The Wobbly Goblet Playground Options

[Grits]

Abiene in Chorrol

Abiene woke confused. White light blinded her, and something was holding her down. She struggled for a moment before realizing that she was simply tucked into bed.

A bald Bosmer came into view as the bright light faded. “Athragar? Did you just cast a spell on me? What’s happening?”

Athragar jumped in his seat. “You’re awake! I, uh…”

Abiene sat up and glared. “Did you just try to heal me?” she demanded. “Where’s Maxical? How did I get here?”

Teekeeus spoke from the doorway. “That cat tried to weasel her way into the Guild with some story about you being poisoned. Ha! Everyone thinks they’re a Scribonia.” He brandished a key and a copy of the Guild charter.

Athragar’s eyes were traveling. “She thought someone knocked you out so they could have their way.” The Bosmer’s expression said he found Abiene to be an unlikely target.

Abiene pushed herself upright, kicking off the covers. “What in the name of Mara—”

Teekeeus gave a disdainful sniff more worthy of an orc’s nostrils. “She probably did it to you herself. You never know with those furred folk. I saw through her ruse. She won’t get a key that easily!”

“Maxical is a University graduate!” Abiene objected. But Teekeeus had already turned away.

Athragar raised his hands. “Now if you’ll just hold still—”

“Stop!” Abiene shot out of the bed and staggered, her head spinning. “What are you casting? You’re an Alteration trainer! Surely you’re not trying to heal me!”

“It’s a Shield spell,” he lied. Athragar reached out and gave her a pinch to demonstrate, making her jump. “Oops, I meant to grab your arm.”

“Then it didn’t work!” Abiene rubbed her bosom with one hand and smacked Athragar with the other.

“Stand down, Journeyman!” he cried, waving his own hands about. “You probably just resisted the spell! Too bad you didn’t resist whatever poisoned you.”

Abiene sat back down on the bed. “All right Athragar, let there be peace between us.” She ran her hands over her hair, checking for disarray. The signs of assault could easily be removed from the body, but few knew how to repair love-tangled curls.

Carmen Litte appeared in the doorway, silently glaring.

No wonder her husband sleeps so often at the Guild hall, thought Abiene. She looks like she swallowed a lemon. Wait, is this his bed?

“We have the situation under control,” Athragar informed Carmen. He raised his hands again, but a look from Abiene stopped him from casting.

“How long have I been here?” Abiene asked Carmen. The woman was so proud and jealous surely she monitored every female who came into the hall.

“Forty-seven minutes,” Carmen snapped. She crossed her arms under her breasts and boosted them up a little.

Abiene noticed that they were wearing similar tops. She let honey drip from her tone. “Have you seen your husband this morning? I have something for him.” Abiene leaned back a little on the bed.

Carmen left in a huff.

Athragar gave Abiene a reassessing glance. The familiar Bosmer twinkle glinted in his eyes.

“She is needlessly unpleasant,” Abiene explained, sitting back up.

“You don’t need to tell me,” said Athragar.

Abiene lifted her hands to her face, trying to piece the last hours together. She remembered leaving the Goblet in a mental fog, walking with Maxical along the road, and then pressing her nose against the most wonderful smelling male chest. Honditar, she remembered. Goodness, I’ve never thought of him that way before! Then Athragar and his dubious ministrations.

“Where is Maxical?” she asked again.

Athragar seemed to have given up trying to practice on her. “She’s probably chasing down Casta Scribonia. Your friend seemed quite impressed by meeting her.” He clasped his hands together in his lap. “You really should tend to yourself, Abiene. You look pale. Even for you.”

Abiene cast a simple spell, not expecting to find anything.

She gasped out loud. An infection in my blood? How..? One hand went reflexively to her throat.

“What is it?” asked Athragar, leaning forward. “You know, I could have a gift for Restoration. I’ve never been adequately trained or tested! Then I could practice at the Anvil Guild instead of here in cold crappy Chorrol. Oh, the Gold Coast beaches!”

Did I catch it from someone at the Dibella Wayshrine? she wondered. I’ve only healed injuries since then.

Athragar’s face was bright and eager. “Well, could you put in a good word for me?”

“Do you really think someone might have poisoned my tea?” Abiene asked him. “It’s true, there is a taint of something in my blood. I must have been baked out of my mind on the way here.” She blushed when she realized she had used one of Jerric’s expressions.

Athragar’s eyebrows went up. “Do you… indulge? Perhaps as part of your worship? You know, during… rituals?” The mer was practically drooling.

“No! What? What rituals?” How in sixteen realms does he know about that?

The mer leaned back, disappointed.

Abiene breathed a sigh of relief. “If you will excuse me, I’m going to try to make sense of this situation. I’ll need to return to the Goblet tonight in any case. I’ll need to send a message, will you see that it gets to the chapel?” Abiene reached out and took Athragar’s arm. “I appreciate your help today, Athragar. I do not wish to give you false hope about changing fields, but I am more than pleased at your interest in Restoration. I will gladly train you privately, or we can make it a matter of record at the Guild if you wish. I do not need your coin, but I would be grateful for your friendship. And your discretion.”

Athragar patted her hand, beaming up at her in agreement.

Abiene completed her business in the Guild hall. Then she stepped out into Great Oak Plaza looking for a glimpse of her friend, or perhaps evidence of the mayhem that seemed to follow dear Maxical.

[mALX]

Eyja:

Eyja spotted Abiene heading toward the great oak, and hurried forward calling her. "Abiene, have you seen Maxical? I can't find her anywhere, I've asked everyone." She indicated Earana standing idly near the circle of seats.

"That woman Earana said she and Honditar helped Maxical bring you to the Mages Guild hall and haven't seen her since. Is she in the Mages Guild hall? Some big Argonian was quite rude when I tried to question him, wouldn't let me inside the Mages Guild to look for her."

This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 15 2013, 05:28 PM

[Grits]

Abiene in Chorrol

“I’m looking for her too, Eyja. Teekeeus chased her out of the Guild hall, apparently. That’s the big Argonian. Athragar said she may be with Casta Scribonia. Do you know her?”

Abiene leaned against a bench for a moment, catching her breath. Whatever happened to me isn’t over yet, she thought. Then she brushed her concerns away. A quick Restore Fatigue spell… She cast it absently while scanning the streets for a redheaded Khajiit.

“I remember Honditar, but I can’t say if Earana was with us. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I wasn’t myself this afternoon. Shall I help you find her? Does she know anyone else in Chorrol?”

[mALX]

*

Eyja:

Eyja felt panic rising in her when she heard Maxical wasn't inside the Mages Guild, but she relaxed when she heard the name Casta Scribonia.

Eyja shook her head. "She has never been to Chorrol before, but I'll bet you are right about Casta Scribonia. Maxical is a rabid fan of her romance novels. If Maxical bugs her too much chattering in her ear, Scribonia is liable to make her next story a murder mystery."

