Stefan Descantes - Volume I

Ralnir marched through the Imperial City streets, his expensive velvet clothing stretched tight over his ample stomach. He strode right past an Imperial guard without looking at him. The guard gave him a look of contempt as he passed, his right hand straying nearer to the hilt of his longsword, but the wood elf didn't care. Ralnir knew that the guards suspected that he was the one who was dealing skooma to the city's residents, but had never proved anything. It wasn't for lack of trying, though.

Ralnir slid his key into the door of his expensive Temple District home and unlocked it. He stepped into the darkened room and latched the five tumbler lock behind him. Ralnir lit a couple of candles and grabbed a bottle of Tamika's finest West Weald Wine from the cupboard. Sipping elegantly from the bottle, Ralnir unlocked another five tumbler lock that secured the door to his basement. In his basement was a trapdoor that leads to the Temple District sewer system. It was there that Ralnir made deals with his clients away from the prying eyes of the Imperial Guard. He was planning to meet with a client, then spend the night with a lovely and willing girl he met in the waterfront district.

Ralnir climbed down the ladder into the sewer. Crates littered the ground, the soft shine of glass visible through holes in the wood. The only light came from a lone torch attached to the wall next to the crates, casting deep shadows across the stone floor and walls. The client that was supposed to be meeting him here tonight was no where to be seen. Bastard, Ralnir thought, He's always late. As Ralnir descended a couple of stone steps, he became aware of an odor clinging to the room. It had a sickly sweet sort of smell that made him feel nauseous. He remembered that smell, from when several bandits waylaid him and some of his accomplices on a drug smuggling mission to Bravil. It was blood.

Ralnir froze. His eyes raked across the room, searching for the source. A few seconds later he saw a dark liquid reflecting the torchlight. The liquid was pooled around what was unmistakably a human hand. "Who's there?" Ralnir shouted out to the darkness. "Reveal yourself!"

A soft scrape sounded from the opposite end of the room, behind the blood. "Gotcha'!" roared Ralnir, raising his hand and firing a powerful bolt of lightning in the direction of the noise. The lighting tore right through the darkness, blasting a sizable hole in the stone wall. By the brief light given off by the shock, Ralnir glimpsed the body of a former client lying in a pool of its own blood and tall man casually avoiding his attack, his hands in his pockets, before darkness fell again. Ralnir stepped back in fear, and shouted out, "Reveal yourself, Imperial dog! Fight like a man!"

More noises came from the darkness, getting nearer. Ralnir held out his hand in that direction, ready. The man stepped out into the light. He was a tall, handsome Imperial, with long black hair that fell elegantly over his face. He wore a black cotton shirt, brown pants, also made of cotton, tough leather hunting boots, and odd black gloves with most of the fingers holes cut off. On his back was a massive ebony claymore, almost as tall as Ralnir. A long thin scar ran down the man's face, starting just above his right eye and ending next to the left hand corner of his mouth. Ralnir stared at the stranger's faint smile, fear etched on every line of his ashen face. The wood elf's hand was shaking as it pointed at the Imperial. "S-Stay back!" he stuttered. "I-I'm warning you!"

"What will you do if I don't?" mocked the Imperial, a smile still playing about his lips. He still stood casually, hands in his pockets, not making any attempt to reach for his sword.

"I-I'll kill you!" Ralnir stuttered, and pointed both his hands at the stranger. Great balls of fire erupted from the ends of his hands, as he threw volley after volley at the Imperial. Smoke filled the chamber, hiding the man from view, but Ralnir didn't care. Fireballs torched every square inch of the room, blackening the walls and reducing his crates filled with skooma to ash. Suddenly the fireballs stopped. Ralnir let out a long moan and sank to his feet, exhausted. After a few seconds, the smoke cleared, revealing the utterly destroyed chamber. The archway that connected this part of the sewer with the rest had collapsed, and drainage water, having no where else to go, began to flood. But worst of all, the stranger was still standing, completely unconcerned and uninjured, apart from a slight burn on his arm and hole in his shirt.

"Are you quite finished yet?" asked the stranger, inspecting the nails of his hand. Ralnir face was contorted with fury and fear. He tried to force himself to his feet, but collapsed. The man pulled his claymore of his back and pointed it at Ralnir. "This is how it's going to go," he said, the infuriating smile no longer on his face. "You have two choices. One: I turn you in to the Watch. Two: you fight back and I drag your lifeless corpse to the Watch. Which will it be?"

"This one thinks he has another choice, Descantes. He will come with me." Both Ralnir and the man, Descantes, whirled around. A Khajiit man dressed in full battle armor was standing in the corner, his blackened armor almost completely blending in with the darkness. Ralnir supposed that he would have been good-looking, for a Khajiit, if his face hadn't been marred by the gaping hole in his head where his right ear had been, or the patch over his right eye. He had two silver shortswords tied to his waist, and a giant war axe strapped to his back. The Khajiit smiled. "Leave, Imperial."

For the first time, Ralnir saw anger on the Imperial's face. He swung his blade around so it pointed at the Khajiit. "I am not leaving, A'jima. I was here first. He's my bounty."

A'jima gave him an indulgent smile, as though he were a small child. "That is where you are wrong, my good friend Stefan. I was here first. I have been hiding in the corner the whole time. You must have noticed my handiwork," he said gesturing towards the body of Ralnir's ex-client.

