Killing in the Emperor's Name, A collection: An argonian assassin's world Options

[The Metal Mallet]

Ahhh, so they've decided to systematically assassinate all the guards to allow safe passage of the "army", interesting. It definitely looks like it's working so far, hopefully the plan continues to be a success.

[jack cloudy]

Hmm, well it does sound like it can work. On the other hand, that's a lot of guards to kill. I bet that at least one of them will be able to get a warning out.

[canis216]

An Obsession – Part Six

The rain began to fall, warm as guar piss, as Heik-Auri thrust his ebony through the heart of the lord of the Mastarzas Manor, at the edge of Tear. The sun had been down an hour-and-half. The argonian rifled through the dark elf’s robes.

“Nine-Toes! Here’s the slave key!” He tossed a tiny mass of iron his companion’s way.

“Excellent. I’ll free the slaves, you signal Gei-Tekri.” He took a step, then paused and looked back at Heik-Auri. “Did we just kill seventy dunmer in five hours, the two of us?”

“I guess we did. By the gods, we did kill seventy mer… I think I need a drink.” He took a bottle of mazte from the nearby table, and opened it.

Nine-Toes found a second bottle. “Yes, I think I need one too.”

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

“Well done, scouts” Gei-Tekri scanned the manor courtyard, gazing over the figures in bonemold lying dead in puddles of their own blood, now diluted by the rain. “I’m glad that you are on our side.”

“It is a half-hour walk to the slaveyard, Gei-Tekri. Northwest. The administrative center of Tear is northeast, perhaps forty minutes walk. I would say that now would be the time to split the force, but I worry. It rains; how are we set the city aflame?”

“We can still set fire to the building interiors, can we not? Can we not still see the Dres Council consumed by flames?”

“Maybe we could just assault the slaveyard, and not bother with the rest. Or I could sneak into the councilors’ quarters and slay them…

“No Heik-Auri, Tear must burn!” the battlechief shouted. He stopped himself, and spoke more quietly, “I’m sorry… we could not have reached this point without you, and Nine-Toes. But could we not use magical fire? Could it resist the rain?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Perhaps a powerful mage… say, weren’t there a couple of bretons amongst the slaves?”

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

“You say you can cast a fire spell that will outlast the rain?” Heik-Auri stood before a slightly built old breton man with long, unkempt gray hair and beard and dressed in a tattered brown shirt and pants.

“Aye. The trick is to cast a spell of ‘weakness to fire’ concurrently. But I’ll need a little help regenerating my magic—I’m still a bit drained from those bracers, y’know.”

“Comberries. We need comberries. Nine-Toes, wasn’t there some of that inside the manor?”

“Indeed. I’ll go fetch them.”

“Thanks. Oh, and pick up a decent robe for our wizard here while you’re at it.” Heik-Auri turned back to the old breton. “Say, if you’re a wizard, how’d these dunmer enslave you to begin with?”

“Well, it’s sort of embarrassing. I had two rather unpleasant habits in my middle-age; drinking and gambling. They don’t go well together.”

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

One half-hour later Nine-Toes and Heik-Auri guided a detachment of forty hist through the dark, to the northwest and the infamous slave pens of Tear.

“It’s a good thing we found that breton, if he’s a talented as he says he is.”

“You think so, Nine-Toes? I’d rather we hadn’t found him; wizard or no wizard, burning Tear is a fool’s errand. I just hope Gei-Tekri realizes that before it’s too late.”

“You think his party won’t succeed? I must admit, I also have my doubts.”

“His anger blinds him. He is no fool, but he is not himself. Are we even ourselves? We killed so many back there… we’ve both killed before, you and I, but not like that. And now we are off to kill again. How many mer do you think guard the slaveyard?”

“Our spies say perhaps forty dunmer and almost as many mercenaries. But we have the darkness and the surprise in our favor.”

“Yes, that evens the odds, I think. I hope. Still, this will not be like the plantations. Now we have an army. This isn’t going to be an assassination—it will be a battle. I’ve never fought like this before.”

“Nor I.”

