(AN: For the foreseeable future, i will no longer have weekends free to write. Here's to hoping that work, school and the Battle for Middle Earth 2: Rise of the Witch-King Edain mod won't keep me away too much.)
(Finally, after ten chapters, one of our new characters is about to meet Crixus. Let me just state that it is still him, just under a different name.)
The Spy
Two days had passed since Petruvius and Lethia had been abducted from the Hero's Welcome inn in Kvatch. Each day, Servius Crixus went to the guards to inquire if they had made any progress in finding his companions, and every time they gave him bad news. Whenever these inquiries came back empty, he went around the city on his own investigation, asking those he met in the streets if they had seen anyone matching Petruvius' features. Barring magical interference, it seemed unlikely that two people could simply vanish from off the face of Nirn: nevertheless, it seemed as if in this case they had both disappeared utterly.
In addition to this, he would frequent the Arena. Zeno Platorius had told the guards to permit him to sit in his personal box for the fights. True to Platorius' boasts, Drogon proved invincible in battle. He watched him tear apart an Orc, an Argonian and a Nord berserker in the Arena that had attacked him as one, without gaining more than a scratch or two. Though each time he made more and more money, Crixus was more intrigued by Drogon. At the very first, he believed that Drogon was a very large man who wore a bull's head into battle the same way Nords wore wolf-skins or bear-skins. But the fighting spirit into which he fought would have made anyone, even mighty Torgrim or Gorak, into a heavy sweat which would have made anyone want to take that damnable bull's head off. Yet he noted that Drogon never took it off, not even to drink, which he had seen once on the second day, the tenth of Heartfire, when he asked Platorius to see Drogon.
"I'll let you get as close to him as anyone can get to him and live," Platorius explained.
He led Crixus down into the dungeons of the Arena, where they stood above a great iron grate that offered a dim view into a darkened cell. In that cell he saw Drogon lift a bucket of water and pour it down the mouth of the bull's head without removing it. He asked Platorius about it, but he knew only a little more about Drogon than Crixus did.
"He was here before I became organizer of the Arena," Platorius stated. "Varro told me to keep him down there, but that he was strong enough to be of some use in the fights."
"Does he speak?" Crixus asked.
"I've never heard him speak to anyone," Platorius shook his head. "Rather frightening, though, his silence. Makes for a bloody good spectacle, though."
Into Crixus' mind flashed wild thoughts that, perhaps, this Drogon might be a minotaur. It was said that they still roamed in the wilder parts of Cyrodiil, battling with the ogres in the mountainous region around county Bruma and in the darker parts of the Great Forest, though many believed that the War had driven them to extinction. But Crixus dismissed this as foolishness: he had seen sketches of minotaurs in bestiary books, and they all bore thick hair upon their upper bodies, whereas Drogon's upper body was no hairier than that of a fully-grown Colovian man.
On the eleventh of that month, after two fruitful days of wagering in the Arena that had brought Crixus quite a bit of money, he was leaving the Arena after yet another victorious match. As he was walking southward, he saw in the middle of the street, in broad daylight, a man approach a young couple walking and demand their money. When the man tried to fight him off, the thief pulled out a knife and stabbed the man repeatedly, tearing off his purse and running away into an alley, leaving the young woman to cry out for help as she held the bleeding, broken body of her young husband. Crixus turned away: surely the thief had more need of the money than the man had and he was foolish to behave so foolishly. Though how the thief had managed to get a weapon when weapons as small as daggers were banned was a mystery to Crixus. While he was pondering this, he heard a familiar voice speak to him.
"Enjoying the entertainment, Master Crixus?" Perrick's voice spoke.
"Who told you my name was Crixus?" he replied.
"Lord Mayor Thwyndilion," Perrick stated. "She has many connections, enough to know even your name, secretive fellow. But this..." He gestured to the sorry young woman. "...is what you are bound to see in cities in Cyrodiil. Though, to use a very old saying, at least we're not as bad as Bravil, or Bruma or Cheydinhal in these days. Bravil was always a troublesome city, for hundreds of years, as was Bruma, being full of Nords and all. But lately, Cheydinhal has become just as dangerous as those cities, if not more. You'll see that if your travels take you into the Upper Niben, friend."
"You seem to know quite a bit," Crixus stated. "Perhaps a bit more than is safe for you."
"I'm paid to know everything pertinent to the works of my organization," Perrick replied. "Including those who work for us, especially if they are to appear before the Lord Mayor."
"That didn't seem to be the case with Signius," Crixus noted.
