"Auran, dunmer. Asma delle tye shauta sino?"
Tedryn looked blankly at the golden-skinned altmer sitting across from him. The smell of fine soaps and incense wafted from his slender figure, dressed in an expensive silk shirt and breeches. His clean shaven face bore no scars or blemishes of any kind, though his whole appearance was almost feminine in its features.
"I should not be surprised at your failure to understand the tongue of your ancestors. The dunmer are, after all, a race of degenerates"
Tedryn yanked on the ropes binding his hands to the back of the chair, but they only cut deeper into his flesh. He quickly glanced around the basement- the cellar doors were closed and presumably locked from the outside, as was the door at the top of the stairs that led into the main house. The disemboweled corpse of poor Abros still lay unmoving at the foot of the stone altar only a few feet in front of him, and Fillin leaned silently against the wall, staring at the floor.
"Your kind were once like ours, you know", said Mithril as he leaned into arm's reach of Tedryn's face. "But the chimer abandoned our ancient traditions, and followed a false prophet down the path of destruction". Mithril rose from his seat and began to slowly pace around the room.
"Now look what you have become… dark-skinned filth, better belonging with pigs than amongst the higher races of mer", he spat hatefully and drew his knife. The steel blade gleamed spectacularly in the candlelight, and the ivory hilt encrusted with emeralds was even more beautiful in that dim glow. He admired it as he paced over to Tedryn and stood directly behind him. The dunmer's gorgeous ruby eyes were wide open and his heart beat like an orcish war drum in his chest as he felt the cold steel of the elven dagger being traced up and down his neck. Slowly, Mithril would drag the blade from the base of his spine, without piercing the skin, up his neck, grazing those tiny hairs that stood on end. At the top of the neck he would hold it there for a few moments before doing the same on the way down.
"Tell me, dunmer, how was the Elder Council able to catch wind of our plan?"
"The Elder Council? No, you misunderstand…", Tedryn began, but wasn't sure how to continue. Fillin looked up and gazed at him inquisitively.
"You were in the tavern earlier… you followed us here?", Fillin asked, walking over to him.
"Ah, so our Imperial agent here has been following you for some time, Fillin", Mithril exclaimed, and began to press the dagger more firmly into his skin.
"No, listen, please- my name is Tedryn Thalor, of Balmora", he explained as he tried to turn his head, but he felt the sharp steel being pressed even harder against his neck.
"And for whom do you work, Tedryn Thalor of Balmora?" asked Mithril, bending down so as to speak directly into his ear. The sensation of his warm breath down his neck made Tedryn shudder.
"I'm but a clerk, at the Office of Imperial Commerce", he croaked, his nerves affecting his ability to speak.
Mithril relieved the pressure on Tedryn's neck and for a long while there was a pause. And then came a sound so utterly horrifying that Tedryn could not restrain himself from cringing in fear. Mithril was laughing hysterically. It was a soul-piercing laugh, the terror it produced being too intense to put into words. For a creature so evil and far-removed from human empathy to emit an expression of joy and humour is enough to chill even the hardiest of people to the bone. It was almost an inhuman mimicry of human emotion, and Tedryn would have nightmares about that sound for the rest of his life.
At some time, long overdue, the laughter ceased and Mithril gave Tedryn a firm pat on the shoulder, causing him to shudder. He walked around to face him and sat back down in the chair opposite.
"So," he began, still smiling eerily, "it seems you've gotten yourself into a lot more than you bargained for, desk clerk". Tedryn refused to raise his glance to meet his. "It really is a shame, you know", the altmer said as he stood up and began to walk towards the stairs. "You could have lived to see the coming age; the fulfillment of the elven destiny", he called out as he ascended the stone staircase. "Instead you will spend the rest of eternity burning in the hellfire of our prince's kingdom". As he reached the door to the main house, he spoke once more, "I have some other matters to attend. Make our friend feel at home, won't you Fillin?". And with that, he left the basement and was gone.
For a long time after Mithril left, nothing was said. Tedryn's mind was too busy racing to figure a way out. Even if he could somehow get his binds off and make a run for the door, Fillin was still keeping a close eye on him, and he didn't dare wish to test whether his magical abilities matched those of his partner. Although… he noticed the hilt of a dagger sticking out from under his belt. Maybe if he could get him to come close he could-
"Abros was my dearest friend", the bosmer said solemnly, interrupting Tedryn's thoughts. Fillin continued to stare at the ground as he spoke. "As children in Valenwood, we used to go fishing together with our fathers every Sundas. Then we'd play make-believe by the riverbank until sunset". Tedryn looked up at him suspiciously but didn't say anything yet. No doubt he was upset over the loss of his friend, but was there a touch of resentment towards his killer?
