Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls. I do not own Cyrodiil or nearly everything else related to the setting of this fanfic. All of that is the property of Bethesda. I do own the original characters described herein, except for Broken-Tail. Broken-Tail is the property of Okamifox.
--
Chapter 1 – When a Black Cat Crosses Your Path
The environment was hellish. The air all around was suffocating and smelled heavily of sulfur, the ground hard and cracked. The dirt was dark and infertile to all but the hardiest of plants. Only bloodgrass and spiddal stick plants were visible, but even those were lost in the dense, heated fog. The jagged cliffs surrounding a tall looming object shined with the thin skin of condensation that dripped rhythmically to the parched soil, hissing and erupting with steam with the collision of hot and cold. Tall, wormlike structures stood along the path near collapsed architecture, their "heads" spinning and glowing with internally burning flames. Shadowy figures stalked the paths up ahead, some bulky and short, while others were tall and muscular. They were Daedra. He was in Oblivion.
He coughed and wheezed, trying to catch enough air for constant, regular breathing. What kind of place was this? How could the Daedra survive in here? Were they suffering this same hell as he was right now? Surely they couldn't have just adapted to it. Adaptation only went so far, and this seemed way past the threshold. Daedra…what vile creatures. Only something so vile would be able to survive in this world.
Falx Laecinnius reached for his bow as he saw one of the creatures crossing a narrow bridge, the ropes that acted as rails long since burned away from the boiling lava less than twenty feet below. His angle was perfect, but it was hard to hold his breath when he hardly had any to hold. He aimed the one arrow he needed to kill the huge reptile, to send it hurtling over the edge and into the lake of fire below, and let it fly. It became lost in the fog as Falx waited for the sound of the arrow piercing the tough hide of the Daedra, for the feral roar of pain as it toppled over and the sizzle of the lava as it burned away at his scales. He waited and waited and waited. Nothing. He had missed? No matter, he would just do it again. The shadow was standing still, facing the sea of lava. Was he looking at the horizon? Of course he was, only a Daedra could appreciate such a horrid beauty. Falx let his bow-hunting instinct take over, his hand rising over his shoulder, reaching for his quiver and one of the silver-tipped arrows he had come to love so much. His hand closed, gripping only the air around him. In a panicked state, his hand swept from side to side. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder. The quiver was empty.
No, impossible, I made sure that I was carrying plenty when I came in here, Falx thought to himself. He cursed under his breath, the quiet sound muted by the boiling of lava and the growling of the creatures. The reptilian Daedra twitched. Slowly, its head pivoted to the side, the dim yellow flow of its eyes piercing through the fog. It knew that Falx was there. It stomped and let loose a feral roar, which Falx noted as a warning call. He looked to the side, at the other Daedra he had seen. A spider-like shape was now crawling toward him from the lava near the bridge. On his other side, one of the muscular ones was rushing toward him, a gigantic hammer raised above its head. Falx dropped his bow and reached for his dagger, made of steel, but it was not there either. The sheath had vanished. The Daedra drew closer. He looked up, thinking that he might be able to climb the rocks behind him to escape. Spider Daedra were sliding down, making clicking and hissing noises as they approached.
Falx broke into a run, headed for the bridge that had been vacated by the towering reptile. It lumbered toward him with claws ready to tear at his flesh, but he was much faster. When he got close, he ducked underneath one of its swinging arms and emerged unharmed. He rushed toward the bridge and felt the sudden change in terrain as his feet met the stone, small specks of dirt dropping from his leather boots and settling, contrasting the dull white rock. He was almost halfway across, and stopped to look back. He could see his steel dagger sitting on the rock where he had previously been perched. Why hadn't he thought to look down when he thought he had lost his weapons? Had he? He couldn't have been so stupid…
The Daedra were getting close, so he twisted back around and started to run, one of the quick spiders already walking along the bridge behind him. But his rushing footsteps soon slowed to ones of dreadful realization and fear. While he had been looking back at his pursuers, a wave of Daedra had blocked off his only hope of getting away. Now, they came from both sides. The reptile had let him through so that they could pin him on the bridge. He had fallen into their trap. And there was nowhere to turn.
He glanced back where he had come from. Three spiders were closing the distance between themselves and Falx quickly, much too quickly. One the other side, two of the tall, muscled creatures were rushing the bridge, carrying battle-axes. Their demented and bloodthirsty gazes were now clear through the dense fog. There were three options that Falx saw. Option one was to rush the big, dark, axe-wielding creatures and attempt to escape from there. But from there, he would have another choice to make. He could both find a weapon and kill all of these foul Daedra, or he could try and get back across the bridge, get to the gate and escape. Option two was to go back the way he came, but there were three spiders, a muscular creature, and the reptile blocking his way. The gate was so close, yet so far. And one small slip would have him tumbling into the burning river below. That was the third option, just jump. Pain for only a few seconds, as the molten rock burnt away at his skin and nerves. But then, there would only be black.
