After a few hours of traipsing through the sludge and grime of the sewers, fighting his way past rats and goblins, Alrukir found his way into the outside world at last. As he left the sewer, he caught sight of the early morning sun rising, creeping its way over the hills, indicating that dawn was approaching.
He appeared to be on some sort of island in the middle of a lake. Far to his left was a long, stone bridge to the other side of the lake. Being from Hammerfell, he was not used to all the brightness and green he saw around him, hills and trees lining the landscape. He was in a strange land, indeed.
Turning around, he saw, up at the top of the hill, the Imperial City in all it's ancient glory, the unmistakable White-Gold Tower in the centre being the first thing that caught his eye. Before he could go there, he needed a change of clothes. The guards would be on high alert after news of his escape, though most likely distracted by the coming news of their Emperor's death. Still, it would not do to walk around the Imperial City dressed in prisoner's rags. He spied a lone fisherman sitting on the edge of a nearby dock, pulling a net out of the water and cursing when he saw his lack of catches. An idea popped into the Redguard's head, and he approached the fisherman. When he got close, the fisherman, an aged, gaunt man with thinning grey hair turned and looked at him from head to toe, then sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Begone with ye, I got no septims for ye." he rasped. "Barely got enough to feed me own family, never mind the likes of you."
The Redguard ignored his comments. "What you fishing for?" he asked, as the man stood up to fetch more bait from a bucket. the fisherman sighed again.
"Anything that's stupid enough to get caught. Mudcrabs, slaughterfish, that kind of thing." he replied without looking at Alrukir, leaning into his bucket to get more bait. "Now if you've no more silly ques-" All it took was a swift hit to the back of his head with Alrukir's sword hilt to knock him out cold. He slumped over the bucket, unconscious.
Alrukir stripped him of his clothes, some tattered overalls not much better than his own, but at least he couldn't be recognised as a criminal this way. He also found an iron dagger and a small purse of septims on the fisherman. "I need these more than you do." he muttered, even though the man obviously couldn't hear him.
In his new attire, he set off up the hill towards the city, leaving his old rags in a heap next to the fisherman, who was now completely naked except for a loincloth wrapped around his groin. 'Might as well leave him something in return.' he thought.
He entered the Imperial City through the main gate just past the prison, where he was locked up just last night. He found himself in what they called the Market District, likely the most bustling area of the city. He grew up in Sentinel and had travelled all around Hammerfell and High Rock, so he was no stranger to big cities, but this was quite possibly the largest and most crowded one he had ever seen. It appeared news of the Emperor's death hadn't spread yet, or possibly the Legion were keeping it a secret for now. One way or another, word would get out eventually. It always did.
After asking a few strangers where he could find a strong drink and a good meal, they directed him to the Feed Bag, to the far left of the Market District. A guard would be more knowledgeable, but he was still cautious about approaching one. They may have been informed of his escape and given his description, and the image of a lean, bearded, sinister-looking Redguard would be difficult to forget.
After reaching the pub he took a seat in the corner, using the fisherman's septims to pay for a huge breakfast and a flagon of ale. It was the first time he'd tasted alcohol on his lips in ages, as well as a half-decent meal. As he chewed on a rasher of bacon, he contemplated his next move. He had in his possession what was possibly the most prized artefact in the entire Empire. But what would he do with it? 'I should sell it.' he thought. 'I'd be a rich man for the rest of my days.' But then he remembered the Emperor's last words. "Close shut the jaws of Oblivion."
He was distracted from his thoughts when he gazed to the far end of the pub. On the table farthest from him sat a Dark Elf and a Nord. The Dunmer was wearing leather armor, reinforced by chainmail, a mace strapped to his thigh. He was very gaunt, a dark beard hanging from the chin of his horselike face, his ruby eyes fixated on the Redguard. Alrukir could have sworn he had seen him somewhere before. The Nord, however, he knew he had never seen before. If he had, he would most certainly not forget him. He was likely the largest man he had ever seen, probably well over seven feet tall if he stood up. His arms and legs were like two pairs of tree trunks, his entire body thick with muscle, which stood out even through the animal furs he was wearing. His face was covered in scars, thick, brown stubble lined his massive chin, and his hair ran down to his shoulders, wild and loose.