She grinned, but the grin dropped immediately into concern when Abiene leaned on the bench and seemed to be struggling to breathe.

"Say, you really aren't well, are you." Eyja took hold of Abiene's wrist. "Your pulses are racing, you'd better sit down."

Eyja didn't bother with gentleness or permission; but in one swift motion cut her knee under Abiene and slid her forward, plopping Abiene down into the bench she'd been leaning on.

"Sorry about that, just keeping you from falling and hitting your head." She said abstractedly, tipping Abiene's head back and looking probingly closely into her eyes.

"I noticed this earlier when we were talking in the road. Your pupils were dilated. Now the whites of them are a charcoal blue. You have either been poisoned or have a blood disease, one that is not common to this area. Where have you been? What have you been exposed to?"

Eyja dug in her pack, producing a vial. She pulled the corked stopper and handed it to Abiene. "This is an extremely pure potion that will cure poisonings. It was made by Arch Mage Hannibal Traven himself, I have plenty extra. Drink this, if it is any known poison this will cure it. If not...you might want to start remembering everyone you have been in contact with recently."


*

[Grits]

Abiene in Chorrol

Abiene found herself seated on the bench and examined by expert hands. Eyja dropped the Arch-Mage’s name without a trace of self-importance. Abiene had no doubt that she was speaking the truth.

Eyja pressed a potion bottle into her hand. “Drink this, if it is any known poison this will cure it. If not...you might want to start remembering everyone you have been in contact with recently.”

Abiene downed the potion immediately. For a moment she felt as if her skin was on fire and her blood was boiling, but before she could cry out the feeling passed.

“Stendarr’s… mercy!” she choked. “That was intense.” She gazed up at Eyja. “I did have an infection in my blood, but there must have also been poison. I’m a healer! Who would target me?”

She brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. Sweat had broken out on her skin.

“Do you suppose it was meant for someone else at the Goblet? I wasn’t harmed, or I would have felt the damage when I healed my…” she glanced around and lowered her voice “…infection. It just rendered me helpless. I’m sure I was in utter thrall to Maxical. Thank goodness it was she who found me in that condition!”

Abiene offered the empty bottle back to Eyja. “I am in your debt, Eyja, more than I could have imagined. I specialize in injury and disease, not curses or poisons. Oh, I doubt that I was contagious, but I’d like to examine Maxical when we find her just the same. I’m… not sure where I could have picked up an infection. I routinely check myself every night while I’m working, but I’ve been away and only healed wounds lately.” She felt her cheeks heat. “Though I have had contact with a number of people in the last few days.”

[mALX]

*

Eyja sat down beside Abiene, watching her face carefully for reaction as she spoke.

"I don't want to frighten you, but the poison given you escapes detection even in healing. You would have been near death if you were catatonic when Maxical brought you to the Guild."

She gripped Abiene's shoulder tightly with one hand and pressed her thumb hard on her wrist with the other. "Don't faint on me. I am going to tell you something you need to hear, because you may be in danger."

Eyja waited till the stunned look eased before continuing.

"That blue in the whites of your eyes means you were poisoned with some kind of metal element in extremely high doses. I've seen that used before to kill someone in a way that looks like natural causes. The victim dies without ever knowing they were ill. They walk away and are fine for just long enough that the one who poisoned them can be long gone before the victim dies. Whoever poured that dose meant whoever it was intended for to die. Unless you picked up someone else's tea inadvertently, you have an enemy. Scan your mind for anyone who knows alchemy well enough to concoct a poison of this magnitude. It is rarely known or used by any but professional assassins."

Eyja knew Sethyas could not have been involved, he didn't even arrive at the inn till well after Abiene was showing signs of the poison, and he arrived well dusted from the road. He was a pro, would not have sat down to eat after poisoning someone, but been long gone before the first symptom appeared. His stop had been unplanned, so it was doubtful he was the target either.

It would have been quite sloppy for an assassin to pour a poison tea that far in advance in hopes their target happened to stop. This was intended for someone in the inn at the same time Abiene's tea was poured, or for Abiene herself.

Eyja nodded abstractedly at Abiene's last words. "It is good Maxical got you to the guild for healing to be started right away. It may have saved you, restored your organs as the poison was destroying them."

She hesitated before continuing. Healers were usually discreet by nature, but there were no laws forbidding their discussing their cases. Arch Mage Traven was constantly entertaining her with stories of his various cases. She turned back to Abiene.

"Abiene, have you recently learned a secret about someone you have treated? A secret that they may have been afraid you might report to the Legion or even just discuss with another person?"


*

[Darkness Eternal]

"Verona of Bretony was a young woman surrounded in splendor and riches. She was beautiful beyond measure among her people, and very privileged. Her parents were not parochial people and instilled within her the tenets of patience and the idea that there were superior people and lesser people and that those with provincial minds required guidance, and punishment if so needed and that she shouldn’t hesitate to use whatever means necessary to protect and pursue her interests; that she owed as much to herself, her family, to life itself.”

Irvana furrowed her brow, and leaned in casually. "She was a special woman with a sharp mind that amazed her parents. She also was blessed with extraordinary gifts, so amazing and deadly that she had to keep it a secret from the entire world, lest she be condemned for daedric worship or those jealous of her power. She was the jewel of her father, and loved dearly by her mother and in turn she loved them. But what Verona loved more than her parents, more than her sibling and more than anything else in Tamriel was eternal life. Her parents, cherishing their offspring so much, decided that she deserved both . . . that she could do so much good to the benefit of them if she lived forever."

Irvana's voice took on a spooky tone, and she turned to face LeRoi. "What she did not anticipate was that in order for her to be beautiful for all eternity and with wisdom of ages . . . a price would have to be paid. She did not foresee the currency until it was far too late. The currency, you see, was her very soul. What defined her as Verona.

"Surely you know, Stefan, that virgin girls in nobility are to live in a state of chastity until given into marriage with a gentleman worthy enough. Fate was not kind that day when Verona was given to the Daedric Prince of schemes who took the form of a man and well . . . you can imagine."

Using Stefan's own words, she allowed her tale to continue and roll of her tongue as if savoring the taste of the story. "It was that day that she felt the cold, unforgiving grip of a daedra lord as he seared his desire, his longing, into her soul. She experienced the bitterness and ecstasy of being completely dominated by a being much more powerful than her. She was ravaged until she lost all consciousness. She survived though, as bitter and cunning and dominating as the Daedric Lord who made her."

"The rest of her family were not agreeable and determined her existence and condition to be a rare abnormality that would put them in danger. Panicked by the thought of her, they launched a quest end Verona's life, but she had grown so strong that she could not be destroyed by normal means. They would have to use treachery."

