Thalmor Embassy, Imperial City, Cyrodill
Freshly minted Justiciar Eldith strode through the wood paneled corridors of the Thalmor's embassy in the Imperial City. Her boots clacked sharply against the hardwood, her longcoat whipped stylishly around her body and her hood, pulled low to shroud her face in mystery, still had that new-leather scent.
"How did the intruder penetrate our security?" Her voice was cold and imperious, demanding obedience, a tone she'd probably practiced thousands of times in the mirror. "He should have been stopped well before he gained access to the archives."
The veteran guard captain, clad in burnished golden armor, discreetly rolled his eyes. Divines spare me the arrogance of young commanders. Slap a black-coat on them, and they think they know it all. He doubted she was more than eighty or ninety years old, just barely into her adult years – he himself was a three hundred year veteran in the infantry corps. Worse, as a result of her inexperience, she seemed overly eager to start trying out her newly given authority.
Still, youngster or not, she did outrank him, so he hid his annoyance and answered politely. "We're not sure, Justiciar. I have my best guardsmen working on it." They went through a door and down a long flight of stairs lit by softly glowing lamps mounted on the stone walls. The air down here was cold – not damp – just a faint chill that seemed to sink into the bones.
"Your best allowed a grubby thief to penetrate deep into the heart of a heavily protected facility like he was out for a stroll in the markets. I hope you have suitable punishments in mind for the guards who were incompetent enough to allow this."
"Of course Justiciar." They'll spend a week on kitchen duty. I'm not going to break out the execution axes just to satisfy some bratling's blood-lust.
"Has the prisoner talked yet?"
"No, Justiciar, he's proven resilient to normal coercion methods."
"And so you come to me for help." She sounded like she was preening herself.
The guard captain again rolled his eyes (out of sight, of course). "Yes, Justiciar."
The stairs ended in a metal grated door, which the captain unlocked. This ground level was Spartan compared to the lavish floors above it. Instead of wood paneled walls or polished furniture, the corridor was built out of sturdy stone blocks. Thick iron bound doors were set into the walls at regular intervals and brightly burning lamps illuminated every inch of it.
A faint scream echoed from one of the rooms they passed. The guard captain made a mental note to double-check the soundproofing of the interrogation chambers. If those muffle enchantments are losing juice, they'll have to be recharged. Can't have half the embassy ringing with screams –be bad for morale.
He stopped before an identical door farther down the line. "The prisoner is in here, Justiciar."
"Excellent." She seemed almost excited, like a hound straining at the leash. "You may go now, guard captain."
"Justiciar? This man somehow circumvented almost every layer of our security. Until we know more, it would be wise to exercise extreme caution-"
"I am a Justiciar of the Aldmeri Dominion. A single prisoner is no threat. You may return to your post, immediately."
The guard captain stared at her, but it was clear the idiot wouldn't budge. At least he knew the two guards interrogating the prisoner right now were veterans like himself. Lucind and Teivos will make sure she stays out of trouble…I hope. Reluctantly, he bowed and then headed back up the stairs.
The Justiciar paused, made some minor adjustments to her coat, and then stalked into the room.
It was a small room, dominated by a thick wooden table in the center and a pair of chairs, one on either side. The rank scent of human sweat and blood assaulted her nose. The only sounds were the soft grunts of the guards in their exertions and the smack of flesh being beaten. The intruder wore dark leathers covered in an assortment of pouches and pockets. The jacket had been removed, stripping him to the waist and revealing a slender, wiry physique; the man was built for speed and agility, not brawn. That was good; the brawny ones took forever to break down to physical pain.
Eldith watched impassively as the two guards worked up and down his body with thin wooden batons. The stick batons were more precise than fists, depending on the speed and angle of the strike, the baton could leave a painful welt or a broken bone. They were trained well, avoiding areas like the head and heart; their beatings were designed to inflict pain not to render the prisoner brain-damaged or dead before he could be questioned. Already most of the prisoner's upper body was covered in purpling bruises.
Still, the prisoner was unnaturally stoic about the beating, keeping his lips pressed in a thin line, offering only the occasional grunt if a wooden baton struck a particularly sensitive area. Best to let them at him for a few more minutes. Eldith thought.
Arranging herself at the table, she took the time to study the prisoner's equipment. The gear itself suggested thief. There was a set of finely fashioned lockpicks in a leather case, twelve slender glass vials filled with different liquids, and a spool of thin wiry rope coiled around an ingeniously designed, collapsible grapple-hook. There was also a pair of daggers.
One dagger was made in the Imperial style, with a plain cross-guard, leather wrapped grip and straight blade. It was an old Guardsman design, at least twenty years out of style but good for stabbing, with a nicely tapered blade, even if it was made out of inferior steel.