“I don’t think we will again, either.” They kept walking for another moment, quietly, before Heik-Auir spoke again.

“Nine-Toes?”

“Yes?”

“You think we’ll survive?”

He thought a moment. “Yes. You and me both. Why not? What do you think?”

“I think that we won’t be seeing Gei-Tekri again.”

This post has been edited by canis216: Feb 3 2007, 10:27 PM

[minque]

Interesting.....I never cared much about those Lizzards before, but now after reading your story...hmmm

[Black Hand]

Niiice Build-Up here!

[The Metal Mallet]

I sense some foreshadowing going on here... Excellent update.

[canis216]

An Obsession – Part Seven

A tower, pieced together from fired bricks of marsh mud and a few wooden beams harvested from the swamps or from the north, stands at each corner of the slave compound. If you were standing at the top of the tower, seventy feet above the muddy ground below, you would see an unending procession of slaves being moved in and out of cages strung together with marsh reeds and thin wooden poles. The slaveyard of Tear never rests, for there is always a deal to be made in the largest slavemarket in Tamriel. On another night it might have been possible to see one of the reclusive sload touch down in his airship, purchasing chattels for necromantic experimentation. Tonight it was raining, so it was not quite so busy, but the slavers still liked to march their captives about from cell-to-cell, if only to enjoy their power over the assembled argonians and khajiit, even the occasionally human or elf.

Tonight, up on the tower, you would also see a slumping figure in bonemold reclining against the parapet as the blood flows from his throat and pools down to his feet, trickling down to the open trap door. Go down into the tower, down the stairs, and you would see two more bodies in bonemold lying upon the floor, force of life ebbing away. At the tower bottom you would find two argonians propping crates and tables, anything they can find, up against the door.

“We should use the bodies, too, Nine-Toes. A lot of extra weight on the tables, armored like that.”

“Sounds good. Let’s haul them down here.”

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

“I’ll take out the archer on the northeast tower, you can take the southwest, and whoever gets the northwest first can have it” Nine-Toes announced, placing a bolt in his steel crossbow, “Then we open up the one’s below. They probably won’t even notice us taking out the archers, so we can take out a few more of them before the fight really begins.”

Heik-Auri nocked an arrow and took aim to the west. He could scarcely see the other tower through the rain, yet it was there, a lit lantern revealing yet another figure in bonemold, this one seated on a stool. As he drew back, he heard the crack and whistle of Nine-Toe’s shot and thought, “I guess he’ll be getting the northwest tower.” Then he released the arrow and the figure in bonemold fell back, tried to get up, then stayed down as it was pierced by another arrow. He turned to north, Heik-Auri, but he had beaten by Nine-Toes, as he had thought.

“I really need one of those crossbows.”

Nine-Toes just smiled, a bit sheepishly.

“I’ll give you a head start, this time. Pick your shot.”

Heik-Auri nocked another arrow and gazed out over the slave compound below. Off in the corner a khajiit, exiled from the deserts of Anequima, curses the rain, shaking clawed shackled paws at the invisible Masser and Secunda. He is calling on Azura, Heik-Auri thinks, pleading or cursing or crying at whatever gave him his form, his life, this hell. A long-haired red eyed dark elf in flowing robes strides purposefully to the rebelling slave, club in one hand and whip in the other; a cohort of argonians walk past—they are all staring into the mud. He takes aim with his bow, Heik-Auri, searching for the dunmer’s forehead. He releases the arrow.

The khajiit slave looks up as the dunmer falls, but no one else notices. Then Nine-Toes releases a bolt, then Heik-Auir another arrow, and soon half a dozen dark elves are fallen and bleeding and now everyone notices. The slavers and mercenaries either scramble for cover or make for the tower door.

Forty argonians shouting for blood and revenge and for sheer madness charge into the compound.

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

How long had the fight been going? They didn’t know, neither Heik-Auri nor Nine-Toes. They just leaned over the parapet, firing projectiles in the muddy, writhing monster below whenever they could distinguish foe from friend.

“Look, Heik-Auri! What the hell is—“

“Levitation!”