Irvana sighed. "Verona was a bright woman, but to the eyes of her other family members she wasn't. She was young, naive and above all, stupid. So they decided to use her to their advantage and all the power she possessed in hopes she would end up instigating her own doom, and as the years passed they had a growing numbers of problems that only Verona knew of the solutions, so they came to trust her most of all and even respect her. Little did they realize that Verona knew of their plot, she knew their primary passion was to ostracize her from the family and have her life taken. That the problems they faced were caused by her, and only she knew how to fix them and that she was slowly poisoning them until the day came where she killed them in their sleep."

The Imperial woman clasped her hands together and leaned forward. "They saw the flower, but failed to see the serpent beneath it. She outlived them all and inherited everything. But with power, comes a great price, no? That is the moral here. Her beauty became her curse, her immortality had a consequence. To maintain her youthful look she had to feast upon the blood of infants and children or take their lifeforce to sustain her own. The gods saw fit to curse her, and she spent the rest of her twilight years stalking the lands of High Rock in the night hours seeking which child who's eyes she could devour, or which woman who's throat she can tear or which man she could rape as violently as she was raped. Legend had it that children who did not behave, who did not obey they parents or who used their beauty to put others down would be visited by Verona the Pale Lady and be turned into eyeless statues and lose their souls. Her existence so evil that speaking of it can bring curses."

Irvana laughed. "This was pure superistition, a dark tale. One that my mother always told me when I was a child to keep me in line. Not sure if it worked though."

She paused. "Interesting, isn't it?" Irvana mused. "She wanted to live forever and help others but in the end she was condemned, and cursed for all eternity with a daedra-corrupted soul to spread chaos and seeds of discord throughout the eras. To be beautiful forever meant she had to take it from others. Quite a tragic tale."

She turned LeRoi and smiled. "If you'd like to weave this into your story and fabricate a brand new idea, believe that I will be the first person in Cyrodiil to purchase your book."

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jul 16 2013, 12:33 AM

[Grits]

Abiene in Chorrol

“A secret… Well just last week I discovered a man who was living as his sister in order to inherit her property, I confirmed an awkward paternity result, restored a young woman’s maidenhead, cured the pox of a woman whose lover was away on pilgrimage, cured a case of Porphyric Hemophilia, refused to end a healthy pregnancy, removed a man’s lost jewelry from his housekeeper’s digestive tract and then repaired the site of his piercing… But surely nothing that someone would murder me over.”

Abiene’s eyes widened as she remembered Aravi’s secret. She gave her head a slight shake in immediate dismissal. It was not Aravi.

“I’ve caught people using Illusion spells to try to fool me as I heal them. I suppose I only catch the ones who fail. Perhaps someone thinks I know something about them.” She looked up at Eyja, trying to conceal her fright. “I expect it will become clear if they try again.”

Eyja’s earlier question returned to her mind. “I know a few who could brew such a poison,” Abiene continued. “One would likely punch me in the face before she’d poison me. The other would have shot me long ago if she wanted me dead.” Though it would not surprise me to learn she had been an assassin.

Abiene thought of Irvana with her strange, compelling eyes. A shiver ran down her neck. “The others at the Goblet should be warned. Whoever poisoned me will learn that they failed no matter what I do, so I can’t escape the danger by hiding in Chorrol. But if someone else is the target they might be helped. Oh, and the Goblet itself may have been the target! If I had died after visiting there… Poor Yetta! She would have been the first to fall under suspicion.”

She pressed the Nord’s hand on her wrist. “Eyja, I owe you and Maxical my life. You can see that I am quite out of my depth here. A healer who doesn’t notice she is dying! I feel I’m a disgrace. It’s like the swordmaker’s children going about unarmed.”

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 16 2013, 02:10 AM

[mALX]

*


Eyja shook her head and patted Abiene's shoulder. "Don't feel ashamed, Abiene. That is why that poison is so effective for assassins, because the person can die with a healer at their side or even be one and it go undetected. That metallic blue in the whites of the eyes is the only clue, and only shows after the poison has done its damage. Most people assume the victim is napping and they die without anyone realizing the victim needs healing."

Eyja checked Abiene's eyes again. "The whites still show blue. How capable a healer are you, Abiene? You need an immediate thorough healing by someone who is experienced in regenerating damaged internal tissue, and a way to chelate the metal from your bloodstream or the damage will keep recurring. An expert Alchemist can give you a potion to cleanse the metal from your blood..."

Eyja hesitated with a choke. "Make sure it isn't possibly the one that poisoned you."

Eyja shook Abiene's shoulder gently. "Start healing now. If your magicka runs low I can cast on you till yours returns, but my healing power is only basic. Listen to me carefully, Abiene. You seem to me the type that tries to tough through things and keep going no matter how you feel. You can't play with this poison. If you are incapable of doing this kind of healing, you need to tell me immediately so I can send for help before it is too late. All the best healers are in the Imperial City. Arch Mage Traven would be my first choice. If you know Owyn at the Arena, he is also extremely capable. Jeelius at the Temple specializes in unusual healings, he would be my third choice."

Abiene's fright was evident. She probably led a sheltered life and was not used to having assassination attempts made on her. If she was the target of this one, that is.

"Interesting you mentioned the Inn itself. Being outside the gates it takes a lot of business from the Oak and Crosier. It would be a way to scare business away from the Wobbly Goblet, and if it is true she killed her husband she is certainly capable of such an act. First let's find out if you were the target though, or if you accidently drank something meant for another, eliminate targets systematically so we can pinpoint which suspect to focus on."

Her list of secrets would have been intriguing to delve into at any other time. But were any of those people at the inn this morning? Eyja began casting healing and rally over Abiene while talking, the same way Foxy used to do to Eyja when telling her how close the latest assassin had come before his men stopped them. The Black Hand was sending more adept assassins each time.

"This poison is not quickly made. This was planned in advance in order for them to have that poison with them and ready to dispense. Either that or they are professional and carry it with them always."

As I do.

It suddenly struck Eyja that she needed to check and see if the poison was stolen from her own travel pack while she was distracted with Maxical. She shook the thought off till she could inspect her bag in private.

"If you were the target, they would have to have known you were there, and been waiting for the moment to put it in your food or drink. Did you see anyone of these whose secrets you hold at the inn this morning?"



*

This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 16 2013, 12:03 PM

[Grits]

Abiene in Chorrol

Abiene listened carefully to Eyja’s advice. A cold pit of dread formed in her belly.

“I can restore my tissue,” she said. “But I don’t know a way to remove mundane toxins from my blood. If I had a shard of metal in my body I would remove it with a knife and then close the wound. I don’t know of a magical way to… did you say chelate?” She thought for a moment. “I have a patient who comes in for treatments every third day. I heal the damage, but I cannot seem to stop it from recurring. Do you suppose..?” She passed a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m asking you to consult with me on an unrelated matter. I apologize.”

She cast a spell that would begin to heal her as they spoke.

“No one could have known I would be at the Goblet unless they followed me from the Wayshrine. I only stopped there because of the storm. An assassin would have had ample opportunity to attack during my journey there. I travel under a veil of invisibility for the sake of privacy, not to evade professional killers. I do not imagine myself capable of fooling the Dark Brotherhood.”

