Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls I – IV are property of Bethesda Gameworks and the assorted companies. No profit is being made of this story and none is intended.
Reflections on the story: When I thought about storyline of TES IV – Oblivion somewhere inbetween my third and fourth character I stumbled across a question which is not entirely solved by the game itself: Why would an emperor who has more than enough sons to ensure the succession to the throne have a fourth, an illegitimate, son and have this one raised in secrecy? And after contemplating possible answers other questions surfaced alone, e.g. why did said emperor not warn his rightful sons if he knew that they were in danger or whether it was intended by him that they had no children of their own?
Or, how were the reactions of said sons, of the elder Council, of the whole of Tamriel when they became to know that their emperor had been an imposter for ten years?
How felt Uriel Septim when he, after a decade of inprisonment, came back to the world to see his sons grown up into adults, who then learned that terrible wars had happened in his absence which shook the foundation of his realm and who had visions of impending doom but did not know when to expect the worst to come?
Poor and yet very intriguing and interesting man.
And since I am a very inquisitive person when confronted with an interesting world even more questions arose! This story is an attempt to wrap those questions and possible answers up. It starts with Uriel Septim's release from Oblivion and ends with Martin's sacrifice, so it covers the last three and a half decades of the third era and basicly all four of the Elder Scrolls games. Bear in mind, that I do not intend to recount what's happening in the games – that would be boring and counterproductive. I will use the storylines, though, for unfolding my own story with characters in the lead who got way too little screentime in the games.
Warnings: This story will definitely contain strong language and some adult themes as it goes along. Mind, I will constrain it to the fitting places and amounts but I am a firm believer in hissing, spitting and cursing one's head off when stubbing a toe and I grant my characters this freedom as well.
Another thing I must warn you about is that english is only my second language, so please bear with me and my erratic grammar, vocabulary and punctuation.
Thanks: My gratitude goes to my beta-readers, of course, and the unofficial Elder Scrolls Pages wiki, which granted glorious insight into Tamriel's affairs and its people.
I would be grateful for reviews, of course, but would love even more constructive criticism. So, if you want to tell me what you think about the story for every positive thing you say I would love to hear also about one not-so-good point in my writing. Thank you very much! =)
Have fun!
Chapter one
The heat was stifling. For days a steady wind had come from the north-east, bringing with it the dry and hot sulfuric air from Vvardenfell's centre, the Red Mountain, and together with the river that flowed through the town the climate was unbearable. Almost all life had fled into the sand coloured houses which elegant curves and flat rooftops made it look as if the town had been grown here rather than built. A deep sleepy silence laid over the town and everyone seemed to wait for those few hours of dusk and dawn, when the wind was slightly in the south, bringing cooler air from the sea and made being out and about bearable. But it was bright daylight now and relief only a word.
„Here we are, sera", the dunmeric silt strider driver said to his only passenger. The Breton opened his eyes and shielded them with a hand while he stood shakingly and climbed out of the animal. He had thought that crossing the sea between the main continent and Vvardenfell had been a nightmare but he had been terribly wrong. Surely, travelling by silt strider was faster than walking and more comfortable, also more secure if one thought about wild animals and bandits but it was still very rocking and his stomach, still sore from seasickness, had almost rebelled several times.
As far as appearances went the man was nothing out of the ordinary – a perhaps twentyfive or thirty year old Breton with light brown eyes and darker, shoulder lenght hair which was bound into a low ponytail. His clothes, leather trousers, a fine linen shirt and boots, were reasonably choosen for this voyage and only the long and elegantly curved sword at his side disturbed the carefully selected image of a travelling salesman. His knapsack landed heavily next to him, the heavy clank and the bulky form of it somewhat out of place – as if some metal gear or equally unrelenting was inside it. He turned around to see the Dark Elf waving a goodbye to him before he guided his silt strider gracefully away from the port.
