a whisper stunned him.

“Count Vernon Goldwine, sir.”

It seemed inconceivable at first, but suddenly Savlian knew that Barlok wasn’t lying. It explained some of the Count’s actions. The previous criminals involved in the drug operation weren’t being taken for private interrogation. They were being silenced by the Count. It also explained why he didn’t let Savlian arrest Hlodir. He hoped to change that though.

“Barlok, can you give --” Savlian began but a knock on the door cut out what he was going to say. Savlian opened the door and found himself facing another guard.

“Sir, there’s someone here to see you,” the guard said.

“You can tell them I’m busy. I’m doing important work here,” Savlian said, slightly annoyed at being disturbed by something so trivial.

“I think you should speak with her though. It’s regarding the serial killer,” the guard said calmly, obviously expecting Savlian’s initial reaction.

Savlian now found himself at an impasse. Both situations were important, and he felt that he should personally deal with both. After weighing both the situations in his head, he made up his mind. He turned back to the Orc and the scribe.

“I’m going to put you in a special cell for the time being. It’s away from the public cells, so you’ll be by yourself. Hopefully no one will know you’re here. I’m going to issue an order to not allow anyone but myself to release you from your cell, even if it’s the royal guard trying to get you out. You’ll be perfectly safe there,” Savlian stated to the Orc, who simply nodded grimly.

Savlian returned his attention back to the guard waiting at the door. “Show me to this woman.”

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 31 2006, 07:04 PM

Uh oh, living next to a murderer ust cause nightmares. Now Savlian has two problems. The count and Simion. I wonder if the guards are still loyal enough to their captain to put the count away. Or wait, this is Kvatch, right? Maybe the Daedra will attack and Savlian *cough* accidentally *cough* hits the count while defending him.

So much possibilities. I want answers. So please continue.

Posted by: Black Hand Aug 31 2006, 07:40 PM

Excellenty described, I felt like I was watching one of those police shows! As Cloudy Said, continue!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Sep 2 2006, 06:25 PM

And continue I shall. This update is yet again brought to you from work. Rainy Saturdays are soooo boring!


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

Savlian followed the guard to the room where he left the witness. During the walk, Savlian pondered on just what this witness had to say. He wasn’t in the mood to be bothered with trivial suspicions, as they would interfere with the dangerous situation he found himself currently in. The town of Kvatch was becoming a nightmare for Savlian. Not only did he have some psychotic killer murdering his men, but also the ruler of the town was actually trying to kill him to cover-up his involvement with a massive drug operation. If this witness was just wasting his time, he was going to give them a piece of his mind.

The guard waved Savlian through the door into the armoury. At Savlian’s questioning look, the guard replied, “She asked for privacy. Next to the interrogation rooms, this is the next private place at this time of night.”

Savlian thanked the guard and told him to return to his duties. He watched the guard walk out of view before entering the armoury.

The room was pitched in darkness, excluding a flickering light of a torch at the far corner of the room. Savlian wove his way instinctively past stands of armour and weapon cases. As he approached the source of the light, Savlian saw the flickering silhouette of a woman. He rounded the crate of arrows and stood before the person holding the torch. She wore a simple grey cloak over modest clothing. Her dirty blonde hair was neatly tied behind her head, but the torchlight left her face shadowed.

“Evening, Ma’am. I’m Captain Savlian Matius. Are you the witness I’m supposed to meet?” he asked calmly. Sometimes witnesses were often distressed. It was understandable in this case; this lady could’ve possibly seen the killer murder someone. Death was hard to witness for some people.

The lady stepped forward, allowing the torchlight to hit her face, revealing the young Imperial woman he had talked with earlier that day. “Sorry to bother you this late at night, Captain, but I thought it was important enough,” she said apologetically.

“Don’t worry, I was up anyway. I’m sorry, but I don’t recall if I ever got your name from this afternoon.”

“It’s Bernise,” she said, extending her hand, which Savlian shook and greeted her once more.

“Now I know you wouldn’t come here asking for me unless it was serious. So what do you have to say to me?” Savlian asked, becoming serious.

Bernise stared intently into Savlian’s eyes, her own eyes glistening in the light. “My neighbour matches the posters you’ve been posting around town and tonight I saw him carrying a body out of his house,” she said, her voice mixed with shock and horror.

“How certain are you?” Savlian asked eagerly, his patience broken by the day’s events.

“His face is nearly identical to the picture on the posters, he has the same scar. I was watching him leave the house with the body from my own home. Though it was dark out, I’m quite sure I could make out the hands dangling behind his back. I think it was a Dunmer, but it was too dark to distinguish what race the body was.”

“So who is this neighbour of yours then?” Savlian asked.

“His name is Simion Mandrake,” she said shuddering, almost as if she was repulsed by the name now.

“Mandrake? The recluse?” Savlian asked.

“Yes, the one we were talking about earlier,” Bernise answered.

Savlian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It makes sense… Isolation is a sign of odd behaviour. Serial killers aren’t usually the most stable mentally, yet they exude stability to the public.”

Bernise’s eyes shown with understanding. “That’s exactly what he did to me. He lied straight to my face, with a sorry little smile on his face.”

Savlian looked at her confused. “What are you talking about?”

Bernise, looking embarrassed, replied, “Sorry. Earlier today, I heard yelling and some thumping coming from Mr Mandrake’s house. Later on I went to his home and asked him about it. He just acted embarrassed and said he cut himself on a broken lantern and threw a fit. It was after that that I found the posters and became suspicious.”

Savlian absorbed the information for a few moments before asking, “Around what time did you hear these noises?”

Bernise thought for a few seconds and answered, “Around midday, Captain.”

“Thanks you Bernise, you don’t believe how beneficial your report is. Do you have anything else to tell me?” Savlian asked, making sure he had gained all possible information. She shook her head no and he continued, “Well then, you best be off home. I’ll escort you home if you’d like.”

“No, that might draw suspicion if he happens to see me,” she said.

“Smart thinking. Just make sure you lock yourself up safely. If what you say is true, and I believe it is, then you are living next to a very dangerous man,” Savlian cautioned.

“What are you going to do about it though, Captain?” Bernise asked fearfully.

“I have a body to find,” Savlian replied grimly.

Posted by: jack cloudy Sep 2 2006, 08:30 PM

DUN DUN DUN!

Our brave hero, Savlian, ventures out into the night. Shall he find the body of he who lost his life in his attempt to bring back the slayer's sanity? Will he survive the great dangers of the night? Will the count find a way to slay our valiant defender of the innocent? Will it rain? Will it snow? Will it be a sunny day? Or will the weather be something else? Stay tuned here, where the night is coloured Sanguine without any involvement of the Dark Brotherhood!

Note: Unfortunately, our Tamrielan weather sattelite was knocked out of orbit by a stray fireball. Curse those bloody mages.

Whatever you do Mallet, just keep writing.

Posted by: Black Hand Sep 2 2006, 10:54 PM

**Randomly casts fireballs into the Atmosphere attempting to see if Secunda and Masser are solid**

Ooops. Sorry about that Jack!

And yeah MM keep writing brother. I am VERY intrigued.

Posted by: minque Sep 3 2006, 04:48 PM

Great stuff you write here Metal M! Really interesting and a definite must-read. I beg your pardon I haven´t commented as much as I really wanted to, but that thing called RL..is very intrusive sometimes!

Anyway keep it up it´s really good!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Sep 9 2006, 04:37 PM

Yay! The first week of school is done and I still find time to write! Though my updates might be more on a weekly basis now. I think before school started it was like that anyways but whatever. For all I know today I might pull a Black Hand and make like 5 updates today!

Anyways, time to continue!



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

Dawn’s first rays of sunlight were just beginning to cascade across Kvatch when Savlian found the body of a robed Dunmer. No valuables or money were found on the Dunmer, so the most likely situation was that the Dunmer was killed in a mugging. Given Bernise’s report though, Savlian knew this was simply a cover-up. While it didn’t have the flair that the usual murders did, Savlian still felt the malicious intent committed upon this mer. He knew that the same person that had been killing his men killed this mer.

But what was the reason? When Savlian first examined the body, he knew right away that this was a stranger to Kvatch. Did he happen to witness a murder and the murderer knew he witnessed it, so the only resolution was to remove him? Or did he know the murderer?

Upon pondering that question, the mortician present at the scene called Savlian over.

“Look at this,” the mortician said, indicating a black tattoo located on the inner forearm of the Dunmer, “What do you think it is?”

Savlian studied the marking closely, finally voicing his answer, “It looks like a hand to me. A Black Hand….” His voiced trailed off after realising what he was saying.

The mortician fixed Savlian with a curious look. “What’s the problem, Captain?”

“This Dunmer is an assassin…” Savlian whispered, “Though I have no idea with what faction.”

Savlian’s knowledge on the Morag Tong and the Dark Brotherhood were very limited. He had heard the coined term “the black hands of Mephala” before. He knew that Mephala was the patron of the Morag Tong, but that’s about it. He also found out when interrogating a captured Dark Brotherhood murderer that the top five ranking members of the Brotherhood are known as the “Black Hand”. Unfortunately, that was the only information they could get out of the assassin before he was executed.

The tattoo alone wasn’t too helpful in determining which faction this Dunmer was apart of. Savlian was leaning on the Morag Tong though. While it was certainly very rare for the Morag Tong to pursue a writ that goes out of Morrowind, it wasn’t unheard of. Savlian also thought the Dark Brotherhood would only allow actually members in the Black Hand to wear such a tattoo. If that were the case, this assassin would be extremely skilled and probably would’ve put up a fight if his life were threatened. Signs of struggle weren’t evident, so Savlian felt that the Dunmer was likely a Morag Tong Agent. This still posed some more questions though.

Was this Dunmer an accomplice that failed to meet his partner’s standards? Again the question on whether the Dunmer knew the killer could be brought up. If the answer was yes, then what caused the killer to murder someone they knew? More than likely, if they knew each other they were both in the same faction. It certainly explained the skill present in these murders. The thought that this was involving the Morag Tong was becoming more certain as Savlian thought about it more. He knew that the Morag Tong practice was considered legal, at least in Morrowind. Certainly they would be upset if they found that one of their agents went rogue and started they own killing spree. Obviously, they would send someone to “dispose of the situation”, less it’s discovered a Morag Tong Assassin was behind the murders. It would tarnish their reputation of being honourable and neutral.

What still unsettled Savlian was that the Dunmer looked like he enjoyed his death. A smirk was stretched plain across his face. How can anyone be seriously happy with his or her own death? To Savlian, that was unimaginable. His goal was to preserve life whenever possible by apprehending, or, in the worse case, eliminating the threats on life. It was something he felt like he had to do. He had spent too much time as a threat on life and needed to redeem himself. So what could possibly make someone smile at his or her own demise? Some sort of deception? The wound to the base of the back of the neck wasn’t instantly lethal, so he would’ve been able to react in facial expression at least. Wounds like that generally render the victim immobile, and given Savlian’s presumptions, it was a surprise attack. Betrayal didn’t seem that amusing to Savlian. There was obviously something missing that Savlian wasn’t likely going to figure out. For all he knew, the Dunmer might have been in a delusional state and thought of something funny just before death. Savlian was just going to have to leave that unanswered it seemed.

Savlian was finished with his work here. He told the mortician that the rest was up to him and if any urgent discoveries were made that he was to be informed immediately. By now, the sun had risen well over the horizon and Kvatch was slowly waking up. People were all ready beginning to roam the streets, and discussing with each other the latest gossip or the weather, which was nice compared to the gloom of the day before. It was then that Savlian realised how tired he was. He wasn’t really sore anymore, but he was absolutely drained of energy from lack of sleep and the extended use of adrenaline.

He set off towards the barracks; as his home was still too damaged to return to. There would be bed there he could use. He would need his wits sharp when he took Mr Mandrake in for questioning.

Posted by: Black Hand Sep 9 2006, 07:20 PM

Oh I like this one...I like this one a lot....I wonder why?

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Sep 9 2006, 07:41 PM

Hmm, I dunno. Maybe because it frequently involves the discussion of assassins? It mentions the Morag Tong and the Dark Brotherhood? Possibly a CSI reference (possibly, it is a crime drama basically). Maybe the mention of your name, Black Hand? I could keep making assumptions but I think that's enough.

This reply is brought to you by the Moving Onto Page Six Whoopee! Commitee.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Sep 10 2006, 01:00 AM

Well, you desided to waste your time on my fan fic so i desided i could spend some time reading yours.

And i can say this... you story is excelent, please keep up the good work. and yes, Vengeance is a good topic i'm just happy i took it before you did

ps... i got first page 6 post

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Sep 16 2006, 05:12 PM

I've always planned to call this Bloodlust anyways The reason is fairly evident I hope... But thanks for joining the Metal Mallet Train, Soulseeker! All aboard! So I think I'll continue with a partial post, I wanted to get down this whole part but I should really start some of my chemistry work. If I don't get lazy I'll finish this update within the next couple of days. Here it is!


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


After a few hours rest, Savlian headed for the Mandrake residence. He brought along two other guards to provide a proper escort for Simion, and to deter any violence that could possibly happen. Guilty men generally didn’t feel like going down to the barracks for questioning.

Despite the rest, Savlian still felt uneasy about the matter. It was as if something felt misplaced. Maybe it was because he feared that he was going to have to trade blades with someone who could kill a magnificent swordsman like Henrik. Savlian hoped that was the case, but realising it didn’t seem to push the uneasiness away.

Before he knew it, Savlian and the guards stood outside Simion Mandrake’s home. The late afternoon sun warmed Savlian’s back, but he still shivered. The placed simply looked uninviting. No windows were open, all with dark drapes covering anything that could be seen from the inside. Even the solid wood door looked ominous. Invited or not, Savlian still planned to see whomever was inside.

Savlian strode up to the door and knocked on it solidly, a hallow thud accenting each knock. Moments later, the sound of a latch being removed reached Savlian’s ears and slowly the heavy door creaked open and the face of a Breton peered out at him. A calculating look crossed across his steel blue eyes before he began to speak.

“What can I do for you officers?” he asked quietly.

“That’s Captain for me,” Savlian said sternly, “Are you Simion Mandrake?”

“Yes, I certainly am,” he said non-hesitantly.

“We need you to come with us to the barracks. We need to have a talk,” Savlian said, motioning for Simion to come outside.

Simion hesitated for a moment before saying, “All right, but why do you need to talk with me?”

Savlian sensed that Simion might be playing the stupid card, but he couldn’t tell. The Breton did sound genuine in his question. He pulled out the wanted poster and showed it to Simion.

“We want to talk with you because you match this description.”

Simion visibly paled at the sight of the poster. “I see…” he managed to force out and stepped out of the doorway.

Savlian began to walk away with Simion following behind him. The two guards brought up the rear placed left and right to Simion. He wouldn’t be able to flee if he tried. At least Savlian felt that way.

Savlian’s first impressions of Simion were mixed. Simion possessed the leanness of an assassin, yet he look almost scrawny as there was no visible muscle on him. What did offset that particular discrepancy were Simion’s eyes. Whenever Savlian glanced back and met Simion’s eyes, he noticed the vast amount of intelligence within them. There was always that calculating look to them. It was this intelligence that made Savlian wary for the entire walk back to the barracks.

Upon arriving at the barracks, Savlian immediately led Simion into a more modest interrogation room than the one he used for Barlok. Since Savlian couldn’t just assume Simion was behind this, he had to place him in a common room. If the room was anything worse than this, Simion could complain about being wrongfully mistreated and anything he said would be void. Savlian desperately needed this to lead him somewhere; he couldn’t afford a void interrogation.

Savlian sat down on the chair on the opposite side of the table from Simion, who was sitting comfortable in his chair. Savlian clasped his hand together and rested them on the table, fixing Simion with a gaze.

“Have you seen these posters around town?” Savlian asked his first question.

“No, sorry I haven’t. I don’t leave my home very often,” Simion replied calmly.

Savlian picked up the poster and examined it closely. “Well for not leaving your home very often it seems that someone was able to describe you quite well. They described your scar perfectly and the shape of the face is nearly spot-on,” he pointed out.

“Just because I said I don’t leave often doesn’t mean that people don’t see me. This scar does draw attention…” Simion trailed off.

Posted by: Black Hand Sep 16 2006, 06:17 PM

First Reply! Excellent Alternate viewpoints going on here MM. I wonder what Simion is thinking, probably how he's going to hack Savlian into a million little pieces.

Posted by: jack cloudy Sep 18 2006, 08:41 PM

Ah, a battle of wits and the tongue. Not as sharp as a good sword but just as deadly. Continue, please.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Sep 18 2006, 09:45 PM

very nice MM, i can't wait for more of the interigation... I should get back to mine....

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Sep 19 2006, 03:29 AM

“Well it certainly seems that it draws unwanted attention if you’re being fingered for something as serious as this,” Savlian continued.

“That seems to be the case,” Simion agreed, maintaining eye contact with the Captain.

Savlian paused momentarily, reclining back into his chair and returning forward again before continuing. “You’re known to be a recluse. Care to tell us why?”

“I’m still trying to get used to being back in Kvatch. You probably know that I left town for a long time,” Simion answered, looking for confirmation. Savlian nodded so Simion continued. “I had a lot of feelings to sort out and I decided I didn’t want to be bothered by anyone while I did that. It’s been taking longer than I expected,” he said sadly.

“Why would you even come back here?” Savlian asked incredulously, “I’ve heard the rumours and you being back here just doesn’t make sense.”

Simion turned his face away from Savlian, a distant look to his eyes. “It is true that I was basically abandoned by my folks. They just simply disappeared,” Simion said, a look of pain and anger melding on his face. “I came back because it is my home, not theirs. It’s just that coming back has brought back the feelings of that day that I found myself abandoned. I am simply trying to overcome that feeling through perseverance. In time, I’ll open up to those surrounding me.”

“Can you think of any reason why your parents abandoned you?” Savlian asked, aware of the feeling within himself that told him something wasn’t registering right.

Simion faced Savlian once more, his visage red from wearing his emotions on his sleeve. “No. I have yet to figure out a reason. All my time spent with them I thought I was feeling their love. It must’ve been a charade, since they decided to leave me,” Simion said, his voice cracking with emotion.

Savlian dismissed the subject and continued on. “Around what time are you usually outside?”

“If I do go outside it’s generally after the sun goes down,” Simion replied, still trying to pull himself back together.

“That’s an odd time to go out,” Savlian commented.

“It’s so I don’t have to talk to people. I need those walks just so I can get out of that house and some air,” came Simion’s reply.

“Well I just happened to receive a report that you were spotted removing a body out of your home in the middle of the night. What have you to say about that?” Savlian asked, emphasising the challenge.

“Whoever reported that to you must’ve been mistaken. It’s understandable when it’s late at night to see things that aren’t really there. I was probably taking my laundry to the creek to clean them,” Simion replied, remaining composed.

Savlian felt sceptical about that defence, yet all he had was the word of one person and no hard evidence. It almost seemed a fluke that the creek was in the direction of the downtown area where the body of the Dunmer was found. Unfortunately, the argument about the darkness distorting Bernise’s vision would work quite well.

It also bothered him that Simion was unresponsive to his questions. Other than the obvious reaction to his parents’ abandonment of him, Simion had answered all his questions calmly, never once expressing outrage or guilt. It was like reading a completely empty book, and it frustrated him like nothing had ever before.

Only one more question came to Savlian’s mind. “How do you feel about the homeless?”