Eyja’s spell had a steadying effect on Abiene’s nerves. She gave a quick smile of thanks.

“I know a Master alchemist,” she continued, “but he is… not one of Cyrodiil’s great thinkers. He’d have to be told what ingredients to include. Anyway, how quickly should I find a potion? Would I even have time for him to travel here?”

Abiene blinked. “Wait, who killed their husband? Talasma?”

[mALX]

*


Eyja:

Eyja caught Abiene's eye, a serious expression in her own. "Metal gets into the bloodstream and remains after wounds are healed, and any additional exposure builds on what is there. It will continue damaging your organs if it isn't completely cleansed from your system. It never goes away without a bonding ingredient to chelate it."

Abiene's magicka was waning, Eyja took over casting healing till it could rebuild as she continued.

"For the amount of metal you've been exposed to, you may need to keep taking it several times daily for at least a week, and do a restorative healing on yourself several times per day as well. The raw ingredients work better and quicker if you can stand the bitter taste. The potions are flavored, but are much weaker."

Eyja dug in her pack when Abiene took over healing herself. The first thing she looked for brought a sigh of relief, the poison used had not come from her pack.

Next she brought out a small leatherbound case with the name 'Eyja' written in flourished letters of gold on the front. She pointed it out to Abiene as she opened it to reveal a mini inkpot and quill set, along with a small pad of parchment.

"This was a present from Maxical. She pilfered the set from a notorious necromancer and had my name engraved on it in gold lettering." Eyja grinned up at Abiene. "She gives great gifts."

Eyja gingerly removed a leather pocket wedged behind the pad and carefully removed a folded parchment that was yellowed and fragile with age.

"Combine these ingredients, I'll write them for you so you can keep healing yourself."

In a remarkably short time Eyja handed Abiene a fairly long list.

Garlic
Sunflower seeds
Pumpkin seeds
Flax seed oil
Corkbulb root
Netch Leather
Scrib Jelly
Scamp skin
Kwama cuttle
Ash yam
The juice of a lemon
Dried seaweed
Charcoal

"Expect to be near an urn for a while." She folded the yellowed parchment and carefully returned it to the safety of the leather pocket, wedging it back behind the pad.

Eyja didn't mention the blackened teeth and lips Abiene would get from the charcoal. She'd discover it soon enough.

"Send for your friend, but don't wait for his arrival. Get as many of these ingredients as you can and eat them or have an alchemist mix them for you. Any you can't find, I will find for you. I remember seeing a lump of charcoal on the bar at the Wobbly Goblet, I'll fetch it for you."

Abiene's magicka was waning again. Eyja took over casting to give Abiene's magicka time to rebuild.

"It is just a rumor about Talasma, but could very well be true. It is said by many that her basement is haunted, and it is true her husband who owned the 'Oak and Crosier' disappeared shortly after marrying her and was never seen again. Many wonder if he lies somewhere beneath the floor of that basement."

Eyja glanced around at the peaceful looking streets of Chorrol. Pleasant smiling faces greeting each other. This didn't seem like a setting that would have produced this kind of killing. She needed to talk to Honditar and find out more about these residents. He might know more about all those vampire attacks so close to the inn, too.

"Abiene, I need you to remember exactly how long you were at the inn, who you saw there, who brought you that tea, and if it was the same person you ordered it from."


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 17 2013, 02:32 AM

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus hadn’t slept that day. After Vera’s departure, he had returned to his room to meditate. Even that had proved difficult; his mind was filled with too many thoughts. Vera was a gifted killer, and her hardened attitude and skills made only increased his faith in her survival. Yet he couldn’t explain why he felt a growing sense of worry. Numbers can be overwhelming and he had to admit that she had one flaw when it came for sport. She didn’t take her game as seriously as before. Perhaps because she was too good and too arrogant, that she involuntarily gave the prey an advantage in somehow harming her.

He couldn’t blame her. Surviving for centuries did often give one a particular pride and feeling of invincibility but he knows that time and time again even the hardiest of warriors and the fiercest of hunters often fall short of glory and she isn’t the same woman she was years ago. Hunting was second nature, but the call and drastic need of parenthood was too high and the bloodline of the Castius legacy was in danger if she were to be killed.

No, she will be fine, Lycus tried to convince himself. She can handle herself. She always has . . . most of the time.

In the privacy of his room(which was heavily scented with burnt herbs), Lycus wandered naked from the waist up. His long-hair falling down to his broad shoulders, and his dark skin glowing with the flickering lights the candles granted. Below his feet was a small bowl of dried sage and placed in front of it was the statuette of Hircine standing beside a very mundane-looking drum.

Lycus sat cross-legged before the statue, the drum and the herbs. He closed his eyes and began to breath in rhythm; inhale deeply, exhale just the same.

As by tradition, Lycus purified his aura by burning the herb. The scent and smoke of the scorching plant floated up to his face, and vanished into his nostrils. His mind shifted and he began drumming upon the ancient instrument before his feet with a gentle pounding. This totem was powerful, for it increases his intuition and heightened his perceptions of the supernatural. It also served to release and balance his spiritual energy, and he soon found himself entranced by his own hypnotic rythym.

He whispered with eyes closed. “I call upon the Wolf. Wise Path Finder, my teacher, my ancestor. Give me wisdom, grant me insight, for I need your guidance.”

And so Lycus called upon the Spirit of the Wolf, for it was a symbol of his kind and his ancestors, and also a measure of himself. The lupine beast was revered for his intelligence, his courage, and his strength. Known as a loyal pack member who helps his fellow mates, the Great Wolf is both feared and respected for his honorable characteristics; a keen hunter, proud defender of his territory, an intelligent teacher, and above all a true survivor.

His vision became a blur and his mind felt light as his entire body. The landscape of the room changed before him. The wooden floorboards gave way to dirt, the walls transformed to a great forest and the ceiling surrendered to a crimson sky where a blood-moon reigned and before Lycus stood a great grey wolf.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Stefan was enraptured with the young Imperial woman's story. He cocked his sultry half-smile at her and leaned in slightly closer.

"Thank you, dear heart, for that wonderful tale. I would, indeed, love to craft another tale from it." He gave her his full smile and held up his glass.

"A toast! To new muses, ideas, and lovely nights such as this."

[Darkness Eternal]

Irvana raised her cup and gave Stefan a smile and leaned back as he went closer. "To lovely nights."

I am worried about Kayla and Aravi, she told herself. What if they failed in killing the creatures?

She stepped off of the stool right before saying goodbye when the hem of her clothes was caught on cracked wood and ripped slightly as she moved. The side of her attire was ripped and strings of linen hung from the area on her hip.

"Drat," she said. "Here I was thinking I wouldn't ruin this fine cloth."