Jauffre took the time to come to his senses. Balmora, he cited inwardly, head town of House Hlaalu, around five thousand inhabitants, major trade centre – as was to be expected – with guildhouses of all major guilds, including Morag and Camonna Tong. He hoisted his knapsack over one shoulder and carefully decended from the platform to the shady little street below. There was a lot of money around in Balmora – even if it didn't look that way at first. And there was also a steady flow of wares and people and news with that. It was a perfect place for a spy. He could see why his superiors had choosen this town for his first stationary, even if somewhat hasty, appointment.
Right across the alley was a tavern. One look at the brightly coloured and deadric written sign above the door told the name „Council Club" and he pondered whether he should try to get lodgings there. It looked reasonably well kept and offered a good view over the Silt Strider Port and the docks. He had a hand at the handle and was about to step in, as he was approached by an argonian: „This one is new", she said with a distinct hiss. „Greetings and welcome to Balmora."
„Greetings to you too", Jauffre answered with a slight bow and hesitated. He was not sure if it was a wise move to speak with a complete stranger. He routinely checked for the tell-tale armbands which declared her a slave but found none. „How may I help you, citizen?" he asked cautiously.
She spread her mouth and showed pointed teeth – a smile he hoped. „The pleasure to help is mine", she replied. „This one would not want to stay in the local Camonna Tong hideout, would he?"
„Certainly not!" She smiled again and Jauffre hesitated again. Almost all of his training as an Blades agent had consisted of stealth and careful information gathering and he knew it would be far wiser to keep to oneself in the first days in a new town and get to know the locals in careful measured doses. On the other hand, he thought, he needed to find his appointed superior in Balmora as soon as possible. The senior Blades in Mournhold and Ebonhart had been urging him on to get in touch with Caius Cosades, an Imperial, who was only a few years older than him but already had a glowing reputation as an ingenious spymaster. He had a crude description where to find the man but upon seeing Balmora the first time he realized that it could take hours to track the man down. Maybe it would pay to ask the argonian? Cosades had an official persona in town, as far as Jauffre knew …
„Do you happen to know a certain Caius Cosades?", he asked and tried to discover signs of dishonesty in her face. „He is a merchant I want to meet here."
As she bared her teeth this time he thought to decipher signs of disgust. „Yes, Cosades", she said. „He was a merchant when he came here six months ago but he has lost his gold since then. He lives in a shack in the upper north-east part of the town, now. But you won't find him there. He mostly stays in the Southwall Corner Club nowadays, smoking skooma." She hissed the last words.
Jauffre digested this information. He could see the advantages of being known as an addict in town: getting people to tell you things was a lot easier if they thought you didn't have the brains to store the information. On the other hand, though, it prevented other Blades to get in contact with you the normal way. „This is unfortunate", he said and shook his head in what he hoped to be a worried way. „Nevertheless, I need to speak to that man. Could you describe a way to that part of the town, please?" She obliged.
The Southwall Corner Club was a small nondescript building which didn't stand out from it's neighbouring houses and didn't even have a sign to call for attention. If he had not asked for directions, Jauffre thought, it would have been impossible to find it and upon entering the place he immediatly understood why it's customers appreciated the secrecy a nondescript place offered. All sorts of people were gathered in the upper levels of the house, a good third of them Kajiit and Argonians, but also Imperials, Bretons and the one or other Nord. All of them looked the worse for wear: robes were threadbare rags and armours had stains on them which looked remarkably like rust or dried blood stains. As he carefully closed the door behind him and descended the small staircase down into the main room he noted various people whispering with one another and shooting him covert looks. Everything here made him feel as if he was trespassing at a private meeting. He wondered whether that Argonian had purposefully sent him to the real Camonna Tong hideout but thought better of it, as he remembered that this guild of criminals was mainly made up from Dunmer, which were absent here. Still, he felt uneasy and was relieved as he arrived at the counter and was greeted by the landlord.
"A new face in town!", the heavyset Imperial boomed joyfully and reached behind him for a dark brown bottle which he slapped down in front of the wary Breton.
"One should think you see quite a lot of new faces in town", Jauffre replied with care and examined the drink. It seemed to be some kind of local brew by the smell of it. "I mean, with Balmora being a trader's town and all that."
