A/N Sorry about not posting this a hell of a lot earlier but several things came up this summer that delayed me considerably. It's good to be back people.
"A Thieves' Guild? A guild of footpads, highwaymen and burglars? You've got to be joking me shemlen! It makes no sense! You don't make any sense!"
Harald sighed at Lyna's outpouring of incredulity and frustration. The group was now sitting in a room they hired at a back-alley inn called 'The Leaky Keg' which sat adjacent to the main Denerim marketplace. Harald had tried to explain his rather high experience in the arts of lockpicking, pickpocketing and being an all-round sneaky guy. Lyna hadn't taken too kindly to it. However, Ysabel stood by him.
"The man with the stylish helmet already explained it Lyna. Their guild members were patrons to a nigh-omnipotent being that used darkness, shadows and luck to gain worshippers. Actually I see where she's coming from, it is slightly ridiculous. If I hadn't seen her with mine own two eyes I'd be wondering if you were at the ale." Harald snorted in derision.
"I wouldn't drink your piss-water booze if your king paid me. It would be a shame on my people. We prided ourselves on making the greatest alcoholic drinks in all Tamriel!" Lily giggled at the seemingly awed look on Jowan's face that appeared as Harald spoke. It was incredibly comical for someone so tall and serious in everything else to speak so about types of drink.
"Hereditary alcoholism aside Harald, if you actually have a plan maybe you should tell us?" Everybody turned and stared at Jowan, as if only just noticing him there. "What? I'm sensible... sometimes." Lily patted him on the shoulder sympathetically.
"Aye Jowan. You speak wise words for an Imperial look-alike. My plan is this. My Dark Lady Nocturnal wishes for me to re-establish a Thieves' Guild of sorts, if not like the days of old. I also plan to steal and destroy all the phylacteries in the Denerim Cathedral, not just Ysabel's. Maybe these two goals can be made into one single move." Silent nods greeted his idea. They all knew how much Harald disparaged the ideal of the imprisonment of mages, especially by the Templar's pseudo-magical means.
"However I will need help to get in. Which is why I am conscripting Lily to help." Silent nods greeted his idea, until they realised what he said.
"What?! Why are you dragging Lily into this?" cried Jowan.
"What? You want me to help?" asked Lily, disbelieving.
"Why didn't you choose me?!" crowed Lyna, causing Ysabel to stare at her weirdly.
"It's a simple matter of giving you something to do honestly." There was a stunned silence as they processed what Harald said. "Lily, you have a major advantage when it comes to knowledge of certain things, but you have little combat experience and no training. You are far from useless in this circle, but you need to be able to defend yourself if nothing else. Besides, you're the only one who can access the Cathedral easily without suspicion from the Chantry."
Lyna studied Lily for a second. "What could you train her in? She's not physically strong enough to wield a blade to a high level of confidence and she's not a mage. Or... were you thinking of knife-work? Marksmanship perhaps?"
Harald nodded. "A little of both actually. Lily, you dispatched one of those Chasind rather naturally with that dagger of yours. I could help you improve that and teach you how to use a bow, if you're interested that is. I did work with the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood for a few weeks on a job for Delvin Mallory, so I picked up a few things from the best and I was trained as an archer in the Imperial Army during the Great War. It's not hard once you get started."
Ysabel shook her head in disbelief. "Why only teach Lily?"
"What do you mean Ysabel?"
Jowan nodded, catching onto Ysabel's trail of thought. "I see what she's getting at. We're both novices as well. Lyna can hold her own without a doubt having been living with the Dalish all her life, but both Ysabel and I left the Tower before we could begin any real training of our own. We're just as inexperienced as Lily is. The only difference is we can throw lightning bolts from time to time."
Harald chuckled, and then nodded in agreement. "Alright Jowan, you convinced me. You really do have the Emperor's gift don't you? Damned Imperials." His eyes were filled with amusement.
"I can actually teach you two some great things of my homeland's magic, but I perfected my craft in the Destruction school above all else. As for Lily, well ... the Listener leads the Dark Brotherhood assassin's guild and can use a very useful spell which that horker-shit crazy Khajiit taught me after she blew up half of Hjaalmarch's swampland trying to kill my Housecarl. All I ask that you don't attack me."
He clenched his hand, gathering a ball of black swirling magic before releasing it and a purple shimmer opened up in the room. The shimmer vanished, leaving the spectral outline of a man, hooded and cloaked. The room was silent until the ghostly figure of Lucien Lachance bowed to the group. "A pleasure to meet you all. Hail Sithis."
He turned to Harald. "I still don't know why Sa'jiira gave you the means to summon me. You refused to join the Brotherhood and tried to kill the Listener four times. It seems rather naive given your abilities, one would have thought she would have tried to avoid you or send your soul to the Dread Father."
Harald shrugged. "Who knows why Sa'jiira did half the things she did. Why did she spare Nilsine Shatter-Shield but kill Narfi? Or spare Cicero when Astrid gave her clear instructions to butcher him? That cat was void-addled half the time and you know it Lucien, not to mention high on skooma for most of her life."