Stefan gave him a derisive look. "I was wondering who left that there."

"Ah, yes, I forgot," the Khajiit said softly. "You are above such things like killing, aren't you? I've always wondered how you've managed to survive in this business with such undesirable scruples. Now," A'jima said, drawing both his shortswords, one in each hand. "It is time for you to go. In case you've forgotten, I am the one who gave you that attractive scar. Unless you want another one, leave."

"I'm sure I could forgive myself just this once if I killed you. And in case you've forgotten, I am the one who gave you that attractive hole in the side of your head and patch over your eye." He smirked as the Khajiit's hand instinctively jumped to where his ear should have been. "I think you should go now."

A'jima bared his teeth. "So... It has come to combat, eh?" he asked, his voice almost inaudible. "So be it!" he screamed, leaping at Stefan, swinging his dual blades at his head. Stefan raised his claymore just in time and blocked both his blows, but no sooner had his blades connected with the Imperial's did A'jima swing them around for another attack, and another, and another. Stefan blocked or dodged everything the Khajiit threw at him, but Ralnir knew he was tiring. The Khajiit's shortswords were just too fast for his claymore to keep up. A'jima brought one of his swords low and the other high, stabbing at the same time. Stefan blocked the low one easily but the high was too quick. The gleaming blade splashed red as the shortsword cut Stefan's cheek. The Imperial was knocked back, blood streaming from his face. The Khajiit laughed and swung both his blades towards his neck. Instead of blocking the attack, Stefan ducked beneath the blades and stabbed A'jima's thigh. The Khajiit nearly dropped his swords as he gasped from the pain and surprise of the Imperial's attack. Pressing his advantage, Stefan flicked his claymore upward and stabbed it right at A'jima's chest. The Khajiit saw the attack coming and managed to deflect it with one of his swords, but the blade still drove itself into his left shoulder.

A'jima's entire left arm went numb, and his shortsword fell from his hand. With a sickening shlick!, Stefan pulled his claymore out from the Khajiit's arm and wiped it off in the water. A'jima collapsed to the ground, his right hand grasping his wounded shoulder, both his shortswords lying on the ground. He lost all control of his left arm, and he was sure his shoulder blade had broken. It took all his self-control not to scream from the agony as he struggled to his feet. He realized his eyes had been screwed shut from the pain and he tried to open them. The whole chamber was spinning, and he nearly collapsed again, but he managed to pick up both his swords with his right hand and stow them in his belt. He saw that Stefan was watching him and forced himself to ignore the pain. "You... win this time... Stefan," he gasped. He began to limp over to the remains of the archway. "Take your stupid... prisoner... with his... stupid... 5,000 gold... bounty.. wasn't... worth it..." he muttered, and, with a dexterity amazing for someone who has just been severely wounded, leapt to the top of pile of rubble that blocked the archway and crawled through a small hole.

As the Khajiit disappeared, Stefan turned to face Ralnir, who was, miraculously, still standing stock-still next to the ladder to his home. Stefan found it amazing that he hadn't tried to run for it during the fight. "So?" he asked, as though nothing happened. "What's your choice? Dead or alive?"

--

"Another one, Jans!"

"Comin' right up!" Jans, the barman of the Drowned Dog, a sleazy but prosperous bar and inn in the Waterfront district, slid another bottle of Surilie Brothers wine down the counter to Stefan. The Drowned Dog was a haven for bounty hunters, since Jans knew the price of every criminal in Cyrodiil. "Your last job go all right?" he asked leaning against the counter in front of Stefan.

"Yep," Stefan replied, taking a gulp of wine. "Turned him in alive and got the 5,000 septim bounty. Ran into A'jima, though, and I had to do some damage."

Jans nodded. "Yeah, I heard about that. Someone saw him crawlin' out of the sewer, lookin' pretty bad."

"Yeah, I hadn't meant to really hurt him that bad, but... " Stefan shrugged and drained his remaining wine. "Another one, please," he said, and when Jans got back he said, "I'm just glad he got out of the sewers all right. It's dangerous down there."

"You did what you had to do," the Nord said sagely.

"I guess..." Stefan replied. "What I want to know is why the City Watch didn't catch him. He must walk past them fifty times a day, it would have been easy to pick him up, and they wouldn't have to pay us bounty hunters either."

Jans leaned closer. "Rumor has it that the Imperial City watch is spread to its breakin' point. Captain Lex has so many guards lookin' for the Gray Fox and his Thieves Guild that there are hardly any guards left over. I heard that if a single guard is sent out to catch someone, an entire portion of the city is left unguarded for the time it takes him to catch the criminal."

Stefan whistled. "That bad?"

"Sure is." Jans leaned back and walked back down the counter to serve other patrons. The bar was packed with a motley assortment of criminals, beggars, junkies, whores, bounty hunters, and the occasional regular citizen. Looking around, Stefan saw at least three people drinking skooma without even bothering to hide the fact, and what looked like a dead body stuffed into a corner. He could probably make a fortune collecting the bounties on people just in this bar, but he knew Jans would never forgive him and it was Jans' information that helped him catch bounties.

"Stefan! Guess what I just heard!" Jans had returned. Stefan turned around and looked at him, interested. Jans almost never got this excited. He was practically beside himself. "What is it?" Stefan asked.

"I just heard that there is someone with a 150,000 septim bounty!"