Falanu's Folly
Author's Note: Yet again, I strike again with a one shot this time… meant to be humorous, and possibly grotesque. This is not related to A Crimson Conspiracy nor does it relate to A Kleptomaniac and His Rat. Enjoy. I must credit Parmecia for inspiring me with her latest story, "Initiative", which has Falanu in it. Her character from "Initiative", Idillian, makes an appearance at the end. I credit Parmecia, blah blah blah I'm not stealing her character! She let me! Also, Oblivion does not belong to me. Obviously.
Paranoia was ripe indeed as Glarthir made his way through the streets, studying every pedestrian and guard he passed with squinted, cautious eyes. With uneasy steps, he made his way past the Fighter's Guild and the Mage's Guild, coming to a halt in front of the newly established and only decent alchemical store in town, besides Sinderion. Though he was not one for the arcane, he knew a good source of information when he saw one. Falanu Hlaalu, her name said it all; an obvious tie to the grandiose House Hlaalu of Vvardenfell, and maybe something more. He, ever vigilant, had heard the many rumors of her arrival in Skingrad. Every rumor had a hint of truth to it, but that was no matter to him. The fact that she had been exiled from Morrowind and that her last store had been… previously burned down, just showed that disdain that she acquired from someone.
There had to be more to her than met the eye, and as cautious as he was, he was the only one he could rely on to retrieve any possible information from her.
Hlaalus had a love for conspiracy and… assassination. If Falanu had someone after her, what would stop them from stopping by his bedside and slashing his throat in the night? Oh yes, there was plenty to dread with her arrival in Skingrad. Plenty indeed.
As he passed through the door, the aroma of incense greeted his nose, almost making him sneeze. The store was abounding with ingredients on the shelves, and alchemical equipment adorned the tables. His eyes came upon a roaring fire, garlic hanging daintily from the mantle above it. Glarthir walked closer to the desk, but no one was there. Leaning against the desk, he waited a few minutes as he listened for any sign of life. A creaking door alerted him as he looked over to see a young Dunmer walk back into the store, coming from her basement with a smile on her face. Glarthir raised an eyebrow, curious as he made himself presentable. Falanu finally noticed him as she walked closer to her counter.
"Oh hello my Bosmer friend," she cooed. "How can I help you today?"
Glarthir stared up at her as she now leaned over the desk, hovering over him.
"You, Dunmer," commanded Glarthir with authority "I require a few ingredients." He said, his voice dribbling off as he looked around the room suspiciously. "I'll need some potions, information, and a good bottle of wine while you are it."
Falanu had clearly heard what he had slipped in, but couldn't get over his overall… paranoia. It was adorable, even if it was quite common in Bosmer.
"Information?"
"Shhhhhh!" ordered Glarthir as he dunked in reflex to hide.
A smirk crawled across her face. She would entertain the Bosmer, for she really had no real information to give, unless it was the location of a Daedric shrine. A lovely game of "Screw around with the Paranoid Bosmer" it would be…
"A few ingredients, some potions, and a fine bottle of wine, you ask? I'll have them to you right away. I'll write you a receipt if you wish." she winked diabolically at him. Glarthir nodded quietly as he watched the door. Falanu coasted about, collecting things at random. She wondered if the Bosmer would actually pay. As she grabbed the last item, she turned to see Glarthir with gold already ready, a sack in his hand.
"I see you came prepared." she mused as she set the items down on the counter. "Are you sure your little Bosmer self can carry all this?"
"Don't patronize me," he leered as he began to take the items in hand.
"And here, is your receipt." She placed it into the vest of his shirt. "Don't lose it on your way out."
Glarthir gave out a muffled chuckle as he smirked. It appeared Falanu Hlaalu did have something to tell. The receipt was what piqued his interest most. What had she written down? Did she arrange a meeting? Give him a name?
What he was doing was… dangerous. Perhaps he was dealing with the enemy itself. But somehow he had to find out.
Under cover of dark, and the glow of torchlight, Glarthir made his way to the store All Things Alchemical to wet his appetite for the information he so direly needed. He had come prepared though, just in case he was dealing with… one of them. His mind would have to remain keen to any mind games the Dunmer might play upon him. He would have to know when to bail out, or else he might find himself too deep. Clearly the Dunmer had something to tell him, most likely thinking he could in someway help. He did not know. He couldn't get too wrapped up in her affairs.
A light rap upon her door was all that the Dunmer required as she opened the door with haste.
"Hurry now," she whispered, ushering him into her home. Glarthir complied as he rushed in, the door shutting snugly behind them. She led the way as they entered her basement. Glarthir began to examine every detail of her basement as they went down the stairs. For a basement, it looked relatively warm. The common décor that one may find in a basement and a table set up for his "visit", embellished with drink and a few books. But something bothered him. It seemed … too clean. The air was dank, heavy with perfume. Other than that, nothing else caught his eye.