Simion did a double take before answering. “Well, I feel sorry about them. I know what they go through. When I left here… I didn’t have the appropriate funds to sustain a permanent or even daily lodging. Fortunately, an understanding group were able to take me in and I was able to get back onto my feet.”

The answer to his question brought to mind another important question to Savlian. He nearly expressed his embarrassment openly but maintained composure. “This “understanding group” you’re talking about, it wouldn’t happen to be the Morag Tong would it?”

“No, of course not. It was a sect of the Imperial Cult actually,” Simion said resolutely.

“Oh sorry. It’s just that I’m thinking off the top of my head you see. Thing is, we just recently found the body of a Dunmer bearing a Black Hand tattoo. The logical conclusion we came up with is that the Dunmer is an assassin of the Morag Tong,” Savlian said dryly.

“Well if you found a dead assassin it seems that your problem is solved. Somebody has done you a favour. About time. How many of your men have died? Three? Or was it five?” Simion asked mockingly.

Savlian seethed within himself. How DARE he question my credibility! That scrawny piece of guar dung! If only I could…He didn’t finish his thought since he knew the consequences on acting on such a thought. It was then that he realised he was up against a formidable opponent. Savlian had dealt with such comments before by others with ease, yet with one comment by Simion and he was ready to kill the man on the spot! Simion was toying with him.

Well two can play at that game…

“Humph. I think not. You see, from what I got out of the crime scene was this- This Dunmer knew the person behind this. They ran into a disagreement of some sorts and like the coward this freak is, stabbed his own buddy in the back, relishing in the suffering he induced. This time he wasn’t knifing a complete stranger, but someone he knew like a friend. I got that just from seeing that this likely skilled assassin didn’t even put up a fight. Whoever it is, has been leaving cracks in their method, and soon enough I’m going to break those cracks wide open and have this monster hanging from the end of a rope,” Savlian said, laying the words heavily on the person sitting in the other chair.

Simion calmly cleared his throat and said, “A very interesting theory, Captain. I do hope that it’s my idea though. That way, this situation would be over now.”

Nothing! He didn’t even blink furiously! Savlian thought desperately. Simion wasn’t cracking on his best methods. Not even a drop of sweat had oozed out of him.

Hiding his dejection, Savlian said, “Well that’s all I have to say to you, Mr Mandrake. I do suggest you desist on the sketchy behaviour though. It will help in avoiding things like this.”

Simion shrugged out of his chair and walked towards the door. He turned around and faced Savlian. “I’ll keep that in mind, Captain. Good day.”

And Savlian simply watched the threat of Kvatch walk out of his barracks.

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

All right, there's the conclusion of the interrogation, hoped that turned out well. Expect an update Saturday (my time at least, I don't know what'll be elsewhere). Hopefully I won't be bogged down with chemistry this time

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Sep 19 2006, 11:05 PM

Very nice. I love it when stuff like this happens, even if it is for the worse. I love it when the people keep a cool head and are multiple steps ahead of the interigator. Now lets see how long Mr. Mandrake can keep it befoer eit all goes to his head.... (which i doubt will happen but still)

Posted by: Black Hand Sep 20 2006, 01:05 AM

sweeeeeet....I'm liking Mandrake more and more.....

I almost hope he gets away with it. But you would have to be brilliant, and always five steps ahead. Possibly, just possibly, Simion is....

Posted by: jack cloudy Sep 20 2006, 07:14 PM

Darn, slippery as an eel, isn't he? Oh yeah, time for the slaughter, part 2!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Sep 23 2006, 05:47 PM

Everyone's comments are always so interesting, and enjoyable to read. Glad to see that you find Simion a interesting character, he's always fun to write. Savlian and The Count are a close second though. So you get a double dose with this one: A little Simion and a little Savlian. Enjoy!


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

Simion slammed the door loudly upon entering his home, releasing his pent-up feelings over the events of the afternoon. He slid his fingers between his hair anxiously and gracelessly slumped onto a chair.

They were catching onto him. Or Captain Savlian was at the least. Just from that small meeting he had with Savlian, Simion knew he was a dangerous opponent. The Imperial showed intelligence and a sharp mind. Just as quickly as Simion rattled Savlian, though Simion gave him credit in hiding it well, Savlian came back and rattled him. Fortunately Simion could conceal his reaction slightly better and Savlian didn’t pick up that he hit a nerve. Simion could almost say he was impressed with Savlian deduction so far. With the few mistakes Simion had made, Savlian had set sights on him as the culprit and had almost perfectly deducted what happened to Lavos.

Even though his mistakes had been few, they had been costly. Simion also knew the fault behind them as well. It was that infernal voice in his head. It plagued his mind, his actions, causing slip-ups that would’ve otherwise been avoided. At least, that’s what Simion believed. Though, Savlian avoided names, from the question about the homeless Simion figured that one particular bum had grown suspicious of him, likely on the night he was injured. He also had a good idea on who saw him leave his home with Lavos’ body. Simion had picked up Bernise’s sudden wariness during the day. She had been too curious the day before and now she was avoiding him; it spoke volumes to him. A sensation began to come over him and he knew what was coming.

“You must make them pay for what they’ve done. Death is the only suitable punishment!” the voice howled inside Simion’s head, sounding as if there was a thunderstorm storming within.

Simion winced and visibly shook at the sound of the voice inside his skull. “They are not involved with my mission. They are not Town Guards, they’re innocents,” Simion objected aloud.

“Don’t be foolish! It is because of them that you are under suspicion. They are threats to the mission and therefore must be eliminated!” the voice threatened.

“No! You are the reason I’m under suspicion. All you’ve been is a nuisance!”

“If it weren’t for me, you would be dead. That Redguard… even those Brotherhood assassins back in Vivec, it was me who defeated them, not you. Everything I’ve said has been true so far. Didn’t I tell you that the woman would suspect you?” the voice said.

“I can’t. If I do, Captain Savlian would instantly turn his attention back onto me. Right now, it is best to leave him questioning my guilt. Besides, we should focus on our main goal. I am tired of waiting. I’m going to finish this tonight and finally be done with you. So let us put everything else aside and get this mission done,” Simion said authoritatively.

A dry chuckle echoed in Simion’s head. “You’re right, that’s the best thing to do. This hunger might finally be satisfied.”

So Simion and his inner turmoil began their formulating for the finale of their mission. Simion vowed that the display would be a spectacle for Kvatch to remember decades from now.




On the other side of town, Savlian was reading over the scribe’s account of the interrogation between him and Simion. He hoped to find something there, something subtle that would reveal something crucial. He just couldn’t let the feeling go that he just let a serial killer walk away. There was an aura about the Breton that radiated violence. Yet nothing he read incriminated Simion at all.

Frustrated, Savlian threw the paper aside, growling in anger. “He seemed too slick! Even if he was innocent, he should’ve shown some anxiety,” Savlian shouted at the air.

A slick interrogation wasn’t evidence that he was behind this though. While it may grow suspicion, he needed something certain, something that couldn’t be argued over. At that moment though, he had to check up on a few things. He left the interrogation room and headed towards the private cells.


When he arrived, something felt out of place. These cells were normally quiet, but not this quiet. It was when he turned the corner that his blood turned cold.

Collapsed on the floor was the on duty guard and Barlok’s cell door was swaying ajar.

Posted by: Black Hand Sep 23 2006, 08:28 PM

I sense we are starting to reach a finale with this, almost makes wonder if your going to take some liberties......damn that Goldwine!

Posted by: Abu the Cat Sep 23 2006, 10:30 PM

Wooo-ooops! Should be more careful with those! God, I've read up to the one before that post, and this is one good Fan Fic!

Posted by: minque Sep 24 2006, 11:10 AM

It surely is! Easy to read and follow, you´re doing a great job you know!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Sep 30 2006, 07:29 PM

It could be drawing to a close, but I'll leave that up to speculation for now

As for today's post, it'll be interesting to see the comments for this one. We'll see if anyone has been paying attention to their reading

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

Savlian only absorbed the situation briefly before hurrying to the fallen guard’s side. He rolled the guard onto his back and examined him quickly. Realising that he was only unconscious, Savlian shook him lightly to wake him up.

“Gracius! Wake up!” Savlian urged his fallen comrade.

A low groan escaped Gracius’ lips and his eyes fluttered open, a lost look to them. Once they focused on Savlian he nearly jumped.

“Sir!” was all that Gracius got out before Savlian interrupted him.

“What happened here, Gracius? Why is Barlok gone?” Savlian demanded.

Still recovering from being knocked out, Gracius spend a few moments rubbing the back of his head and thinking before answering. “At first I was bothered by some Imperials in the Count’s colours. They demanded that Barlok was to be turned over to them by orders of the Count. I related your message to them and they left in a huff. About an hour later, they come back only this time a big Nord was with them. I go to repeat myself and that’s the last thing I remember.”

It didn’t take an Arch-Mage to figure out who the Nord was. Savlian knew it was Hlodir. Obviously he was sent on behalf of the Count. Now his only viable witness was likely dead at the hands of the Count’s “inquisitor”.

Whether it was because of the interrogation beforehand or just a culmination of everything that had been happening, Savlian couldn’t deal with it level-headedly anymore. Balling his fists, he kicked and pounded at the concrete walls of the prison until both his hands were too sore to continue. Tears of anger and frustration ran down his cheeks while Gracius sat in mute silence, questioning whether or not he should say anything.

Savlian sighed heavily and slid down the wall into a slumped sitting position, a defeated look across his face. It was then that Gracius decided to speak to his Captain.

“Captain, if you don’t mind me saying, but shouldn’t you be mad as hell? I know I would be if the Count was beating up my men. I would go there and give him what ho! Get what I’m saying?” Gracius said with encouragement.

Savlian looked over at Gracius. “You know what? I am mad!” he said, his voice rising in intensity, “Just because he’s the Count of Kvatch doesn’t mean he’s above the law. I am the law! I’ve let this go on for too long. I’m going to show him who does the ordering around here!”

Savlian then rose to his feet and marched out of prison, a determined look on his face. Gracius smiled. His Captain was back.


Count Goldwine was content for now. Only a few hours ago he had received word that Barlok was in their custody and had all ready begun his “interrogation”. He had gone down to make sure everything was being done properly and he was happy to find out that it was. By the time he was there, Barlok was a sobbing wretch, begging for his life to be spared. It took nearly all his willpower to not end the pitiful Orc’s life then and there. Fortunately he kept it, and received an extra half-hour to do some personal interrogation himself before he grew bored and finished.

Goldwine was more than a little annoyed with the order Savlian had made to keep Barlok in his custody. The Town Guard worked for him! They should do what he told them to. They were to be meek and unquestionably loyal to him. Savlian seemed to think otherwise and that could be dangerous for one of them.

He was going to have to tell Hlodir to smarten up his men, or else another one might be caught. Eventually, one of these captives will be unattainable and then the whole operation would come crumbling down. That had to be avoided at all costs. Goldwine knew that he could never survive prison, and he certainly didn’t wish to be executed. He loved his life even more than his love for money and profit. No, prevention was the best cause of action for now. Even if he had to send Hlodir to finish off the Captain he would do it.

But for now, he was going to enjoy his small victory.




It was during his elaborate evening-time dinner when a commotion erupted from down the hall. All Goldwine could hear was some heated exchanges and then rapid footsteps echoing off the marble floor. Suddenly the dinning room doors burst open and Captain Savlian Matius headed straight for the Count.

Seeing the expression on Savlian’s face sent ripples of fear down the Count’s spine and he began trying to get out of his seat. His panic was causing him difficulty though.

“No you don’t, Vernon,” Savlian said and toppled the chair holding the Count over. The chair crashed loudly against the floor and before the Count knew what was happening, Savlian had him pinned down from above.

“Help! Guards!” the Count hollered in fear. He didn’t want to die now, especially not like this.

Savlian opened his mouth to say something, but before a word came out a mob of arms surrounded him. The Count then found himself being pulled up by Hlodir while Savlian struggled against the Count’s Personal Guard holding him down.

“You damn coward! How dare you go against my orders!” Savlian yelled at the Count, who was trying to straighten out his clothes.

Hlodir walked over to Savlian and delivered a straight fist to Savlian’s stomach, knocking the air out from him. “Shut up!” Hlodir ordered.

Savlian glared at Hlodir and he took racking breaths to regain his air.

It was the Count’s turn to deliver a fist to Savlian’s stomach. “How dare you enter my home and make accusations at me!” Goldwine snarled and then smacked Savlian hard across the face, “You ruined my meal!”

Despite being hit, Savlian said, “You stole a criminal from my prison. I want an explanation.”

“I don’t have to answer your demands. Fortunately I’m a nice person and I’ll answer it though. What I want, I get. That’s the quickest way to explain it. The long way is that being the Count of this town, I need to take interest in those who break my laws. I enforce justice around here,” the Count said with a smirk.

Savlian breathed heavily, trying to maintain his cool. “I, too, enforce the law. If I requested for a criminal to be held in my prison, I expect that request to be accepted,” Savlian said in an even voice.

The Count took on a mocking tone, turning his back to Savlian. “The thing is, Captain. I rule this town, which means I am above you. If I want the criminal, I get them. No objections. It makes me upset that you would make an “order” such as you did. I only did what I did to make you realise that. Is there anything else?”

“Yes. You are not above the law.”

The Count abruptly turned around and clutched Savlian by the chin, bringing himself up to Savlian’s ear. “You’re wrong. I am above the law. I’ve been making people disappear for years, even before you were around to do it for me. It’s how I got this town. I could even make you disappear and get away without a blemish upon me. Don’t think I won’t either; you’ve all ready seen what I can do to you. Now you be a nice, complacent Guard Captain and you won’t have to worry about that,” the Count whispered harshly, throwing his hand off Savlian’s chin and backing away.

The Count then double-checked to see that he looked orderly. “I’m done with my meeting with the Captain. Escort him off the grounds,” he said calmly before exiting the dining room.




As Savlian was being led out of the castle, something about what the Count whispered bothered him. It was as if he heard it before. It obviously wasn’t the threat, for that only further intensified his hatred of the man. It emboldened him to put a stop to him rather than submit. He had only inept men at his command and the next time they try something, he was going to capture the whole lot of them. He would then go to the Imperial Court with his evidence and have Vernon Goldwine hang.

So, if it wasn’t that, what was it? Then it clicked:

“I’ve been making people disappear for years, even before you were around to do it for me.”

Posted by: Black Hand Sep 30 2006, 07:53 PM

Yes, I know what that means, 'Ive been making people dissapear for years"....and it relates inimately to the other main character and people that were once near and dear to him.....is an alliance possibly forming here?

Posted by: Abu the Cat Sep 30 2006, 08:54 PM

I wonder if Simion and the count are forming an alliance, too. Just, Simion was the actual murderer, and the count wants his Skooma! It looks like he'll go to great lengths to get his drugs!

Posted by: jack cloudy Oct 2 2006, 08:00 PM

Tsk, still too tied up with honour. Maybe Savlian should hire some assassins. Yeah, that would work.

Posted by: Abu the Cat Oct 4 2006, 01:05 AM

Hmm... definitly not Simion! Maybe one of... the Dark Elf's friends!

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Oct 4 2006, 11:04 PM

Very nice MM! So.... the count and Simon are the same people? j/k can't wait for the Morag Tong finnaly get there.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Oct 7 2006, 06:38 PM

Hehe, nice spectulations everyone, but I'm not going to say if any of you are thinking in the right direction. Things will begin to fall into place in the not so distant future. Well this is today's update:

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

The sun had long since descended beyond the horizon, plunging Kvatch into darkness. While the rain and stormy weather had relented from the previous day, the clouds still hung thickly in the skies, blocking all possible moon and starlight.

For the most part, Kvatch was quiet. The town centre, which was never entirely asleep, still had some occupants roaming the streets to head to the next tavern. Outside of that though, the town was in nearly mute silence, only the odd cough sounding from the wall sentry gave truth that there was still existence outside of the town centre.

In one spot of the town, the silence was broken as a back door carefully creaked open. A figure, cloaked in black emerged from the opening and carefully closed the door once more. This time, no nosy neighbours were going to see him sneaking out of him home. This time, things were going to go flawlessly.

The figure decided to take the long way to his destination. The quickest way was straight through the heart of the town, but the figure intended to avoid as many people as possible. All distractions had to be avoided. He didn’t know whether his problem could drive him to do something he couldn’t escape from, which would blow his main goal.

He kept to the shadows the entire time, avoiding the odd lamppost that was lit. The environment he was heading to required him to keep his night sight. Plus, sudden light was painful when using a constant night eye enchantment. An added bonus was that he didn’t even stumble across a single person. Not even a patrolling guard. They were likely concentrated in the centre of the town where he had made his previous attacks. The fools didn’t get it at all. They were merely fodder for the main course.

Roughly an hour later, the figure reached his first roadblock, the Town Guard Barracks. In order to get where he was going, he needed to get past that fortress of stone without being seen. Then again, this might prove to not be so difficult. Why would a town guard expect a criminal to walk right past their front door? They wouldn’t, meaning their guard would be down. He just hoped that his thinking was correct, and that no one would be entering or exiting the barracks very soon.

He pressed himself up against the cool granite of the barracks wall and began to slide his way across it, hoping that being so close to the wall would avoid detection from those possibly patrolling above him. Before reaching the large doors, the figure paused. Holding his breath, he listened carefully for sounds of movement. When silence answered his call, he slipped past the door and hurried past the barracks. The first obstacle was passed.

After gaining some distance from the barracks, the figured scaled up a wall with a grappling hook. The feat only took a matter of seconds, exceptional for the size of the wall. Due to the relatively poor design of the building, the figure was able to jump from the top of the wall unto a ledge of the building. His soft shoes cushioned his jump, allowing all noise to be muffled silent. Taking out his knife, the figure was able to unlatch a nearby window and infiltrate the premises.

Scanning the room, the figure found himself in an unused servant’s room. He silently exited out into the hallway, making sure that it was empty. He made his way silently along the halls, heading in a purposeful direction. He knew where he was going; all he needed to do was be silent. Before he got far though, footsteps were heard descending a nearby staircase.

Alerted by the noise, the figure hurried to a position behind a statue. From there he could get a good look at the staircase, and likely avoid detection from the person descending it. The first thing seen was the flickering glow of a candlestick, and then black dress shoes, followed by a Breton in a fine suit of livery. In his one hand was the candlestick, and the other a stack of letters. It didn’t take much to figure out this was a servant of the head of the house.

Perfect, he’ll take me right to his door, the figure thought as he stalked out of his cover once the servant had turned his back to his hiding spot.

After minutes of following the servant carefully through a maze of hallways and rooms, the figure sensed that they were approaching the room that which he desired. It was time to get rid of a possible witness. Unsheathing his knife, the figure crouched down and quickened his pace, drawing ever closer to his victim.

His adrenaline pumped through his body, but he was able to maintain a steady, silent-breathing rate. Once he was within range, he sprang, striking at the servant with the knife. It sunk right into the heart of the man, yet the figure’s hand clamped over the mouth of the man muffled any chance of a cry of pain. He held the servant there, stomping out the fallen candle quietly, until the body went limp. The stacks of letters were spilled across the floor but the figure didn’t care. He had spilt blood, and was hungry for more.

The door stood before him, behind it was the man who had ruined the only real life he had. While this man had flourished in his crimes, the figure had been wallowing in poverty and striving to survive. It took a lot of willpower to not scream out his rage even now, after all these years. All he simply needed to do was open the door and end it. Reap his vengeance.