No, no, suicide was no option. He still had a chance. He could escape.
He felt four long, furry appendages grip him by the legs and hold on tight, and looked down to see a Spider Daedra emerging from underneath the bridge. It smiled at him sinisterly, its humanlike face contorted with an expression of hatred and pain. He tried to wrestle himself free, but knew he couldn't risk too much movement for fear of flinging himself over the edge. Oh, well. It wouldn't be such a bad way to go. Another of the Daedra crawled up behind him and now he was surrounded, five Spider Daedra in all. The first one licked her lips and began to spin her silk between her fingers, mixing it with her saliva – venin – to form a sticky blanket. She pasted it to Falx's flailing arms as he let free a burst of fire magic. How had he forgotten about it? It burned through the web quickly and caused the spider to recoil, her throat rattling with disapproval. One of the others twisted his arm to his back and spun the webs around it. He tried again to burn through it, but failed. He could not concentrate, especially when he realized that one of the axe-wielders was now standing right next to him. It did not swing.
As the spiders began to crawl up and down his body, covering him in their webs, he knew that he was dead. No second chances, no escape. He was tangled in the deadly web of Oblivion. One of the spiders had summoned several smaller ones to aid in the spinning. One of them crawled up Falx's face and he tried to scream, but his lungs were too constricted to muster anything but a scared pant. So, his phobia of spiders was not as irrational as he had always been told. After another pass over his face, the spider rendered Falx sightless. He felt the small legs trying to pry open his lips, but he would not let it in. It gave out a frustrated cry and continued to spin around his head. He was a cocoon. The air was leaving him and no more could get in. If the spiders did not eat him first, he would suffocate. Though he was oblivious to it, his vision was closing in from the sides. Seconds passed, and the spiders had finished the deed. The nearest of the muscled creatures, called Xivilai, picked up the silk cocoon effortlessly and slung it over its shoulders. The other one tore a hole open near the human's mouth. No sense taking him to the hive if he was dead. Now, he could breathe.
When Falx woke up, he wasn't sure how long had passed. A day? A week? A few hours? He was hungry, thirsty, and in desperate need of a bath. He felt sticky and filthy. It only took a second for him to remember why. He was now hanging upside down over a hole that dropped into a lake of lava. He could still not see, but he could breathe through his mouth. The air seemed cleaner than if had before. Had he been rescued? No, he was still wrapped in the cocoon. Why was he alive? He heard a gruff voice from outside.
"Wake up," it said, and Falx felt a thump on his side, like a hit from a club. Normally, he would have yelped in pain. But it didn't hurt. The silk provided cushioning, and even so, he wasn't up to screaming. Talking didn't sound very appealing either.
"I'm up," he said. He heard the hissing voice from the outside and felt the silk being peeled from his eyes. He opened them to see a humanoid Daedra standing there, wearing a full suit of Daedric Armor. A Dremora. It hissed at him again.
"Wake up," it said, thumping him with the club again. He looked at it with an annoyed expression.
"I am up," he said, more assertively. The Dremora didn't seem to hear him. It reeled the club back again and hit him.
"Wake up," it said. Falx could not even feel the thump this time.
"I'm up, you filthy Daedra!" he shouted, stopping the Dremora in the middle of his next swing. It hissed at him a new message.
"Someone's in your house, wake up!" it said, the club magically transforming into an axe. It swung at him with full force, the blade chopping through Falx's neck effortlessly. His head dropped into the lava pit, still screaming.
Everything was still dark as he sat up in his bed, the blankets tossed aside and lying in a heap on the stone floor next to him. He could barely make out the room around him. There was a small night table sitting next to him, the unlit candle on top the only dominating feature of the room. Starlight filtered in through the dirty glass window and cast the shadows of the trees outside on the floor, a relatively peaceful scene. Falx sat up and clutched at his bare chest. His heart was pounding rapidly, and his breaths were quick and short. Letting his hand fall to the mattress, he pulled his knees up to his torso and started to laugh. It was all a dream. He sucked in a breath of clean Cyrodiilic air, relieved that he was still in his cousin's house. While she was away in Hammerfell on business, she had given him the key to her house in Chorrol. While it wasn't much, it was definitely better than the streets. He stood up from his bed started to towel off his sweat on the blanket. No wonder he felt so grimy in his dream, aside from the silk cocoon he was imprisoned in. He was filthy. A breeze blew through the bedroom door and he felt the sweat cool and evaporate off of his skin. It felt good. The blanket fell out of his hand as he crouched down to grab his steel dagger out from underneath his bed. Something was very wrong.