A pair of dark elves dropped from the sky onto the tower, swords drawn, while a third hovered in the air, cradling a crossbow. Heik-Auri dodged a bolt and drew his blades to engage the swordsmen, raking one across the chest with the dagger while blocking a blow from the other with his shortsword. Nine-Toes dodged behind the first, wounded and weakening swordsman and placed a dagger in his back. The crossbow-wielding dunmer searched for a target amidst the scrum—until he was struck by a bolt from Nine-Toes, while Heik-Auri sliced open his own combatant’s throat. Two dunmer fell.

A dwarven crossbow fell at Heik-Auri’s feet.

This post has been edited by canis216: Feb 9 2007, 01:15 AM

[The Metal Mallet]

The battle begins! And what a battle! Great work canis.

[Black Hand]

So the fabled Crossbow arrives. I knew there was some crazy background to it...just didnt think it was that crazy!

Well Done Canis.

[jack cloudy]

Wow, the situation sure has become hectic. And another souvenir to add to our assassin. Yippee!

[canis216]

An Obsession – Part Eight

“Spare a few more bolts?”

The question came as Heik-Auri and Nine-Toes steadily launched the tiny steel projectiles into the crowd below; there were perhaps twenty-five of their own band still fighting, along with whatever slaves had been loose within the compound—a motley crew of argonians and khajiit perhaps twenty in number still stood fighting with claws and weapons taken from the dead. Nearly fifty slavers and mercenaries still stood and fought; one more fell to a bolt before Nine-Toes responded to the request and passed over seven bolts.

“I’m running low myself. We’ll have to get down there soon.”

“Yeah… hey, is that lightning to the east?”

“I think it was. But no thunder. And no fires.”

“Damn.”

“No use worrying about. We’ve got fifteen bolts between us—let’s make them count.”

Two shots Nine-Toes used to bring down a big nord in chainmail. Heik-Auri used one from his powerful new crossbow to bring down the imperial crossing blades with two khajiit slaves, a second to fell a spear-wielding slaver sitting atop a plain strider—the dunmer tumbled off to face the wrath of the slaves and saviors. It took Nine-Toes three more shots to drop a pair of bonemold-clad mercenary guards swinging great axes. Heik-Auri was sizing up yet another shot—targeting a huge, claymore-swinging figure resplendent in orcish armor—when he heard Nine-Toes shout, “The Legion is here! Run!” He looked up, almost annoyed—until he saw a phalanx of one hundred imperial spearmen marching from the south. Blocking the way back to Argonia.

“Come on Heik-Auri, we must flee!”

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here!”

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

The streets of Tear were mostly empty, which Heik-Auri supposed was reasonable considering that it was long after midnight and still raining. Still something wasn’t right—hell, nothing was right, and everything was completely opposite of what he and Nine-Toes could have hoped. There was no panicked populace racing through the streets, no fleeing of burning buildings, no desperate screams. Instead, they heard the sound of armored footsteps to their rear, to the fore, in any and all directions. The House Guards and the Imperial Legion were everywhere, Heik-Auri thought.

“We can’t keep running! They’ll catch us!”

Nine-Toes pointed to his right, a little south. “That alley. I think I see a door there. At least we might be able to steal a change of clothes—that might throw them off a little.”

They ran into the alley—and there was a door, locked. Heik-Auri quickly pulled out a pick from within his robe and jammed it into the lock. One… two… three…

“We’re in.”

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

“I guess I’ll need to find a better lock-maker. That was supposed to be a ninety-point lock.”

“Um… it was.” Those were the only words Heik-Auri could expel from his mouth. What stood before him was, if not quite an anachronism, rather unusual. The imperial man standing before him, shirtless, showed no fear, no anger. He took a puff from a skooma pipe.

“So it was. Is that why you sought fit to break into my safehouse?”

“Safehouse? Oh shi… would you excuse me while I consult my friend here?”

The imperial nodded.

“Nine-Toes, what the hell did I just break us into? I swear I won’t do it again, any of this—I just want to lie on the beach and drink and linger in the sun, forever and ever—“

“Get yourself together! We’ll deal with it!”