He all ready pictured the display that he would leave this monster in. He could sense the excruciating pain he would put him in. It would be his greatest masterpiece yet. His blood will be the most pungent, the spray of it will be the most awe-inspiring, the sight of it…

His thoughts ceased suddenly as something cold, hard and sharp rested against his shoulder and began to press against his neck. He was sent into stunned disbelief when a voice quietly rose behind him.

“That is as far as you go, Simion.”

-------------
And I think I'll leave it right there
I'm cruel sometimes I know!

Posted by: Black Hand Oct 7 2006, 09:04 PM

You cruel son of a mating kagouti!!!

Excellent Update, my friend.

Posted by: Abu the Cat Oct 7 2006, 09:29 PM

Ha! I'll be surprised if it's Savlian!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Oct 14 2006, 07:12 PM

Simion slowly spun around to face his assailant. The whole time he wondered what he possibly could’ve done to be caught. He had been so careful! At least as careful as he could be; the voice did cause a few slip-ups, but those mistakes couldn’t have hinted that he was coming here.

Once Simion’s eyes fell on his captor they widened. He was staring straight into the eyes of a determined looking Captain Savlian Matius. Savlian smirked with a hint of darkness at Simion’s reaction.

“H-how…?” Simion managed to choke out as a whisper.

“A fortunate series of events for me, but they would be unfortunate for you,” Savlian said evenly, readjusting his grip on his broadsword.

Savlian’s cryptic answer set off a nerve in Simion. “No! I need to know how! I deserve that much!” he whispered heatedly at Savlian, his voice heavy with conviction.

“What you deserve is a good hanging. But I’ll satisfy your curiosity if you satisfy mine,” Savlian said, pausing to wait for an answer. Simion nodded, so Savlian continued. “The first thing I knew about you was that you were supposedly abandoned by your parents, as they had disappeared on you. Then you, yourself said that they disappeared on you. It just so happened that when I was talking to Count Goldwine, he said something that jogged my memory. You see, I know about what Goldwine does to the people of Kvatch. What he collects is additional money and if people catch on, he gives them a warning to shut up or they next time he “makes them disappear”. Recently, I found out that before I arrived in Kvatch, Goldwine was doing this business himself in order to fund himself for his quest for Lordship. Given that you were a child when Goldwine was doing this, and the repeated fact that your parents “disappeared”, I just made a connection from there.”

“If you knew what was going on, why didn’t you stop him?” Simion asked.

“Because I’m a man of the law. He deceived me when I first started working here. Since then, I have been making the best effort possible in curbing the amount of “disappearances”,” Savlian said and then asked, “Now, for my own curiosity, was I correct? What really happened to your parents?”

Simion stood mute for a few moments, thinking on his possibilities. Here he stood with a sword to his neck, his whole operation smashed along with it, and his captor wanted to know about his parents. Something was odd about this, Savlian wasn’t trying to slap him in chains and take him away. It seemed like the only reason why he had a sword to his neck was to keep Simion from attacking. The thought of attacking did cross Simion’s mind. The operation could be saved if he could kill Savlian quietly with a surprise attack. The problem was, Savlian was a seasoned veteran, he knew what he was dealing with here and Simion didn’t think he was fast enough to get away from a sword that was all ready pressing against him. He decided that the best thing for him now was to hear out the Captain and figure out what he wanted.

“Fine, Captain, I’ll tell you what happened…”



The storm came shortly after the Mandrake family’s evening time meal. The chill brought on by the heavy winds caused the family to huddle close to the fireplace. Vincent Mandrake, the man of the household, spoke quietly with his wife, Mayden. Simion sat upon her lap, listening to their conversation every now and then or fixing his attention on the dancing flames in the fireplace. Eventually, Simion began to doze off, soothed by the pleasing voices of his parents.

When the quiet snores of Simion reached his parents’ ears, they ended their conversation in order to put Simion into bed. There seemed to be no frets for the family at all as they all retired for the night, the howling winds buffeting the home ineffectively.


Simion woke to what he thought was a peal of thunder. He found that odd, as he wasn’t expecting a thunderstorm, just a lot of wind. Listening carefully, he could still hear the winds moaning through the air but there was something else as well. Murmurs. Curious, Simion left his bedroom and started to head downstairs, where the source of the murmurs originated. He stopped a few steps down, just enough so he could see the bottom floor.

His father was holding his mother against him while three men stood around him. Even from a distance, Simion could see the tears in his father’s eyes. He had never seen the men standing around his father before. They certainly didn’t look friendly. They were all Imperials, but the one closest to Simion’s father stood out from the other two. He seemed to exude power, a very dominating one. The large rings on his fingers also told Simion that he possessed wealth.

“You’ve been cheating me, Vincent. I don’t appreciate that at all. You’ve just received only a small taste of what’s to come,” the lead Imperial said darkly.

“Vernon, with taxes so high I only have so much I can give you. I need to provide for my family,” Vincent pled, still cradling the still form of Mayden in his arms.

One of Vernon’s thugs turned to the other and said, “Hey buddy. Would you call a male widow a midow?”

The other thug laughed. “That was a good one!”

Vernon turned around and looked at the two thugs sourly. “Shut up you two.”

The Imperial then turned his attention back onto Vincent. “As for you, it’s time for the payment,” he said as Vincent began to back away, terror struck.

Simion couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene before him as the three Imperials began to beat on his father. Vincent couldn’t put up a fight, his will was shattered with the death of his wife. Only the occasional whimper or cry of pain rose from Vincent.

The Imperials backed away momentarily and Simion saw that Vincent was unconscious, his body beaten badly yet was not bleeding. He noticed Vernon nod to one of his thugs, who then proceeded to snap Vernon’s neck.

The sickening crunch caused Simion to cry out in fear, anger, and pain. Immediately three heads swivelled in his direction. Vernon smiled mischievously and motioned for the thugs to get him.

Simion didn’t know what came over him but when the thugs reached him on the stairs, he lashed out with his foot on the knee of the closest one. The blow caused the man to cry out in pain and fall backwards, tackling his partner with him as they crashed down the stairs.

Instead of fleeing, Simion went straight for Vernon, bolded by his attack on the thugs. Simion lunged at the man who was still wearing his grin. For his size, Vernon was nimble enough to side-step Simion’s attack. As Simion turned around to face his opponent, Vernon’s ringed fist slammed right into his face, toppling him to the floor.

Dazed, Simion felt wetness on the right side of his face, above the brow. He couldn’t regain his feet and terror rose up within him as he thought that he was now going to be the next corpse.

Vernon simply stood there, inspecting his ring for any damage. “That took some courage kid, but we have more important things to do than play fight with you,” he said smirking.

The last thing Simion saw before blacking out was Vernon walking out of his home with his thugs carrying the bodies of Mayden and Vincent Mandrake.

“…Shortly after that, I left home. I simply couldn’t live in the place where that happened,” Simion finished, voice heavy with emotion.

Savlian remained quiet throughout the whole recollection. He saw something new in Simion now, a loss of innocence. Since that night, Simion has faced a hard and cruel world all on his own, and it was way too early for him to do such a thing. Simion was a victim of circumstances. But this still raised questions.

“Why did you have to kill my men when all you wanted was Vernon?”

“I figured that if Goldwine was now Count of Kvatch, then his whole damn organisation would be corrupt. I would be doing the town a favour by getting rid of them,” Simion said calmly, his caution receding due to the lack of being arrested as of yet.

“You figured wrong. Those were good men you killed. But I’m willing to make a sacrifice for them…” Savlian trailed off, fixing Simion with a awkward glance.

This was what Simion was waiting for. “You want to make an arrangement of sorts?” he asked, all ready knowing the answer.

“Yes. If I walk away from this, I want this to be your last murder. I won’t pursue you about your previous murders, though that breaks me inside, I’ll do that much for you to get rid of Goldwine. Overall, more lives will be saved this way,” Savlian said, not sounding happy about the situation one bit.

Simion extended his hand and said, “My last murder.”

Savlian felt like he just made the biggest mistake of his life as he gripped Simion’s hand and walked away.

Posted by: Abu the Cat Oct 14 2006, 08:56 PM

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm... I suspect the Daedra attack soon.

Posted by: Black Hand Oct 15 2006, 07:23 AM

HaHA! So I was right, but not in quite the way I was suspecting...

Very good.

Posted by: minque Oct 19 2006, 10:03 PM

Indeed very good Mallie! In fact really darn excellent!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Oct 21 2006, 06:04 PM

Time to move things along. Hopefully I can keep things interesting after this. And I'll tell Abu this right now. The daedra attack on Kvatch won't happen in 'Bloodlust'. If I do decide to write it, it'll be in a sequel. Hopefully I'll keep the sequel a little shorter than this, and move onto a project that might prove interesting to my fellow writers here. But that's getting a bit ahead of myself. Here's the update!


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

Vernon walked briskly, his cloak swishing softly with each step. Anticipation poured throughout his body, excitement and nervousness flirted with each other. Vernon needed to remain a sombre demeanour though. He couldn’t express his true feelings, but by the Divines, he was happy. He was getting what he wanted, he was sure of it.

He finally reached the large double doors at the end of the hall. They were heavy with intricately gilded designs crawling up the sides of the doorframe. The dark brown object was his only obstacle, one he simply needed to push past. Vernon took pleasure in doing so, throwing the doors wide open as he stepped through them.

Bright sunshine greeted Vernon as he entered his large courtyard in front of his castle. A respectable, awed hush from the crowd outside reached his ears. That only enhanced his feeling of greatness; it gave him the power to do what he wanted to do. He saw how every eye in the crowd followed him as he made his journey across the courtyard to where his throne sat awaiting him.

He also noticed that some of the crowd would break their gaze on him to murmur something into their neighbour’s ear and glance over to their right. That was acceptable as well, considering the event about to take place. It wasn’t often that an execution of this scale happens.

Beside the crowd was Vernon’s newly constructed gallows, specifically made for this execution. It was a monstrous pile of greyed wood, practically an eyesore compared to the beauty surrounding it, but that was how Vernon wanted it. Punishment was meant to be ugly and scary. Intimidation was the only way to get through to the criminals that their fate was sealed as soon as they committed their crime.

At least the crimes that Vernon didn’t want.

The point of being a Count was control. That even goes for crime. There is no way that all crime could be abolished, so the next best thing to do is at least control the crime. Vernon had that controlled, for the most part. There were just a few loose ends to deal with.

Vernon reached his throne and regally sat himself down. All murmurs in the crowd immediately silenced. All were anxious to hear what Vernon was going to say. It always amused Vernon how the public thirsted to witness death. He intended to quench their thirst this afternoon. He, above all, was a crowd pleaser.

Standing in front of the gallows were three men, two of them in Vernon’s colours and the other, an Imperial, held in between them, his head bowed. His sandy brown hair was stringy and dry, his skin pale in drawn. Captain Savlian certainly wasn’t the proud man he used to be.

It had taken quite some time in Vernon’s personal dungeons to break the Captain. It was a personal triumph for Vernon once he did though. Now was the time to make use of his scapegoat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vernon started, drinking in the crowd’s attention, “I’m sure you have all been interested in what has been going on over the last few days. As you may have known, some unknown “serial killer” has murdered members of our Town Guard. Captain Savlian here was assigned to the case in catching this killer. Since assigned to the case, the killer has killed three more guards. Captain Savlian’s negligence raised my suspicions, so I had the Captain followed. My informant passed on information that he witnessed Captain Savlian murdering the fourth victim. Since being arrested, Captain Savlian has also admitted to murdering countless other residents in Kvatch who were thought to have gone missing.”

Upon hearing Vernon’s words, the crowd rose up in a flood of heated voices, angry at the one responsible for killing their own people. Surely, some participants in the crowd had family members that had gone “missing”. Vernon could barely suppress a snicker at his ingenuity. Captain Savlian worked perfectly as a scapegoat for the “missing” people since he was taking the blame for murdering the guards. Sure, the actual murderer had yet to be found, but he had Hlodir on the case now and Vernon felt confident in Hlodir’s abilities.

Vernon raised his arms to the air to silence the crowd, which slowly complied. “As your Count, I am equally as appalled as you are about Captain Savlian’s crimes. As Count, I have deemed his punishment to be death by hanging. Many the Divines judge you appropriately,” Vernon concluded to the appraisal of the crowd turned mob.

The two guards led Savlian up the stairs to the top of the gallows as the mob shouted their profanities at the dispirited Captain. He kept his head bowed the entire trip as the guards stopped him in front of the rope. They slipped the looped rope around his neck and awaited Vernon’s command.

Vernon silenced the crowd once more. “Would the Captain like to say some final words?”

All attention was turned to Savlian, curious to see what a mass murderer would say before death. Many were disappointed when Savlian simply shook his head no, followed by a drop of liquid falling from his bowed head.

Vernon nodded to guard by the lever, anxious to see the results. The guard complied and pulled the level down. A loud groan erupted from the gallows as the trap door fell open with Savlian plummeting downwards…


A shadow crossing across the moonlight on Vernon’s eyes snapped them open. Before him stood an ominous shadow, which began to lean before him. Before he could call out, the shadow wrapped a hand over his mouth, efficiently muffling it.

Horrified, struggled within his covers that were binding him from escape. The shadow brought its head to Vernon’s ear. “Time to pay for what you did to me, Vernon. Vengeance is mine!” It whispered harshly.

Vernon moaned in horror as a glint of steel appeared in the shadow’s hands.




Four riders, dirty with the dust and dirt of travel entered through the gates of Kvatch at dawn. Three wore simple brown robes, two of them were Dunmer, and the other a Khajiit. A Dunmer in a well-made red robe rode slightly in front of the three.

Clenching the reins in black leather gloves, the red-robed Dunmer turned back to his three companions. “Find Lavos, report at the assigned location 24 hours from now. After that, we’ll go from what we find out,” he ordered quietly as the three riders rode off in different directions.

Hanging back, the red-robed Dunmer hoped that Lavos would be found. Things could get quiet messy dealing with Simion if that wasn’t the case.

Posted by: Black Hand Oct 21 2006, 06:51 PM

An old friend is in town!!!

Posted by: Abu the Cat Oct 23 2006, 06:25 PM

Hmmm... I wonder how they'll get him.

Posted by: jack cloudy Oct 25 2006, 07:33 PM

Oh, will he get time to finish the job or will he be stopped by the sneaky assassins? Tune in next time.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Oct 25 2006, 09:30 PM

Well, jack, I think this update tells you whether or not Simion completed his deed or not...


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

Savlian didn’t know what to expect when he entered the Count’s bedroom. To say he was shocked would be an understatement. The once pristine white covers were stained so heavily with crimson it looked nearly black. The stench of the blood was all ready rank with decay. Once Savlian’s eyes fell upon Count Vernon Goldwine, he couldn't believe what he was witness to.

The sight of him nearly caused Savlian to vomit on the spot. He was forced to turn his back on him to recollect himself, taking several deep breaths before returning his gaze on the fallen Count. The display of absolute violence done upon the Count astounded Savlian. The Count was still in his bed, hands bound to the bed posts and his back against the headboard in a sitting position. His throat had been sliced completely open, yet that was not the disturbing factor for Savlian. It was that the Count had been disembowelled quite thoroughly. Savlian could tell that the Count lived through some of it at least, since Vernon’s face was the perfect image of convoluted agony and fear. It amazed Savlian how Simion was able to do this without Vernon screaming in pain and anyone noticing. Not to mention how frightening that aspect was. This was a prime example on how talented Simion was at his profession.

A young Imperial Town Guardsman walked up to Savlian, a grim expression on his face. “Did you notice the body in the hallway? Looks like the butler. Brixley I think his name is, or was, actually.”

“Yes, I noticed. The way I see it is that the butler basically led whoever did this to the Count’s room, took out the butler to insure privacy, then proceeded with their grisly attack on the Count. I’m still shocked that no one heard anything all night,” Savlian said, turning towards the guard, “If you were being disembowelled, wouldn’t you scream and yell for help?”

“Maybe the killer sliced his throat before doing that,” the guard offered.

“No, judging by the expression on the Count’s face, he saw what was happening to him and didn’t enjoy it. This was a crime of emotion, possibly vengeance. The killer wanted the Count to see what was being done to him. Who ever did this likely enjoyed what they did, simply because this would take time to do. They didn’t seem afraid of being caught,” Savlian said solemnly, shaking his head sadly.

“Do you think this was done by whoever has been killing guards in the Town Guard? Brixley’s execution out there looks like something from one of those crime scenes,” the guard inquired, looking to see if his deduction was a good one.

“Possibly, I certainly agree with you on the execution of the butler, but looking at this… this is completely different. This is vicious, vile, vengeful. It’s also unrelated to the Town Guard. I don’t see any reason for whoever has been killing our men to do this,” Savlian answered, retaining his grim expression.

“Sounds reasonabe,” the guard agreed, “Have you’ve seen all that you need to? I think it would be best if we get things a bit more pleasant looking before those rats at the Black Horse Courier have a field day with this.”

“Sure, go ahead. I need to deal with the succession issue for now,” Savlian said before dismissing himself from the room.

With Vernon dead, the next ordeal to deal with would be who was to govern Kvatch. As with most hierarchies, the next in the bloodline would be given control of Kvatch. If Savlian remembered correctly, that would be Vernon’s younger brother, Ormellius Goldwine. Vernon had never taken a Countess for his court, so he had no children.

If Savlian’s memory was correct, Ormellius was currently living in Chorrol, serving as an army commander. Savlian needed to get word to Ormellius quickly before a power struggle within Kvatch erupted. His fear of this was mainly due to Hlodir. As being the Count’s right-hand man, and likely having influence with most of the Vernon’s household, he posed a threat on the leadership of Kvatch.

Knowing the network Vernon had created, word of his death would have all ready reached Hlodir’s ears. One of two things would happen. Either he would flee, taking as many men as possible, or try to overtake the castle.

It was then that Savlian realised how empty the castle was. Hlodir had all ready evacuated his men. Was he planning an attack on the castle, or simply fleeing back to his drug lab hideaway? Or maybe, something else?

I’m going to need to act quickly, because the sooner I’m done dealing with this, I’m bringing you down, Hlodir, Savlian thought as he headed to his barracks.

Posted by: Black Hand Oct 26 2006, 01:07 AM

Yes...bloody wonderful!!!

Posted by: Kiln Oct 26 2006, 03:56 AM

I really like the detective-like manor expressed in this update, it allows the reader to really build a visual image of whats going on in the story. Great work, please continue.

Posted by: jack cloudy Oct 28 2006, 01:35 PM

Yuck. I hope that Simion washed his hands before leaving.

Hmm, I don't trust Hlodir. I've got the feeling he'll pop up behind our good captain's back real soon.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Oct 28 2006, 06:04 PM

Commander Ormellius Goldwine and his detainment had rode out of Chorrol shortly after receiving the word that his brother, Vernon, had been murdered. When reading the letter that was sent by the Captain of the Town Guard, Ormellius could feel the sense of urgency of the writer. He had been keeping a steady observation on what was happening in Kvatch, just in case he came into power there, and now he was certainly glad he did.

Ormellius was quite the opposite from his brother; while Vernon had distanced himself from his family to make his own money in Kvatch, Ormellius devoted himself to the military. Around the time that Ormellius was becoming a decorated soldier, Vernon purchased his title of Count of Kvatch. It came as no surprise to Ormellius, Vernon was always resourceful. He knew Vernon’s personality, so Ormellius found it hard to believe that Vernon purchased his title legitimately. Eventually, Ormellius had established himself as a worthy commander of the Chorrol Garrison. With that power, he was able to set up his own private investigation on what was going on in Kvatch.