She sucked her lips in and looked utterly embarrased. Now was a good time to put on her familiar and comfortable all-black robe. That, at least, was something more appropiate in the coming minutes. Going out at night dressed with fine clothing was music to highwaymen and bandits or rapists looking to take advantage of a young woman. Wearing a dark robe would help conceal her appearance at least, and disuade others from trying to rob her. Still, that didn't make it impossible. There were a number of times where she'd been assaulted in her dark clothes

"Stefan, it was a pleasure." Irvana said with a low bow, bending her knees slightly. "If fresh ideas strike your mind or if you'd like help, you are more than welcome to see me though I think you don't need the mind of someone like me to write a compelling story."

And with those words Irvana departed, thanking the bartender for the drink. "Gratitude. For the room and the bath. I am so terribly sorry that I cannot pay for it. I lost most of my things last night."

"Don't worry about it," the orc woman said. "Thank Abiene."

"Yes, yes," Irvana replied. "I suppose I haven't thanked her enough for her help. She's a loving soul. I apologize if I seem a triffle bit intrusive but where did she go?"

"She left to Chorrol hours ago."

"Ah. I wish her safe travels, then."

Irvana left the main room and went upstairs into her room where she found her neatly folded black robe that seemed to be washed. She closed the door, undressed and quickly got into her change of clothes. She felt in her own skin now. These robes always suited her well. It matched the hair.

She checked herself one last time before wandering the halls. She remembered being told by Stefania of a library here, and made haste to look around. She was sure no one would mind her borrowing a book. After all she was going to bring it back. She looked around and came upon it.


The library was large for a tavern. Shelves were lined with old and new books of different stories and topics and genres. For a few minutes she pulled out a few, opened them and scanned through the pages before placing them back into the shelf once more. She repeated this until she came across one book that caught her attention.

A favorite of hers. A Hypothetical Treachery.

She plucked the book out after reading the name and placed it under her arm. With haste she returned down the stairs, headed out the tavern and wandered about the grounds of the Wobbly Goblet.

This was a tranquil place, indeed. Large, too. She ventured where the fish pond was behind the inn, hidden away by the grand garden. Nothing but the light of the moons and stars bathed the land below, and the songs of owls, bats and insects reigned the night.

Irvana sat down on a stone beside the fish pond, and saw a small sack full of pieces of bread sitting alone nearby. She brought it closer to her and realized this was used to feed the fish.

How nice!

She grabbed a handful of the crumbs and started tossing them into the pond where she saw the fishes, big and small, swim up to gobble them up. She smiled in delight. She's seen large rats, huge crabs and even fish. But in a contained pond like this? She's never seen fish this large. Then again, the pond was big enough to house many.

She opened her book on her lap and began to read while at the same time gently caressing the surface of the water with her hand.

[Grits]

Bograk

Bograk stood near the kitchen door. Yetta leaned against its frame. The two of them watched Auguste wiping down the bar. An Imperial woman well into her cups sat on a stool opposite the barman. First she slumped to one side, then the other, all the while regaling Auguste with some tale of past glory.

She slid to the left. Yetta reached for Bograk, her fingers digging into the orc’s meaty arm. “Almooooost there…” Yetta whispered.

The front door banged open, admitting a leggy Nord. His armor bore the Dragon Mail insignia.

The tipsy Imperial shot bolt upright at the noise. Yetta cursed.

“Ha!” crowed Bograk. “Better luck next time.” She put out her hand for Yetta’s coin.

“Mail,” announced the courier as Yetta paid up.

Bograk put out her other hand for the letters. “You’re out late, Gudleif.”

“Special delivery.” The Nord crossed his arm over his chest in a salute, grinning. Then confusion covered his face.

“Forget your motto again?” Auguste asked him.

Yetta giggled.

Gudleif made a valiant effort. “Neither gloom, nor… rain…”

Auguste shoved a pint across to him. Gudleif drained it and belched his way back to the door, grinning again.

“With all that he doesn’t need much brains,” said Yetta. Bograk had to agree.

There were two letters in the packet. One was addressed to Aravi, care of the Wobbly Goblet Tavern and Inn. The other was addressed to Bograk.

Dear Mistress gra-Mugshak,


Please be advised that I, a former guest of your inn, have contracted a systemic infection. It is likely that I was carrying the disease when I dined, bathed, and slept at your establishment last night. It is possible that I was not yet contagious.

The illness presents with general weakness and a debilitating fever. It is transmitted through close physical contact, though other methods of transmission have not been ruled out. Thankfully it is readily cured by a spell, potion, or of course the intervention of the Divines by way of the priory across the road.

Please inform me if any of your staff or patrons have fallen ill. However they would be well advised to seek immediate treatment.


Abiene Metonne
Healer, Chapel of Stendarr

Bograk crumpled the letter in her fist. She looked over at Auguste, then at Yetta. “Fetch it,” she said. “Has anyone seen Lleris?”

[mALX]

*

Eyja:

Eyja had confidence in Abiene's healing, the girl knew what she was doing; she had shown that in her careful healing of Honditar, took no shortcuts at all. She was conscientious, and knowing the risk Maxical faced with her disorder Eyja was sure she would see her safely to the Mages Guild where that hateful Argonian would guard the door and the healers would be locked in with Maxical.

Eyja exhaled in relief, the fear that had been overwhelming her dissipated. Maxical would be safe, at least for now.

The thought had immediately struck Eyja that the assassin was targeting herself and bumbled his job by not keeping custody of the poison, letting poor Abiene drink the toxin meant for her.

That was a sloppy mistake, meaning most likely it was the work of the Dark Brotherhood; who were known to take in anyone that committed a murder and call them an assassin. No well trained assassin would make an error like that. They'd be back, would have to realize by now that they missed their target.




***


Eyja paused while the guard opened the gate for her with a suggestive grin. His eyes never left her breasts as he hailed her. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be walking alone at night. if you wait up I get off in an hour. Buy you a drink?" He indicated the Gray Mare.

"That place? I've heard they have fleas in their beds." Eyja raised one eyebrow twice suggestively at him and pointed in the direction of the Wobbly Goblet.

"I've heard that place has bath tubs right in the rooms. I love taking baths." She drawled out the word love, lowering her eyelids slowly and looking up through the lashes at him. "I'll bet a guard that works the gates could entertain me all night with stories of the things he's seen." Eyja emphasized the word 'all' by cocking one eyebrow at him.

His face flushed with pleasure and he swaggered closer and leaned in to answer. "That I could, little lady. I've seen things you wouldn't believe."

His breath blew hot and smelled of onions. Eyja steeled herself not to back away, instead she cocked her head to one side and smiled slowly.

"I'd sure love to hear some of those stories. I've always wondered how you can guard a whole city and still know when a stranger walks through your gates. Will you tell me how you do it? Like today, did you get to see any outsiders today?" Eyja tickled her fingers lightly on his arm and watched him swallow a large gulp.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. A pure white Khajiit..."

