Disclaimer: Alval and Shaleez and the whole setting/concept belongs to Bethesda Softworks and to the wonderful world of Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion.
Authors Note: BE WARNED! If you have not yet played through the whole Dark Brotherhood questline, this entire thing in rife with SPOILERS! And I know that Shaleez didn't exactly use a spear in the game, but I prefer the image of her using a spear (in a very Morrowind fashion) rather than longsword. In fact, there will probably be a lot of Morrowind referances strewn in randomly, but I'm going to stay as canon to Oblivion as possible . Enjoy!
Essential Background: Now, imagine with me if you will: The Champion of Cyrodiil has never touched the Dark Brotherhood. The whole storyline associated with them was never activated. Cheydinhal is still functioning under Lucien Lachance, Ocheeva and Vicente. The Black Hand has not seen the addition of Mathieu Bellamont as silencer under J'Ghasta. In fact, he has yet to appear within the walls of the Cheydinhal sanctuary. That being said, our story starts in Leyawiin...
"Put that back, Alval! I saw that!" Yelled a stocky, dark haired Imperial from the other side of the pub in obvious frustration.
"Put what back barkeep?" replied Alval, in as innocent a manner as was possible for a thief who knew he'd just been caught.
The Imperial turned around to face the crook who had plopped back down at his usual table and, smiling, already uncapped the stolen bottle of brandy.
"Damn it, dunmer..." he started, but the barkeeper turned back to the other customer after realizing that it wasn't a battle he cared enough to fight. Not right now anyway. "Fine, but expect that to go on your tab!"
"Heh, thanks Belmorn," replied Alval with a sparkle in his deep red eyes. "Always such a gracious host," he muttered. "He's got eyes in the back of his head."
"Uh huh," came the half hearted reply from a young Argonian seated opposite Alval. Although a young woman of around twenty years, she was a tall figure and a strong presence. Her loose dark robes only partially hid the skin tight suit of light armor that she wore over well defined muscles. She had a steel spear strapped to her back, a weapon typically favored by her species. Mostly green scales with small patches of red covered what little of her body was exposed, and gold earrings could be seen peaking out from under a loose hood. When she spoke, it was in the quiet, contemplative voice of an inferior to their superior – although her words did not always reflect such a relationship.
"You know," she continued with the look of a woman who was not very comfortable in such a populated environment "you could try paying for your meals once in awhile. I mean, you aren't exactly poor."
"You're right, I'm not," he said. His features contracted briefly into a grin before tipping the bottle to his mouth. In fact, everything about Alval suggested that he was at least relatively well off. Dressed in a well tailored burgundy outfit of fine linen that matched his bright red eyes and contrasted noticeably with his dark blue-gray skin, the Morrowind native stood out among the rough and humbly dressed frequenters of Belmorn's Leyawiin establishment. "But stolen drinks just have an extra kick to them," he replied with a sparkle deep in his eyes. "I grew addicted, and was never able to completely kick the habit."
"One would think that as a merchant, you would appreciate the concept of payment." Her voice was the characteristically raspy one of an argonian, now filled with a mixture of dissaprovement and respect.
"Oh, believe me, I do." Alval returned. "Just when it's out of someone else's wallet." Smirking, he sat the flask down and grabbed a piece of bread from the plate in the middle of the table.
"Indeed," returned the Argonian, shifting slightly in her seat to motion to an inner pocket. "So is this all?" she asked tapping said pocket that now contained a piece of paper that the dunmer had given her earlier.
"That's all," Alval replied. "I know you haven't been working for me for very long, so I'll be nice and leave the rest up to you. Just so long as I get my goods."
"You'll get them," the Argonian assured. She took special pride in her work and was not about to let her new employer down.
"Good" he replied. "Your enthusiasm is particularly refreshing," he grinned. "Especially after my last employee." The grin turned to a sour, disapproving frown as he leaned closer emphasizing his point by lowering his voice. "His last contract for me?" Alval started, staring at the Argonian - then shook his head as if to indicate how it had gone. Straightening up a little, he continued "he was noticed by the wrong people – during the job. Botched the whole deal and got himself shot full of arrows in the process." The argonian outwardly seemed unphased by the story, but Alval knew his point was hitting home. "Caused me a good bit of grief that did. Not to mention a lot of cleaning up." His eyes had darkened a bit. "And you know how the organization likes such matters to stay personal."
The argonian sipped at her own drink while listening to Alval's story. Although she hadn't outwardly shown concern, she knew that after such a disappointment, he was expecting a great deal from her. But she was ready to give this job everything she had. Anything for a man who had honored her to the point that Alval had. "I am sure that it would be detrimental to the organization for it's Hand to jump to someone's rescue every time a job was botched," she replied tactfully. "I am sure that they have matters to attend to that are larger than localized mishaps."
"Indeed, they do," he said gravely. "Much greater matters than you could think." He sat back and picked up the brandy again, losing much of the strict nature that had briefly flashed across his features.
She nodded and he returned to his bottle. They continued to eat, but as Alval had taken the time during the meal to study his new employee (and she him) the job had only been given once most of the food had left their plates. It was not long before the argonian dug into her pocket to pay for her supper. Leaving seven septims on the table, she pulled her hood further over her face and readjusted the strap that held her spear fast to her back. Rechecking her pocket to make sure all of her orders were there, the woman stood up to take her leave of the dunmer.