He had found out that a lot of dirty business was going on in Kvatch. Unfortunately, his investigation never led to any connections to Vernon directly. Kvatch’s tax records were unattainable, so he had no way to prove the complaints of citizens being overtaxed. He also knew about the mysterious “disappearances” and the skooma drug ring. Again, they didn’t have any names on which to continue the investigation. It was a very frustrating matter at the time. Ormellius intended to correct these problems now with his brother gone.



Ormellius was about two hours away from Kvatch when along the rode they were travelling on riders began to materialise in the distance. The roads had been quite quiet during their journey; with only the odd merchant wagon or farmer greeting them along their way, but this was their first time coming across a group of riders.

Suspicion gnawed on Ormellius’ mind, so he decided to hold up the horses and wait for these riders to arrive. The detainment, confident in their commander’s action, complied readily, some making sure their weapons were easy to reach.

As the silhouettes of the riders became more distinguished, Ormellius noticed that they only numbered three. With only three, the riders would have to all be accomplished mages or masters at their weapons to defeat Ormellius and his detainment. His apprehension receded with that assurance.

Moments later the riders, consisting of two Nords, and an Imperial, stopped before the Commander’s detainment. The large Nord at the head of the group stepped down from his horse and walk towards Ormellius on his horse.

“Greetings, Count Goldwine. I wish t’be the first t’congratulate you on your succession as Count o’ Kvatch,” the Nord said rather elegantly, despite his rough looking clothes, and bowed down to a knee.

Ormellius kept his face emotionless as he answered. “Thank you, Nord. Might I ask whom I am speaking with?”

“My name do be Hlodir Windblower, faithful servant o’ the former Count,” Hlodir replied from his knee.

So this is whom the letter mentioned to be wary of… Ormellius thought as he studied the Nord. “What is it that you wish to speak with me about, Hlodir?” he asked in a light tone.

“Well, sir, I was hoping t’keep serving the Count o’ Kvatch. I offer “services” that your Lordship would find quite beneficial,” Hlodir said, flashing the best smile he could.

Ormellius flashed a smile as well. “I’m sorry, but I have to inform you about some disheartening news for you. I am not my brother. I have no use of your “services” whatsoever. Now I suggest you ride along before I decide to enact your punishment for your crimes right now,” he said, his tone becoming harsher with every sentence.

A scowl of hatred replaced the smile that was on Hlodir’s face as he rose from his feet. “With Vernon dead, you don’t want me for an enemy. Kvatch is mine!” Hlodir nearly hissed at Ormellius as he hopped onto his horse.

“Well be sure to stay out of “your” city, or else you’ll be arrested and executed,” Ormellius called out to the backs of three riders heading north.

Well, so far, so good.




A red-robed Dunmer sat at a corner table in “The Flying Bosmer”, eyes casually scanning the patrons milling about in the tavern. There was a grey haze cast about the rafters of the room due to excess amounts of tobacco smoke. The Dunmer added a puff of grey smoke himself, but of the hackle-lo variety that he brought along. He had tried tobacco once before and found the stuff vile. Plus, the restorative effects of the native to Morrowind plant seemed more effective than what these Cyrodillic called “quality smoke”. He shook his head in disbelief of the ego of the Empire. He had to admit though, they made good brandy…

Looking up from the table, he noticed his fellow companions making their way to his table. The Dunmer finished off his hackle-lo; eager to hear the report, yet he kept his face even.

The Khajiit was the first to speak. “Rah’mirr has heard no news about Lavos. Rah’mirr fears for the worst,” the Khajiit said solemnly.

The red-robed Dunmer nodded thoughtfully then turned his attention to the two other Dunmer, who shook their heads sadly.

“Then in all likelihood, like the note said, Lavos is dead. How Simion could kill his best friend is beyond me, but since he has, we’ll have to be extremely cautious. Right now, we scout for him. Everyday, at this time, I want reports. Once we find him, I’ll take it from there,” he said, his tone deadly serious, “No more Tong members are going to die from here on out. Understand?”

The Dunmer watched as three heads nodded in compliance before leaving.

Black leather gloves creaked as the Dunmer flexed his fists as he stared down at them in retrospect. The lump of a ring predominately caught his attention. With that ring, everything had changed for him; he went from a simple assassin to a leader of an entire province for a time that had the greatest need for him. The ring had certainly cost him much, but he persevered to do what was needed.

He sighed. “Just when I hoped the burdens on my life were finally vanquished, this had to happen,” Sethyas Velas quietly said out loud to no one in particular.

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


I would just like to thank Black Hand for allowing me the privledge of using Sethyas for cameo purposes. Hey, if Tellie and minque can do it. I can too!

Posted by: jack cloudy Oct 28 2006, 10:16 PM

Sorry Hlodir, no candy this time. I'm sure that we haven't seen the last of him.

Sethyas versus Simion? This would be an interesting battle. The master assassin against the madman with quite a bit of skill of his own. I bet my money on Sethyas though. Hey, Sethyas killed a god, I haven't seen Simion do that.

Posted by: Black Hand Oct 29 2006, 12:52 AM

Wow. Not stroking MY ego here, but Mallets, you got all the intricacies down pat, you definitely have been paying attention to my story, and of course you wrote it down in the style I have come to love!
Keep it up!

Posted by: Taillus Oct 31 2006, 02:26 AM

Oh me oh my! I have sooooo much reading to do!

I decided to start on your story first because I wanted to see what some of the "New Blood" had to offer since I was last here. It seems that the writing is as strong as it was before (No big shock with that one) which makes me want to catch up on each and every story here. It will take me a while to do it but I will read them all!!!!

Mallet I do have to say you really have a talent for writing and I think that you enjoy doing it as much as we enjoy reading it. Keep up the good work, it was a lot to take in reading all seven pages at once but if that is what it takes then so be it! Congrats on a great story, a riviting storyline and spectacular characters. Keep it coming!

Posted by: Abu the Cat Oct 31 2006, 04:33 AM

Bloody Nord! Woops, did I say that? Anyway... nice one!

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Nov 3 2006, 12:36 AM

I can't believe i missed this much, were have i been? Anyways.... fabulous! I loved all the description you put into it all. It was grisly but well done... so, was it a silence spell or just a good hold onto the mouth? I love the conversation between Goldwine and Hlodir, even if it was anti-climactic (at the moment, I'm sure something big will happen eventually). I love this story, please keep up the good work.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Nov 4 2006, 06:13 PM

I would just like to announced that I've officially written over 100 pages of text for this story! While I don't think my story is long enough for another 100, I still feel quite proud of myself. This has been the longest piece of work I've ever written and I'm so happy about all the positive comments I've been recieving from everyone. It has certainly inspired me to make sure I finish this piece, in order to satisfy all my readers. Thanks again, here's the update:

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

Savlian stood outside the gates of Kvatch, a retinue of Town Guard surrounding him. Town banners, which hung off the gates and the lances some of the guards were carrying, fluttered in the slight breeze. Savlian intended to give Ormellius a good impression of what Kvatch truly was, and that they would certainly intend to protect him. Given Ormellius’ service in the Legion, he couldn’t possibly be corrupted as well. Savlian hoped it was so; he didn’t know if he would survive if he had to serve under another corrupted ruler.

Minutes later, Savlian could see a large party of riders travelling up the twisted path that ended where he now stood. Sunlight reflected off the steel armour of the armoured soldiers as they surrounded a rider that wore no armour. With every moment of their ascension, anticipation rose in Savlian. He now hoped that things would start turning around in this town now with Vernon dead and Hlodir banished from the city. If Ormellius turned out to be much like his brother, there would be no simple way to get rid of him, next to committing the crime himself. There would be no assassin wanting redemption for this man to take advantage of. Of course, this all depended on whether Ormellius was indeed like his brother. Savlian was soon to find out about that.

Ormellius was a hard looking Imperial. His jaw was square with a small chin, while his lips were a thin line across his face, which certainly looked like one not prone to smiling. His dark brown hair was still quite solid in colour, but a few flecks of grey speckled his temples. His presence still exuded power and strength from Savlian’s perspective. Savlian was impressed to say the least as he rode forward to greet the new Count.

“Greetings, milord! Captain Savlian Matius wishes you welcome to Kvatch,” Savlian said in a respectable manner, placing his fist to his heart in a soldier’s salute.

“Thank you, Captain,” Ormellius said, returning the salute, “We have much to discuss, don’t we?”

“Indeed we do, but for now, let us escort you to your new home,” Savlian responded. He then signalled to begin the procession and open the gates.

A company of Town Guard led the procession, followed by Savlian riding beside Ormellius and his company of riders, and the rest of Savlian’s greeting party brought of the rear of the procession. Savlian rode silently beside the new Count, who was equally silent. His eyes scanned the new environment; much like a hunter would scan a forest, absorbing every possible niche of the town. Savlian studied Ormellius as he did this in his peripheral vision. Ormellius certainly exuded a soldier’s mentality, something Savlian thought would be good for the town.

It wasn’t long until the procession reached the castle beside the barracks. It was there that both the front and rear procession broke off to return back to their duties and Savlian followed Ormellius and his company into the courtyard of the castle. It was here that Savlian chose to address Ormellius once again.

“Sir, would you like to be briefed now, or would you like to settle in first?”

Ormellius dismounted from his black steed and faced Savlian. “I would prefer to speak right now. Would you lead me to somewhere we can do this?” he asked.

Savlian nodded and headed into the castle, Ormellius following in tow. He led him past the dining room, through several hallways and finally into Vernon’s old study. This room wasn’t used all that often, as Vernon wasn’t one prone to read books, especially those more focused on laws, regulations, and commerce. Vernon had had his own agenda for those topics. Savlian felt it was ideal to begin the new reign here.

Savlian set out chairs for both Ormellius and himself. They sat down facing it each other, each examining the other, judging their character. It was Ormellius who spoke first.

“I’m sure you, like myself, are relived that my brother is no longer ruling this town. I have to let you know that since I heard about Vernon’s succession in becoming Count, I have been keeping my eye on the activities going on here.”

“Well sir, I know there has been problems here for quite a wile, but I would like to let you know that I did everything I possibly could to ensure the safety of the citizens of this town,” Savlian said seriously.

“I believe you. I’ve noticed the decrease in problems as soon as you were named Captain of the Guard. No one but Death would’ve been able to completely stop Vernon given the position he was in. If you interfered with his plans enough, he would’ve had you killed,” Ormellius said sincerely.

“He recently tried to, shortly before he was murdered. Fortunately, with him gone I think it’s safe for me to get back into my home,” Savlian said, releasing a dry chuckle.

Ormellius didn’t share the laugh. “As for that murder. What’s the situation on that? I know that there has been someone murdering your men, but this seems unrelated,” he said, fixing Savlian with a tough stare.

Savlian paused for a moment. What should he say? Should he tell him everything he knew? Or something that would satisfy Ormellius? He did tell Simion that he would go free if he did not commit anymore murders…

“We think the Dark Brotherhood was involved in the murder of Vernon. It makes sense that someone in Kvatch, obviously upset with being overtaxed, asked the Dark Brotherhood to take out Vernon. We don’t know if we’ll be able to narrow down suspects to find who paid for the job. As for the Town Guard murders, it’s dead cold. Whoever has been doing them has been really clean. We haven’t caught a single clue. It does seem that our preventative methods are working though. There hasn’t been a murder is a few weeks. We think we’ve scared them off,” Savlian said evenly, sounding like he was giving a report. He was used to lying to Counts it seemed.

Ormellius nodded absently. “Well it’s good that whoever killed your men has stopped. Unfortunate that you couldn’t catch them though. And I certainly don’t feel like pursuing the Dark Brotherhood; they’re too elusive for us. I guess that’s all we need to speak about,” he said, extending his hand across the table, “Good work, Matius, I hope you continue your excellent work.”

Savlian shook the extended hand and smiled. “It’s simply a part of my job, sir,” he said, and rose out of his chair and began to exit the study.

“Wait a moment, Captain. I forgot about one issue,” Ormellius said quickly to get Savlian’s attention.

Savlian turned around. “Yes?”

“It’s concerning Hlodir, my party and I ran into him on our way here. Fortunately you warned me in the letter you sent me, as I sent him scurrying away. I want you to bring him down. He rode north from where I ran into him.”

“Follow me to the map room and show me,” Savlian said, waiting for the new Count to follow him out.





Hlodir was furious. How dare that stuck-up soldier deny him! He was pivotal to the success that was Kvatch! Without his help, how could Ormellius become rich? The fool! Just for upsetting him, he was going to make him pay. Savlian too. He had a personal grudge against the Captain of the Guard, and him breaking his nose didn’t help end it. Yes, he had something special planned for Savlian. It just so happened that he ran into his special ingredient on the way back to his hideout.

“Valrus, welcome t’me humble abode,” Hlodir greeted the robed Altmer, waving his arm across the abandoned fortress he now called home.

Valrus sniffed the air. A disdained look came across his face. “Smells horrid! But I guess it is better than a cave… most of the time,” he said bitterly.

Hlodir laughed boisterously. “You’ll get use t’it me friend, you’ll get use t’it. But now we have some plans t’discuss and it’ll require your “magical” expertise,” he said, smiling slyly. Indeed, they were going to pay.

Posted by: jack cloudy Nov 4 2006, 07:15 PM

Hmm, I don't know if lying to your new count is such a good start but then again, I don't think that talking would have brougth good results either.

Hlodir is up to something sneaky. When it involves mages, things are going to get messy, very messy.

Congratulations on reaching 100 pages. This fan here will happily read it till the very end.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Nov 4 2006, 07:17 PM

excellent update MM and congrats on reaching 100 pages. Hlodir with a mage and a posse of followers(I'm assuming he has peoples) in an abandoned castle with multiple grudges... thats not exactly a good thing.

Posted by: Kiln Nov 9 2006, 08:02 PM

Should be interesting, congratulations on reaching 100 pages by the way.

I'll be looking forward to the next update as well so keep em coming.

Posted by: minque Nov 9 2006, 10:12 PM

Great MM! You´re doing very well really. Now this was a good read, I enjoyed reading it! Keep up the good work here!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Nov 11 2006, 07:06 PM

Thank you for all the congratulations guys, and gals. Your present: another update!! Happy you are, yes?

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

Savlian spent almost an hour in the map room with Ormellius, pouring over maps of the surrounding area around Kvatch. They focused their concentration to the area Northeast, as that was where Ormellius ran into Hlodir, and it was the direction he ran off to once his altercation with Ormellius was done. The problem was that there didn’t seem to be anywhere suitable for Hlodir to reside. The only thing Savlian and the Count could come up with was that he had set up a camp in the wilderness with his men.

Frustrated with the lack of headway, Savlian was forced to dismiss himself from the Count to see to his daily duties. Ormellius understood, and told him that he would continue to look at the maps for a possible location while Savlian was gone. It was ideas like that that had Savlian impressed in just the few hours Savlian had met the new Count. Ormellius displayed a determination that Savlian had only seen in his men before now. He knew now that things were going to start to turn around in Kvatch. No longer would a blanket of suppressed fear cover the citizens of this town. With Ormellius and Savlian working together, Savlian knew they would be able to bring about a new age for Kvatch.


When Savlian entered his office in the barracks, he found that it wasn’t empty. A Dunmer sat on a chair that was at one of the corners of the room, a placid expression on his face. The Dunmer wore red robes that were quite well made, but dirty from obvious travel. His red eyes glowed with a calculating look. What did stand out the most was a large, black tattoo that covered most of his face. To Savlian, it looked like it resembled a hand; a hand that he believed that he had seen before.

Even sitting in the crummy chair, the Dunmer still exuded an unknown sense of command. It was as if his presence filled the room, yet his demeanour was calm and relaxed for the most part. The Dunmer rose from his chair, an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry for just appearing in your office, the guard told me I could wait for you in here,” he said, extending a black gloved hand, “I’m Sethyas.”

Savlian shook the extended hand. “Captain Matius. What can I do for you, Sethyas?”

Sethyas’ expression hardened. “I would like to report a missing person. A friend of mine, you see,” he said, worry tingeing his words.

Savlian took out a piece of parchment, a quill, and some ink. “All right. I’m going to need some information on the missing,” Savlian said evenly, turning to the Dunmer, “I’ll need his name, race, and roughly his age, build, and appearance.”

“His name is Lavos Saren. He’s a Dunmer like myself and he’s around 100 years old, so basically he looks like he’s 32 translated to human years,” Sethyas stated, taking a breath, “As for his appearance. He’s of slender build, about 6’11, messy black hair. He generally wears dark robes. He also has a tattoo similar to the one on my face, only it’s on his arm. Hmm, what else?”

Savlian stopped writing once he heard about the tattoo. He now remembered where he saw it before. Slowly, he put down his quill and faced Sethyas, his expression grim. “I’m sorry that I have to be the one to give you this information, but I think we’ve all ready found Lavos. We found him dead in an alley; someone had attacked him. We haven’t been able to find out who he was, as he is a stranger to this town but your description matches the body. I don’t think many people have that hand tattoo,” Savlian said regretfully.

Sethyas sat there silently for a few moments, eyes cast away from Savlian at the floor. His expression was unreadable, but Savlian thought he noticed anger surging through the Dunmer’s eyes.

Finally, Sethyas spoke, his voice hollow. “Do you know who did it?”

Savlian had a good idea who it was, he never asked if Simion committed that murder though. “No we don’t, who ever did it, didn’t leave behind any evidence. It looked more like an assassination since there was only one wound on the body and no signs of self-defence,” Savlian decided to tell him.

Sethyas rose from his chair, his face solemn. “Thank you for letting me know, Captain, but I’ll leave you to your duties now,” he said quietly and began to head for the door.

Before the Dunmer could leave, Savlian said, “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll make sure to do my best in finding who killed him.”

Sethyas nodded absently before closing the door behind him. His footsteps quickly faded down the hallway.

Savlian leaned back into his chair, as thoughts came storming through his mind. Savlian had a good feeling that he was just speaking with another assassin. Savlian had surmised that the Black Hand tattoo was a sign associated with the Mephala praising Morag Tong. This Dunmer, sporting such a tattoo right on his face, was associated with the dead Dunmer with the tattoo on his arm. Putting two and two together, Savlian believed their association was based in the Guild. Yet, there was something more to Sethyas than just being an assassin. Assassins are usually ones who wanted a low profile. There seemed to be a mix between that and someone who drew attention simply with his presence. It was really perplexing to Savlian.

Feet pounding along the hard concrete floor interrupted his thoughts. The sound was getting louder and suddenly a guardsman burst through his office door, panic clearly evident on his sweaty face.

“Sir, the treasury is under attack! Some of it is in flames!” the guard said urgently.

Savlian lurched from his chair and quickly donned his armour and equipped himself with his broadsword and dagger. “Let’s move!” he shouted at the guard as he rushed out of the office towards the treasury.

Posted by: jack cloudy Nov 11 2006, 07:44 PM

Hmm, Sethyas made his appearance. Well done, his prescense was truly visible.

Treasury in flames? Hmm, this sounds like a case of: ,,If I can't have it, no one can!" I think I know who did it.

Posted by: Black Hand Nov 11 2006, 08:37 PM

Treasury in flames...gee I wonder who did that?

As for Sethyas, nice atmosphere he exuded there! makes me wonder what he'll do next! No folks, I'm not savvy to the rest of the story, I would'nt want to know, it would spoil these great updates.