Eyja cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh, I saw her, she wasn't scary or mysterious. I want to hear stories about dark mysterious strangers, ones that your instincts told you to watch out for. Does that ever happen here in a quiet place like Chorrol?"

"There's been an odd Dunmer man in town for three days staying over at the Oak and Crosier. Cold eyes that look right through you. Aye, I get the sense from him there is more than one shady secret in his past."

"Ooh, now you're talking. Imagine someone like that coming to such a nice town like this. You must have great instincts, have you seen any others? I get chills just thinking about it." Eyja hugged herself and shivered, making her breasts bulge and jiggle before his goggling eyes.

"Not lately, not on my watch at least. There was one last year..."

Eyja cut him off. "Tell me about it when we meet up for that drink. I want to get to that inn before it gets any later."

She pinched his arm and smiled, then hurried through the gate. He watched her walking away, so Eyja had to wait till she'd passed the stables to cast chameleon on herself.




***

Eyja bumped her Detect Life ring as she neared the inn and was surprised to see a pink outline lurking near the back of the inn. She readied her spells and moved soundlessly closer. It didn't take long to realize it was naught but a drunk peeing on the back wall of the inn.

Eyja cut around the bushes and into the front entrance, still in chameleon. Her eyes traveled to the back of the dining room searching for a glimpse of Seth, but at this time of night the crowd had become too thick. A bard was encouraging drunken dancing and what looked like a few call girls were working the crowd. One couple looked like they may be mating in the corner. Eyja imagined Seth might be in his room by now. He was on a sad mission, and somehow Eyja didn't imagine him being the type to enjoy the wildness that had taken over the tavern section of the inn. He wouldn't, she was sure of it. He'd either be in his room or up in the quiet sitting area upstairs.

Eyja moved along the bar and slid the large piece of charcoal into her pocket as she passed, then realized why it was there. A poster hung of a sexy woman and the sign offered self imagined artists to improve on it.

Eyja slid closer to the poster and drew balls of thick black hair in her armpits, then pocketed the charcoal and wove her way to the steps. A man carrying a tray of food was working his way up the steps, Eyja waited and watched for him to make the top so as not to bump him on the stairs.

She had the impression Seth would order food in his room, that could very well be for him. At least that would mean he wasn't sleeping, and she could disturb him long enough to ask him to sell her any ingredients he may be willing to part with.




***



Eyja found herself watching the man carrying the tray's feet, the way they slipped gently across each step as if testing for the creaks to come back later when the tavern was silent. She herself did that when she had a job...

Good gods, he's an assassin! Seth!

Eyja lifted her short skirt and tugged her dagger free from the leather strap on her thigh, then moved to the banister side of the steps where any sound she inadvertently made would blend with the tavern sounds and there would be less chance of creaking wood.

She slid silently up behind him, scanning his legs and waist for weapons. A shortsword and dagger sheath hung on his right side, the dagger at an angle, and he carried the tray in his right hand.

Keeping his sword hand free. He's left handed.

The bard started a sing-a-long, encouraging the drunks to join in. They sounded like howling jackals trying to match the bard's tenor vocals. Eyja moved closer, grateful for the racket that would cover any noise up here.

The man turned down the short corridor of rooms, then bent down to lay the tray on one of the low hall stands. Eyja glanced over the meal and had no doubts. The apple sliced and garnishing the plate had overly red skin, a sure sign it was poisoned.

Before he had the chance to right himself Eyja acted; with one swift movement she slammed his face into the hot mutton on the tray and plunged the dagger through the back of his neck; counting in her mind to distract the feeling of sickness it always gave her feeling the spinal cord nerves twitching against the blade, the vibrations going down the hilt and into her hand.

Eyja leaned over and spoke into his ear. "Hope you like the mutton, it's the house specialty. Your spinal chord has been severed, but your vocal chords still work. The man you intended to poison might have some questions for you."

Eyja shot a forlorn look at the door the man intended to knock at. It was too far away, and if she released the assassin's face from the mutton he could still call for help. If she released him and he fell, one bump on that dagger might cut a jugular vein and kill him before Seth could question him.

She tried to scoot around the limp motionless body of the assassin while still keeping his face plunged into the steaming mutton. A moan gurgled up from the mutton.

"Shut up." Eyja hissed at him.

Eyja stretched at an angle, trying to balance herself without letting go of the man, and finally managed to barely kick the door with her toe. She didn't think he'd hear it with all the noise downstairs, but to her relief a shirtless Seth opened the door. Eyja dispelled her chameleon and flushed, unsure what to say; finally falling back on a joke she was sure he would appreciate.

"Room service, did you order a game at dinner? This man thought so, he has brought you poisoned food. I thought you might want to find out why, so I left his vocal chords intact." Eyja indicated the dagger sticking out of the back of his neck.


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 20 2013, 04:24 AM

[Black Hand]

Previously...

The food being prepared would take a a few more minutes apparently, but his room was ready whenever he liked. At that moment, as dusk spread over Chorrol and the lighting changed almost perceptibly to the torches and firepit of the tavern. Darkness had come. With it brought the crowds of townsfolk, whose murmured chats could be heard from outside, in the happy tones of revelrers.

He hated crowds. Partly out of personal preference, partly from natural paranoia. Crowds were easy to blend into and disappear. They could provide cover lik the darkness. The mind couldn't focus on one thing in ease, the distractions it provided were too many. Cloak and dagger.

As such, he asked the food to be delivered to his room instead and gathered his belongings from the table. His stride theough the tavern made no sound from his footfall. Though his armor did make him seem a bit larger than he really was, his deeply ingrained habit of carefully shifting his weight with the terrain; be it floorboards or forest, guided each step.

He made mental calculations of the building out of these habits as well. Entering the room, he looked over the windows, calculating if they could open, or if he needed to break through. The distance to the ground, the thickness of the walls, under the bed. When he was satisfied that he was relatively safe, he finished nesting and started to unload his gear.

The heavy travel pack, weapons, and armor. He carefully placed the urn reverently in the middle of the nightstand, so even if it toppled there was less chance of it falling to the floor and breaking.

I should order a bath. He thought as he pulled out a cleaner shirt than the one he was wearing.

Footsteps began too approach out of the din that had arisen.

Food's ready. He thought as he pulled off the well-travelled shirt.

Suddenly, there was a thud, followed by what sounded like something squishy.

Damn, they dropped my food. Better not be trying to pick it up and dust it off. This isn't the Grey Mare...

Next he heard a sharp tap on the door, putting a pause in his shirt inspection. Every instinct flared to life as he threw it on the bed, and rushed to the door, pulling out a backup silver dagger.

Opening the door revealed the curious site of Eyja straddling a waiter on his back facedown, followed by her explanation of what had led too it.

His eyes narrowed at the explanation. The shadow that made his profession easy fell over his face. And his hands reached down to grab the failed assassin.