"May our mother wrap you in her embrace," she whispered to Alval as she started to leave the table.
"May she watch over you, Shaleez," he replied. And with that, the Argonian left the tavern completely unnoticed.
Alval smiled, picked up his flask of brandy again and leaned back against his chair. "This new one is good," he thought, "almost makes this last ordeal worth it…but then, I won't know for sure until she comes back with a job well done."
He sipped at his drink. From his table in the corner of the small tavern, the dunmer could observe everyone in the room. No one seemed to care of course, as it was a little hole-in-the-wall pub that both the rich and the important tried to avoid. People here were used to being watched, or at least used to thinking that they were. His eyes passed over everyone slowly, observing the way they moved, where their gazes drifted, who spoke with whom. Nothing of interest.
Or was there? That woman was new here, what was her business? He ran through a checklist of quick observations on her. Physical appearance: heavily cloaked, pale Imperial with dark hair barely showing from under a deep hood. Not that shrouded characters were uncommon here, but Alval's interest was piqued. Manner: she had the hunched over posture of someone expecting to be caught. Again, not a very uncommon sight in this place. But what business did someone so ragged and guilty have eating such a quality meal in a dump like this? And paying for it?
He watched her for a full half of an hour while she ate in silence. She was an expert at blending in. Had Alval not been so experienced in people watching, he was sure that the woman would never have crossed his mind. No one else took any notice of her. No one except the bosmer waiter who had seemed to make it his personal duty that she be appeased.
"She's rich," Alval thought. "And used to it. Probably handing that kid septims like they were kwama eggs."
" 'Nother one, Alval?" asked Belmorn interrupting the dunmer's thoughts. He looked down and realized that he'd been sipping out of an empty flask.
"Naw, not tonight, barkeep," he replied. "I think I'm about ready to turn in." It was nearing midnight and there was a long trek ahead of him tomorrow. Of course, there was always a long trek ahead of him tomorrow, but he was used to living like this. The merchant wouldn't have it any other way.
Reaching into an inner pocket in his embroidered burgundy shirt, Alval took out a handful of septims and started counting out the price of his meal (minus the flask of brandy of course) when he noticed that the tall, muscular nord in the corner was also eyeing the imperial woman rather intensely. Figuring he may as well stick around to watch incase anything of interest came up, he repocketed the gold and turned back to Belmorn.
"You know, maybe just one more bottle." Again, he flashed the barkeeper his innocent smirk and sunk casually back into his chair.
"Right here, Alval." Belmorn said, handing him another drink. "Double price – just for you."
"You are too kind." The dunmer replied trying not to hide his obvious sarcasm.
Another fifteen minutes passed rather uneventfully, but that nord's gaze never shifted from the woman in the corner. Finishing her meal, she flagged down Belmorn, purchased a room for the night, and began to gather her belongings. Alval watched out of the corner of his eyes as the nord slowly got up and walked over to where the woman was starting to stand. She'd pulled her hood up further over her face and slung a small pack over her shoulder when the man stopped, directly in front of her. Alval had to strain to hear him speak in a low voice "I'm surprised you've made it all the way out here, m'lady."
Whether this had been meant as a threat or not, Alval wasn't sure; but one thing was for certain: the woman did not take kindly to being addressed like that. Within the next few seconds she had leapt up, dropped her satchel, and drawn an elven dagger – slashing the man right across the midsection in one fluid motion. The hulking nord stumbled backward trying to take out his own weapon, but she was too quick for him. Her dagger was buried in his neck before he had moved into an attacking position.
The tavern drew in a collective breath and everyone sat up or moved back slightly – all eyes on her. Belmorn seemed torn between living, and reprimanding his customer for killing someone in his pub. Apparently he chose life over honor and simply stood where he'd been, waiting for her to make the first move. The woman looked around at the tavern's other inhabitants as if asking if there were any other challengers. Leisurely, she removed her dagger from the nord, gathered her things, and dumped a handful of septims on her table.
"Sorry 'bout the mess," she said to Belmorn as she walked slowly towards the stairs to her room. Belmorn just stood and watched her pass, mouth slightly agape. Alval couldn't help but let out a small chuckle as she went by him.
"You got a problem, dark elf?" the woman snapped. "Cause I can fix it real quick." Her eyes bored into him from under her dark hood.
Alval leaned foreword and looked straight into her penetrating stare warning "you come any closer to me, Imperial, and I'll turn your bones to ash." Impressed as he was, no one insulted him without a fight.
She seemed braced for an attack, but decided against it at the last moment. Something changed in her gaze as if she'd realized that Alval wouldn't pose any threat if left unprovoked. "Fine by me, dunmer." She returned coldly. "Stay out of my business and I'll stay away from you." With that, she turned and mounted the stares to her room.
"By Akatosh!" exclaimed Belmorn in a hushed sigh of relief. He looked down at the unfortunate nord. "Only the Nine know what he did to piss her off," he said "but they know that I'm not going to follow suit."
"Belmorn's seen it all," thought an impressed Alval, so he didn't feel too bad about ducking out of the main part of the tavern and going up to his own room without offering to help clean up. In fact, he managed to slip away without taking another septim out of his pocket. "I'll probably have to cough it up tomorrow" he mused, "but not tonight. I've got work to do tonight."