And it sounds like Ormellius and Savlian are working well together, hopefully Kvatch has at least some turnaround before some irratable neighbors throw down the ebony gauntlet!

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Nov 13 2006, 11:27 PM

great update... and the treasury is on fire? that can't be good.

Posted by: mplantinga Nov 15 2006, 02:01 AM

After your recent contribution to the tale of Sethyas, I felt I needed to finally wade into this already long story. I'm really glad I did, because I've found it quite exhilarating. Having read this entire story today, I'm dreading have to wait for updates like everyone else has done all along. I've really enjoyed your very visceral descriptions of each combat/killing, and the incredible depth you've brought to our favorite guard captain. I'm looking forward to your next update.

Posted by: Taillus Nov 15 2006, 02:50 AM

Treasury on fire...well that isn't very nice at all is it. Haha great work again and I just noticed that you are a fellow Canadian as well! All hail the Canucks! (Not the hockey team, I am a Sens man myself ) But let us get back on track shall we? A great addition and a well deserved congrats on the milestone of the 100 pager!

Posted by: minque Nov 16 2006, 07:47 PM

Ah yes MM....and meeting Sethyas huh? Oh aye....a great update...well as usual I must say.....


S.G.M

Posted by: Black Hand Nov 17 2006, 08:09 AM

....[cough]ToldYaSo![/cough]

**Looks around innocently**

What? Wha'd I say?

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Nov 23 2006, 03:36 AM

I'm sorry for being a little late with this update folks. The usual day I write was missed since I went to an open house for a college I'm interested in attending. Plus, this update is a bit longer than my usual ones, just a bit. I would just like to welcome those who have just recently started reading this after my collaboration with Black Hand. Hopefully you'll enjoy this as much as you've enjoyed reading Black Hand's great fic. I again express my thanks to Black for allowing me to do that.

And for Taillus: Yea, Canadian pride! You must find it a bit annoying that the Sens have been kinda up and down so far this season. At the moment though, they look like they're getting their act together. Personally I'm a fan of the Alberta teams, even though I live in Ontario. Eh, I'm weird like that.

Ok, without further delay, here's the update!

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


Exiting the barracks, a squad of Town Guardsmen met up with Savlian, swords drawn. Savlian simply continued on in the direction of the treasury, hoping that they would understand to following. The echoing of metallic footsteps on the cobblestone proved Savlian right.

It didn’t take much to know there was a problem in the city. Dark smoke bloomed above the rooftops west of the barracks, where the treasury was located. As Savlian got even closer, he began to pick up the sounds of fighting.

Savlian rushed across the corner of a building and the scene was then displayed before him. Thugs, equipped with various sorts of weapons and armour, none of which were of excellent quality, were engaged with Town Guardsmen who had arrived first on the scene. Savlian took a quick survey of casualties, noting that two guards were down while about 4 thugs were sprawled on the cobblestones. He also noticed the thugs that weren’t fighting were busy dragging gold and septims from the burning treasury.

Savlian pointed to a group of Guardsmen. “You men! Stop those taking the gold. The rest of you, engage the enemy!” Savlian shouted and charged towards the thugs.

Savlian went straight for the Imperial that was giving one of his men a difficult time. Before the Imperial knew what happened, he found himself staring at the steel piercing his chest before his eyes went dim. Savlian turned to the Guardsman. “You all right? How many are in there?”

“I’ll be okay sir, just need a breather,” the guard replied, wiping the sweat from his face, “As for how many; I didn’t get a decent count, but I’d say around thirty.”

Savlian nodded. “You get your breather, but I want you back in there helping out ASAP.”

Savlian decided to see who was inside the building, two guardsmen falling in beside him to back him up. Savlian caught a thief by surprise as they attempted to leave the treasury with an overhead slash bringing them down, spilling his desired spoils on the ground.

Entering the treasury, they were immediately engaged by thugs waiting to ambush them. Unfortunately for them, their ambush was outnumbered 3 to 2. Savlian and his men easily out classed their attackers in swordsmanship, resulting in a quick dispatch. Savlian continued on through the hallways of the treasury, dark smoke swirling above their heads.

Savlian began to notice that, excluding the noise of crackling flames, the noise of the surroundings had become awkwardly silent. Savlian slowed from a quick trot, to a wary strafe, casting his eyes in every direction possible for danger. The guards with him quickly followed suit by watching each other’s backs.

The heat from the fire steadily began to rise as Savlian approached the foyer ahead, causing sweat to crawl down his spine. An amber colour emanated from the room, crawling along the sides of the wall as Savlian approached the open doorway. From within, stood three bodies, two of them looking like the sort they had previously ran into. The other one, looked to be robed, but they stood further back from the rest that Savlian couldn’t study the person any better. The radiating heat waves shifting the image of the robed figure didn’t help.

It seemed that one of the thugs noticed Savlian and his guards approaching. “Oh no! Captain Matius is here to do us in! Run for the hills men!” the thug mocked, a wry smirk on his face, “Here’s a message from Hlodir: ‘Kiss me british boat!’”

Savlian’s eyes narrowed. So Hlodir was behind this! It seemed he left Kvatch with a grudge on his shoulder, one that he didn’t want to release. Savlian intended to spoil Hlodir’s little escapade.

Savlian broke into a quick trot towards the taunting thugs, their jeers becoming more and more obscene. Both guards trailed behind him, keeping pace with Savlian. It was as he entered the foyer that he realized he made a mistake.

Just in front of the foyer doors was an adjacent hallway. As Savlian entered the foyer, thugs waiting in ambush intercepted the trailing guards, cutting them off from Savlian. Before Savlian could turn around, the foyer doors closed and a wall of flame erupted in front of them. Savlian was trapped.

He turned around instantly and intercepted the downwards arc of one of the thugs’ sword. Expertly, Savlian parried the blow, using his momentum to spin around his opponent and score a deep slash to the exposed chest of his attacker. Crimson oozed from the corners of the thugs’ lips as he collapsed to his knees before falling to the floor.

The other thug, no longer issuing taunts, warily made his way towards Savlian. He held two daggers, one in each hand, and circled Savlian. Meanwhile the flames danced along the walls, which was strange since none seemed to be spreading into the middle of the foyer.

Suddenly, the thug lunged in with a quick stab with his knife. Savlian stopped the blade and made a swipe himself, to which the thug nimbly dodged. The thug went for the kill again, this time swinging both blades in a cascading pattern. Savlian backed away from the frenzy of attacks, parrying with his sword when he needed to.

A well-timed elbow to the face after a parry by Savlian sent the thug backing away, watery eyes blurring the following strike which ended the life of the thug.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Savlian turned to head back to the doorway to figure out a way to get out and hopefully help out his men. His decision was interrupted by the sound of applause coming behind him. Savlian turned around and faced a robed Altmer, who was clapping his hands slowly. A smug look was on his clean shaven face, but his eyes were hard with not a touch of softness to them.

“I must admit, Savlian. You do wield that broadsword effectively. But, as my employer wants you dead, I must obey,” he said indifferently, raising his hands as arcane energies began to glow upon them.

A hedge mage! Savlian thought, ringing alarms within his head. This was very unexpected of Hlodir to do. Never once had Savlian come upon information that Hlodir was in league with anyone with capable magic use.

The Altmer gestured, a bolt of fire went rocketing in the direction of Savlian. Savlian rolled across the floor, the fireball exploding against the floor where Savlian had previously been.

Rising to his feet, Savlian quickly closed the distance between himself and the Altmer. He decided he wanted to finish this mage off as quickly as possible. With all the strength he could put behind it, Savlian swung his sword at the defenceless Altmer. At least, he thought he was defenceless.

The blade stopped short of landing on the body of the Altmer; instead it felt like Savlian had just hit a concrete wall with his sword. Recoiling in pain, the mage took advantage by grabbing a hold of Savlian’s arm, sending waves of electricity shuddering into Savlian’s body.

Savlian convulsed in pain, the electricity not even allowing him to voice his anguish. Eventually the grip from the Altmer was released allowing Savlian to collapse to the floor. Fighting for breath, Savlian returned to his feet to see the Altmer simply standing there, the indifferent look still upon his face.

“I thought this would be challenge. Not only are you a fool to think you could strike me, but now I know you certainly have no chance in defeating me,” the Altmer said sadly, raising glowing hands once more, “Ohwell. Time to end my fun.”

This time lightning arched from the fingertips of the Altmer, streaking their way towards Savlian while casting a blue light throughout the room. Savlian leapt to the side, landing on the floor heavily, hair standing on end from the amount of energy issued from the attack.

Dammit! I’m a walking lightning rod! Savlian thought angrily as he managed to kick off his boots, feeling the warmness of the wood upon his feet. While the flames were obviously being suppressed by some magical mean, it was still frightfully hot within the foyer.

Savlian had managed to shed a gauntlet when a quick succession of fireballs came soaring in his direction. Savlian managed to bob and weave past the barrage, but afterwards he thought he caught the scent of burnt hair.

As the mage formed another spell within his hands, Savlian tried a desperate move in throwing his dagger at the Altmer, which harmlessly smacked against the invisible shield surrounding the mage.

The mage couldn’t suppress a chuckle as he readied his hands. “Stop wasting your time,” he said smugly.

A new tactic formulated within Savlian’s mind. He decided to rebuttal. “It seems you’re the one wasting your time. Wasn’t I supposed to be dead by now?” Savlian asked in a mocking tone.

The smug look on the mage’s face quickly changed to a twisted expression. “You mock me!? You don’t understand the dire situation you are in, Savlian,” the Altmer managed, barely suppressing his true reaction.

“I actually feel quite safe, the fact that I’ve been in a burning building for 10 minutes and feel fine is attributed to you and your selflessness,” Savlian said, in the same mocking tone.

The Altmer screamed in fury, unleashing another barrage of fireballs. This time, Savlian took off at a sprint, running around the room to avoid the constant barrage of flame. The impacts of the magical attacks were beginning to cause the structure to weaken, as debris began to fall from the ceiling, cascading down in fist sized chunks.

Finally, the attacks stopped at Savlian saw the mage panting and heavy in wreaking breaths. A flickering light suddenly surrounded his body briefly before blinking out. The shield was gone.

Winded himself, Savlian strode across the room to the mage, defenceless since his magicka reserves were depleted.

“Tsk, tsk. You’d think one such as yourself would have control over their emotions. Is it not correct for the mage to master their mind before they master magic?” Savlian asked, still managing to use his mocking tone.

The mage visibly seethed in fury, picking up Savlian’s dagger and raising it to strike. But Savlian was prepared and lashed out with his broadsword faster than the mage expected. The blade went cleanly through the skull of the Altmer, and continued to sever the raised arm. The body crumpled to the floor, blooding immediately began pooling along the floor.

Savlian turned his face away, suppressing the urge to throw up. It was then that he noticed that the flames were no longer being suppressed by any magic. With the adrenaline from battle fading, Savlian began to notice how short of breath he was, and that each breath was beginning to burn. He needed to escape and escape quickly.

The doors out for the exit of the foyer were blocked by flames, but Savlian mustered the strength to pick up the body of the nearby thug, and charged through the flames, breaking through the door.

Savlian dropped the body and collapsed to his knees, each breath was beginning to be painful now. Smoke stung his eyes and he managed to rise to his feet and trudge through the hallway towards the exit of the treasury.

His vision was starting to fade and blur as he felt he was nearing the exit. The heat was so intense; it was as if his feet were aflame. Yet he still moved them, unable to accept defeat or death. Hlodir was not going to beat him with this!

With two final steps, Savlian could see blue sky and clouds through the haze of the smoke. It was then that blackness greeted him.


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

Expect another update sometime Saturday. I'll actually be writing since I won't be missing my writing time. Honest!!

Posted by: Black Hand Nov 23 2006, 03:45 AM

Ah, a tactic used by Savlian, worthy of a Sethyas Assassination! Nicely written as always!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Nov 25 2006, 08:33 PM

In the tavern of “The Flying Bosmer”, Sethyas Valus scanned through the latest edition of the Black Horse Courier. Emblazoned on the front page were the words ‘TOWN GUARDSMEN KILLED DURING SIEGE UPON TREASURY’. Supposedly, a large group of bandits had suddenly appeared and attacked the Kvatch Treasury. Reports stated it was a mage that led the attack and started the fire. Though the mage and most of the bandits were killed once the Town Guard arrived, there were casualties on both sides. The Courier reported that at least 5 Guardsmen were killed, but their names were not going to be released.

He momentarily thought of the Guard Captain he spoke with the other day. Surely he would’ve went to the treasury. The man was courteous enough that Sethyas hoped he wasn’t one of the casualties at the battle. Even if he was an Imperial, he seemed a decent enough person. Sethyas shook his head sadly as he folded up the paper and placed it on the table. It seemed as though Sethyas had arrived during a time of turmoil within the city of Kvatch. There was more going on here than Simion murdering Lavos as well as some Town Guardsmen. With the recent demise of the Count of Kvatch, there seemed to be someone taking advantage of the confusion created from the Count’s death.

Sethyas’ breakfast had gone cold from the time spent reading the paper and mulling over its contents. He pushed his plate aside; he had lost his appetite anyway. He looked up from his table and noticed Taris Dren walking over to his table.

Taris was a young Dunmer that was tall and lean, but wiry. His black hair was slick back over his head and shined with scrib grease. Taris was the son of the now deceased leader of the Commona Tong, Orvas Dren, and nephew to Duke Vedam Dren. To say he was different than his father would be an understatement. While he still held some sense of Native Dunmer tradition, as he did serve the Morag Tong honourably, he did not share the same ruthlessness and criminal activity that Orvas displayed. Sethyas enjoyed the fact that Taris was against slavery the most, a trait they both shared. It was also surprising to see Taris join, since it was the Morag Tong who finally disposed of his father.

Taris greeted Sethyas quietly and pulled out the chair opposite of Sethyas to sit down in.

“Sethyas, I’ve found him! I know where he lives,” Taris whispered excitedly, his youth still evident.

Sethyas kept his relief to himself. It had taken much too long to find him. “Excellent. Now I want you to go find the others and bring them back here. We have plans to discuss,” Sethyas said, dismissing the assassin.

Taris nodded before leaving the tavern. Suddenly, Sethyas felt hungry again.

Step 1 is down. But how many are left to go?



Blinding sunlight greeted the opening eyes of Savlian Matius. Savlian caste his eyes with a hand to fend off the glare and he sat up in an infirmary bed. Looking around, Savlian realised he was back in the barracks, in the sick bay to be specific. He also realised that his armour had been stripped and he was dressed in plain clothing.

He stretched his unused limbs and immediately stopped as pain jarred him. The top of his left shoulder was still sore after having magic applied to it to heal the burn he had suffered. Gingerly moving his arms, Savlian made his way out of the sick bay and headed for his office.

On the way he passed solemn faces of guards, who smiled slightly upon seeing him. They all voiced their happiness in seeing the Captain up on his feet again, but their joy was subdued by the death of fellow Guardsmen who didn’t survive the attack. Savlian appreciated their remarks and also their grievances over the deaths of their fellow brethren. Too many of them had perished so recently. Savlian silently vowed to make a change of that.

Once he arrived in his office, he changed into his Captain’s attire. On his desk, he found reports on the damages done to the treasury, casualties, and eyewitness reports. The treasury had completely crumbled in the fire, but much of its contents were recovered after the flames subsided. There was an estimated loss of 23,700 septims in materials, excluding the building. The serious loss though was the death of five Guardsmen. Their deaths felt heavy upon Savlian as he thought that if he stopped Hlodir when he should’ve, this could’ve been avoided. Savlian couldn’t help but let a few tears of frustration escape from the corners of his eyes.

A knock sounded on his door. Savlian quickly brushed the wetness from his eyes and told whomever it was to enter.

An Imperial Guardsman entered slowly. “I’m sorry to bother you after you just get out of sick bay, but last night we found something we thought you should see,” he said apologetically.

Savlian strapped on his broadsword, which he was surprised to have found clean, and followed the ushering Imperial.

“What did you find?” Savlian inquired as they made their way out of the barracks.

The Imperial paled slightly. “It’s difficult to describe, but it’s a body. We thought it best that you see it though. You might know what to make of it.”

Savlian was troubled by the Imperial’s words, but kept silent as they progressed into the centre of the town. The stench of sulfur was still noticeable in the air from the burnt down treasury.

They finally arrived at an alleyway in the centre of the city; a guard was all ready waiting for them there.

“Glad to see you moving about Captain,” the guard said greeting Savlian.

Savlian nodded in appreciation, but wanted to get to the point. “What have you brought me down here for, Jurik,” he said, addressing the guard.

Jurik motioned Savlian to follow him into the alleyway, which Savlian complied. As soon as they entered, Savlian picked up on the scent of blood. He was starting to become begrudgingly familiar with it. Eventually, the sight of a body sprawled on the floor greeted them.

The man was Imperial, or possibly Breton. From the sight of what little clothing could be seen, they looked like rough leather rags, stained with dirt. The man’s face was unkempt, a grizzly beard surrounding his face. The man had been violently attacked. The most visible wound was that the man’s throat had been spilt wide open, dark blood covered most of the chest of the man. Savlian saw what looked like severed fingers scattered in a bloody mess around the body and a mass of muscle that Savlian was quite sure was a tongue. The image sent chills down Savlian’s spine, whomever did this, was indeed ruthless with this poor man.

Something was tugging at Savlian’s memory though. This man seemed familiar somehow; as if he had seen or met him before. It didn’t take much thought afterwards for Savlian to remember that this man was a homeless man named Madsen. Madsen was the one who basically opened up the case when Savlian was still trying to figure out who was murdering his men. Madsen had given a visual description of Simion after Simion supposedly transferred blood onto him after they had spoken with each other.

This image also reflected the same kind of brutality that Simion inflicted upon Vernon.

Jurik had seemed to catch onto that when he posed a question. “Do you think whomever did this, also did in Vernon, Cap? They look quite similar, don’t you think?”

Savlian nodded his head absently, his thoughts overcome with troubling images.

“By the Nine! We seem to have two serial killers on the loose here, Captain! Though it does seem that our methods in deterring that one whose after us seems to be working,” the Imperial added.

Savlian snapped out of his reverie. “That seems to be the case. I want you two to perform an investigation on this scene here. I want all the details you can possibly get from this. I expect the report to be on my desk ASAP, but for now, I need to see the Count,” Savlian ordered before leaving the two Guardsmen to their duties.

Savlian was overcome with distress when he exited the alley. Was Madsen’s murder simply a coincidence? Was there a copycat killer out there? Or did Simion find out that Madsen was the one who gave up Simion’s description? There indeed was a problem with that last option. If Simion was still murdering people, there was obviously something mentally wrong with him. No one in their right mind would pass up a get out of jail free card when they were simply told to not kill anymore. It was unsettling to know that Simion might be behind this.

He would have to find out sooner or later. For now, he had Hlodir to deal with.

Posted by: jack cloudy Nov 25 2006, 10:49 PM

It just doesn't end, does it? You know, I do feel bad for Simion somehow. He doesn't want to kill, yet he can't stop himself from doing it. It is sad, really.

Oh yeah, I still have to congratulate you on an excellent update.

Posted by: Black Hand Nov 25 2006, 11:23 PM

Is Simion still out there? Is Hlodir about to be slapped with the edge of a ticked off Captains broadsword?

Find out the answers to these questions in the next great update!

C'mon! Post Machine it up and out!