"I'm surprised you would use such a cheap stereotype of the Khajiit race to your advantage, Nord."
"Not for Sa'jiira it wasn't a stereotype. She drank a bottle with every meal."
"Alas, tis true."
"Of course it is Lucien. My friends, this is the ghost of Dark Brotherhood Listener Lucien Lachance. He has over five thousand years experience in stealth, assassination and cold-blooded murder. Lily, he will be your tutor."
Lily took one look at Lucien and fainted dead away.
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"A ghost?! You want to teach us, with a ghost?!" Ysabel's eyebrow twitched in irritation at Lyna's outburst. Lily was sitting in a chair now, pale as Lucien's phantom, who was chuckling malevolently. Jowan fretted over her well-being, bringing a blush to his girlfriend's cheeks.
"Do you Dalish not draw inspiration, advice, aye even your entire societal aim from your ancestors?" Everyone stopped and looked square at Harald in varying degrees of surprise. "What?"
"You do not inspire the idea that you are capable of higher vocabulary, Nord." Lucien's smirk was only eclipsed by Harald's scowl.
"And you don't inspire the idea that you can withstand sunlight, leech. You have yet to answer me, Altmer." Lyna blushed.
"That's true but ... we temper it with the knowledge that we will never reclaim the great glories of Arlathan. We lost that to our own hubris and that of the Shem. The ancestors are dead... and so they should remain. That spirit is not meant to walk among mortals and I don't trust it. Summoning him can only bring trouble and destruction to us." Harald wasn't surprised to hear the sincere concern in her voice.
"I trust in my own experience Lyna. Ten years of experience in the use of various conjuration magicks and summoning spells, including that of Lucien Lachance. I mastered all forms of magicka available to me during my tenure as the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, so forgive me my arrogance in saying that I trust a phantom murderer over the majority of actual people. Thank you for your concern Altmer, as it touches me deeply, but I'll keep to Lucien at the moment."
Seeing the various reactions of concession, anxiety and curious excitement from his friends, Harald sighed. "He has the experience to keep Lily alive and well-trained. He may also teach you, Lyna; if you so wish it. He is quite masterful with a bow and his knife-work is remarkable, even for a Listener of the Brotherhood. The Dread Father blessed him in life, undeath and death with latent skill and ruthlessness. It is a privilege to learn from him and I hope both of you will embrace it. I'm going to take a look around."
With that he walked out the door and into the morning air, filled with a strange mix of weariness and curiosity. He felt the glare from Lyna follow him out the door and shivered, before walking down the street to the marketplace.
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The Denerim marketplace was something he had seen before in all the major hold capitals in Skyrim. Men and elves bustled around, selling their wares and bargaining with vendors. Food, cloth, spices and various weapons and other knick-knacks were exchanged and money changed hands. It was a normal day in a major port town market. Like Winterhold but a hell of a lot warmer.
Harald was glad to see that not many people even paid attention to him. He was very tall for a Nord, standing at about six foot five, and so had attracted attention even in Riften when he was growing up. It was disconcerting, but very welcome and useful to see that people didn't notice him as much as they had back home. He could use that to his advantage.
It was then he decided to look around and get his bearings in the main plaza of the city, after all he would likely be escaping through it at some point, and the thought of being caught in some unknown dark alley by tin soldiers was not a thought he entertained kindly. It took him only a few minutes to make his way around the marketplace, which was not particularly big, and the surrounding streets were pretty dull and bare. Save for one thing.
A small shop barrelled into the terrace, the sign of which simply said "Wonders of Thedas". In the window he could magic staffs, alembics, assorted alchemical equipment and interestingly enough, a few chipped soul gems. The bell rang as he entered the shop, flanked by massive book cases on both sides and a large counter at the end. He browsed various shelves, reading the titles of various books and surprisingly finding a few titles he recognised.
Picking out those and a few other books on geography and the Chantry, he made his way to the desk. The teller was a pale, gaunt looking man with a face that put Harald ill at ease. There was something not quite right about this man and he knew it. "Welcome to the Wonders of Thedas. Can I help you with anything?" The complete lack of emotion chilled him to his core and the monotone made his neck hair stand on end.
"Are you alright kinsman?" Harald stared into the man's empty eyes as he nodded almost like an automaton.
"I am fine. Thank you for your concern. May I help you?"
Harald ignored the answer and said in a lower tone. "What happened to you?"
The eyes were still empty of life. "I was made Tranquil. I refused my Harrowing at the Circle of Magi in Starkhaven and I was made Tranquil to safeguard the other mages from demonic possession. Such is the way of the Circle. May I help you?"
"Who did this to you? What made you into this ... Tranquil?"
"The Knight-Commander Tellurius gave the order, but that is all I know. To be Tranquil is to have your magic removed so no demon may possess your body and turn you into an Abomination. To allow this danger to the world to go unchecked would be folly. May I help you?"
Harald stared at the Tranquil in horror, reeling at the idea of magic being removed from someone and feeling pure unbridled anger at the Templars for such an atrocity even existing. Then a thought struck him, and the implications made him smile. He looked the Tranquil right in the eyes. "I'd like to pay for these, kinsman. And tell me, where can I find an apothecary around here?"