“Times up” the imperial interrupted. “I hope you had a nice conversation, but I’m afraid that we have a problem. You, obviously, are involved in all this ruckus about town. Can’t say I’m surprised, what with all that activity down in Black Marsh lately—“

“You knew? Who—“

Heik-Auri was cut off. “Who am I? I’m with the Blades, of course. You didn’t think that we wouldn’t pick up on this little stunt of yours, did you?”

“It was none of your business! It was between us and the Dres!”

“Morrowind IS my business, young marshwalker.”

Nine-Toes stepped forward. “So you told the Legion to be ready for us, eh? But,” he said, looking over his unarmed foe and the bare room, “you didn’t get ready yourself.”

“Is that a threat, marshwalker?”

“Absolutely. But my honor compels me to fight you upon even terms. Are you prepared to fight hand-to-hand, to the death?”

“Let the first blow be yours.”

Nine-Toes dropped his crossbow and his dagger, and raised his scaly fists, moving forward for the first strike. He missed; or rather the blow was dodged expertly, as a dragonfly might elude an ogrim’s grasp. The imperial ducked low and delivered a savage blow below the argonian’s ribcage, dropping him to the floor.

“Stop it!” Heik-Auri called. “This fight is unfair; Nine-Toes is no master of unarmed combat, and you, Blade, clearly are. There can be no honor in such a mismatch. Will you fight me instead?”

The imperial considered, scratching his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “As you say, I have some skill in unarmed combat, and this one” he said, referring to Nine-Toes, who was just staggering back to his feet, “is clearly not. You think you are good enough?”

“It is not my strength, but neither is it my weakness.”

“I would rather see your strength.”

Heik-Auri raised his two blades, of ebony and daedric metal.

“You pack some rather fancy hardware for a guerilla, marshwalker.”

“Would you like to try one out?”

“Short blades aren’t my own strength I’m afraid. My greatest weapon is no weapon at all. And I hope you would rather see my strength, as well.”

“Indeed. Shall we?”

The imperial nodded and eased back into a defensive position. Heik-Auri held the dagger in his left hand, the shortsword in his right—the dagger he held in back almost like a shield, ready to block. The argonian stepped forward easily, with almost imperceptible effort; he feinted a thrust with the shortsword but brought the dagger down at a diagonal across the imperial’s chest—or where the chest had been but a split-second before. The imperial dodged the slash and instead brought his right fist down upon Heik-Auri’s shoulder, which accepted the blow easily, slipping away. Heik-Auri slashed with the shortsword, missing but pulling into a spin, bringing the dagger back around only to be blocked by his foe. The Blade delivered a kick; Heik-Auri intercepted it by bringing the hilt of his ebony shortsword down upon his opponent’s knee. Hard. Both went sprawling as the man somehow managed to kick Heik-Auri with his other leg.

The two combatants struggled to get up. Heik-Auri was first—he leaped upon the imperial and brought his dagger up to the man’s throat.

“Any last words, Blade?”

The Blade was remarkably calm, considering that a dagger was held to his throat. “Yes, as a matter fact. Do you want a job?”

Both marshwalkers’ eyes opened wide. “What?”

“I’m assembling a team of Blades to work under my command, on Vvardenfell. I could use you. Both of you.”

Heik-Auri frowned, then grinned. “And what if we say no? I could just kill you and be done with this business, head home.”

“That would be rather short-sighted of you, I think. You still have the Dres and the Legion looking for you. You’re good; but they’ll be out in force—and blocking the way back to Argonia. You have no choice but to head north.”

“Even if we join you, Dres still wants our heads. Are you just going to cast a fancy little spell, Blade, that will make that problem go away?”

“Well, I could invoke the Emperor’s name, but that attracts attention. No, I have a secret way out of here. And you can use it, if you join the Blades.”

Heik-Auri pulled the dagger away from the imperial’s throat and looked up at his clanbrother. “What do you think?”

“Let’s take the deal and get the hell out of here.”