"I have my own game for dinner actually." he replied in a sinister whisper towards the paralyzed man.

"The meal gets to be your last one. I'll let you eat it when my questions are answered and you beg me to end it." he said dragging him into the room.

"And, I haven't had mutton in a while, so you get to be the one I take my dissapointment out on." he said lifting the man by his collar, and his red Dunmer eyes promising pain.


He looked at Eyja, and then spoke. "Stay or go as you like, but please lock the door."

[mALX]

*

Eyja grabbed up the tray of poisoned food and scooted into Seth's room. She lay the tray down ontop of the urn and hurried back to lock the door.

"Didn't want anyone passing to eat that."

Eyja nodded appreciation at Seth's words to the assassin, pointing out the burns on the man's face from the hot mutton she'd shoved his face in.

"Assassins worth their salt don't kill a man before his supper, basic manners."

Eyja signaled Seth. "An innocent local healer nearly died from a slow acting poison this morning that I believe had been left laying around unsupervised downstairs about an hour before you arrived. If you don't mind, before you grant him death see if he confesses who his target was on that poisoning."

Eyja took a seat in the overstuffed chair by the bed to watch Seth in action, marveling at the strength he must have to hold that fully grown man off the ground that way and the intense and calculating look in his eyes.

She quietly pulled her travel pack off, quickly dug in the front pocket and pulled out a small sack of roasted peanuts. Eyja leaned forward intensely to watch, absently shelling the peanuts and popping them in her mouth as Seth began his interrogation.

*

This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 19 2013, 06:53 PM

[Black Hand]

He set the unidentified man down onto a plain wooden chair that was at the room's desk. Taking time to carefully tie his limbs to the chair's armrests and legs, equal parts caution and to keep him in place.

He grabbed his travel pack, and set three vials onto the desk, and took out a small leather folder. The man was apparently trying maintain some sense of toughness not saying anything, but following him intently with his eyes. The burns on the face must have been agonizing, and he was visibly sweating along with the grease from the culinary gag that Eyja forced on him.

The man gave a momentary glance over to Eyja, who looked like a kid watching a marionette show. Each crack of the peanuts broke the unbearable silence and seemed to mock him in some way. Eyja just raised an eyebrow and gave him a quick, mischievous grin.

Finally opening the leather folder, a variety of tools were visible. Hammer, tongs, screws, icepick, among others. They were well maintained, despite being a dark iron.

"I'll start off civilized. I hate the idea of torture, inflicting pain, undue suffering. That's for your kind." Sethyas started in a low tone, his form hunched over the desk, his back to the other two. If scars were words, as he said, then his back was a novel.

"So, I'll offer you this opportunity to come clean. Tell me why you're here, who your target was; besides me, and who poisoned this Healer she mentioned? And if you would be so kind as to tell us who hired you, I would also appreciate that." He said with an intent tone, taking one of the vials, and pouring some sort of granules onto his hand.

"I'm not gonna talk! Just finish the j--AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

In mid sentence Sethyas had turned around and struck the man with his open hand, the granules being forced in the man's burns.

"That was the salt I would have used on the mutton that you ruined." Seth said, not losing his low tone brushing his hands together removing the excess off.

"I suppose in these situations a demonstration is needed to show that the other party is in fact: deadly serious. I will tell you a truth, and I expect the same in return." He continued.

"The truth is that you will not leave this room alive. But, death is your reward for telling me the truth, and as I said, I find this method most unpalatable. You are forcing qualities of myself that I do not relish to the surface." he said walking back to the table and grabbing a tool.

He brought the hammer down full force on the man's right toe. The scream was again agonizing.

Seth nodded slowly.

"Excellent work, Eyja! You left the right side merely weakened. You could have been a surgeon with that skill." He complimented her, not looking away from the man, then bringing the hammer down on his left toe, that merely made a sickening, squishy sound and a cry of surprise from the man, but no pain after.

"So, you see. I don't like doing this. Please...just talk." Seth said, shaking his head and returning the hammer to the desk, dropping it with a small thud.

"That din from downstairs will be going on til the late hours, and dusk just barely fell." Seth said, approaching the man, and bringing his head down next to his ear.

"And I've only just begun. I can craft potions that actually increase your sensitivity to pain. Please don't make your suffering longer than it has to be." he whispered.

The mans face had begun to swell slightly from where the Dunmer struck him, just below and next to the left eye, leaving it twitching in pain. He spat in the Dunmer's face.

"Do your worst!" He whispered in a smiled return.

Sethyas just shook his head as though he had heard the saddest news. He was more furious at himself for this than the man. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the saliva off his face. He reached over to the mans right hand, and grabbed a finger forcing it quite opposite the normal position.

The man screamed once more, and than gave a sick grin.

"This little sh-sheep...went to market square." He said looking at his torturer, keeping the grin.

Sethyas grabbed the next one, his expression unchanging. The second snap followed with a scream.

"This little sheep said 'No Fair!" The man said looking at the ceiling.

Sethyas grabbed a third. He held back for a moment.

"C'mon! The rhyme ain't do-AHHH!" he said; the third snap in between words. The man's breathing was almost agonal, the sweat and mutton grease falling down to his rapidly rising chest.

"That little sheep, didn't care." Sethyas said.

"Okay, okay...you made yer point....just had to see if you were bluffin' ya know? Mighta got out of this alive after all...guess not." The man said with relieved laughter.

"Paralyzed? Hardly call that living..." Sethyas replied grabbing another chair and sitting across from him. He reached across to the desk and grabbed a second vial.

"Opium. For your pain. A little token of my goodwill." Sethyas offered him, putting it up to his mouth. The man drank it greedily, closing his eyes as the effects of the narcotic quickly spread. In seconds his demeanor changed immensely.

"First question. Who are you?" Sethyas asked flatly.

"No one you ever heard of, or would give a half-septim about. Street gang when I was a kid. Petty larceny when I was an adult. Finally getting into the bigger scores...wanted to catch the attention of the Guild...y'know the thieves?" He said looking to his captor for recognition.

Sethyas nodded slightly, he knew quite well who they were.

"So,...a score went down, only, we left bodies. Big no-no for them...but the Dark Brotherhood, they took an interest. Took me in, taught me everything I know." he continued.

Ejya snorted at the statement. "Sorry! Sorry...go on!" She cracked another peanut.

"Thing is, everyone heard of you! Yeah, the big, bad Dunmer Grandmaster!" the man laughed.

Sethyas shifted ever so slightly at this statement.

"Your twin sister gets recruited...goes after you, doesn't come back. Then the entire chapter out in Mournhold gets taken out in a purification. Somebody outside the chapter set that up, and takes on all our Brothers that get sent after him from that particular contract." he laughed derisively.

"So the rumors spread, and we learn that the Morag Tong get a new Grandmaster. A Dunmer with a Black Hand tattoo on his face. Imagine my surprise when I see a Dunmer fitting that description walking down the the Orange Road, wearing Morag Tong armor." he smiled slightly.

