Bloodlust, Written by a Fan Fiction Newbie Options

[Black Hand]

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

[Mazelure]

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

[The Metal Mallet]

This may be your first fan fic, but you must have written before. And written WELL.

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

[Black Hand]

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!

[The Metal Mallet]

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....

This post has been edited by The Metal Mallet: Jul 30 2006, 07:43 PM

[The Metal Mallet]

And here it is! Enjoy!

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

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.”

[The Metal Mallet]

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…”

[The Metal Mallet]

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


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

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.

[Lord Revan]

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

My moneys on Simion, who's with me?

[The Metal Mallet]

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


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

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…

[jack cloudy]

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

[Axlynch]

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.

[The Metal Mallet]

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.


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

“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.

[jack cloudy]

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

[The Metal Mallet]

So I guess that this forced his retirement?

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.

[The Metal Mallet]

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.

[Kiln]

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*

[The Metal Mallet]

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.

[jack cloudy]

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.)

[Kiln]

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.

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.

This post has been edited by Kiln: Aug 15 2006, 07:04 PM