The other one was Elven-make, a golden blade made of tightly folded sheets of metal whose overlapping layers had been compacted to a razor thin edge and curved for quick, savage slashes. The handle was wrapped in strips of fine leather dyed a beautiful royal blue and textured to provide a better grip. It was an elegant weapon, worthy of a House Lord's armory. How the Imperial had acquired it was a mystery, one of many that Eldith intended to solve.
"Enough." She said, privately delighted when the guards instantly obeyed her orders. That was real power, snapping your fingers and having your words instantly obeyed. "Bring him here."
The two grim-faced Altmer calmly picked up the prisoner and dragged him over to the holding chair. The chair was made of reinforced metal, with bolts that secured it to the stone floor. Manacles on the chair legs clacked around the prisoner's feet. A pair of manacles lay on the table, connected by a short chain to an iron ring sunk deep into the wooden table. These clacked shut around the prisoner's wrists, giving his hands limited mobility but keeping them on the table in plain view of any watcher. Both the manacles and leg irons had been built to contain something as strong as a berserking Orsimer, they would be more than sufficient to contain an Imperial.
And he was an Imperial, though that might be hard to judge at first glance. Certainly the bone structure was correct; there was no hiding that aquiline nose or high cheekbones. His short-cropped hair was also the deep black of an imperial, but that was the only thing colored right. His skin was pale as a Nord's, and his eyes were also Nordic blue, flecked with strange golden specks.
A half-breed then¸ Eldith thought with a strange mixture of fascination and horror, what twisted parents would allow such an abomination to live?
"Do you know who I am?"
He focused those bizarre eyes on her, "Face seems familiar…have I bedded you before?"
The thought of an ape like him consorting with a high-born like her twisted her face in revulsion. She held up one black glove. The air inside the room crackled as blue bolts of wizard-lightning splashed from her finger tips. She gave him just a short, low-powered blast, but the impact still slammed him back in the iron chair.
"I am a Thalmor Justiciar and that was just a taste of what I can do to you." Justiciar Eldith said sternly.
The prisoner laughed, "You're new, ainch'ya? Got a short fuse to match, I bet."
"I ask the questions!" she snapped, secretly surprised he wasn't dribbling on the floor. Maybe that shock spell had been too underpowered. "You were caught trespassing in the Embassy's archives. Why were you interested in this book?" She tapped a finger hard against an unadorned black leather bound book that seemed to take up half the table.
"I like the pretty pictures in 'em."
She shocked him again, this time holding the charge for several seconds. "This is a record of previous Thalmor operations in this city. Why are you interested in events that occurred decades ago?"
The thief gave her a wide-eyed, sincere look. "Well if'ya must know, I'm truly passionate about Thalmor history. I think you're an adorable cult of psychopaths." He tilted his head quizzically, "We could be friends."
This time lightning leaked from both her hands. They smashed into the prisoner's body. If the chair hadn't been bolted to the floor, his seizures would have capsized as it.
"Justiciar." One of the guards warned cautiously, "We need him alive."
"I know that!" she snapped, but she lowered her hands.
The Imperial gasped quietly as he sucked in ragged breaths. "Oh Void…who am I kidding? We'd never be friends."
"Silence!" she snapped, keeping a slippery grip on her growing temper. "Tell me what I want to know!"
"Or what," the prisoner goaded her, blue-gold eyes glittering in amusement, "You'll make angry pouty faces again?"
That had been one insult too many. With an angry shriek, Justiciar Eldith rose from her seat. Her arms stabbed out, hands splayed like claws. Torrents of electric blue energy smashed into the prisoner's frail body. The guards took the best course of action and flung themselves to the floor.
When the smoke finally cleared, the Justiciar was still standing with her hands outstretched. Her expression of rage quickly gave way to surprise. Far from being a charred skeleton with popped eyeballs, the Imperial was braced against the table, seemingly unmarked by the lightning storms. His head was bowed and he was breathing heavily, as if he'd just run a race.
"Justiciar…" one of the guards warned.
Bright blue sparks were rippling across the prisoner's body. Everywhere they touched the bruises and cuts from his previous beating receded to pale skin, as if he was burning through an accelerated Restoration spell.
"What in Oblivion?" she mumbled. The guards, being perhaps a touch more savvy, shifted nervously, reaching for the maces slung through their belts. The prisoner lifted his head. The Imperial's eyes had been ice blue with gold flecks. Now the flecks had swollen to a solid gold band around his eyes. He looked her straight in the eye and smiled.
It was a very cold smile that said: Yes I just ate your lightning bolts.
And yes, they tasted quite delicious.
"Guards…" Eldith started to say.
The Imperial jerked his hands hard against the steel cuffs. The thumbs of each hand seemed to collapse, allowing his hands to squeeze through the rings, scraping the top layer of skin off them in the process. The prisoner ducked down, touching his hands to the leg-cuffs. A spark of stolen magic raced through them and the clamps sprang open.
