Disclaimer: Oblivion, it's characters, cities and everything else that belongs to Bethesda Softworks belongs to Bethesda Softworks and not to me. But let's be honest: If I needed to tell you that, then you shouldn't be reading a T rated story in the first place.
Author's Note: I took quite some liberty with the environments of Oblivion, more relying on what could be there than what is actually there. I also made something that you could consider just a limitation of the game engine an essential part of my story. I hope you don't mind.
Once again, I was lost. Everything was turning around me and I was standing in the middle, wondering where I were, where I came from and where I was going to. The Imperial City, with all its circles had gotten the better of me again.
I'm telling you, I ain't the only one who has this problem. When you walk through the Imperial City, you'll happen on at least two people per hour who walk around, murmuring "He said to get out at 270°, but was it clockwise or counter-clockwise?". All races, all genders and all professions are affected. The only exception are mages, who murmur something about one and a half pi instead.
Finally I arrived in the most cheap area you could find, near an entrace where a plaque read: Septimus Nonius, Private Investigator. I fingered for my key and found out it was broken. That didn't matter much, because the lock was broken, too. For a short time I wondered whether I should tell my landlord about this situation, or whether I should continue trying to stay as far away from him as I could.
The inside was as unordered as I could possibly manage. I usually try to maintain a creative chaos atmosphere, but I simply have too little posessions to manage a good chaos. Some old issues of the Black Horse Courier were lying on my desk. My sword was well hidden under my bed, which itself was at the far end of the room. A window was luxury that I could not possibly afford. I took a swing of the wine I just bought, lit my small oil lamp and sat down behind my old desk, putting my boots on my desk. Then I started waiting for customers.
The Skooma-bottle was half empty when finally someone entered. An older Dark Elf man, dressed in robes that mages usually wear appeared in front of my desk and looked completely unimpressed by my would-be chaos. Clearly, he had seen worse, but he wasn't particularly thrilled by my environment either. He looked intelligent. I did not think that he was afraid of something, angry or shocked, merely annoyed about the situation that made him contact someone like me at all.
"I'm looking for an investigator and I heard you're the… the…"
"Best?" I offered to help
"Cheapest. Listen, I've got a little problem that I would need someone to take care of."
"What kind of problem?"
Most of my problems were actually quite boring. Checking whether wives or husbands were as loyal as they claimed to be, searching for a stolen ring that was actually just in the wrong drawer and so on. My customer did not look like the kind of man who would ask me about such issues. This one looked interesting. Then again, interesting could be bad, too.
"I'm a mage, and I've had a little idea that looks quite promising. Now someone seems to have stolen my notes, which bothers me a lot. I want you to find who stole them, get them back, and make sure nobody took a copy."
That sounded easy enough. Jobs that sound easy either aren't, or are badly paid. Most often, both. But looking at my room, and thinking about the rent that I was still owing, I had no choice but to accept.
"What kind of invention is it you're talking about, sir?" I asked.
"Transparent windows," he said.
I nearly spat out my wine again, only at the last second remembering how much it had cost me. Of course I knew about the expensive glass showcases that only counts could afford, and I had drunk more than my share of alcoholic beverages out of transparent bottles. If you had the money, there were always glass armour and weapons, which were partly transparent. But in school I learned that something as large as a window was impossible with current technology.
"Transparent as in I can see what's going on on the other side?"
"Yes. Fully clear. You won't notice it's there," he said calmly, although I think I saw a little smile. He seemed to be proud. He had all right to be.
Normal windows were made out of some semi-transparent material that made the interior less dark and could give you an educated guess about the sky color, but it had never been possible to look out. If he had managed to find a way to make this possible, counts, kings, emperors not only all over Tamriel, but all over the known world would be spending the last money their tax-payers earned just to get it. My opposite was a rich man, more wealthy than most other people in the Empire, and he knew it. Of course, the problem remained: Where was his invention now?
"You might want to start by telling me the details" I suggested.
---
Next morning, I was standing in some arcane room in the Arcane University. A battle-mage who was clearly reluctant to let me in stood beside me as my escort, ready to kill me if I should make one wrong move. Avius Nicolen, my employer, showed me his office. It was tidy, with a bed, some mixtures, many books and scrolls and a huge, transparent window leaned against a bookshelf. I showed myself dutifully impressed, but Nicolen just declared it useless.
"The important thing is the formula and the instructions to create more of its kind. This single window is just an anecdote in history" he explained.
I started looking around, for clues and for the notes. I did not really expect to find the latter, because the office was very tidy and Nicolen had told me that he had already used all kinds of search spells he could possibly know, but it never hurt to try. Someone had managed to get past some really good locks, while leaving only very tiny marks. Either the intruder did not break any lock picks, or he took them with him when he departed.
The room lacked any window, which I found ironic. The only way to enter was through a door, though a mage might have teleported in. Nicolen dismissed this possibility because the aura of the room was not right, whatever that meant. He himself was outside when the break-in happened, testing some methods to further enforce the glass that were apparently quite dangerous to try in closed rooms. Everyone I asked on the way in had seen lots of people, but nobody particular. I quickly concluded that I could not find out more here.
---
Next, I started enquiring the usual sources. The Imperial City Guard more or less said that they hadn't heard of the incident, that their own enquiries were unsuccessful and stopped because they didn't care, and that they wouldn't tell me anything at all. I didn't expect more and turned to my next source.