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Dec 1 2006, 05:30 AM

Bravado (or somethin like that), I like it MM, please post summore. now, what will Hlodir do without his mage.... he seemed to be the best of the bunch (ability wise, not personality)

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Dec 2 2006, 08:09 PM

The houses in the middle class area of Kvatch glowed amber from their windows to fend off the night’s darkness. One such house did not though. It basked in the darkness, shrouding itself in its embrace. Within, Simion Mandrake sat in isolation at a table, staring down at a pair of bloody gloves.

He had done it. He had killed again; he had thought he could avoid doing it now with Vernon dead. Yet, he couldn’t resist the opportunity he had. It had presented itself perfectly clear, as if taunting him. He had to take it. Nothing would’ve changed his mind.

At least, that’s what he thought at the time. Now, he only thought of the wrath Savlian was going to enact upon him if he discovered that he was behind the murder. He had broken his word about killing again, and Savlian was certainly not going to allow him to continue living peacefully if he found out. Why did he even do it? He had achieved his revenge and yet he stilled murdered an innocent this time. The event was still etched in his mind…


Simion had been enjoying the disappearance of the voice within his head. Since his little “visit” with Vernon, it had stayed silent and its presence had begun to fade away as the days since the murder increased. It seemed that Savlian had kept his end of the bargain, as there had yet to be a single Town Guard snooping in his area. It was amazing what some people would sacrifice to abolish tyranny. Without the presence of the voice, he now felt the guilt that accompanied the deaths of the guardsmen he killed. At the time, all he could think about was getting Vernon, but now, the innocents he had killed to get what he wanted plagued his thoughts. With victory, there was always a price to be paid it seemed.

Life had to continue though, so Simion intended to persevere. In fact, he decided to take a nighttime stroll around town. He always had preferred the night; many years of using it to his advantage in the Morag Tong had made him accustomed to it.

His footsteps echoed off the cobblestones, the late night air was crisp, but refreshing for Simion. He was looking forward to living a simple life. For once, his normal could finally be normal.

After rounding the corner of a closed smithy, a homeless man approached him.

“Spare any change, good s-,” the man began, but suddenly went silent, his eyes widening.

Simion then realised he was face-to-face with the homeless man that he often talked with. Only this time, for some reason, he was now afraid of him. Simion decided that it was from the wanted posters of him, which had fortunately been taken down now.

“Sorry there, did I startled you, Madsen?” Simion said apologetically.

“Uh-uh yes you did somewhat,” Madsen stuttered, his face now perspiring.

Simion was starting to get the impression that something was wrong. “Are you all right man? You’re not looking to well.”

“F-f-f-fine! I’m great. So great in fact, that I don’t even need any money and you can be on your way!” Madsen said, spilling the words out as quickly as possible.

“Ok…have a good night, Madsen,” Simion said slowly and continued on down the street. It was unsettling how uncomfortable Madsen was around him.

An all too familiar feeling then swept over him. A sudden throbbing within his head began to slow down the pace of his walking. Simion’s mind raced. It was back!

“He’s so afraid of you because he knows!” the Voice hissed to Simion.

Simion despaired within. It couldn’t be back! He had satisfied it. Why would it come back?

“I am never satisfied, Simion, you should know that,” the Voice sneered, obviously enjoying itself, “What I need you to do right now though, Simion, is to make an example out of that bum. He’s the one who gave your description to the guards. I know it!”

“How do you know that?” Simion whispered out loud, still re-familiarising himself with the throbbing in his head.

“Think about it. The night that those two guards set you up, the last person you saw was the bum. Shortly after that, the posters went up. Don’t you see, he’s suspicious of you!” the Voice hissed angrily, sending waves of discomfort to Simion.

Simion clutched at his head and crouched down, eyes tightened in pain. Then they the flipped open, shining with a dangerous intensity. “You’re right,” he whispered.

Simion slowly pulled out his dagger, concealing it underneath his cloak. That fool could’ve ruined everything! For that, Simion was going to make sure that Madsen wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Simion noticed that Madsen had taken position with his back to an alleyway, the poor man. He was soon to find out what to truly fear about Simion!

Simion stalked into an alleyway nearby, and detoured through it to get to the one Madsen occupied. Simion edged closer to the back of Madsen, his feet once echoing the cobblestones now silently caressed them. All the wile, the Voice whispered encouragement and its thirst for blood. Soon, Simion could smell the stench of living on the streets on the man, an unpleasant but necessary thing Simion had to endure to get what he wanted…

“Blood!” the Voice screamed ruefully.

It was then that Simion wrapped an arm around the neck of Madsen, clamping his mouth with a free hand. Simion dragged the now flailing man into the alleyway. Simion kept a tight grip though, and used his dagger to stop him from struggling.

“You think I wouldn’t find out, Madsen? I could read the fear in your eyes like a book!” Simion hissed in Madsen’s ear before throwing him against the wall of the alley and delivering a blow to the gut that winded Madsen and caused him to collapse to the floor groaning.

“It’s time to teach you a lesson in how to keep your mouth shut,” Simion said quietly, his eyes glinting in the moonlight to reveal a sadistic image.

Simion managed to pry open a Madsen’s mouth, and with his other hand he grabbed a hold of the man’s tongue. A quick pull, followed by a gurgled cry of agony, Simion stood with a piece of bloody muscle in his hand. Madsen moaned in pain and blood readily poured from his mouth.

The sight was rapture! The moonlight reflecting on the pool of blood forming on the alley floor captured its essence perfectly. Simion studied the bloody object in his hands briefly, drinking in the sight. This was exactly what he wanted!

“This is only the beginning, Madsen,” Simion whispered and he leaned in to put his knife to Madsen’s hands…




Simion didn’t want to visit it any further. He threw the bloody gloves across the floor disgustedly. Hopelessness of the situation began to claw at Simion’s mind. He simply had submitted to the Voice within him so easily.

“As you should’ve, Simion. Because I was right! Madsen deserved death!” the Voice said, sending Simion reeling to the floor.

“It is over between us! Vernon is dead! You’ve got what you wanted. Why must you pester me?” Simion complained weakly.

“Just because I got what I wanted, doesn’t mean I’m satisfied, Simion. My thirst is unquenchable, my motivation constant, I will break you if I have to, Simion,” the Voice threatened.

“I will endure, I’ve done it my entire life, I will do it now!” Simion shouted defiantly.

The response he received was waves of sense melting pain and discomfort, causing Simion to cry out in pain and topple over the table beside him. Finally the pain subsided and Simion was able to breathe again in heavy, ragged breaths. The Voice’s laughter echoed in his mind.

It was then that a knock came from his front door.

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 2 2006, 08:19 PM

Poor Simion. Now just what is that voice? Oh, if it belongs to someone who's not known as Simion's imagination, that thing definitely deserves a good whacking. It makes me sick.

Ahem, while I hate the voice, I love the story. Keep it up.

Posted by: Black Hand Dec 2 2006, 08:37 PM

Yes! lovely sadistic update!

Ding-Dong! Tong calling!

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Dec 6 2006, 03:29 AM

I loved the update, it is a shame the voice has complete and utter control of Simion though. I'll be waiting for the next update.

Posted by: minque Dec 6 2006, 11:30 PM

Oh yes..me too, I´m waiting, you´re a very good writer MM!!!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Dec 9 2006, 08:30 PM

Wow, with work being so busy today, I'm surprized I was able to get this update done! Damn I'm tired! Anyways, enjoy the update!


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

The voice abruptly disappeared as Simion fumbled around in the dark to light a lamp. The clumsiness was mainly due to recovering from the effects the voice had on him rather than the lack of light. Another soft knock sounded against the door when Simion finally got a lamp lit. He gave himself a quick inspection, making sure there was no blood upon him.

Who could possibly be knocking on my door? Simion thought warily as he approached the door. Then it struck him. Savlian! He must’ve figured out it was Simion all ready. Simion certainly wasn’t prepared to be taken away though. He readied a knife as he slowly unlocked the door.

In the darkness stood a robed form. The glowing red eyes quickly gave away that the robed figure was a Dunmer, which shocked Simion at first as he thought he was staring at the ghost of Lavos. He then realised that the face seemed darker in places. The robed figure took a step closer and Simion found out the reason for why the Dunmer’s face was darker; it was because of a black hand tattoo covering the majority of his face. With that, Simion made the connection of whom he was facing.

“Sethyas! What brings you to this neck of the woods? Come in!” Simion said cheerfully, hoping to mask his astonishment.

Sethyas walked casually in, peering at his surrounding and getting a baring on what he was dealing with. "Sorry to have woken you up, but I felt the need was urgent enough,” he said apologetically.

Simion was still trying to figure out why Sethyas was even here. He had never really spoken with the mer before. Simion was all ready planning on retirement as Sethyas had just began his rise in the ranks of the Morag Tong. That didn’t go to say that Simion knew nothing of the man. He was considered one of the Tong’s most revered assassins, not to mention he was the Incarnate of Neravar Indoril.

“It’s no big deal, Master Sethyas. What’s the urgent thing you speak of though?” Simion inquired.

“Please, call me Sethyas, Simion, you’re retired; there’s no need for formalities,” Sethyas said, helping himself to a chair, “As for the urgent need we must speak of. It’s in regards to Lavos; he’s missing.”

Simion felt himself go cold. Even from the grave, Lavos was still trying to defeat him! Simion maintained composure though. “I don’t see what that had to do with me, Sethyas,” he said, faking ignorance.

Sethyas paused, observing Simion, his eyes glowing with thoughts that Simion couldn’t even detect. Simion was good at guessing at people’s thoughts too.

“Well, we thought that since he was your friend, he would’ve visited you. Has he come in contact with you?” Sethyas continued.

“No,” Simion replied curtly.

“Strange, I would’ve thought for certain that he would’ve contacted you. Have you not even received a message from him at all?”

“No, not a word at all. We didn’t really part on the most amiable of terms, but you wouldn’t know of that,” Simion answered.

“Actually I do, Lavos mentioned the incident where you nearly killed him after taking care of the Dark Brotherhood located in the canal works to me. Did you ever figure out why you did such a thing? I’m curious now,” Sethyas asked casually, though his eyes still held a piercing gaze upon Simion.

Simion couldn’t help but feel a little tense under such a gaze. “What I believed to have happened was that my inhibition to kill took control, I couldn’t stop it until it was satisfied,” Simion answered slowly.

Sethyas nodded slowly, but his expression said something else. “I just find it odd that someone with your experience and training would just lose it like that… “ he said, trailing off.

“I believe it was mainly due to the fact that I was killing our sworn enemies. I enjoyed killing them, which led to the loss of control,” Simion said, defending himself.

“Probable, I guess,” Sethyas said absently, fingering at his ring underneath his black gloves.

Simion was starting to get bothered by the mer’s statements. “Well if that’s all you wanted to talk to me about, you got your answer. I would like it if you could leave now; I still wish to have some sleep tonight,” Simion said stiffly.

Sethyas rose from the chair, taking a final look around. “Of course, I’ll leave you to rest. Sorry for bugging you about something as trivial as Lavos,” Sethyas said apologetically as he headed for the door, which Simion held open.

Just before Simion closed the door, Sethyas turned around to face him once more. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Simion.” After that he, walked off into the night.

Simion closed the door, resting his head against it in mixed relief and anxiety. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked aloud quietly.

“It means he knows! Are you that foolish to believe that one of the Tong’s best assassins is just going to pay you a visit simply because Lavos is “missing”?” the Voice echoed within Simion’s head, the suddenness staggering Simion.

“What?” Simion said, confused before he could actually comprehend, “Of course! Lavos must’ve left a message to them. They knew he was sent to speak with me.”

“Yes… You’re finally starting to understand. Now, what must be done?”

“I must… eliminate them.”




Dren, as well as his other compatriots milled about in “The Flying Bosmer”, sipping various bottles of alcohol. Even at this time of night, the Inn was still rather busy and smoke filled the rafters of the place. Dren’s eyes hurt just thinking about it.

Dren’s fingers tapped impatiently on top of his table. His thoughts were troubled.

Why would Sethyas tell us he wanted to see Simion alone? The man is obviously dangerous! He thought as the minutes crept away.

Dren was more than relieved when he saw Sethyas enter the Inn. They exchanged nods before Sethyas sat in the seat opposite of him.

“So what did you find out?” Dren inquired.

“He’s been killing,” Sethyas said quietly, “I saw a bloody glove underneath a table.”

Dren thought as much. “So what’s our next course of action then?”

Sethyas sighed. “We stick to the code. We have to kill him.”

Posted by: Black Hand Dec 9 2006, 08:41 PM

*drool** That was one of the best descriptions of Sethyas I read....dammit,...I dont get to say that! (Even though it was.)

And it appeared my suspicions were confirmed, I enjoy seeing where this will lead next, keep it up friend!

Posted by: minque Dec 9 2006, 08:43 PM

Woah! Nice cameo there! I really enjoyed reading this, not to mention the appearance of our Sethyas! Good work Revie! Really good work, keep it coming!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Dec 9 2006, 08:47 PM

Revie!? I'm Mallet silly!!!

But thanks for the comments both of you. And I'm glad to hear that I'm doing Black Hand's character justice.

Posted by: minque Dec 9 2006, 08:55 PM

IIIIIIHH!!! Jeez Mallie! I´m SOOO sorry! ahhh can you forgive me? I just have a conversation with Revie in the RP......so I think I must have mixed you two.....ughh must be age!

Posted by: Lord Revan Dec 9 2006, 09:27 PM

Amusing......... anyway MM, well done. This has always been a great and interesting story since the first chapter. So keep up the great writing!

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Dec 9 2006, 09:42 PM

Huzzah, great update MM, and i loved Sethyas's and Simion's conversation, brilliant.

"please sir, can i have some more?"

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 10 2006, 08:14 PM

It's reaching a climax here. Keep going, my addiction must be satisfied. Crap, the voice has me in his grip!

Posted by: mplantinga Dec 11 2006, 11:18 PM

So much death and planning of death. I wish there was some way to resolve the issue without having to kill. But, I guess the story is about bloodlust, so perhaps I'll just have to deal with it.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Dec 16 2006, 07:41 PM

Alright, first off, I forgive you minque . Secondly, I can understand your sentiments mplantinga, it's just that I intended my story to be "gritty" and "dark", so I know that my story won't sit well with everyone. I'm am playing around with an idea for the conclusion, I have yet to make up my mind on which path I'll take though. I won't spoil it anymore than that though Here's the update!



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

Savlian was torn with two decisions he had to make. Two threats on Kvatch stood before him, yet he could only effectively pursue one of them at a time. One path led to Hlodir, the other, to this copycat murderer. Both were dangerous, but deep down Savlian knew Hlodir was the bigger threat. He possessed followers willing to do his dirty work. He likely had them all over the town, organising their next movement with the overall failure of their treasury attack. Savlian knew he had to dispose of Hlodir in order for the attacks to stop. Hlodir possessed a dangerous charisma that could replenish those he lost in battle. The murderer would have to wait; Hlodir was indeed the most important issue.

After his short investigation at the murder scene, Savlian returned to the Count’s Castle and went over the maps once more to figure out Hlodir’s hideout. They decided the only likely place north of the spot that Ormeillus ran into Hlodir, was a cave called Jgorg. Tomorrow, they would launch an attack upon the cave, hopefully catching them unexpected. Savlian spent the rest of the day working with Ormeillus on organising the attack.

“I think that’ll be enough planning for today, Savlian. Or should I say night,” Ormeillus said as he glanced out the window to see darkness. A glass of brandy was held in his hand.

Savlian took his attention away from the charts of tallies of infantry and battle tactics. He rubbed at his dry eyes. “We’re not finished though,” Savlian replied.

Ormeillus waved off Savlian’s remark. “I can finish it on my own. I need to stay in Kvatch, so I won’t need my rest as much as you will, since you’ll be leading this attack. I need you rested,” Ormeillus stated, taking a sip of his brandy afterwards.

Savlian thought about objecting, but realised that he was indeed tired and needed some rest. “You’re right. When do you want me to arrive at the barracks?”

“0900. On the button,” Ormeillus said, his militaristic tone setting in as he returned his attention back to the charts, “You’re dismissed.”

Savlian snapped a salute before exiting the room. He immediately directed himself to his home.

On the journey, Savlian’s mind couldn’t help but drift towards Simion. Savlian knew the Breton was smart, he had seen it when he interrogated him. So obviously, Simion would’ve done the smart thing and stopped killing so that he could avoid charges from his previous murders. He wouldn’t just throw his life away would he? Savlian didn’t think so, but why did he have this inkling that Simion was behind the murder of Madsen? His murder could be blamed on coincidence; the homeless can upset certain types of people into violence. Yet, the conclusion that Simion was getting Madsen back for speaking to the authorities made a good motive for this to happen.

Savlian frowned and shook his head in frustration. No, Simion was keeping his end of the deal. It was simply a copycat who didn’t have the guts to kill a guard, so they resort to killing hapless people like Madsen. That had to be it.

Savlian wearily entered his home and began to remove his cloak. An odd creak sounded from the corner of his bedroom. Savlian’s tired eyes immediately sharpened. His house wasn’t the creaking type. Savlian edged out his broadsword and stalked towards the source of the creak. He entered his bedroom and looked around, only to find emptiness. Everything looked as it should have looked. Except for the wind gushing out his open window.

A sudden roar erupted from his closest as two men dressed in dark clothing burst out of it, daggers poised to attack.

Savlian quickly threw a nearby chair at his attackers, buying himself time to prepare himself as the two stumbled over each other when the chair collided into them. Savlian thrust out his sword, and the first attack fell to the ground. The other decided to throw his dagger at Savlian, catching him in the shoulder of his sword arm.

Savlian cried out in pain, his sword dropping to the floor. The attacker pulled out another dagger, his face grinning in contempt. “I’m gonna stick ya pig!” he sneered and lunged in for the attack.

Savlian swerved around the thrust of the attacker’s dagger, and he grabbed a hold of it at the hilt. The two men struggled between each other over control of the dagger. Savlian used his momentum to smash his attacker into the hard, hoping to stun him and gain the dagger. The attacker took the smash well, and seized the dagger still lodged in Savlian’s shoulder. Lances of pain shivered through Savlian’s body as the attack twisted the blade lodged in Savlian’s arm. Savlian released his grip from the dagger, and received an elbow to the face. He staggered backwards, his eyes watering from the blow.

His attacker yelled in fury as he charged at Savlian once more, his confidence brimming since the Captain was hurt. Savlian saw the blur heading towards him, so he decided to duck down and wrap his arms around his attacker, propelling him into the wall once more. This time, the attacker’s head smashed into the sturdy wall, knocking him unconscious. The attacker and his knife clattered to the floor as Savlian sat back. His vision was clear once more, but the pain still remained in earnest. Savlian gripped the knife in his shoulder and winced at the applied pressure. Quickly, he pulled the knife out of him and nearly passed out from the pain in doing so. Blood ran freely down his arm.

Savlian knew he kept some potions in his cabinet, so he slowly worked his way over and got one. Savlian downed the potion and nausea gripped his stomach as the tissue and damaged muscle of his shoulder began to knit itself together. Savlian’s breaths came out raggedly. He was beyond exhausted, but now he had a mess to clean up.

Back in his bedroom, Savlian studied the first attacker, who now rested in a pool of his own blood. Savlian was certain that he wouldn’t be getting up, so he continued to the second attacker. They were still unconscious, but Savlian ensured his safety by tying the Imperial up. Just as he finished, the attacker came to.