"Thought it was my lucky day." he finished.

"So you did not poison the healer?" Sethyas asked.

"Don't know nothin' bout no healer, Tong scum. I was here for you." the man gave an incredulous look, with a scrib-eating grin.

"And you are here of your own volition then: you came to take me out and offer my head for a promotion..." Sethyas thought aloud, now rubbing his chin looking downwards.

"You got it. Now...kill me or let me go." the Assassin demanded.

Sethyas stood up to finally don his shirt, and put on his pair of black leather gloves.

He grabbed the tray, and returned to his seat, and began cutting a portion of the mutton, bringing the fork up to the mans mouth he gave a simple command.

"Eat."

The man was reluctant at first, but then began to eat. A small portion of everything, until he began to visibly slow down. Finally his head hung low. Motionless.

Sethyas got up and began to take the bedding and preparing them to wrap the body.

"If you're wondering why I believed him, it's because there was more than just opium in there. Herbs and and other minor poisons that are known to loosen a man's tongue were in it. That particular blend is the strongest I've encountered, and the most rare. I don't know the precise recipe, but rather was given it after I helped a small band of travelling Khajiiti." he explained to Eyja as he worked, pulling out a knife and preparing one of the cloths into strips.

"...and yes. The torture was necessary. It works with the bodies elevated chemicals and the like when pain and trauma are introduced, otherwise the effects are much less reliable."

"So, this man's story adds up, and I have some rubbish to dispose of. As to your healer...a slow acting poison. Much more subtle and skilled than our former friend here. There's a greater threat at hand here...and it's still out there..."

[mALX]

*

Eyja winced and felt a sick feeling in her stomach when Seth hit the man's toes with the hammer and bent his fingers back, but covered quickly by doing a thorough study of the bag of peanuts as if searching for a particular one; not wanting Seth to see her weakness.

She felt the tension emanating off Seth when the prisoner began talking about Seth's twin sister. His head had turned just slightly toward the nightstand, almost involuntarily as if in respect. Eyja glanced over and saw the urn, set up reverently centered and near where he would sleep. Like he was still protecting the person after their death.

With almost a physical pain Eyja realized that urn contained Seth's sister...his twin sister. No wonder he was sick of the slaughter. If the prisoner told the truth, his sister had been Dark Brotherhood and ended caught in the middle between the Tong and Brotherhood...and Seth. They would have ordered her to kill her own brother. If she couldn't or didn't, she would have been targeted by her own faction. In even going toward Seth she would probably have been targeted by the Tong.

Eyja felt a warm compassion for him, and the common pain he must be suffering. She still carried that pain, even decades after losing her own sister. And somewhere she'd heard twins were closer than other siblings.

The peanut she was holding dropped from her hand when the man called Seth "Grandmaster," she had to force herself not to gape. Seth was the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong? She had sat and had conversation with the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong?

Worse...sat eating peanuts while he interrogated and tortured a prisoner! What must he think of her? For the first time since her teens, Eyja felt gauche and uncertain.

She quietly tied the sack of peanuts up and slid it back into her travel pack, glad now she hadn't asked him for some of that salt to flavor them.

She had been proud of her skills, but compared to the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong she might seem as amateurish as a child playing at a man's game; or as inept as most of the Dark Brotherhood's roster.

Eyja's breath caught on a sigh of disappointment when Seth donned his shirt. Men always looked better with their bare chests exposed, like gods of rippling feral strength; Seth moreso than most. He moved with the confidence and stealth of a panther in his own domain.

Eyja talked as little as possible afterward. Men didn't like to hear a women's chatter after a torture, they needed time to feel restored to balance. He'd mentioned his trick of mixing the truth serum into the opium though, and she did want to applaud the genius of that.

"I've never seen it done that way, slipped into the opiate. Very nice trick, letting him believe you're doing him a kindness so he doesn't resist the serum. I love psychological warfare, it's my specialty, Se...er, Sir." Eyja flushed, conscious of feeling awkward about what to call him since learning he was the Grandmaster.

"I'm not good at torture, so my mentor trained me to use spikes, like the ones prisons use to control unruly prisoners. I keep several of them loaded with the serum at all times, and have gotten so adept with hitting the vein that it is rarely felt unless they see me doing it."

"Much more subtle and skilled than our former friend here. There's a greater threat at hand here...and it's still out there..."

His last words sent a chill through her. "I was afraid you would say that. The guard at the Chorrol gate told me the only shady stranger he's seen in town lately was a Dunmer staying at the Oak and Crosier the past three days. He could be the other assassin. I know that poison, it marks them as skilled. Still, to leave it laying out of their custody so it strikes an innocent...do you think maybe the one they work for makes the poison, but sends out an underling to do the task?"

Seth didn't answer immediately, so Eyja moved swiftly and in silence to help him prepare the body. She was organized and precise, first retrieving her dagger from the assassin's neck; out of habit twisting it for the kill before pulling it out, then wiping it clean on the cloth napkin from the food tray. She turned away from Seth to lift her skirt and sheath it back into the leather strap on her thigh.

A few drops of blood had dripped to the chair and carpet in the act of removing her dagger, she hurried to her travel pack and dug, producing a brown vial and cloth wadding. She tipped a small amount of the solution onto the wadding and wiped down the chair back, then dripped some directly on the carpet and scrubbed before the blood could leave a telling stain that someone had been killed in the room.

Lastly she shoved the used absorbent wadding into the stab wound with her finger and wedged the napkin she'd wiped her blade on into the back of his shirt, tying it so there would be no more cleanup needed when they moved the body.

Next Eyja squatted beside the body, checking the pockets and inner linings and laying the items she found on the dresser beside her for Seth to inspect. She tugged his boots off and felt the inner linings on them, removing the weapon from one and placing it on the dresser.

"Not much here, and no documents. I've laid it out for you to inspect." Eyja said it quietly, glancing out the window.

"This room faces the back, there is only an old ruin back there. Should we throw him from the window and then carry him off the property?"

A thought struck her, and before she could think better of it she'd turned to Seth and blurted it.

"Please; I noticed earlier that the sheep and horses here escape the paddocks and graze outside this land, and I think they are beloved pets. This body and the remaining poisoned food may taint the soil if it is buried nearby. Can we...would you consider entombing him in that ruin instead of burial?"

Eyja flushed with embarrassment, asking the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong to consider livestock in his choice of burial grounds.

She looked up and caught Seth's eye with an apology in her own. "I'm sorry. I'll do whatever your will is. " She shook her head, then faced him with her embarrassment.

"It's not just that. I didn't know the importance of your position till now. When I sized you up I knew you'd be good at what you do, wise; but not...didn't realize I was talking to the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong. I admit to thinking of you as Seth in my mind; but now that I know, should I be calling you Master?"


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 20 2013, 10:17 AM