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"So once more, bring the blade back across the larynx with as much pressure and as quickly possible if you want to cut his throat. Or as an alternative, carry two daggers and stick one into opposing sides of the base of his neck to sever the spinal cord. Any questions?"
Jowan was sitting transfixed in an eclectic mix of horror and macabre curiosity, watching Lily learn her new trade from the pale spectre of Lucien Lachance. His knowledge of the human body was absolutely fascinating and strange as the scene was, it felt good for him to know that Lily would not be totally defenceless if she were ever attacked.
However, the enthusiasm with which Lily was making notes on Lucien's lesson made him feel a bit nervous. Not to mention the apoplectic expression on Lyna's face. Lucien had volunteered her as his demonstrator's prop, but she wasn't taking to her new role very well.
He looked over to where Harald was chiselling away at a small circular table with various pieces of alchemical equipment and ingredients sitting around him. He had ignored nearly all questioning from the others about his new project, but he claimed that it wouldn't affect anyone here anyway. Pfft, like he believed the man who claimed to kill dragons by shouting at them. He would need to see a dragon 'fall from the sky like a drunken rock' as Harald claimed before he would give the madman credit.
Later, when the rest of the group were tucking into some spare tavern food Ysabel had snatched from downstairs when the unpleasant publican wasn't looking, Harald was setting up an alchemist's laboratory and laying out ingredients. He had a brilliant idea, or so he thought. He had managed to procure a few sprigs of Mora Tapinella and Red Mountain Flower, as well as a very suspect bowl of what the apothecary claimed was Ectoplasm.
This potion would restore his Magicka with no side effects, but his theory was that it could restore some of their so-called 'Mana' with no effects to the Tranquil himself. That sent him into a deep thought pattern. The Chantry claimed that magic was the Maker's Curse on humanity for its hubris, but that didn't make any sense, as other races had magic. Yet another discrepancy for his list. Mana was different to Magicka, almost like a more concentrated energy, but also more lethal to the caster.
The spells that Ysabel and Jowan cast had a strange energy to them, very familiar but he didn't quite recognise the foul feeling. It was a strong smell of flesh and wormwood as opposed to the lavender and nightshade that penetrated the casting of his magic, in a metaphorical sense of course. Savos Aren really had had a way of describing stuff that made Harald dizzy.
It was almost as if the two energies came from alternative sources in the body. Harald didn't know very much about anatomy though, save that decapitation kills everything. He supposed that the best place to ask would actually be the royal court, as you could always find an intellectual in Solitude when Skyrim was his home. Or the local psychotic servant of the Mad God, whatever took your fancy.
"Aye, that would be true little lizard man! Haskill really was psychotic! Bastard usurped the Dukedom of Dementia from me not three centuries ago. Didn't last a week before I ripped out his spine and made it into an accordion though. Such a disgusting instrument."
Harald froze solid as he registered the voice of the Mad God Sheogorath behind him. He turned and to his cost, stared straight into those cunning yellow eyes. Power rolled over him and he struggled to breathe properly. Suddenly that feeling stopped as Sheogorath's eyes turned to the others eating at the table in the other room.
"Now that is an endearing sight. A veritable little coven of chaotic personalities and powerful characters. Haven't seen something so nice since I took my first jaunt through Oblivion as a mortal. Warms all twelve of my hearts, including the eleven not in my ribcage." He turned back to Harald.
"Just thought I'd pop in to see you. You need information about two things my adorable little champion and I will supply them. First of all, know that this Maker-boyo is a total prick. He's nasty, snooty and generally a bastard in crimson robes. Also smells like newborn horkers, but don't ask me why. Andraste, his lady with the eternal chamber pot, was a lovely woman before he got his hooks into her head and started playing noughts and crosses with her nerve endings. She was a powerful mage, I'll tell you that much. Also knitted some nice sweaters, though I never wore one myself."
Harald looked confusedly at his patron. He hadn't so much as thought about the Chantry's Maker himself for a few days, but at least the Daedra were paying attention. "Thank you my lord for the help. I believe you said two things?"
"Aye half-scale, I did didn't I? Second thing is that an old friend of yours is lurking around somewhere to the south. A creepy auld hag with crazy piss-coloured eyes and a bad temper. All I'm saying is don't be flirting with her daughter; that girl has her own problematic half-gods and weirdoes to deal with. You royally ticked her off by playing hide and seek with the dog for a few millennia. Go apologise or you might end up with your innards strewn across yon cathedral down the road, d'ya hear me you little ball of prophesized doom?"
The Mad God turned and then stopped. "Oh aye, here's another old friend for you. Careful not to scratch the paint again or I'll deck you with a marmot. I'll see you in a while, oh fertile maiden of Riften. Or was that your mother? I can never remember."
As Sheogorath vanished, Harald felt something heavy fall from the ceiling and hit the carpet behind him. He turned and grinned at the sight of his favourite artefact, the Wabbajack.