How had a breeze come in through his bedroom door? The only way would have been if the front door were open…
"Someone's in your house, wake up!"
It had to be a thief. Why this particular thief had chosen a small shack in southwest Chorrol as their target, Falx did not know. But who else could it be? His cousin, Isobel? She would not be home for quite some time. If the intruder were a friend of Falx's, then they would not be sneaking into his house in the middle of the night. Of course, living in a small wooden shack, he did not have much of value in the house, but he did not feel that it was his decision whether or not to allow this thievery to take place. Isobel had forced Falx to promise to protect the house while she was gone. Another positive was that the killing would be looked upon by the Chorral Guard as self-defense and he would not be charged.
Falx made his way to the window and slid it open, cringing every time it squeaked, a noise that seemed so loud that all of Chorral should have woken up to scold the Imperial. If the intruder had not been scared away by the menacing window squeak, then they would probably not be against the idea of a fight for their loot. A light shuffling noise carried on the breeze from the living room. Yes, there was definitely someone in there. The window was now fully open, and Falx slid out and landed quietly on the dew-covered grass. Looking up the path, he could see the dim light of a torch floating along the side of the house owned by Reynald Jemane. A guard was passing by, but moving in the wrong direction. Falx could call out to him, but the thief would hear and probably escape. He might've been able to catch the guard in time to bring him back, but he hadn't been quiet about his exit. The thief knew that he had been detected and would grab what he could before quickly departing and disappearing into the darkness. Falx moved along, his bare, muscular back pressed against the wooden exterior of the home. Maybe the thief was leaving now. Falx could glance around the corner and get a glimpse of the thief's face and match it to his memories of the townspeople. Justice would be upheld, and no one would have to get hurt. What if they saw him when he did this? He would run for the guard. Few men could outrun Falx Laecinnius.
But when he peered around the corner, he did not see a person. Lying on the doorstep of the house was a still-burning torch, the flames licking at the stone and at times jumping to the wooden doorframe. The house did not ignite, thanks to a recent rain soaking the wood. Falx suddenly wanted to catch and kill the thief for his reckless placement of the open flame, but he kept quiet and alert. In the torchlight, Falx saw the large black body of a horse. He froze. The horse's beady black eyes were boring into his skull. It remained silent, thank the Nine, but it kept staring. There was something wrong with the horse. The insane gaze it was giving Falx unnerved him. He pulled his head back and looked over at the window he had climbed out of. It was closed. Had he closed it? No, no, he hadn't. He heard a snort and instinctively turned back to the horse. It was gone.
What in Oblivion, he thought. The night had fallen silent. He could not hear trotting hooves or neighing in the distance. It was as if the horse had disappeared.
A low roll, like the sound of a hungry child's stomach, gradually shattered the eerie silence. Falx knew that it was not his stomach, but he could not seem to find the direction that the noise was coming from. It sounded like it was right there, right on top of him, but he could not see it. It was getting progressively louder. It wasn't a grumbling stomach, too rhythmic. Too relaxed. Something was there, right on top of him, the feeling of its presence as thick as molasses and about as sticky feeling. The noise was still growing, and it only took a second or two for Falx to discover the source. He looked up and saw a dark figure leaning over the edge of the roof, a robed and hooded creature poised as it stalking prey. A long, thin tail whipped around behind it. It had to be a Khajiit.
"Hello, friend," the Khajiit whispered amiably, his purring increasing, growing louder. Falx stepped back and held his dagger defensively, staring at the hooded cat. There was something about its voice, a raspy but young sounding one, that reminded Falx of someone. If only he could see the face hidden in the shadows of that hood.
"Show yourself, thief," Falx commanded. He considered tacking on a threat to alert the guards, but both he and the Khajiit knew that the only guard who would hear the screams would be there too late to make a difference. The Khajiit leapt from the roof and landed on the ground next to the Imperial, who backed away even further, his dagger ready to strike.
"Very well," the cat purred, reaching into a pouch and pulling out a small ring that gleamed brilliantly in the darkness. He held up one hand and slid the ring onto his finger, clenching his fist to keep it in place. Instantly, a twenty-five foot circle of green light appeared around the two. The Khajiit gripped and lowered his hood with the other hand, revealing a handsome but devious feline face. His green eyes contrasted greatly with his fur, black as the night that they stood in. Falx remembered the face and lowered his dagger, trying to remember what this Khajiit, a former employer, was called.