The Dark Elf muttered something to the Nord, who was taking a huge swig of ale. Both their eyes then flickered towards Alrukir, and the sellsword returned their stare. He had many enemies in this world, and perhaps these were among them. The two men got up and started walking towards him. He gripped the hilt of his sword, eyeing them cautiously. However, they passed by him instead, heading for the door. Watching them as they walked away, he saw that the Nord had a fine steel battle-axe strapped to his back, as large as a fully grown man and carved in Nordic fashion.
When the sinister individuals had gone, he returned to his thoughts about the amulet and the Emperor. He had mentioned Oblivion, the realm of the Daedra, and something about a 'Prince of Destruction.' Perhaps Uriel was just a crazy old man, but if he wasn't… the fate of Tamriel could be at stake, and that meant his fate was at stake. He knew he was probably a fool for giving in to superstition, but he decided on making the journey to Chorrol and delivering the trinket to this 'Jauffre' character. There, he would put this whole matter to rest at last, and demand a reasonable price for fulfilling the dead Emperor's last wish.
It was a long journey to Chorrol, however. It was far West of here, and he had no doubt the roads would be teeming with highwaymen and Gods know what else, especially after the chaos resulting from the Emperor's death. He would need supplies. Weapons, armour, a horse, all manner of potions, food and drink. All of which would cost a great deal of septims. There were likely plenty of things he could do around here to make money.
He left his empty plate and tankard at the table and approached the publican who ran the Feed Bag, a Dark Elf, who was cleaning a tankard with a ragged cloth "Good day." he greeted him. He usually tried to put on a polite tone when speaking to strangers. The elf looked at him with a friendly smile, while continuing his work. He continued, "I'm new to this city. Do you know how I could make some quick money around here?"
The Dunmer's reply was almost instant. "Well, many would get a job at one of the shops around the Marketplace, but you look like the fighting sort." he said, eyeing the sellsword up and down. "Why not try the arena? It's just past that gate outside, on the East side of the city. There's good money to be made from it, assuming you can handle yourself in a couple of fights."
Alrukir nodded. "Thank you, friend." He turned to leave as the Dunmer went off to attend to a customer. As he got to the door, it swung open with a crash, and a simply dressed, grey-haired Imperial jogged in.
"Black Horse Courier! Breaking news!" he yelled, so everyone in the pub could hear. People looked up from their breakfasts, gazing at the source of the noise. "Emperor Uriel Septim VII dead! Murdered by unknown assassins!"
Before the Redguard could even get through the door, people had risen and rushed over to the Imperial, surrounding him in a great crowd and taking the tabloids he was handing out, muttering to each other in a variety of tones: shock, awe, confusion, fear. Alrukir pushed past them and slipped out of the door into the Market District before he could hear anymore.
It seemed reactions were the same outside. Crowds of people were gathered, deep in conversation, reading and waving about their Black Horse Couriers. He passed rows of concerned faces, some even crying, as guards rushed about frantically. He heard a mad old beggar dressed in dirty rags screaming about the 'end times'. For some reason, he reminded Alrukir of the Emperor.
People had apparently heard varying versions of the story, thanks to the misconceptions resulting from word of mouth. "I heard his Majesty got done in by an escaped prisoner!" spat a toothless, balding old man.
"No, you old fool." growled a frustrated sounding woman, who appeared, judging by her skimpy clothing, to be a prostitute. "It was them Blades what done it. The prisoner tried to save ol' Uriel, but got killed trying, bless his soul."
"Watch your tongue, woman." warned a fair-haired young nobleman. "His Majesty was killed by assassins in red. My lord father knows the Blades. They were trying to get him to safety, but the prisoner was paid off and her led them to a dead end. The red assassins ambushed them and summoned a huge, monstrous Daedra, who killed everyone."
Doing his best to ignore some of the laughable stories he was hearing, he pushed his way past the roaring crowds of citizens until he found the gate the Dark Elf had spoken of. This would lead to the arena, where he would fight until he had enough gold for his journey.