"When we first met Mithril in Woodhearth, Abros was enchanted. I was merely intrigued, but he clung to every word out of that altmer's mouth. He pledged his life to our cause, and now…" he looked over to his friend's pale corpse, its entrails spilled out onto the ground beneath it. Fillin sighed and looked at Tedryn. Unlike his superior, the bosmer's face was rugged, weathered and manly. His eyes were a peaceful shade of green, like beech leaves in the summertime, and they looked at Tedryn not with anger or grief, but with guilt. Tedryn finally mustered the stones to speak.
"How do you live with yourself?" he asked with faux courage. Fillin's brow furrowed and his lips became slightly pursed.
"Excuse me?"
"I asked you how you can bare to live with yourself. You're a murderer and a blasphemer, and our father Akatosh would be ashamed in you". Despite his firm speech, Tedryn was still terrified. Bound to a chair in the basement of a daedra worshipper, it would be difficult for anyone to muster the courage to speak to their captor so boldly. But Tedryn was a mer of strong convictions. Despite all his gains and losses throughout one hundred and twenty-two years of life, he had always kept his commitment to his principles and his faith in the Nine. Without those, he considered himself nothing.
Fillin looked away in shame. He ran his fingers through the shoulder-length brown hair that hung loosely from his head, and then quickly glanced at the corpse before returning his gaze to the floor.
"The first time Mithril made us kill… I didn't want to do it, but what could I do? He told us that by killing them we would prove our loyalty to the cause, but they were just farmers… so many horrible things I've done…" The bosmer began to tear up as he spoke, and not once did he look directly at Tedryn. "I know the Divines have no doubt forsaken me for my actions in this life. I can only hope for a swift death, and embrace whatever punishment awaits my soul in Oblivion". He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, going silent. Tedryn waited some time before speaking.
"I'm no priest, but I know that our Lady Mara teaches forgiveness, and Stendarr grants us mercy. The gods never forsake their mortal children, though it is our duty to seek them out ourselves. They guide us, when possible, but our choices are our own. You can give up now, a coward, and accept the sour fruits of previous sinful labours; or, you can take charge of your destiny, become a force for good in this world, and earn the favour of our creators. It's your choice", he spoke with both a clarity and a passion that surprised even himself.
He watched as Fillin pondered these thoughts, and observed his gaze slowly rising in recognition of something, though of what he couldn't be sure. His eyes met Tedryn's.
"If I leave, he'll kill me"
"Is it any worse a fate than staying?"
He was quiet for a moment, thinking, then stood up straight and adjusted the collar of his green felt shirt. He walked over to Tedryn determinedly, drew a knife, and cut the ropes binding him to his chair. Tedryn rubbed his sore wrists and looked at Fillin expectantly.
"We don't have much time to waste, Tedryn. He may be returning as we speak", the bosmer said as he grabbed Tedryn by the arm and pulled him out of the chair and up the stairs. "Wait a moment", he said in a hushed tone once they reached the door. He motioned his hand over the lock and a spiral of green energy poured from his fingertips and into the keyhole, unlocking the door with a loud click. Without saying anything, he motioned for Tedryn to follow him and the two entered the dilapidated kitchen of the home. They walked past the rotting wooden walls and over crumbling floorboards until they finally exited the front door and breathed the fresh open air of the night sky. Their eyes quickly scanned the empty street, before Fillin once again grabbed the other's arm and pulled him through a series of dark alleyways into which the moonlight could not penetrate. Eventually Tedryn's lungs gave out, and they stopped outside the door of a cobbler and sat down on the road.
"My home… is just a few… streets that way", Tedryn said between breaths and pointed to his left.
"You can't go home", replied Fillin, his athletic physique obviously allowing him to breathe much easier. "He knows your name and place of work, he'll find you"
Tedryn lay down on the ground, defeated. If he'd only kept on walking earlier that night, right now he could have been in bed dreaming of sweetrolls and burly nord women.
"So," he began, his breathing now steadier. "What can I do?"
Fillin thought for a moment before his face lit up.
"I do know a place we can go, but… how well can you act?"
