8
Spy
Onmund's left leg was shaking silently as the horse-drawn cart pulled ever-closer to the Thalmor embassy. He was more than nervous. There wasn't a word for what he was. He held no great distaste for Altmer or any elf for that matter, but he was fairly certain the Thalmor were awful people, and he wanted nothing to do with them. He was also certain that despite his prowess in sneaking around, there was still a very big chance that he would be detected. Altmer were renowned wizards, after all.
The plan was actually painfully simple. Walk very close behind the invitees he was riding in the cart with. Enter the embassy behind them. Hide until he was able to get deeper inside the embassy. Find offices – anywhere he might find official documents.
From his time with the Thieves Guild, Onmund had become quite skilled at picking locks using magic only. Thankfully, casting such a spell did not disrupt his invisibility. Delphine, the gorgeous, feisty blonde who saved him from possibly being further maimed by the scary redhead, nearly shrieked with joy when she learned of Onmund's skills.
She was the leader of the western branch of an organization called The Blades. Once guards of the Emperor, now dragon hunters, The Blades served the Dragonborn, an Orc named Torug. They were hunted by the Thalmor, hence Delphine's desire to know what they were up to. She was wholly convinced they were the ones responsible for the return of dragons to Skyrim, and wanted Onmund to find the documents to prove it. He had been unsure about the endeavor, about breaking into the Thalmor Embassy, but when Delphine grazed a finger across his robed chest and whispered sultry promises in his ear, he readily agreed. As soon as he did, he heard the familiar voice of Sanguine enter his mind, saying a single word: "Yes."
. . . . . .
Sneaking inside the Embassy was way too easy. He was fearful of this fact. Eventually he found himself inside what appeared to be an office, which was just near an obvious torture room. He daren't free the prisoners there, not yet anyway, not until he had what he went there for.
No one was in the office. He figured whoever worked in there was attending the party in the main hall. Only the sporadic guard stalked the remainder of the palace, and most of them were distracted by their own conversations.
And then he found them – pile after pile of papers and journals and scrolls. One particular paper on top of a pile was what drew in his attention.
It was a sketch of Deborah.
