Chapter 1: Why I Killed Myself


He stood in the doorway. It wasn't unlike anything one would see in any sort of public establishment; the brooding, hooded, silent warrior that could have easily passed for a lone hero or typical assassin. What drew my attention to this sudden creature was three-fold.

One, as I mentioned, he was hooded. Yet it wasn't a common color – it was red. A red hood.

Two, upon his wrists he wore separated prison cuffs.

And three, Ormil was already staring at him with an amalgamation of both intense curiosity and subtle concern.

The Argonian, in turn, set his gaze on the elf. I continued to glance between the two, making no attempt to be duplicitous in regards to my actions. Luckily, though, neither cast their attention on me. For who was I but a simple patron? Being important in this situation was only paramount if I was to gain something from this silent connection obviously pointing towards a relationship previously forged from some unknown event.

Only moments later though the mystery vanished, and the red-hooded Argonian boldly made his way to the innkeeper. The clamor of the two or three other rabble wasn't cacophonous in the slightest, but combined with the noise of a boat it was enough to block out the quick whispers they fervently shared with each other.

So it was that I decided to turn my attention back to the article in front of me. There was a plate of food to the side as well – a crostata, to be exact – but the rocking of the ship dissuaded my stomach from its earlier whining for consumption and left me a few gurgles less than voracious.

I didn't mind.

Neither could this emperor, either. Honestly, I didn't even know there was an emperor, but I suppose that was to be expected given the circumstances of my previous living arrangements. The article went on to explain in less than necessary detail this emperor's life, ascribing many of these oddly linked events to such concepts of fate and divinely-crafted destiny. Well, not conspicuously, of course, I just learned over the years that a man's – an important man's – obituary often contains biases towards the idea that every major event is connected in some way.

I had never heard of a sorcerer taking over the throne for nearly a decade. Then again, I also never heard of the emperor.

I didn't even know what a "warp" was, much less of one happening in the west.

I did recall some floating rumors a few years back regarding something having to do with a red mountain. But that's only because of the close proximity the province has with my home.

No, the only interesting piece of information that I arbitrarily decided to pay attention to was the fact that the writer of this article claims that the emperor was in fact murdered by some unknown party. As well as his sons. A conspiracy on the part of those currently governing the land? Something more sinister? A familial night of bread-baking gone horribly wrong? Who cares? I certainly didn't. I took an interest in this part of the article, of course, but that is irrelevant.

At this point I turned my gaze upwards again and noticed that Ormil was curiously absent. Yet there stood the Argonian, clearly waiting for the elf's return, whether it be for a drink, confirmation of the night's lodgings, or – and possibly more accurately – information.

A suspicious looking fellow coming to an inn for information? So quickly after the surmised assassination of some of the most important people in this Empire's history? It was easily settled. I rose to meet the man.

When I approached the bar I fashioned myself in a way that didn't make it noticeable that I was taking in the lizard's appearance. Leather armor, dirty. Nothing out of the ordinary. His scales were a bright orange, as were his eyes – not uncommon given his geographical location, unless he wasn't in fact from Cyrodiil at all.

"Are you from Cyrodiil?" I suddenly asked, surprising myself in the process.

The orange Argonian didn't respond. I glanced upward in thought; where most would liken this to being true to the "lone warrior's" personality, I instead opted to believe it was simply because he wasn't going to just answer a random question that could have been pointed to anyone in a public area.

"Sorry," I apologized to him despite just not figuring out that he was not going to reply without first a greeting. But how to greet someone with no name? I shrugged and stepped close enough to be standing next to him. "Hi."

This time a reaction was garnered. He slowly turned his head to meet my eyes with his. They were large, as was common for an Argonian, and they were intense. I mentioned that they were orange, but there was something in the way he stared with them, something in the way his battle-seen scales set upon his face that spoke of something I wasn't familiar with. Not that I was intimidated, of course. From the onset of his turn and the response he gave following mine, I have every doubt in the world that he was attempting to accomplish that.

"Hello," he spoke. It was too quick for me to identify any sort of accent.

"…I saw you walk in," I awkwardly stated. I mentally shrugged; I wasn't trying to get him into my bed – yet, anyway, depending on how this relationship unfolds, and assuming of course there will be one, mutual or not – I was attempting to glean him for my own curiosity. A fault, I suppose.

Unfortunately, he didn't answer to this. What was fortunate, though, was that he didn't turn away from me, indicating that he, too, was trying to figure me out. Presumably, he assumed I wanted something from him.

"…And I saw you with Ormil." A statement that was ambiguous in the clearest sense of the word. "Talking with Ormil," I corrected in case he took my previous statement as something of a scandal. Although, in hindsight, perhaps that would have been better, since he would either rebuke or affirm the sentiment.

"I was," he said.

Now I mentally sighed. On the one hand he seemed fairly ordinary, which was disappointing. His responses were that of a typical citizen, assassin or not. However, in the seconds following said disappointment I came to an epiphany. The circumstances regarding what was being said didn't follow a straight set of logic that has been so set in this land over the course of the years. His continued attention with the lack of questioning my motives proved to be a combination that equated to being intelligent enough to not assume anything of the other party. One could argue that he was simply retarded, but remember then that his presence alone called for the attention of the innkeeper in place of his own patrons. No, there was an intelligence here that wasn't like the others I have spoken with. I smiled and reached into my pouch.

"My name is Secura Vant," I introduced myself. "I'm an officiant of the East Empire Company based on Solstheim. How would you like to accompany me on a journey across the Imperial Province?"


Author's Note: Because I loathe these, expect "author's notes" for this story to be at a bare minimum. They will mostly be used to give credit to certain concepts created in various mods made for The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion and The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.

For now, this one will be used to clarify the purpose behind Secura's diction. Her verbose dialogue - and convoluted way in which she implements this verbosity - is intentional. This part of the story is being told through her point of view, and there are story reasons for why she thinks like this.