Falanu settled herself down in her chair, fixed her dress, and then waved him to come and sit down. Glarthir complied reluctantly, wishing to not get too comfortable in this strange residence. Falanu smiled at the skittish Bosmer, apparently he seemed… afraid of her. Maybe for good reason. There were a few rumors about her that she wished hadn't gotten out, but what could she do? As long as no one came marching onto her doorstep with torches and pitchforks, she was content in living in Skingrad.
Glarthir sat down in the chair uneasily, across from Falanu.
"Now, to business." he murmured as he pulled out the receipt. "You say you do have information to tell me?"
"Oh yes," smiled Falanu, trying to keep in a little laugh "I have a lot to tell you. Very important things."
Glarthir nodded. "I've done a little research about you. Your old store was burned down. You yourself were exiled from Morrowind. Clearly someone does not like you. Who is it? House Hlaalu? The Empire? The Morag Tong?" his voice grew hectic.
Falanu looked away, concealing her face with a well placed hand to hide a wide smile. The Bosmer was crazy. No one was after her. People just didn't like what she did. But she would continue to play around with this cute little Bosmer. Not that the city would care if the resident crazy disappeared…
"Oh yes." she remarked sarcastically "Everyone is after me. Especially the Morag Tong. I have many secrets, many that could be used against several people in high power. Before I could blackmail anyone, I was exiled and chased throughout Tamriel itself."
Glarthir gulped as he prepared to speak again. "Then you and I are in the same boat. Many are after me too. I know too much, you see. There are spies here though, Falanu."
"Oh I've seen them already. I don't know their names, but I see how they look at me… how I feel like I'm always being watched. Cyrodiil is much more subtle about it though than Morrowind." she mocked lightly, seeing how the Bosmer could not detect sarcasm or a joke at all. "There are spies everywhere, even hiding in your own backyard. In the bushes especially. They're in mine."
"Just as I had suspected! I check my bushes every night!"
"Do you check your closet?"
"Yes, obviously."
"Under your bed? In your chests? Behind the curtains?" she shouted out.
Glarthir sighed. "Well, no."
Falanu smirked, trying to calm the poor, paranoid fellow down.
"My friend, would you like a drink?"
Glarthir gave her another squinted, paranoid look with the eyes, but he nodded his head. Falanu got up and walked over to a wine casket and pulled out a special bottle she had for these kinds of occasions. She walked back, bottle in hand, and poured a glass for Glarthir and then herself. Glarthir took the glass in hand, eyeing it suspiciously, and then sniffing it, to see if it was alright. He took a meager sip, tasted it, and then took another sip.
"A fine wine this is, Hlaalu. But it is not from around here, is it? Is it from Morrowind?"
"Um, yes. Yes it is." said Falanu as she just twirled the liquid around in her glass "Now where were we? Ah yes. The spies."
Glarthir looked up from his glass after taking yet another sip. "The spies, they are everywhere here in Skingrad. I do not know who they work for yet, but I am determined to find out." He took a sip. "You see, I've managed to go under their radar so far. I know they spy on me constantly, but they have nothing they can use against me… yet." He finished what was left in the glass. "And that is where—"He felt a little tipsy. The wine seemed quite potent. He leaned on the table, trying to maintain composure.
"There is where I bring up this idea. You see, there can only be one person of interest in Skingrad. By what… you've told me…"
The Bosmer collapsed where he sat, the glass rolling from his hand. Falanu grinned again. Though passed out, the Bosmer had to be taken out of his misery. Or else, with his avid paranoia, he might just end up being more trouble onto her doorstep than wanted.
"Oh yes little Bosmer, sleep well. Because no one is going to miss you, or even care that you are gone." she whispered into his ear, unsheathing a knife from out of the bodice of her dress.
Though she did not know, her killing had been observed by forces unknown... Somehow. In the depths of her basement, where there were no windows.
A shadow glided across the cold stone floor, an eerie air about him as he made his approach towards the newest recruit in the unholy Dark Brotherhood. With chilling eyes, concealed by darkness, Lucien Lachance climbed the stairs, silent as a specter. For a home of a murderess, it was quite quaint. The burning of standstill candles reflected a warm glow upon himself as he passed by, heading towards the upstairs bedrooms. It would be yet another daily routine for poor Lachance. As much as he prided in scaring the living daylights out of poor, sleeping souls with his ominous presence… as of late it had grown monotonous and even boring.
But the Night Mother had whispered sweetly to him that this… was a special case. Special by what definition, he did not know.
Quietly, he slipped into the open door of the bedroom, expecting to find his next prodigy sleeping soundly in their beds, oblivious to what awaited them in the dark. But his eyes fell upon an empty bed. Saving himself a bit of effort, as he did not wish to play a game of hide and seek, he cast a small spell of detect life. Scanning, there was no one on this floor. He had gone to the right house… his target was here. He looked below him, and there he saw the silhouette of purple aglow in what appeared to be the buildings basement.
Odd that someone would prefer sleeping in their basement rather than sleep in a comforting bed, but… the Dark Brotherhood had a great trend of picking up the weird ones.