"Oh yes, Dark Elves and their henchmen", the barkeeper said dismissively. "But you, my friend, you look like home, like Cyrodiil!"
Jauffre was perplexed and took a sip to mask his insecurity. He clearly looked like a Breton, so assuming he was from Cyrodiil was strange. He also noticed that whilst everyone appeared to be drinking busily almost no one was talking anymore. A kind of tension seemed to spread around in the room.
"Drink, friend!", the barman boomed and made Jauffre jump. "And tell me about yourself!"
Here was something he had practised during his long journey and Jauffre gladly recounted the facts of his official persona: "My name's Gerard Gerondelle. I trade in silks."
"You want to sail to Vivec then or Sadrith Mora", his opposite said and leaned forward in a conspiratory manner. "Them Telvanni and their bugs make glorious silk, better than anything you can get from Hlaalu-traders but you didn't hear that from me." He tapped the side of his nose. Jauffre grinned forcibly. "By the way", the Blade lowered his voice, "do you happen to know an Imperial in Balmora, who's a merchant himself? Name's Ca–" A heavy hand descended on Jauffre's shoulder and turned him forcibly around to stare into the face of the biggest Nord he had ever seen. His hand shot towards his sword but in that instant a fist already connected to his stomach, sending him crashing into the bar and then doubling over.
There was suddenly a flurry of movement in the tavern although none of it to his rescue as Jauffre recognized. He used his momentum downwards to charge at his contrahent but the other avoided the impact with almost elf-like agility and brought his hand down on his neck. Jauffre saw stars and tasted blood where he had bitten his tongue as he crashed chin first onto the ground. He felt himself hauled up by the scruff of his neck and forcibly dragged up the stairs. He tried in vain to grab a hold on anything. "Wait …!", he croaked, feeling every bit as a hapless merchant now. He was flung forwards into a wall and was jerked back before he could get his bearings, feeling fresh air on his skin as a rough sack was put over his head.
This didn't go well at all.
'Think!', he urged himself, but felt thoroughly unable to think right now. The sack over his face had him desoriented and his survival instincts were already screaming for air, although nothing constricted his breathtaking. Yet. The Nord yanked him forward. He stumbled and felt the grip at his neck slip as he fell to his knees. Finally his battle instincts kicked in: without breaking the move he rolled to the side, luckily away from his captor, and managed to get his hands on his sword. He yanked it free, heard a yelp, and pushed himself upwards with his other hand. He had a chance now.
A dark chuckle from behind made him freeze, of course. He hadn't thought about acomplices at all. "About time you remembered that sword", someone snarled and was closely followed by the sound of a spell. Then everything went black.
At the same time in Cyrodiil, but still a few hours away from midday, a large caravan came to a halt outside Fort Empire. Two soldiers dismounted and were greeted by the two sentinels which stood watch at the large gate.
„Greetings, travellers", one of them said, as was custom, and went on: „Know that inside resides his royal highness Prince Enman on his way …" They were disrupted as a third man jumped down his horse. Despite being in his early twenties he bore a striking resemblance to the Emperor, down to the light brown hair and the attitude in which he strode forward and waved an impatient hand at his entourage.
„Splendid", he said. „My men will encamp as well and you can show me to my brother." Not waiting for a response he walked onwards and forced one of the watchmen to bolt after him.
The Fort's insides were less than welcome and neglect was visible at all ends. This being one of the larger forts which guarded the Red Ring Road one would have thought that it held at least a batallion of Imperial Soldiers but Geldall Septim spotted only those in the regimentals of his brother's household. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
As custom decreed the Empire was ruled by the firstborn of the Septim-bloodline, who were descendants from Tiber Septim, who became the ascended God Talos. This gave them power, but there were other factions in Tamriel who held power as well: the counts and countesses who inherited their counties regardless of the Emperor or the Elder Council which was outwardly only a advisatory board for the Emperor's decision making but could provide heavy restraints to his or her politics. Come to that, there were also several civic factions which had a considerable amount of influence, the Mages Guild for excample or the Fighters Guild.