"Remember me, Falx Laecinnius?" the black cat asked. He had a hint of forced hopefulness in his voice, as if he were trying to make Falx believe that he cared whether or not the Imperial remembered his name. Falx stood for a moment, still scanning his mind for the name. All he could find was the Khajiit's obvious moniker.
"Black Cat," Laecinnius said, attempting to sheath his dagger but realizing that he was only wearing a pair of pants. He held the dagger loosely and stared at the green-eyed Khajiit, waiting for him to say something. The cat stared inquisitively, almost as if he could search Falx's soul by gazing deeply into his eyes. He kept purring.
"Black Cat," Falx said again, this time more direct. The cat seemed fixated on him, never blinking. He stared and stared until Falx became uncomfortable enough to walk away. Black Cat stood there for a few moments more, his eyes locked on the spot where Falx had been. He wore a goofy smile, as if he had heard a dirty joke and was trying to contain it while deciding whether or not Falx would mind to hear it. Falx rounded the corner, approaching the burning torch and picking it up. He waved it around to see if the black horse had merely blended with the shadows instead of disappearing. It had not. There was no trace of a horse having ever been near his house. Even the distinct smell of a horse was nowhere to be found. Black Cat seemed to snap to attention and he followed Falx around the corner.
"Wait, Falx Laecinnius, we must speak!" Black Cat called to him, sticking his hand in the door to prevent the Imperial from shutting it in his face. Falx could tell that the Khajiit wasn't exactly in a sober kind of mood. For someone who ran a skooma ring underground, it made perfect sense that he wouldn't be in a sound state of mind to be striking up another contract, which is what it seemed like he was here for. The Black Cat wouldn't be here for any other reason.
"Good night, Black Cat," Falx said, shutting the door again and locking it, though that hadn't helped him the first time. Black Cat didn't try to open it. He was probably still seeing the image of Falx where he had been a few seconds earlier. Falx wouldn't have been surprised if he looked out the front window and saw the Khajiit talking to one of the wooden supports holding up the front part of the house. He set a cup that had been knocked over back in the cupboard and realized that he wouldn't be surprised to see Black Cat talking to a blade of grass. Such a peculiar attitude should be expected from a Khajiit as unusual-looking as Black Cat.
"No, Falx Laecinnius, where have you gone? Come back to me! We need to speak of things!" the Imperial heard outside his front door. The Black Cat was now pounding on the door and walking by the windows, peering in and trying to see through the darkness to find Falx. Normally, this kind of thing would unnerve Falx, but given that it was a familiar person who had taken a little too much skooma, it was just annoying. Falx couldn't get back to sleep with the Khajiit trying to find his way inside. Of course, after that crazy dream, he didn't want to go back to sleep for a while. Black Cat stared in at the window, making eye contact with Falx before moving on to the next. He kept beating on the glass and calling out.
"Falx Laecinnius, we must speak of things! Open the door or I will open it for me!"
What choices did he have? He could turn in the Black Cat for a huge bounty. That would be nice. But with his control over the underground skooma trade in Cyrodiil, that would likely leave Falx open to attacks from angry addicts who want their skooma and can no longer buy from Black Cat. A wooden house did not stand up too well to hordes of angry skooma addicts with torches, he imagined.
"Falx Laecinnius-"
"Shut up, Black Cat, I'll let you in!" Falx shouted irritably at the Khajiit, taking slow reluctant steps toward the door. Should he really do it? Should he invite the ringleader of Cyrodiil's illegal skooma trade into his home? Should he bring out the sweetrolls and chat with an old acquaintance that was not in his right mind? Well, too late.
If I left him out there, I doubt he'd notice, Falx thought, and he actually stopped walking to consider it. What would Black Cat do? After being promised entry into the little shack, he would probably stand at the door with a wide white smile and wait for the door to open. And if it didn't…he would wait. And then he would wait some more. Falx could sleep for the rest of the night, then come to the door in the morning and open it. Black Cat wouldn't know that a few hours had passed. No, he couldn't do that to Black Cat. While they were by no means friends, Falx didn't want to leave him out in the chilly Chorrol night air, where the guards could catch him and haul him off to the dungeons at their whim.
Falx grabbed the lock and turned it, pulling open the door and looking out into the night. There was Black Cat, standing exactly how the Imperial had envisioned. He had a large, goofy grin and one hand raised in greeting, his eyes wide with excitement and his body immobile. He looked like some kind of strange work of taxidermy. Falx opened the door wider and cleared his throat to get Black Cat's attention. The Khajiit stood for a few seconds longer, staring. When he realized that the door had been pulled open, he thanked it for allowing him inside and walked in. He sat down in a chair across the room from the door and Falx, near the cold fireplace. Falx walked over and sat down across from him, waiting for him to say something.