Upon arrival in the basement of the apparent alchemist, Lucien glazed over what a mess it truly was. Wine bottles, strewn everywhere. Chairs were flipped over. Someone must've had a hell of a party here. As he walked deeper into the lair, he saw the dried blood beside a table, his target sleeping on top of it, covered in a table cloth that probably once lay neatly on said table.
A very awkward place to lie, and sleep, but drunkenness knew no bounds. But to sleep with the blood of their victim remained strewn across the floor… that required a hardened, desensitized mindset, or again, one strong liqueur.
"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer," he spoke his routine introduction as he awoke his target from under the table cloth. "that's—"
The recruit before him poked out from under her table cloth, still in a drunken daze.
"Who in Sanguine's name are you?" the Dunmer grumbled, her short auburn hair a terrible mess. Lucien raised in eyebrow as he took another look at her. Something wasn't right about this.
"I am Lucien Lachance of the Dark Brotherhood, and you, you are a—"
He was rudely interrupted again by the persistent Dunmer. "Why are you in my house? This is private property! I thought I escaped these random house raids back in Morrowind. Unless," she turned onto her side giving Lucien a suspicious smile, not realizing she was revealing what laid under the tablecloth with her.
"Maybe this isn't the best of times; I hadn't realized you were with someone." Lachance said with an awkward tone as he saw the partner of the female Dunmer. Oddly though, he thought she was alone, or else he wouldn't have come at all. His detect life spell had only detected one life, not two.
And then he realized what was truly wrong with this picture.
For once, in Lachance's entire career, he was horrified. All of the blood he had spilled, all the corpses he had left in his wake, not once had he recoiled in repulsion. But this, this was… unprecedented. He wanted to step back, and raise his arms in disgust, to scream out a few choice words while pleading to the Night Mother to allow mercy on his eyes. His macabre-induced trance was broken by Falanu's words.
"Oh no, I don't mind a dark visitor in the night occasionally." giggled Hlaalu as she pulled the table cloth closer to her.
"Is he—"Lucien choked out, not able to finish his words. Falanu cocked her head at him, confused for a moment, but then realized what he spoke of.
"Don't mind him." she bluntly put as if it were nothing while she looked Lucien over.
Lachance had to maintain composure, for the sake of the Dark Brotherhood's image. But something about this Dark Elf was bad news. For him, and the guild. He did not like that… eye she was giving him. A tingle went down his spine; something was telling him to just get out of there. It had been forever since something gave him that feeling.
In image arose in his frightened mind, as to what might result if such a figure would exist in their unholy guild. Falanu Hlaalu would kill her marks, but then… oh it was too terrifying to think about. She'd end up caught, giving the Dark Brotherhood a reputation he and the Black Hand did not want. What if she had the gusto to go after him? Sneak into his home in Fort Farragut one night, and kill him in his sleep someway… and then… the haunting image reverberated in his mind… his body, being dragged into her basement, to have atrocities performed on his body like that poor, defenseless Bosmer. For once, he had sympathy for a victim.
He cringed. Simple as that.
"Dark Brotherhood you say?" asked Falanu, "Sadly, I can't say I'm really interested. I've heard too much about you guys. That's all I need is the Morag Tong after me again. Though—"
"Oh no!" he protested sharply, his voice breaking up as he broke out of his professional attitude. "You already denied the offer."
"Well," she smiled again, giving out a sigh "Since you're a guest in my home, would you like to stay for a little drink?"
"By Sithis, no! You will not do to me like you did to him!" said an alarmed Lucien, pointing a figure snappily at the dead Bosmer. With that, he rushed out of her home and away from the nightmare that was her basement.
Shaken, Lucien entered the confines of the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, the images he had seen hours ago still lingering in his mind. As he walked through the foyer, one of the new recruits, Idillian, made her appearance.
"How did it go? What did you think of my cousin?" she smiled, noticing that Lucien was not himself.
"Why," he muttered without looking her in the eye, but rather stared off into the distance "didn't you tell me your cousin was a necrophiliac?"
Idillian's smile grew wider now, seeming oh so familiar to Falanu's. "I forgot?"
Lucien's eyebrows furrowed, knowing she was lying.
"I hate you…" he grumbled in a low voice. The Dunmer picked up his muttered words, and laughed.
"I love you too Lucy-kins."
Lucien shook his head as he walked away from her with haste, and into the dining area. He needed something strong.
Real strong.
"What's wrong with him?" asked a curious Antoinetta Marie as she peered over the side of a bed. Lucien lay upon the ground, in a horrible state of disarray. In his hand was an empty bottle of Cyrodiil's most potent alcohol. Ocheeva came to the side of Antoinetta and sighed as she too looked over the distressed Lucien.
She didn't know what Lucien had saw, but it must've been something truly horrible. But she dared not to ask. She simply did not know what could frighten such a hardened, experienced Speaker of the Black Hand.
Some things were better left in the dark.