So ruling the Third Empire had always been a game of weighing and counter-weighing powers rather than ordering people around. Some Emperors had managed that well, others not, but seldomly had any Emperor neglected a sphere in which he or she had direct influence. Because the Emperor was mainly the Empire's leader in war his direct spheres of power were the Imperial Legion, it's countless forts around the Empire and the roads connecting those and the cities. This sounded mundane at first but wares, people and news had to travel by road, taxes had to be collected and sent away by road and armies had to march on roads.
Naturally it was disturbing for the future Emperor to see how the current one neglected to maintain and fortify their mutual and almost only means for direct influence. The more he saw of the crumbling walls around him and the dank and dark corners, where sentinels should be standing or soldiers training the more he asked himself if his father was knowingly doing this. And he remembered other forts and small army posts where they were greeted by dark windows and weeds in the courtyards. The Emperor's power, it appeared, was crumbling around them and his father did nothing to stabilize it.
They arrived at length in a spacial area which seemed to be the main hall although time and neglect had had their way here, too. There was the odd lose stone that had fallen from the ceiling and the windows were so dirty with grime that they appeared to be part of the wall. But a great fire was burning in the fireplace and torches were lit around the corners, so that it was bright at least. A table decked with white cloths and a vast variety of meats stood in front of the fireplace and a man was seated there, looking twice as old as the Crown Prince but actually being his younger brother, Enman.
„Good grief!", the elder exclaimed upon entering, shoving his dark thoughts aside. „I knew to expect you to dine but this looks like a banquet."
Enman laughed in return and pushed a chair out with his foot. „Never to be bothered with curtesies. The table's laid for four, dear brother, as you will see if you can be persuaded to count."
„Four?"
„My champion is still outside I think, trying to smooth Ocato's ruffled feathers." Enman snatched up fork and knife and started to slice through a magnificent smoked ham. There was already a pile of bones next to his plate. „I daresay you just walked in without ceremony and you know the chancellor hates it."
„One takes pleasure wherever one can find it", Geldall answered and sat down, reaching for a pitcher of cider.
„Too true", sighed Enman.
„Rixa's still your champion?"
„No, she was replaced a year ago."
„For someone more handsome?", Geldall asked. His brother was known to enjoy various things, not only his food.
„For someone more alive", Enman answered a touch of annoyance in his voice. „She was killed during a bandit raid. The new one's still young, but he's entertaining and knows how to fight. I'm quite fond of him so, please, go easy on him in the joust."
„Never!", Geldall vowed loudly. „You asked me that last time when we met in Elinhir and I got my ass whipped in return." He sat back and took a deep draught from his goblet. „But I am sorry about Rixa – she was an excellent warrior."
„She was more than that to me."
They fell silent over the meal, each one too preoccupied with his own thoughts.
„My informants tell me that Ebel is already in town", Enman said at length. „He is at the Temple almost all hours."
„The Temple, eh?", the Crown Prince repeated darkly. „How is mother?" Geldall avoided that topic normally in his letters and Enman knew enough about his brother's uneasiness towards this matter that he seldomly breached it at all. But since all three princes were headed towards the Imperial City a visit in the Temple, where their exiled mother held court, was unavoidable.
„She is unchanged." Geldall cursed. „Mind your manners, dearest brother, we're not alone anymore", Enman chided as the door was opened and the figures of Chancellor Ocato and his champion became visible. „Ah, Chancellor! I see you already made the aquaintance of the most promising knight in all Hammerfell and Skyrim. But do sit down, please, and tell me about High Rock's politics – Geldall is always dreadfully boring in his letters when it comes to plots and schemes."
The Altmer Enman had hailed gave polite greetings and sat down. „The Breton province is as you find it always, my Lord", he said. „All houses gambling for power and switching alliances as fast as the wind turns."
„Delightful!" Enman rubbed his hands.
„You only say that because you don't have to deal with those stuck-up snobs", Geldall said petulantly.
„I daresay, you do neither."
Ocato's polite cough at this point was taken as confirmation and the topic changed. The meal went on for a few hours, news and gossip were exchanged and at one time even Enman's champion, Gilmar Izran, found enough nerve to distribute his opinion on some matters they discussed.