"Do you remember me, Falx Laecinnius? Do you remember my name, Falx Laecinnius?" Black Cat purred, his smile and staring a little bit creepy. At least he wasn't that black horse.
"Yes, Black Cat, I do, you are Black Cat," Falx responded. He wanted to ask if the horse had been the Khajiit's, but didn't want to think about what it was if Black Cat said no. He had heard of black dogs, visible apparitions that meant the death of a loved one was imminent. But black horses? What could that have meant, if it were not Black Cat's horse? Falx wasn't one for superstition, but horses didn't just vanish into the night.
"No, no, Falx Laecinnius, my name. Do you remember my name?" Black Cat asked. He was eyeing the walls now, looking around as if he knew someone was watching. Falx turned around to try and see what Black Cat appeared to see. No one was there, obviously. The Black Cat was hallucinating.
"The kittens in the room want you to tell them my name, Falx Laecinnius," Black Cat started, "Please, tell the kittens my name. They want to know my name. Do it for the kittens,"
"I don't remember your name, Black Cat," Falx said. There were no kittens in his room. The Imperial could now smell the skooma on Black Cat's robes.
"My name is Dro'Kothre," the Cat said, "and the kittens are appeased. They went away, but they took your clothes,"
The Cat sat silent, staring now at Falx. The Imperial sat in his chair looking back at Dro'Kothre, waiting for him to tell him exactly why he was there, but it seemed like he was going to have to give up his normal uncaring personality to figure out why he had been visited after all these years.
"Alright, fine, I'll bite, why are you here?"
Dro'Kothre was now focused on a small plate sitting on the table between them. It was made of clay and cracked halfway down the middle, but Isobel absolutely refused to throw it out. The Khajiit seemed fascinated and leaned in to touch it, but kept his paw from getting too close to the plate. He mewed and poked it, then shouted and jumped up. Seemingly terrified, the feline hid behind the chair and peeked over at the plate.
"Does he bite?" Dro'Kothre asked. Falx was becoming irritated.
"Tell me what you're here for or I'll make him bite you, Dro'Kothre," the Imperial hissed, seeming to knock the Black Cat out of his little world and into reality. Black Cat put his hand on his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bottle of clear liquid. Falx was sure it was more skooma, possibly liquefied and mixed with water, and knew that he was never going to get anywhere by letting the Cat indulge himself. He stood up and pointed the dagger at Dro'Kothre as the bottle touched his lower lip, threatening the Khajiit with death if he drank from the bottle.
"Relax, Falx Laecinnius, this is only an anti-drug. Maybe," Black Cat said, tipping the substance into his mouth. He swished the cool, tasteless liquid around in his mouth and let it run freely down his throat. His dilated green eyes seemed to shrink to a normal size, and his gigantic white smile became a serious scowl.
"Now, Falx Laecinnius, I don't have much time to stay here in Chorrol. I left the trade in charge of my associate, you remember Tsalani? I don't trust her. I think she steals money. And skooma. I can't keep her in charge for too long. I have a business I need to be running. I tell you now what I need to have you do.
"I have a dealer in Bravil. Bravil is best for selling, they have lots of addicts. But the money I receive from my dealer is less than I should be getting. He has lowered his price without telling me. Or maybe he is stealing like Tsalani. I don't tolerate theft. I need him to be dead. And I think you are reliable,"
So, Dro'Kothre had come to hire him to kill one of the skooma dealers of Cyrodiil. Though the target was not who Falx had been expecting to have to kill, he had been sure from the moment he saw Black Cat that if he was here to offer Falx a job, then that job involved killing.
"And?" Falx tagged on the end. Now that Black Cat had been sobered for the moment, Falx could let his old self return to him. Arrogant yet charming, and not a real care in the world. This situation would be turned around; it would be Black Cat who listened to Falx. The Imperial sat as the Khajiit stared at him, trying to get his point across without saying it. But Dro'Kothre was more impatient than Falx and didn't have time for these little games. He had a dealer that he needed dead.
"Fine, I'll tell you. I want you to kill Broken-Tail,"
--
Oooh, expected that one, didn't you? Please R&R, people; I'd like some opinions on the story. It kinda seems slow to me so far, but it'll pick up, trust me. I can't say where the next chapter will take place. Will it enter the mind of the Argonian Broken-Tail as he awaits imminent death in a Bravil prison cell? Will we glimpse the dealings of the swindler, Tsalani? The drugged travels of the Black Cat? You'll have to read on! And please leave reviews! Pretty please?