“Done. We are at your service, sera—“

“Caius. Caius Cosades,” he accepted a hand from Heik-Auri, “and you are?”

“He’s Nine-Toes,” Heik-Auri said, gesturing to his friend. Then he grinned widely, thinking of… something.

“You can call me Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun.”

This post has been edited by canis216: Mar 19 2008, 09:37 PM

[Black Hand]

Nicely Done! So Caius had something to do with the Dres disaster, eh? Makes you wonder....

[The Metal Mallet]

Brilliant addition of Caius into this whole mess. Nice was to see the origin of Heik's "Blades Name" I'll call it. Superb job canis!

[jack cloudy]

Caius! Oh, good old Skoomie is one of my favourite characters. I mean, who's ever seen a master spy without a shirt? And James Bond doesn't count because Caius is cool even without a woman in his bed. (Actually, he's cooler without a woman than he'd be with one.)

SGM.

[canis216]

Bad Memories

Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun awoke with Kills-You-Dead in hand—the floorboards were creaking, out on the dock, in the characteristic rhythm of sneaking footsteps. He sat up in the hammock and quietly swung his feet down to the floor. Crouching low, the assassin moved forward to the door, ready to strike—if he needed to. The footsteps had ceased—in front of the door, he thought. The door opened. “Nine-Toes?”

“Sun-Lingerer?”

Nine-Toes stood up from his crouch, as did Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun. They smiled and laughed—how ridiculous it was, two old friends getting the jump on each other.

“What are you doing here, Nine-Toes?”

“What am I doing here? Wasn’t it I who told you about this place? I’ve been using it as a rest stop while I’m out mapping the Bitter Coast, of course. It sure beats laying down in the swamp. But what the hell are you doing here?”

The assassin sat down upon one of crates piled inside the shack. “So you haven’t heard. Elone got upset about that job with Orvas Dren I pulled, and then all hell broke loose in Arille’s. I think I sent half of that fool altmer’s customers to see a healer.”

“So you figure that’s enough to kick you out of the order?” asked Nine-Toes, pulling up a barrel upon which to sit, “I mean, that job with the slavehouse was a lot worse, if you ask me. They let you back in after that one.”

“Hell, I don’t know. How much trouble have I caused the Blades now?”

“Well, there was that Sadrith Mora job, for one. The guard in Blacklight—though I fought that was more fun than trouble. Suran. This. Am I missing anything?”

“That one time in Ghostgate.”

“Oh yes, the Armigers. Sore losers, if you ask me.”

“Yes, well. The point is, I think this one was the last straw. The imperial guard is looking for me, I’m sure. I had to get out of Seyda Neen faster than a guar on moonsugar.”

“So what are you going to do? You aren’t just going to sit around in this shack all day and night, are you?”

“I don’t know, Nine-Toes. I need some time to think about my situation. I need to clear my head. You know what I mean?”

“The dreams?”

“Yeah, the dreams. It was Tear, again, last night. I don’t know how often it’s run through my head, but I thought it would have been more than enough times by now. But I can’t forget it.”

“Tear isn’t exactly the sort of thing you forget.”

“I still wonder what happened to Gei-Tekri. We got out of there so fast…” The words hung in the air; as the two argonians hung their heads.

“I think that your premonition was right. It troubles me to think of what the Dres must have done—so I try not to think of it much. Those were bad times, clanbrother.”

“I’m not sure they’ve improved much.”

“We’ve made lives here on Vvardenfell, haven’t we? What did we have then? I tell you, we had hate, hate and fear.”

“Nine-Toes, I do not fear anymore but I must say it. I still have that hate.”

“Yes, yes I know. What can I say? Your trade keeps you close to those bad memories, I think. Do you agree?”

“It’s what I know.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. All we knew, those years ago, was killing dunmer and saving our own skins. Now you kill all the races, but how has your life really changed? You rented a nice room, you drink brandy instead of greef, and you work for the Empire instead of the clan. Is that it?”

“That’s it.” His eyes burned, slightly, from anger or sorrow—perhaps both. “And there’s no way out, is there? What can I do besides killing people?”