Eldith stepped back, "Guards!" she snapped, but the guards were already moving. They were armed with short-handled maces, good for close quarters where longer blades would get in the way. They came at the Imperial from either side.
They made the mistake of assuming that put him at a disadvantage.
The prisoner quick-stepped towards the guard on his left and drove the stiffened fingers of his hand into the guard's throat. There was a sickening crunch. Tievos stumbled to his knees, cradling his crushed windpipe. He dropped his mace – where it fell into the prisoner's other hand. The Imperial turned with blinding speed and batted aside a vicious downward blow from Lucind, hooking the guard's weapon where the bladed head met the shaft, and disarming him with a flick of the wrist.
Lucind's hand darted for the dagger at his waist.
The Imperial grabbed that hand, pinning the dagger, his other hand latched around Lucind's surprised face. There was a flash of red light. Lucind collapsed to the floor, a surprised look and a lingering handprint etched on his dead face.
Elidth finally settled for the better part of valor and turned to run. She got two steps before a blast of lightning spun her around and slammed her hard against the wall and the world went black.
The entire fight had lasted four seconds. On the floor, Tievos was still making faint, wheezing noises. The Imperial mongrel was breathing heavily. A light sheen of sweat covered his unmarked face, the gold flecks in his eyes had returned to their dust like size. He popped his thumbs back into place, wincing slightly. he grabbed his gear and slipped on his leathers, then turned to the book. He'd like to have taken the whole book but the bloody thing weighed a ton. Opening the cover, he flicked through the pages until he found the correct section.
It was written in gibberish, a code of some kind that he could crack later when he wasn't in the heart of a Thalmor prison. Acutely aware of the seconds ticking by, he ripped the pages out of the book and stuffed them into an interior pocket. As he turned to leave, Caius caught sight of the limp Justiciar and stopped.
He had an idea so clichéd...it just might work.
Five minutes later, a Justiciar swept out of the Thalmor embassy. The Justiciar nodded brusquely at the pair of guards manning the gates but otherwise didn't acknowledge their presence.
One of the guards watched the Justiciar curiously, "Was that the new one?"
"Probably."
"Seemed kind of short for a Justiciar."
The other guard thought about it and shrugged, "Probably explains her anger issues."
The other guard frowned and remembered seeing a brief flash of a stubbled chin as the Justiciar had walked past.
"That was a woman?" he asked in a horrified voice.
After escaping the Thalmor embassy, Caius had ditched the long-coat and made his way out through the main gate. He took shelter in a roadside inn that had seen better days. He'd ordered a broth and some ale and tossed a mischievous wink and an extra silver to the Redguard wench who'd taken his order. As he ate the food, he studied a travel-worn map from his pack.
By now the Thalmor would have discovered his escape. For a long time, he'd enjoyed anonymity but with his break-in at the embassy, it appeared that was over. With the stolen pages a burning weight in his pocket, he scrutinized the map, trying to answer the question of where he could go that the Thalmor could not reach him.
Hammerfell? The Redguards were an honorable lot and the country had stood on its own against the Thalmor, and somehow was still standing –even without Imperial support. They'd be more than happy to accept another brother to the fight.
But the Thalmor kept a keen eye on the roads and waterways leading to the South, too many refugees of the Thalmor's Justiciar had headed to Hammerfell in the past. They'd expect him to go there – Void, they probably already had a welcoming legion of gold-plated soldiers waiting to greet him if he showed up.
Morrowind was out of the question as well – it being nothing more than a wasteland, not to mention his own bad experiences with the Dunmer. Valenwood was home of the Bosmer, allies of the Altmer. High Rock had too much political intrigue, at least one faction would sell him out to the Thalmor. A human would stick out too much among the Argonians and Khajit, so that ruled out Black Marsh and…and wherever the Khajit came from.
And then his gaze traveled north, to Skyrim. It'd be far from the Empire, far from the Thalmor. A primordial wilderness populated by the gruff, no-nonsense Nords. It was also currently engulfed in a bloody civil war between Imperial loyalists and Talos-worshippers.
It might not have all the luxuries of the more civilized Cyrodill, but a civil war might be just what he needed. There'd be refugees fleeing the fighting, families uprooting and moving around, strangers would be a common sight and not questioned closely.
But there was something else, something more than rational thinking at work. As he stared at the map, a sudden longing swept through his veins. It wasn't any reason he could put into words, but it was like someone was tapping him on the shoulder and saying Go north, young fellow.
Alright, north it is. Then he looked up and caught sight of the Redguard wench, who was giving him an appreciative look of her own. Caius quickly amended his last thought to include after a night spent in an extra-warm bed.