The two eldest sons of the Emperor had been born only a year apart and according to that had been raised together. Naturally, it had been made very clear from an early age on that the throne of the Empire would go to Geldall but their father wouldn't have needed to worry: Enman never lusted for the kind of power that was to be gained in bright daylight. On their last day of childhood, in the night before their elevation into knight- and adulthood they had sworn never to quarrel over the throne. Geldall would have the power and Enman would be his prime counsellor.
This was a dangerous combination, nevertheless, as several of the Emperor's councellors pointed out. The War of the Red Diamond, an inner-family strive for the throne almost three hundred years ago, had cost thousands of lives and destabilized the Septim-rule for years. In the beginning Uriel Septim had not been perturbed by his son's plans but he seemed to heed the warnings in later years because he insisted to send his eldest sons on missions which opposed their talents and crafts. Enman had been restricted these past three years to Skyrim and Hammerfell with the order to root out bandits and smugglers – at task that forced him, who valued his comfort above all else, to campaign through two provinces, always on horseback, with the sword at the ready whereas Geldall was forced to lead the embassy in High Rock and try to hold the fragile peace between the province's two dozens of rivalling families and towns. A task which had him nearly crying with frustration repeatedly. And then there was the matter of their youngest brother …
„I am glad, Ebel gets his accolade finally", Geldall said with a satisfied pat to his stomach. „He should have been presented at court four years ago."
„Father was quite busy with the civil war in Morrowind then", Enman reminded them. „But I think the Elder Council would have been able to manage the crisis alone for a week or two."
„Especially in hindsight", Geldall added darkly. It still rankled him that his father had then repeatedly refused his request to be sent with reinforcements to Mournhold. In the end it had been the breakdown of the Imperial Legion in Morrowind's capital which led to the capture and death of Lord Symmachus who, for centuries, had been one of the most cunning and loyal warleaders in service with the Empire. He yanked his thoughts away from the sore memory. „Well, at least little Ebel will get his own household and colours now and can leave Fort Sutch for good!"
„Gods, yes! I'd rather tramp on foot through the whole of Blackmarsh before I go there again."
„I wonder sometimes, what father has in mind with our appointments", Geldall mused aloud. „It looks as if he's deliberately placing us where none of us can be of real service to the Empire." The two brothers exchanged a look, silently agreeing with each other.
„It doesn't look too good for the Empire right now, that much is for certain."
„You will have your chance of rightening things when your time has come, young Lords", Ocato chipped in casually while his gaze remained on his steak. „If they need rightening."
„There might not be anything left to right by that time."
„This boards closely on treason, my Lord."
„It's not treason when this conversation stays secret."
„They say: what's diskussed between four men isn't a secret, it's news." They all looked at Gilman, who blushed slightly. „Well, three men and a mer."
„It's good news then."
At noon camp was broken up and the two hosts blended into one large caravan which slowly descended into the plains. It was a splendid sight: the two princes proudly riding in the lead, their horses walking abrest, closely followed by their most trusted warriors and advisors with only one herald riding before them, carrying a streaming Dragon Banner. When they later crossed Lake Rumare and began the climb up towards the Imperial City, the setting sun behind them, minstrels described this elevating moment as Reman Cyrodiil returning to his home in glory.
Well, minstrels are paid to sing such things.
But the townsfolk greeted them at the Gates and flowers were strewn across their path and Geldall Septim could do nothing but grin with pride. This was their town.
The grin vanished however when upon entering the city they found the Emperor waiting for them in a sedan chair. Their father seldomly showed affection in public but this time his face was thunderous and his voice grim. „You are very late", he only said and gave signals to his bearers to bear him away. Geldall and Enman exchanged a dark look and egged their horses on to fall in beside the Emperor.
„Forgive us, father", Enman said in an apologetic voice. „We were delayed along the way."
„I can see as much", the Emperor snarled through clenched teeth. „I am sure you took great care to gorge down every pheasant, deer and chick in the western provinces on your way here. Look at the girth of you! I am astonished your horse can even carry you. And for my eldest – I am not sure the concept of time has entered his brain so far, but I am very disappointed in you Ocato. I trusted you to get them here in time."