[jack cloudy]

It looks as if Al is about to make up his mind. Even if the Blades want him back, he might leave. He's obviously sick of the endless killing.

[Black Hand]

The deep scars of pain and regret, how they seem to sharpen us into,...interesting beings. As I wrote once: "Who we are, is not neccesarily connected to what we do."

[canis216]

Serious Business

Nine-Toes and I sat around on the porch for a few days, sharing my brandy and flin and commiserating upon the sunset.

“I think,” I said, in between sips of brandy, “that Magnus must be hanging over the Imperial City right now.”

“You think either of us will ever see it? Do we want to?”

“I don’t know. You’re a hunter—I don’t know if they have much use for that, there. It’s a big city. I’m told that it dwarfs even Almalexia.” I paused to open up another bottle. “An assassin like me I guess they could use, though there are already so many. All those petty nobles and frustrated city folk—I’m sure they have no end of work for assassins.”

“Not that you want to do that anymore.” Nine-Toes took a pull and grinned.

“Right. Hah! Dark Brotherhood wouldn’t take kindly to the intrusion, either, I’d think. Pathetic fools… but nonetheless, fools to be reckoned with, if only for their numbers. Well, they won’t have to worry about me intruding upon their business anytime soon.”

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

Nine-Toes had to hustle back to Balmora to file a report, and I needed to restock my liquor cabinet, so to speak. I ferried us over to Gnaar Mok in Has no Sails, and hoped that I might go unrecognized. Fortunately the town fits the archetype of a ‘backwater’ perfectly—the Hlaalu guards showed no signs of recognizing me. I wonder if they would even care, here on the Smuggler’s Coast.

I must admit that I haven’t spent much time in Gnaar Mok—the only mer who have are the smugglers, the poor, the guards, and the resident nobles—who must have offended somebody.

“I don’t suppose they stock brandy at the tradehouse, do they?” I asked Nine-Toes, just before he set on his way up-trail.

“Well, they do and they don’t. Druegh-jigger’s Rest doesn’t officially sell brandy—they smuggle it in, to keep it off the books.”

“Thieves Guild?”

“Of course. They’re not advertising, but Wadarkhu the khajiit hangs around there; he’s very serious business—the Guild’s big-shot smuggler, I hear.”

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

“What can khajiit do for you?”

The question came from a green-robed suthay-raht who looked rather self-assured. Seeing as how the only other occupants of the tradehouse were redguards, I guessed that this was Wadarkhu. And I was right.

“Do I come to the right place for brandy?”

“You come to the right place for many things, marshwalker. How much do you need?”

“How’s twenty bottles, for a start?”

“Twenty? Wadarkhu brings only twenty bottles in an entire shipment, if Wadarkhu is very fortunate. Wadarkhu only has fifteen bottles in his entire stock now.”

Just my luck. A backwater town, indeed. But I had little choice.

“I’ll take them all,” I said, holding out a substantial bag of drakes out to the khajiit. “And please, think of me first when your next shipment comes in.”

“Do that, Wadarkhu will. Wadarkhu has only heard of one marshwalker with such an appetite for booze before…”

“No, you haven’t.” I passed over another sack of gold—500 septims. He took the proffered gold with a smile, “Wadarkhu’s memory has been known to be a little faulty. But you are generous, so Wadarkhu instead remembers this; the smugglers working out of Shurinbaal lost their contact in Balmora. Wadarkhu hears they’re working now with someone in Ald’ruhn.”

I nodded. I didn’t particularly care about smugglers and smuggling, at the moment, but it pays to know the local news.

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

I awoke in the middle of the night, my cross-bow in hand. So very strange, I thought, for all was quiet. I heard no footfalls upon my porch, no strange noises emanating from the dark—yet something didn’t feel right. Someone was trying to sneak up on me, I could feel, as it seemed I could always feel it.

The smallest light flashed outside my door; like someone was casting a spell. A spell of silence. Of course, I thought; it makes sense now, everything but why. The door opened slightly; one inch then two, and as soon as I saw a head appear I released the bolt—the spell of silence died with my would-be assailant, and he fell loudly and heavily to the floor.