In the Waterfront district I entered a small, broke-down shack, where my informant lived. It was a member of the Thieves Guild. The Thieves Guild and I had a neat little arrangement: They would tell me what cases they were involved in (which were fewer than you might assume), and I would immediately close these cases and report that I could not solve them. Obviously, they thought I was too unimportant to be any risk for them, and, to be honest, they were right.
I liked visiting my informant. She was an Altmer woman, about my age, and we were good friends. Quickly, I told her what happened.
"No, we are not involved in this. We really don't like stealing someone's ideas around here," she answered. "We've heard about it, though. Rumor has it that you might want to look at Clothilde Dupont."
"Never heard about her. Who is she?" I replied.
"An old, rich Breton, trying to stay out of the spotlight as much as possible. She owns several large ships, and she also owns a few egg mines in Morrowind that she leases to contractors for a share of their profits. She has several other businesses, and she also owns the buildings where some of our inns operate. That way, we have contact to her. She is a very dishonest woman," my friend said in disgust. For a bunch of criminals, the thieves guild have a very strict moral codex, and I've found that they held more strictly to theirs than any of the so-called honorable guilds.
"And where did the rumor come from?" I wondered.
"Can't tell you that, sorry. Let's just say we have our sources," she said with a wicked grin.
"So if I wanted to find out more about her, maybe talk with her, where would I go?" I asked.
"Well, she used to live in Kvatch, but was away on business when the gates opened." My friend fell silent. So did I. We both had lost friends there. In fact, I knew nobody who hadn't lost friends there.
"Officially, Clothilde now lives in Skingrad. However, I know for a fact that her not-so-nice operations work out of Kvatch again," she continued after a while.
"Kvatch? What on earth would make her go there? Most people wouldn't want to come within a mile of that town."
"That's the point. Besides, in and under the ruins a lot of things can be easily hidden. Many houses had hidden cellars that weren't destroyed."
"All right, that's where I'm going to look. Thanks, girl, it's always a pleasure talking with you." I said, getting ready to leave.
"No problem" she said, smiling.
"Oh, and Septimus: That women really pissed me off, just as well as the rest of the guild. She is too important for us, so we can't make her pay, but if you find a way to annoy her, I'd appreciate it."
I promised to do my best and walked out.
---
A day later, I found myself in Skingrad. From here, I planned to first take a look at Clothilde Dupont's house, and then move on to Kvatch. Her house was easy enough to find. When I asked whether I could visit her, an older Breton who was apparently her servant flatly, and in a very rude manner, denied.
Next, I asked at the castle. I was told that the count was not available for talk, that Skingrad considered itself lucky to have someone as important as Mme Dupont as a citizen, and that they would honor her wish for privacy. I also was offered to buy a house there, to which I declined.
Finally, I went to the place where you can find the real information: The local pub. It was a usual pub in a usual house, with the usual assortment of guests. I quickly became friends with one of the locals, by buying him a drink. While he had apparently no idea how important she was, he was obviously not a good friend of Mme Dupont's.
"I have a little house with garden, close to the city wall. One day, one of my trees had fallen over. The next day, another. I checked and saw that the ground was much more loose than it used to. In the end, even my garden wall started crumbling down. And you know what? The trees, and the patch in the wall, they all form a line. You want to know where that line leads?" he said and paused.
"Go on!" I urged him, hoping to get as much information out of him without having to buy another drink.
"That line leads directly to that Dupont-misses' house. I'll bet you she did that!" he said.
"Not possible! Why would she want to do that?" I exclaimed.
He lowered his voice.
"Well, I think she is jealous. We have an annual garden contest here in Skingrad, and the last three years, I've always won. I think she wants to win next time, and to do that, she sabotages my garden!"
"Really? How cruel!" I said. I had my doubts about his logic, but I still wanted to know more. Sadly, that was all he could tell me. When I got out of the pub again, I decided to check that line.
I easily found the garden and saw that the man was right. While it wasn't obvious at first glance, an assortment of tiny earth movement, cracks walls, small lower areas on the street and so on could be seen. Nothing was really large, but if you looked closely, there was a clear line leading from Dupont's house to the city wall. Most likely, someone had dug a tunnel and while doing this, caused the earth to fall down.
I walked through the city gate and went to the other side of the wall. There, for a short while the trail continued, but it vanished in a forest. I searched for about an hour, but found nothing more. Still, it had caught my attention. It seemed to be directed directly at Kvatch.
---
The next day, I decided to walk to Kvatch. When I arrived there, it was still quite early in the morning. A couple of priests of the imperial cult were there, praying for the dead. I gave them a little money, more than I should have with my current financial situation. The city still was in ruins, nobody had yet tried to move back in.
As so many others, I had heard only third- and fourth-hand accounts about what happened here, but I used to think I could imagine what it must have been like. I was wrong. It is impossible to describe how shocked I was when I arrived. The smoke had settled and the Daedra had been all killed long ago, but still, signs of the hopeless fight was evident everywhere I looked. There even were a few body pieces left. I did not stop long enough to decide whether these were mortal or daedric.
It took me an hour or so before I recovered enough from the shock and could start working. The environment was a challenge, as I hardly dared enter the broken ruins. Everywhere I turned, some stones came tumbling down. When I decided that I was finished, I hadn't found anything interesting. The priests had apparently already left, too. Slowly, I made my way back to Skingrad. Instead of taking the road, I decided to walk cross-country, in a faint hope of finding more evidence of the tunnel. My investigations had arrived at a dead point. While I was walking, suddenly an arrow hit me.