The chancellor was too experienced to try to defend himself against the unjust judgement. „I beg your pardon, my Lord", he said and bowed as well as he could upon horseback. Due to his position behind the royal triade he could see Geldall gripping his reigns so hard his hands were shaking, a look to the other side showed Enman ghostly white and his lips pressed together. The Emperor, however displeased he might be with his sons, had never scolded them in public and both of them were using every ounce of selfcontrol to remain silent and obedient as was espected of them.
„My Lord, pray tell me how we have displeased you", Ocato asked timidly. An act that didn't cost him as much strength than seeing the boys – and boys the Septim sons still were in his eyes – rankled about what they considered an unjust accusation. „Lord Ebel's accolade is not due to the day after tomorrow …" They descended the stone steps into Green Emperor Way which was lit by thousands of lanterns, casting shadows over the tombstones that lined the district's wall but giving everything else a devine golden glow. It may be that this sight had mellowed the Emperor's mood or that his initial anger had cooled off a bit, his answer was more civil this time.
„A hideous act of treason has occured this seven days ago: Queen Barenziah, who had been sheltered here since the civil war in Morrowind and the death of her companion and King Eadwyre of Wayrest, whom I considered one of my most loyal subjects have stolen information of immense value and fled towards High Rock. If my sons had been here in time the thieves wouldn't have gone past Cyrodiil's borders but alas, one must contain oneself with the help at hand. My Blades are in hot pursuit", he closed with evident satisfaction and dismounted the sedan chair. „Meet me tomorrow morning for breakfast", he ordered to his sons and strode into White Gold Tower, the Imperial Palace, which hosted the Elder Council and the Emperor's quarters.
The princes exhaled in unison. „Great!", Geldall snarled. „His royal mistress elopes with an old codger and we get our hides skinned for that!" He turned to his brother. „You have to let me sleep in your quarters, Enman! I am not going to lodge in the Crown Prince's suite after that welcome!"
Enman skrewed his face up in sympathy but before he could invite his brother to stay with him Ocato interrupted: „That would not be possible, my Lord. It is custom that the Crown Prince resides within vicinity of the Emperor in case urgent counsel has to be held." Geldall's gaze, if possible grew darker again.
„Meet me in two hours for drinks then", he ordered and marched off towards the Temple District.
„That went well", Enman said after a few seconds. „I better get settled then." He walked off into the direction of one of the manors that had been build into the wall, closely followed by his champion, and left Chancellor Ocato standing alone in the midst of their buisy entourage. The Altmer wished again that he could have stayed behind in High Rock. Trying to mediate between the Emperor and his sons had been tiresome already when they were two provinces apart, having them in one place together did not bode well for future encounters. Still, he would do his best to keep a fragile peace until this whole affair was over. He owed it to the princes whom he had seen grow up and also to Uriel whom he had accompanied during the early campaigns of his reign and had come to know as a friend. Although he found the man dramatically changed of late.
As he came to himself Jauffre's first sight was a bucket of water on the immediate way to his face. „Wait …!" The second thing he saw, after he had wiped water from his face, were the blue eyes of his contact in Balmora, Caius Cosades, who were watching him less than friendly. And the third thing he saw was the Nord.
„Watch out!", he cried and struggled to his feet but was pushed down roughly by Cosades himself.
„Don't jump to conclusion just because he beat you up!", Cosaded snapped. „Ajax here is a Blade as well as you and I and he saved you from being mugged as I might add." The Nord waggled his eyebrows and grinned at Jauffre. Well, he showed his teeth. „Didn't you read the reports? Didn't you see the maps?", Cosades went on. „I distinctly mentioned in my last communiqué that the Thieve's Guild was running a start-up business in the Southwall Corner Club – how on mundus did you manage to get there after being in town for ten minutes?"