“Ugh…. What the?” the attacker stated groggily, as they began to struggle against the ropes.

“Good, you’re awake, we have some talking to do,” Savlian said cheerfully as he fiddled with one of the attacker’s dagger.

The eyes of the Imperial widened. “Uh, sure! We can talk. I tell you anything you want,” he sputtered out quickly.

“Excellent! First, we’re going to go for a walk though,” Savlian said, maintaining his mockingly warm tone.



“Savlian! I thought I told you to get some rest!” Ormeillus said heatedly as he peered at him from the crack of the opened office door.

“I have someone with me. I was attacked in my home again. Let me in,” Savlian said in a no-nonsense manner.

Ormeillus expression immediately went from angry to concerned as he opened the door to allow Savlian and his captive in. “Come! Come! Are you all right?”

“I’ll survive. Right now, we’ve got some questioning to do,” Savlian said, motioning to his captive, who now was sporting a heavy layer of perspiration.

Ormeillus nodded and turned towards the captive. “Who ordered you to kill the Captain of the Guard?” he demanded.

“Hlodir sir. He said I’d get 500 septims if I returned with proof,” the captive said complacently.

“Hlodir! I figured as much,” Savlian said, looking over the Count’s additions to tomorrow’s attack.

“Wait… I remember you! You were with Hlodir that day I spoke with him on the road from Chorrol. You know where his hideout is, correct?” Ormeillus said, anticipation rising in his voice.

“Yes, I was there that day, and yes, I know where his hideout is. It’s an abandoned fortress, called Fort Falkrek,” the captive said.

“Falkrek? But that’s south, the Count saw you travel north,” Savlian said in confusion.

“That’s right, we did travel north. Once we were out of your view, we circled back and headed south,” the captive stated simply.

“Of course! Hlodir would’ve expected I would remember the direction he rode off when he left. He’s smart for a Nord,” Ormeillus said, angry with himself.

“Well, it seems that most of these plans are useless now,” Savlian said dryly, slightly annoyed that all that work was for naught.

“Actually, we’ll just delay the attack until nighttime. Falkrek is actually closer than Jgorg, so we’ll spend most of tomorrow redoing our tactics. For now, I want you to place this man in a cell in the barracks and get some rest there. You seem to have a problem with sleeping at home,” he ordered, though the last part was said light heartily.

Savlian nodded his understanding; he was more then simply tired now. Tomorrow wasn’t going to get much better though. With Hlodir defeated though, he knew it would be worth the exhaustion.

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Dec 16 2006, 07:52 PM

excellent update MM, you made me cringe when you talked about the knife getting twisted out of Savlian's arm. I like it please keep up the good work

Posted by: mplantinga Dec 17 2006, 02:25 AM

A spectacularly visceral description of the attack on Savlian. Too many of those and may own stomach may have some nausea problems.

I do hope that the Imperial told the truth; I'd hate to see Savlian walk into an ambush at the Fort.

Posted by: minque Dec 17 2006, 09:32 AM

Oh my, bloodlust it´s the name of this story and....well it´s really suitable! But well written as usual...and I have confidence in Savlian..I mean you won´t let him die , right?

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 17 2006, 11:20 AM

Wow, the attacks are neverending. Who needs the Daedra? All we need is a crazy Nord and a possessed Dunmer.

Somehow I've got the feeling that the assault on the fortress will be a slaughter. I don't know why. *looks at the title*
I really don't know why.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Dec 23 2006, 07:31 PM

The late afternoon sky was particularly sunny for this time of year, a good sign in Savlian’s books. It was as if the Divines themselves were granting good weather for a safe journey. Savlian appreciated it, as his destination was not a good one. He and Ormellius rode with a large contingent of soldiers towards the “abandoned” Fort Falkrek. There, Hlodir awaited them, though the visit was going to be a surprise one. Hopefully.

Savlian kept silent for the majority of the journey, his thoughts preoccupied with the upcoming battle among other things. He couldn’t help but think that his feud with Hlodir was fast approaching a decisive conclusion. That only one of them would survive the outcome of this battle.

Savlian briefly clenched the reins of his horse. He intended to make sure it was he who would survive the outcome of this. Ormellius and Savlian had spent sufficient time in the morning to reform the tactics to take Fort Falkrek. Their idea was basic, but effective. Plus, the factor of it being an unexpected attack certainly bettered their chances.

Ormellius looked over to Savlian, who nodded assuredly. Even in the little time they had met, Savlian discovered that he felt a sense of comradeship with the new Count. Maybe it was because Ormellius was a soldier himself, or that he genuinely cared about Kvatch, but Savlian knew that this was a person who would help Kvatch. By eliminating Hlodir, the last remnants of Vernon’s rule would be abolished. Afterwards, Kvatch had nowhere to go but up. Savlian felt hope with such thoughts.

“Darkness will arrive shortly,” Ormellius said softly, “When it does, the march will have to slow. We don’t want to injure the horses.”

Savlian nodded as his eyes scanned the horizon for the ruins. “I take it we’re still a few hours away. By then, darkness will have fully arrived.”




Hlodir picked at his venison ravenously, allowing the juices of the meat to run freely down his chin. It had been a busy day recruiting, so he had forgotten to eat all day. His hunger was well worth the effort though. He had managed to coerce a considerable amount of people to make the trip to the fort; the promise of a piece of Kvatch’s riches having a decision-making effect on those willing to join.

His thoughts still dwelled on the attack on the Treasury. While the Treasury was destroyed, he lost quite a few men, one of those being his mage, and none of the gold was recovered by his men.

What he didn’t know was whether Savlian took part in the battle. It was likely, but none of his survivors could say that he was there. Hlodir hoped that his assassins did their jobs, that Savlian was taken care of. Though Hlodir assumed he would find out once he performed his next move. It was undecided at the moment, but once he figured it out, he knew it would be successful.

He took a swig of his mead and smiled smugly. Soon, Kvatch would be his. Count Hlodir did sound nice on his ears. All that was needed was for Ormellius and Savlian to disappear.

Rapid, echoing footsteps reached Hlodir’s ears. That was one thing he didn’t like about the depths of the Fortress, sound carried quite easily. He did notice that they were getting louder though. Shortly, an Orc burst through his doorway, his black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

“We’re under attack!” said the breathless Orc.

“What!? By who?” Hlodir demanded, rising from his seat.

“I couldn’t see them, they’re hiding in the darkness. I think they’re soldiers though.”

“Savlian!” Hlodir said cursing. He unsheathed his longsword and led the Orc out of his room.

Somehow he found me. But how? I was sure I led Ormellius off in the wrong direction. That only means… those bastards! My assassins betrayed me!



“Fire!” Savlian shouted as the archers released another volley of arrows into the encampment surrounding the ruins of the Fort. It turned out that the assassin has spoken the truth. When darkness had fallen, the campfires of those surrounding the Fort acted as a beacon for Savlian and his men. The camp’s sentries had been lax in their duties, so Savlian managed to have the whole Fort surrounded easily. Now, Savlian intended to thin their ranks with a barrage of arrows.

Cries of pain and despair sounded from those entrenched in the encampment as the arrows ploughed into them. Before any form of retaliation could be made, Savlian unleashed another volley of arrows. Savlian signalled to a specific archer, who fired a single flaming arrow up into the air. It was time to use the steel.

Sounding a battle cry, Savlian brandished his broadsword and charged into the encampment. Soldiers ran alongside him, shouting their own battle cries. The noise they created was deafening. Savlian saw fear stricken eyes as he stormed from out of the shadows to engage the enemy. His sword bit into the flesh of all enemies within his reach. Nothing was going to stop him from finding Hlodir.

It seemed that some semblance of order had been established in the enemy ranks as now sounds of steel clashing against steel rose from the sound of dying men. Survival was ultimate goal in this battle. Hlodir and his men were fighting for survival presently. Savlian and his men were fighting for their future survival. If Savlian were to fail here, they certainly would’ve failed in the future. What mattered most was to avoid failure.

Savlian noticed one of his fellow soldiers struggling with a raggedy Breton, so he lunged in to aid his comrade with a well placed thrust that brought the Breton down. The soldier nodded his thanks before his expression suddenly turned alarmed. He looked as though he was going to attack Savlian, but in reality he parried an attack that Savlian didn’t noticed was coming for him. Savlian immediately regained his composure and helped finish off the attacker. Savlian nodded his thanks before setting off one more.

The battle was set at a gruelling pace, with no mercy given to any side of the battle. Slowly though, the bandits in the encampment were beginning to tighten together around the entrance of the Fort as the battling Kvatch soldiers continued to pressure them. Desperation clung to the eyes of the bandits as they vainly defended themselves, consistently falling to the Kvatch steel.

Savlian shouted encouragement to those around him to further their momentum. He began to notice that bandits were slowly filtering themselves through the entrance of Fort, as though they would find safety within its confines. Savlian realised that if Hlodir was anywhere, it would be within the Fort. Savlian intended Hlodir to fall to his sword, so he gathered those around him. Using their shields, they formed a human battering ram of sorts and charged through the bandits in their way to the Fort entrance.

Upon entering, the ram broke open as the Kvatch soldiers engaged those surrounding the entrance. Savlian ordered the entrance to the fort to be locked and blocked. No enemy was going to attack their rear. Savlian felt that only Ormellius would have the equipment capable to breach the doors. Savlian gathered his small force together.

“From here we take things slowly, I suggest to shed some of the armour so we can manoeuvre better. We’re the only ones in here, so don’t count on backup for a wile. We can only count on each other,” Savlian said quietly, peering down the hallway for signs of approaching trouble.

“Sir, I think we’re going to need to split up. Though we are a small force, we’re still too big to be travelling down these halls together,” one of the soldiers voiced.

Savlian nodded. “You’re right. I suggest groups of about 4-6. Once we find some forks, we’ll break off from each other. Everyone understand?” Savlian said, looking each man in the eye for comprehension. Satisfied, Savlian wiped the blood off his broadsword.

“Alright, let’s move out.”

Posted by: canis216 Dec 23 2006, 09:30 PM

Ah, excellent update. You are good with these fights.

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 23 2006, 09:41 PM

What canis said. The detail in tactics was good. That battering ram thing, it makes me think of a tetsudo formation.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Dec 27 2006, 09:57 PM

Well, I have full day work shifts for this week, so it's very likely I'll be making daily updates until Sunday. Hooray for everyone right? Enjoy!

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

It wasn’t long before Savlian and his company reached the first fork in the road. The group silently broke in half with Savlian decided to take the path that led to an armoury station. Fortunately, the place was void of enemies for now. It was here that another fork spilt the group up even more. Savlian, with three soldiers in tow, decided to take a sloping corridor that seemly led to the bottom of the Fort. All the wile, echoing footsteps and the odd shout reverberated around them, masking their quiet tread.

Savlian was surprised to have not engaged any enemies so far as they continued down into the depths of the Fort. He didn’t know if he was walking into a trap, or was simply lucky so far. The three soldiers with them seemed to feel the same way, given their wary glances. They knew an outnumbered fight would be disastrous. Yet they still cautiously continued on down their chosen path, hoping they could accomplish what they sought out to do.

Their convenient luck finally disappeared when the thundering approach of multiple footsteps sounded from down the corridor. Savlian and his troops immediately held position at a choke point, a twist in the corridor that would initially hide them, and waited anxiously for their victims. Every eye gleamed with grim determination as the footsteps became louder and louder.

When brown leather of bandit armour came into view, Savlian swung out from his hiding position, lashing out with his broadsword and catching the bandit unawares. Two other bandits fell before they knew what happened before their partners tailing behind knew something was wrong. By then, it was a two against four battle that was quickly finished by Savlian and his men. Savlian turned to each soldier, silently checking to see if any of them were injured. They all nodded that they were fine and the party continued as pools of blood began to form around the dead bandits.

Their stealthy approached continued until Savlian heard the sound of voices; one of them sounded familiar as well. He called a halt and strained his ears to make out the conversation.

“Sir, from what I can tell the Fort has been breached. I’ve heard battling within these walls and in many places as well. It’s as if they’ve occupied every corridor,” a concerned voice stated.

“Divines be damned! I will not die down here! You go out there and you rush each and e’vry corridor! Terminate them like the rats they are!”

He’s just around the corner! Savlian thought as he edged his broadsword forward.

Savlian rushed the corner and ran into five armoured bandits, anticipating their attack. Savlian ducked below the horizontal slash of the first bandit and rammed into the group, causing him and the bandits to go crashing down to the floor. Fists and knives flashed and the soldiers managed to pull Savlian free and finish off the bandits as they struggled to get to their feet. Savlian brushed the blood forming across his cheek. Apparently, a knife had brushed against it.

Savlian proceeded ahead, disregarding his injury and his intent to find Hlodir increased. It just so happened in his determined march; he and the soldiers arrived at a lodging station. One that was currently being used.

Startled bandits rose from their cots, brandishing all sorts of weaponry. Savlian pushed the soldiers backwards back into the corridor. That way they wouldn’t be completely overwhelmed.

The bandits willingly followed Savlian into the corridor, only to quickly meet their demise to Savlian’s broadsword. The blades of the soldiers also provided ample protection for Savlian and destruction to their enemies as a steady stream of bandits forced them further back into the corridor.

Suddenly, a soldier collapsed to the ground, blood frothing from his mouth and a sword piercing his body. His comrade tried to go to his aid but the injured soldier waved him off as he struggled to his feet. Then, without any hesitation, the soldier charged recklessly into the horde of bandits, flailing his sword left and right. Savlian thought he saw at least three bandits fall before the soldier was finally taken down. Savlian gritted his teeth. That soldier was not going to die in vain.

It seemed the numbers of bandits were not going to stop, but Savlian noticed that some were beginning to change their attention to their rear. Something was attacking their rear! The bandits were caught between a hammer and an anvil. Savlian shouted a battle cry and applied new-found pressure on the bandits, who began to back up. Unfortunately for them, they were backing into more blades. Within minutes the last of the bandits were disposed of and Savlian found himself greeting the bloodied faces of one of the groups that had split off from them.

“Looks as though our paths eventually meet up once more,” a soldier said grinning.

“Any losses?” Savlian said in deep heaving breaths.

“None yet, just a couple of small injuries so far,” the soldier replied, looking back at his fellow soldiers just to make sure.

Savlian nodded as he examined his men, who looked exhausted but not seriously injured. He then noticed his men pulling out their fallen comrade from the bodies of fallen bandits. A slight pang of guilt struck Savlian then. He had disregarded stealth when he stormed into the lodging station, simply because he thought Hlodir would be there. Because of his carelessness, one of his men would not be leaving this place alive. He clenched his fist. There, he silently vowed to not make that mistake again.

“Let’s keep going,” Savlian said quietly as he headed towards the lodging station once more.

Upon arrival, Savlian turned to the soldier he had previously spoken with. “Where did you guys come from?” he asked, indicating the two other corridors.

The soldier pointed out which one they arrived from, so Savlian chose to enter the other one, with the familiar downward direction to it. Soon enough, voices were heard once again.

“Sir, we’re trapped down here! I suggest we yield.”

“Never! I will not bow down t’Savlian or that baffoon Ormellius! If you so much as think about dropping your weapon, I will skin your hide!”

It was then that sounds of steel on steel echoed down the corridor. A cry of pain shortly followed.

“You insolent fool! None may strike at me and live,” the Nordic voice spat.

Savlian stood around the corner of the next room, this time absolutely sure that Hlodir was ahead. He could see the long shadows of men within the room. Given their increased numbers, Savlian decided a charge would work this time.

“Now!” Savlian shouted and rushed into the room, stabbing the nearest bandit into his sternum, kicking him off his blade and stopping the strike of another bandit. The soldiers around him quickly engaged and began overwhelming the few bandits left. Once more Savlian stood in a room full of dead bodies and yet Hlodir was not among them.

Then applause reached his ears.

“Ah Savlian, tis good t’see you once more,” Hlodir said cheerfully as he walked out from a shaded corner.

Soldiers began to edge their way towards Hlodir but Savlian held them off, shaking his head. He then turned back to Hlodir.

“Face it, Hlodir, you’re finished. Put down your weapon,” Savlian said sternly.

Hlodir smiled slyly. “You don’t wanna arrest me. C’mon, we both know what you want t’do t’me. You gotta gimme that chance.”

A soldier leaned into Savlian’s ear. “Don’t do it, Captain. He’s got nothing to lose and you have everything. We’ve won! Let’s just leave it at that.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to do this. I made a vow to end this my way. I intend to keep it,” Savlian said to his troops, “No matter what happens, stay out of this until one of us is finished.”

Shocked expressions greeted him, but they all complied with their Captain’s wish. Savlian was grateful for that. He turned to a long sword brandishing Hlodir.

“Let’s finish this.”

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 27 2006, 10:08 PM

Hmm, the final duel. Either Hlodir is nuts or he has a trick upon his sleeve. Who knows, his late mage friend might have left behind something nasty.

Posted by: canis216 Dec 27 2006, 11:36 PM

Great update Mallet!

Posted by: Black Hand Dec 28 2006, 02:15 AM

Your gonna post machine it up too? Sweet....

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Dec 28 2006, 04:09 AM

Very nice updates MM. You indeed have skill with writing fight scenes. I honestly can't wait to see what Hlodir has up his sleeve.

Posted by: Lord Revan Dec 28 2006, 04:13 AM

**Sits silently in one of the corners, and debates on what the possible outcomes are.......**

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Dec 29 2006, 09:23 PM

So here's the duel. Enjoy and expect a visit from Simion in tomorrow's update!


--------


Hlodir grinned wickedly as he readied himself into his fighting stance while Savlian prepared himself as well. Savlian’s men stood in front of the only exit to the two rooms available, weapons ready to use should Savlian fall or Hlodir attempts an escape. Their expressions were grim, but a couple of them called out encouragement to their Captain.

Savlian circled Hlodir slowly, eyes fixed upon his target. Hlodir licked his lips expectantly.

“You know I’ve bested you in everything that we’ve both done. There will be no change this time,” Hlodir said confidently before snickering.

“Think what you will, Hlodir, but you should remember I nearly bested you when I was drunk. I wouldn’t be so confident,” Savlian said softly before engaging the attack with a darting thrust.

Hlodir parried the strike easily and countered with a thrust of his own. Savlian slid away from the attack and lashed out towards Hlodir’s feet, hoping the hamstring him. Hlodir managed to jump over the swinging steel and backed away, excitement and adrenaline dancing in his eyes.

“You can no hurt me, Savlian!” Hlodir said savagely and dived into a barrage of swipes on Savlian.

Savlian was forced to back up from the applied pressure by Hlodir, fending off blows from the left and right. If he didn’t change what was happening, he would be backed against the wall and basically would enter a desperate situation. So, Savlian parried Hlodir’s attack, pushing the blade downwards and charged into Hlodir. Both of them went crashing to the stone floor, armour and swords clattering loudly.

There, both men struggled between each other for position, seeking a dominant top position. As the two rolled around on the floor, Hlodir managed to slip out his ebony dagger. Savlian fortunately saw this and now fought against avoiding the potential stabbing Hlodir was hoping to issue.

Hlodir rolled Savlian so that he was on top of Savlian. Both men’s hands gripped the ebony dagger as Hlodir tried to drive it into Savlian while Savlian tried to resist it. The dagger shook under the exertion given off by the two opposing forces. Yet, the dagger was progressively lowering, drawing nearer, and nearer to Savlian. So close was it that Savlian could see the reflecting torchlight off the dark metal.