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

Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun

The afore-mentioned has been marked for honorable execution in accordance to the lawful tradition and practice of the Morag Tong Guild. The Bearer of this non-disputable document has official sanctioned license to kill the afore-mentioned personage.



So I would have to pay another visit to Eno Hlaalu.

[canis216]

The Grandmaster

“Ulmesi, have you heard from Yatuse?” the orc’s voice boomed. If Ulmesi had not seen the concern on his face she would have thought that Rogdul was angry with her somehow. She sighed, “No, I haven’t heard from him yet. But that’s no reason to worry; Gnaar Mok is far away, and such a backwater, and I did tell him to be careful with this one.”

“Careful?” the orc nearly shouted. He composed himself before continuing, “I know I’ve said it three times already, but this should have been a writ for the Grandmaster. The mark is too dangerous for Yatuse. Look at what happened to—“

“I know what happened Rogdul, and I appreciate your concern. But I think that this writ is not worthy of the Grandmaster’s attention, and anyway, he isn’t anywhere on Vvardenfell right now. And Yatuse is a very promising assassin. His grasp of the school of illusion is unprecedented for a mer his age.”

“I’m sorry Ulmesi, you are right. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Still, I hope he can make it back tonight. I worry about him… he’s a little arrogant in his use of nightblade magick.”

“We’ll work on his strategy when he returns. Perhaps he can see Master Andarys.”

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

Long past midnight a faint sound, close by her bedside, roused Ulmesi from her slumber. She tried to look around, but she found she couldn’t move at all.

“Yes, Miss Baryon, I’ve paralyzed you,” a masculine voice hissed into her ear, “the better for you to listen. It would be a shame if you cried out before I have my say. Your… cult here just last night made a second attempt upon my life—in spite of an accord I made with your Grandmaster, Eno Hlaalu, some time ago. I would talk to him directly, but he doesn’t seem to be here. I want to know where he is, so I’m going to un-paralyze you, and you are going to answer me quietly—or I’ll kill you and every one of your associates. I hope you understand.”

Ulmesi felt restorative magic flow through her—a great pressure upon her chest vanished, and her muscles all relaxed at once. She whispered, “E-E-Eno retired, he’s gone.”

“Then who is the Grandmaster now? Surely it isn’t you.” She thought she heard a mocking quality enter the hiss in her ear.

“I can’t tell you.”

“What? Don’t be foolish, Miss Baryon.” She felt cold, jagged daedric metal pressed to her throat—but she didn’t dare look. “Feel that, dunmer? That is your fate, unless you tell me what I need to know.”

“A Morag Tong assassin does not fear death. I will go to my ancestors, with honor.”

The hiss grew harsher, if that were possible. “Don’t try to feed me that guar dung, Baryon. I know assassination—far more than you. When was the last time you struck another living, breathing soul down? When was the last time you faced death? We fear death, all of us assassins. Any who don’t are guar-dung crazy. We overcome fear, fight through it—but we don’t forget it.” The hiss paused, but its dagger continued to press firmly down upon Ulmesi’s throat—and then it spoke again, “But death is not the worst. No, Miss Baryon, before I kill you and everyone else here, I think I’ll torture you. Have you ever been treated to a barrage of destructive magicka, while paralyzed? It can be quite brutal to watch. I can’t imagine how it feels. You have fifteen seconds to tell me what I want to know, or you won’t need to use your imagination. One…two… three… four…five… six…”

“The new Grandmaster is Sethyas Velas!” Ulmesi croaked out, eyes wide and brow sweating.

“Ah, I know this mer. Yes, I believe you. But where can I find him?”

“I think—I think he went to Mournhold.”

[The Metal Mallet]

Oooooo the plots are being woven here quite intricantly; I'm certainly enjoying it. Just when you think Al might be making a career change, the Morag Tong comes along and gets our Argonian pal angry. I wonder if Sethyas knew anything about allowing this writ to be done.... We'll have to see.

Amazing work canis!