Jauffre started to explain but was interrupted after the first few sentences. „I can't believe you walked right into that", Caius massaged his brow. „My reputation in town is basically what she told you, as Ajax is known as a thug. We have worked hard to achieve this and if Ajax hadn't reacted the way he did you would've blown our cover." The Nord grinned again. He hadn't spoken yet and Jauffre asked himself if he could. „But really! We never meet in public places!", Cosades splapped his fist into his other hand after each word for emphasis. „Especially not with that sword."
„What's wrong with a sword!", Jauffre complained who felt more and more like a lectured schoolboy. He wasn't the best of agents, allright, but he got on with his missions well enough and he didn't like being told afterwards what he could have done otherwise. When he had arrived in Mournhold the whole base had been in an uproar and everyone and their dog had been about. As far as he could tell he had been lucky to be given orders at all together with a crude map of Balmora.
„Nothing's wrong with a sword", sneered his superior. „But everything's wrong with an Akaviri Blade! It's like writing: 'I'm an agent for the Emperor' on your forehead for all to know." He then took a visible effort to calm down – as did Jauffre – and continued. „We do not wear them here. The Dunmer have never been happy in the Empire and in the last centuries only Barenziah's politics and Symmachus' strength have checked them. Redoran and Telvanni have always plotted against us nevertheless and since the civil war things have gone downhill. Well, secrecy was never your strong point, if I remember correctly", he said gruffly. „How's the mouth?"
Jauffre wasn't put off by the sudden change of topic. „Numb", he answered darkly.
This brought forth a quick grin. „Better than hurting, I guess. But take this – it'll heal right away." Cosades handed him a small flask and the Breton gulped down the restorative, wincing with the sharp and tingling sensation in his mouth. He wondered if it was possible to scratch one's tongue.
„And now, since I have your full attention: We have urgent business to discuss", Cosades said and Ajax took this for a sign to sit down himself. „I got a very urgent message from the Imperial City regarding a renegade Spellsword, who broke out of prison and heads this way." Caius handed him a letter covered in miniscule deadric writing, but before Jauffre had a chance to do more than glance at the text his superior continued to fill them in: „You remember the conspiracy between Jagar Tharn and Ria Silmane, of course, who planned to kill the Emperor and devide the Empire between themselves?"
„Surely. That was about ten years ago, wasn't it? They were executed."
„Right. But it doesn't end at that", Caius continued. „It appears that Silmane still has some means to communicate with this world – don't ask me how", he said at Jauffre's horrorstruck face. „And she's still trying to bring the Empire down. She has already corrupted King Eadwyre of Wayrest and Queen Barenziah, who just a short while ago fled to High Rock and have stolen information about some very powerful magical artifacts. Now, that spellsword I was talking about is an old friend of Ria Silmane and is on her way to Morrowind to steal one of those artifacts – it's your job to kill her before she does."
Jauffre nodded. „Where is she? What's her name?"
Caius pulled a face. „We lost track of her right after she entered Vivec and we never knew her name. The prison records regarding her are a bit awry."
„Great!"
„We do know, however, where she's headed: to Dagoth Ur."
Jauffre groaned inwardly as Ajax groaned aloud. Their job was to find a complete stranger somewhere in the waste around Vvardenfell's central volcano and if only half of the stories of that place were true, they were in for dangerous creatures and abominations who would even frighten the most seasoned necromancer. It was said that a special kind of plaque reigned behind the magic wall the Tribunal had errected around the volcano and that most people who ventured in there were turned into mindless and horribly misshapen beasts.
„The artifact is located in the deepest level of Vemynal, an ancient dwemeric stronghold. You are both to keep watch there and kill anyone who approaches the ruin. Is that understood?"
„Yes Sir", they answered.
„Good. Ajax will go with you because he knows his way around Vvardenfell and knows how to wield an axe but you are in charge. The spellsword is about four days ahead of you so utmost haste is necessary. I'm off the the Southwall Corner Club. Ajax will fill you in on the road. You stay here until nighfall and get as much sleep as you can. Provisions, scrolls, maps and potions are in the chest over there – take whatever you need and remember, that spellsword is a well trained assassin. She has cleared and survived several dungeons already. Take no risk – kill her on sight."