Hlodir growled in exertion as he applied his weight to the blade, all the while, Savlian men screamed encouragement, faces anxious now. Still, the dagger continued downward, despite Savlian’s efforts. His position was a disadvantage for this situation. He had to do something though, and as soon as he knew there was no way in stopping the descending dagger, he formulated his plan.

Savlian eased off his exertion on the dagger, allowing the dagger to descend more easily. By now, the soldiers were frantically urging Savlian on. Hlodir began to grin, saliva clinging to the corners of his mouth as he saw victory to be close at hand. But just when he thought he had it, since the resistance was all but gone, Savlian shifted Hlodir’s hands. The dagger clanged against the solid stone floor and Savlian delivered an elbow to Hlodir’s all ready injured nose.

Hlodir recoiled backwards and off of Savlian in pain, clutching at his face as Savlian rolled away and picked up his broadsword. He immediately pressed the attack on Hlodir, hoping his watering eyes would provide a hindrance in his ability to fight and defend. Somehow, Hlodir recovered quickly from the elbow and deftly defended himself from Savlian’s flurry. What he didn’t expect though was a swift kick to the stomach by Savlian.

The force of the blow staggered Hlodir backwards against the wall, the air blasting out of his lungs. Savlian aimed a thrust to Hlodir’s heart, thoughts of finishing it entering his mind. Again, Hlodir dodged the attack as Savlian approached the wall due to his attack. Hlodir took advantage of this and punched Savlian in the face with a meaty fist.

Savlian’s mind flashed and black flecks entered his vision as he backed away from his opponent in hopes to recover. Hlodir issued a roar and charged at the Captain. Savlian ducked under the heavy horizontal slash and used Hlodir’s momentum to toss him over his back and onto a nearby bench. The bench exploded into fragments of debris as Hlodir crashed through it.

Savlian engaged his fallen opponent with an overhead chop that only met a jarring hit against the floor as Hlodir rolled away and regained his feet. They were back a square one.

Hlodir chuckled dryly and wiped the blood from underneath his nose. “Heh, I guess ya could say I underestimated you a wee bit.”

Savlian decided to try to reason with the Nord once more. “Give it up, Hlodir. We don’t need to continue this.”

“Why would I want t‘do that? So you could just execute me publicly for the population. T’ease their paranoid minds as they watch me head roll off like a pig! No! I will die trying t’kill the one I hate the most! You!” Hlodir spat and charged in once more.

Savlian had had enough. As Hlodir raced towards him, Savlian quickly took out his silver dagger, ducked under Hlodir’s swooping attack, and plunged the dagger deep into Hlodir’s knee. The attack caused Hlodir to yell out in pain and collapse to the floor clumsily

Calmly rising back to normal height, Savlian walked over to the Nord bent over in pain, clutching at his knee. Blood ran freely between the grimy hands of the Nord. As Savlian’s shadow enveloped Hlodir it caused the Nord to look up.

“May the Divines judge you appropriately,” Savlian said solemnly as he raised his sword.

Hlodir’s eyes stared straight into Savlian’s as the sword plunged into him. There they remained until they glazed over in death. No sound of pain escaped his lips for that whole moment.

Savlian removed the sword and cleaned off the bloodied blade. His men looked to him, a solemn silence permeating from them all. It was Savlian who broke this silence.

“Let’s head on out.”

Posted by: canis216 Dec 29 2006, 11:28 PM

Spectacular!

Posted by: Black Hand Dec 30 2006, 09:43 AM

**Standing Ovation!!**

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 30 2006, 12:49 PM

In the end, Savlian still had a trick, or dagger, up his sleeve. Great work.

Posted by: w0nders Dec 30 2006, 02:58 PM

Great story, I enjoy reading it and look forward to the next update.

Posted by: minque Dec 31 2006, 10:24 PM

indeed you have a great talent for describing battles and fighting....so vivid and ..ehhh bloody! So great Mallie...just so intriguing, I´ve got a lot to learn from you!

Posted by: Soulseeker3.0 Jan 3 2007, 11:07 PM

Great duel scene MM, can't wait for more of the story.

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jan 6 2007, 06:25 AM

Well, I guess tomorrow turned out to be *cough* almost a week, so I apologise for any of those I misled. To make up for that, here's an update. One which I hope my loyal readers will find quite intriguing. Enjoy!


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

While Savlian was busy marching his way to Fort Falkrek, Simion was attempting to deal with the current threat upon him. The situation was grave if the Archmaster himself was in Kvatch and speaking with him. Like all assassins, he knew that Sethyas didn’t visit him to ask about the whereabouts of Lavos; there was more to it than that. He knew Sethyas was sizing him up, or possibly looking for something else entirely. His eyes landed on his bloodied gloves underneath his table.

That was what he was looking for; proof that Simion was responsible for the murders. Well he certainly found a credible source in the gloves, but there were other possible sources as well. He had dealt with one of them. That rat Madsen was not going to open his mouth anymore. But there had to be others as well. Somehow Savlian had linked him with the murder of Lavos, but he had no clue of how. Someone must’ve noticed his meetings with Lavos; whether it was at the taverns or his home Simion didn’t know. He was going to find out as soon as possible. He would need to before the Morag Tong found them.

It seemed that luck was shining on him today as his answer was found sooner than expected. In fact it was answered shortly after he stepped out of his home. He was just closing his door when he looked across the street to find Bernise tending to her garden. Bernise was perhaps the only person he had a modest relationship with, as they had spoken before. He began to approach her home in hopes of greeting her, but when she looked up and saw him a familiar look crossed her eyes. The same look that Madsen gave him the other night.

Hurt feelings rose up within him, but Simion hid it well. He smiled warmly to Bernise.

“Good morning, Bernise. Enjoying the fair weather for once?”

Bernise rose from the ground slowly, brushing of the dark, brown earth from her knees. She hesitantly forced a smile of her own.

“Good morning to you as well, Simion,” she said in an unsteady voice and paused momentarily, “I’m sorry, but I need to see to some things inside.”

With that, she quickly gathered up her gardening equipment and entered her home, shutting the door with a hurried force.

Simion frowned. It seemed she was the one who knew of Lavos. Regrettable as it was, he was going to have to make sure she didn’t speak to anyone else about Lavos.

The familiar sensation of the Voice’s arrival left Simion’s stomach roiling.

“It’s about time you started figuring things out on your own. She has to die before she opens her mouth once more!”

Simion nodded slowly as he walked away from Bernise’s home. Somehow, the day just didn’t seem so bright now.

Simion was just about to enter his home when his hand stopped halfway from reaching the door handle. Shock rippled down his body as he realised just what he had done. He had complied to the Voice’s wishes without resistance. He had willingly decided that Bernise had to die, without any goading whatsoever from the Voice.

Was the idea that logical? Or could it be that the Voice had broken him now? Was he simply a shell of what he used to be? These questions went racing through his mind as he stood transfixed before his door.

“Open the door! Do you want people to be more suspicious then they all ready are?” the Voice hissed, snapping Simion from his frozen state.

Simion entered his home and managed to slump into a chair. Everything he did seemed to take so much more effort. He felt drained and lost, his mind drifting off in every direction with no focus.

Simion’s vision began to blur, as if a haze was enveloping his sight. Simion knew he wanted to fight against it, yet his concentration was broken, lacking focus as it drifted aimlessly in the depths of his mind. It was as if he had lost completely control of his body.

Simion could feel the haze growing more and more powerful, and his sense on consciousness slipping. Try as he might, it couldn’t be stopped. He was caught in a battle that he was completely helpless in fighting. The last discernable thing Simion noticed before the haze consumed him was his own voice. The frightening part was that he knew he was incapable of forming these words, yet there they were, echoing against the walls of his empty home.

“It’s time to do things my way.”




It was as if he was having an out of body experience, only much more twisted and convoluted. Simion found himself looking down upon himself in his chair. The world around him was cast in swirling shades of grey. Nothing seemed solid, as if he was floating in some sort of imaginary sea.

Simion was still busy trying to comprehend what was going on when he noticed his body moving. It moved purposely to his wardrobe, where it began changing into his “night time” attire. It seemed that everywhere his body went, he was forced to follow unwillingly. Simion witnessed his body unsheathing one of his daggers and checking the blade for signs of damage before sheathing it once more.

What am I doing? Is this some sort of dream?

Simion didn’t know the answer to his questions, but his body decided to sneak out the back door of his home. Simion noticed that the sky held two large orbs in the air, swirling in the inky haze he was trapped in. Somehow, between his fadeout and this out of body experience, daylight had long since disappeared. Yet, Simion didn’t feel like the transition was that long, as if the transition to where he was now had only taken moments.

Simion’s focus returned to his body, which was now carefully travelling through the empty street before it slipped through the backyard of one of his neighbour’s home. The eyes of his body were the only things that didn’t shimmer and sway in this world. They were perfectly clear, and horrible. The expression within those eyes showed a lethal determination. A complete disregard of life except for one’s own life encompassed them as well.

Seeing that expression would’ve sent shivers down Simion’s spine if he could’ve felt it. It suddenly dawned on him what was being done here. His body was paying Bernise a visit. Simion could see his body’s eyes fixed upon the serene looking house not too far from his own.

With slick agility and speed, Simion watched his body stealthily enter Bernise’s backyard. His body calmly inspected the windows and doors of the home, probably looking for signs of Bernise being awake.

Seemly satisfied with its observations, Simion’s body began to pick the lock of Bernise’s back door. All the while, Simion could only watch helplessly as the inevitable was rapidly descending upon Bernise.

She was only doing what was right. I deserve to be punished!

Simion’s body ignored his mental cries and quickly popped the lock. The door opened soundlessly and the body proceeded into the house, virtually dragging Simion along. He did not want to see what was bound to happen. Yet try as he might, he could not escape whatever was keeping him bound to following his body.

Simion was forced to watch as his body ascended the stairs carefully, followed by a short sneak down the hallway and into Bernise’s bedroom where a petit lump rested in the bed.

Simion desperately tried to pry his eyes away from his body inching its way towards Bernise, but he had no eyelids to conceal the events unfolding before him. Nor did he have the ability to flee from the scene. He felt utterly helpless.

It was then that his body unsheathed his dagger. It was that moment that Simion noticed new feelings in his body’s crystal clear eyes. Excitement, expectation, even pleasure were mixed with the previous expressions in those eyes.

The body rose from the crouch that it had travelled the entire distance so far. Its hand shot out to clamp upon the mouth of Bernise, whose eyes bulged at the sudden pressure upon her face and glistened in fear at the sight before her. A low, muffled moan managed to escape through the gloved fingers of his body’s hand.

The body brought his hand holding the dagger to his face. Resting an index finger against its lips, the body signalled for silence.

“Shhhh, Bernise. I’m only here to keep those pretty lips of yours closed. Permanently,” the body said in a croaked whisper before plunging the dagger into Bernise’s abdomen.

Simion would’ve quivered at seeing Bernise shudder from the impact of the blade, but he had to body to quiver in. Crimson began to bloom from the wound. Somehow he could see the blood in this grey world he was stuck in. The splash of colour was all the more vivid due to its stark contrast to the world he could see.

Delight sparkled in his body’s eyes as it withdrew the blade from her body, rivulets of blood sliding down the darkened metal. Bernise, ever one to cling to life, tried to free herself from her constricting sheets and call out for help. The body’s hand was still firmly across her mouth though, which also kept her from moving too much.

Simion loss count of the number of times the dagger descended down into Bernise’s body. He knew it didn’t take long for her moans of pain to stop, and yet, the blade still descended. The sound of it was torture upon Simion’s imaginary ears; the sight of the blood was burning his imaginary eyes.

Finally, the attacks stopped and the body stood over what was once a living person. Drops of blood fell from the dagger held loosely to the body’s side. Simion could see his body’s eyes drinking up the scene before it, relishing every bloody moment of it. Simion watched as the body caressed Bernise’s cheek with his dagger, leaving a crimson smudge. Simion felt he was going to vomit from such a display.

A wry smile cracked the body’s lips as it wiped the dagger cleaned, sheathed it, and then proceeded to exit the house the same way it came. It even locked the door on its way out. All the while, the only thought running through Simion’s mind was this can’t be real… This can’t be real… This can’t…



Simion’s eyes fluttered up and he gasped aloud and stood bolt upright from his chair. He looked around and found himself back in his home, sunlight peeking through the closed drapes of his windows.

“It was a dream,” Simion said breathlessly as it only seemed moments had passed since he blacked out.

It was then that he looked down and saw himself decked out in his night time attire. The black leather was covered in dried blood. Simion felt like retching all over again as that all too familiar feeling rose up within his mind.

“Hope you enjoyed last night’s show,” the Voice cackled as Simion stared down in mute horror at himself.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jan 6 2007, 10:56 AM

Hmm, I hate to say it but that Voice can probably function even with Simion death. What is needed here is a supernatural way of dealing with the problem. Mere steel won't work. Dang, that Voice is getting nastier every time.

Nice display in the 'dream' scene with the contrast between the grey and the red. And yes, I realize it wasn't a dream. It just sounds right to call it so.

Edit: I think you might be forced to start a new thread. You're getting close to the post limit.

Posted by: canis216 Jan 6 2007, 06:05 PM

That was freaky. He's totally losing control... scary stuff. I guess Simion really needs help now.

Posted by: minque Jan 6 2007, 06:29 PM

Uhhh......jeezers.....gulp, that was....bloody? And aye....you´ll have to start another thread pretty soon I gather...

My my Mallie, you are one of a kind!

Posted by: The Metal Mallet Jan 6 2007, 08:35 PM

Hehe, glad to see the reactions I got from that post. To celebrate, I think it's safe to assume that this will be my last update post for this thread... Wow 10 pages of this stuff, I'm quite amazed. But do not fear, Bloodlust will continue on it's next thread! Here's the thread closer!


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

Savlian was surprised to see dawn’s morning light beginning to pierce the sky when he stepped out of the entrance of Fort Falkrek. He didn’t think it would’ve taken the whole night to accomplish vanquishing Hlodir, but that seemed to be the case. That simple sight made Savlian also realise how exhausted he was.

That exhaustion was partially lifted as he saw the signs of victory surrounding him as the soldiers of Kvatch were celebrating victory. It seemed that many of them were happy to relieve the bandits of their booze, as many of them looked as if they had spent the remainder of the night drinking. One of them even stumbled up to the captain and handed him a bottle of brandy; a drunken smile fully enveloped his face.

Savlian smiled and cheerfully clapped his hand against the soldier and accepted the bottle of brandy. He took a hearty swig before passing the bottle to one of the soldiers that went into the Fort with him. Wiping his mouth, he thanked those around him and told the soldiers that travelled into the Fort with him to meet him in a day’s time in Kvatch where they were to be rewarded appropriately for their courage. His promise was greeted with eager and happy faces.

Dismissing himself from his men, Savlian went in search of Ormellius. He actually found him with the soldiers left to guard the bandits who decided to yield to the Kvatch soldiers. It was a smart decision, though they would be put into jail for a time, it certainly seemed better than death.

When Ormellius noticed Savlian, a great smile beamed across his hardened face and he gripped Savlian’s forearm graciously. Savlian returned the grip himself.

“Glad to see you’ve made it! I take it that our “problem” is solved?” Ormellius asked, before breaking down and chuckling to his little wise crack.

Savlian couldn’t help but laugh as well. “Yes, sir. Your “problem” has been taken care of,” Savlian replied, going along with the joke.

Ormellius motioned for Savlian to follow him as he led Savlian away from the battlegrounds. With their fun done, Ormellius returned to his usual serious self.

“If you had taken much longer, I would’ve knocked down that door and got you. Whether Hlodir was dead or not wouldn’t have mattered. I’m glad that he’s dealt with though,” Ormellius added before going silent a moment, “How many casualties did you have?”

“Only one. How did we fair out here?” Savlian inquired.

Ormellius turned back to face the scene of the battle. Despite the overall good feeling of victory, Ormellius still bore the burden of those men who lost their lives during the night. He could see, even at the distance they stood, the men assigned the duty to search through the bodies of the dead for soldiers of Kvatch.

“Last time I checked, we had 50 men lost, though I estimate we’re probably around a hundred now. It’s going to take most of the morning to bury the bodies and prepare transports for our dead and wounded; I suggest you get some rest while that happens. I am not going to burden you with duty such as that,” Ormellius said, avoiding any display of emotion whatsoever.

Savlian thanked the Count for the relief of duty, but despite being tired, he didn’t immediately go to a tent made up for him. Instead, he made a quick tour of the battle, observing those celebrating the victory, to those assigned the task of searching through the bloody battleground for their own men, some of which the searchers were bound to know. He even visited the captured men, whose eyes were all downcast to the ground; all ready accepting their confinement as armed pikemen kept guard around them. It was after all that that Savlian decided to rest.



Savlian was a bit surprised to find two of his men waiting exclusively for his arrival when the army arrived back to Kvatch after an uneventful journey.

Can they not even look after the city for two days? Savlian thought bitterly as he waved his men to him.

“We’re glad to see you survived the battle, sir. Unfortunately, we have a bit of an urgent situation that we think you should look at,” the foremost Guardsman said in a voice mixed with embarrassment and relief.

“What could possibly be so urgent?” Savlian said, his words slightly heated at the inconvenience of the discussion.

“Well, it has to do with the case you’ve been following. We’ve found another body; murdered in her own home this time,” the other Guard said regretfully.

Savlian reeled on the inside. Again!?

“I’m sorry for snapping at you. Indeed, you’ve done the right thing,” Savlian said apologetically, “Now, take me to where this scene is.”

His men led him away from the army procession and quickly into town. They took a quick route through side streets and alleyways until eventually Savlian noticed that they were entering the middle class residential district of the town. The district that Simion lived in.

Before he knew it, he was walking right past Simion’s home. He could feel almost a foreign, cold essence exuding from the home. His eyes stood fixed on the place, looking for signs of life.

“Sir? This is the place,” one of the guards said, snapping Savlian gaze.

“Oh!” Savlian said, slightly startled. His gaze then fell on the house. “Oh….”

Savlian stood before the quaint little home of Bernise. The woman who had noticed Simion supposedly removing a body from his home. The woman who Savlian had told that nothing would happen to her.

“Well…. Let’s head on in.”



As soon as Savlian saw Bernise’s bedroom, he immediately recoiled from the scene; he was too shocked and hurt to actually see what was there. One of the guards approached Savlian and asked if he was okay. Savlian simply waved him off. He needed to actually see the crime scene.

The scene was a bloody one. Bernise’s torso was savagely attacked, yet everything else seemed undamaged, the only blemish being a smug of blood wiped against her cheek. She looked frightfully pale, almost as if she was a doll. It sickened Savlian, that someone would do this. And now he was certain who was responsible. There was no coincidences that could change his mind. In fact, his previous thoughts disclaiming Simion was at fault for Madsen’s murder was just wishful thinking.

Simion was removing those who could incriminate him. He had broken his vow to avoid killing. He was going to pay. Savlian was going to ensure it.

Savlian had been so focused on defeating Hlodir, his personal grudge getting the best of him that Simion managed to kill freely once more. Now Savlian was paying for it with the death of someone he assured would be safe. He had to stop this madness once and for all.

He needed to plan a visit with Simion.

Posted by: minque Jan 6 2007, 08:42 PM

So true! My god this is intriguing...Now I´m closing this thread, and let´s hope this story continues in another one!

Keep posting MM!

And here is the http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=3616 to the continuation of this great story!