"Lord Mayor Thwyndilion is more cautious," Perrick stated. "And she will see you tomorrow evening, after the battle in the Arena. That was one of the reasons I went out to seek you."
"What was the other reason?" Crixus asked.
"I promised you," Perrick replied, becoming less severe. "That one who would be helpful in finding your friends would arrive in Kvatch soon. He arrived this morning and is waiting in the Bloated Rat tavern just south of here. If you want his help, listen to my description of him, for he is very easy to miss in a crowd. He is a Colovian man of average height and thin build, with receding brown hair and a short, pointed beard. He will be dressed in plain robes. Only his eyes have any singular quality to them: dark as ebony and piercing like an elf's."
"A rather picturesque portrayal for an ordinary villain," Crixus grinned. "I've heard bad things about the Bloated Rat."
Perrick scoffed. "From Flavia? Of course she would say that: as a rule, publicans don't promote the business of other inns. Nevertheless, it's good to keep your eyes open in that inn. Not everyone there can be trusted."
"If you say so," Crixus replied.
It was evening when Crixus made his way to the Bloated Rat tavern. It was built into a cluster of tall buildings on the southeastern edge of town, thrust away from the main drag. It was recognizable by the sign of a very fat rat hanging over one building that seemed to be leaning over into the road. Crixus made his way into the inn, finding that it was darker than any seedy corner-club he had frequented in Mournhold. Smoke from pipes filled the air along with the scent of skooma. The moment he passed through the door, he saw several eyes gaze over at him in disgust and suspicion. His cloak, thankfully, was still among his effects when he slept with Flavia, so he threw his hood down over his head to keep himself hidden.
Quietly he moved among the people in the common room of the tavern, seeking out the one who had been described to him. Most of the men hear seemed to match the description Perrick had given of his man. Brown or dark hair was common among Colovians and Nibenay, and more than a few of them were old enough to have their hair receding from their heads. And from the glances they were giving him, he could see that quite a few also had dark eyes. As far as their gear, most of them were dressed in similar gear to those he had encountered in the Ragged Flagon in Riften. Only one man, as far as he could tell, was dressed in robes: a slight wisp of a man hiding in the shadows of the inn with a hood down over his head and face down. Crixus noted that he sat alone, though, from time to time, someone would approach his table, sit down, share a few words with him, then depart. Once the last man left this stranger's table, Crixus approached and addressed the stranger.
"How do you find the dregs of Kvatch, sirrah?" he greeted.
"No better than the Grey Mare in Chorrol," the stranger replied. His voice was deep, even-toned and surprisingly soothing for one in such a place. "Those who seek danger have their limits, as far as the Thieves Guild are concerned."
"Or perhaps," Crixus proposed. "You have yet to find the right man?"
The man lifted up his head, and Crixus saw a thin, pointed beard and mustache upon his face. "Straight-forwardness in speech, how refreshing in these days. Perhaps you're one who is not afraid of a little danger?"
"As far as the Thieves Guild is concerned?" Crixus asked, taking a seat across from the newcomer. "I've met them in Skyrim, I'm good friends with the new Guild-master."
"With Brynjolf of Riften?" the stranger asked. "My friend, I've heard ill-tidings concerning the Thieves Guild in Skyrim. From what I've heard, they were driven out by an army of rebels."
Fucking Mjoll, Crixus thought inwardly. She must have convinced Eirik to drive the Guild out of Riften. I wonder then if I will meet them here in Cyrodiil. He then turned to the stranger and addressed him. "And what can you tell me about the Thieves Guild in Cyrodiil, friend?"
"I am not a man for words, stranger," the hooded one stated. "For me, news is as good as gold to a thief or merchant. Do you have any news?"
"I might," Crixus stated. "But first, I want an exchange. I've heard tell that you are the one to seek for finding missing people."
"Hmm," the stranger nodded. "But perhaps the guards would be the ones to seek in finding missing people?"
"I've been to the guards before," Crixus replied. "There's no chance of help from them, especially since my...missing people were taken by the Synod."
At this, the stranger paused and removed his hood. He had brown, shoulder-length hair that receded from a prominent forehead, exactly as described by Perrick.
"You must be a fool to anger the Synod," the stranger stated. "There are few in Cyrodiil with the stones to defy them. Most men are content with obeying their laws where they must and staying out of their conflict with the College of Whispers."
"I am not like most men," Crixus stated. "As for why I am in conflict with the Synod, that is a private matter."
"A man of secrets as well," the balding man noted. "And perhaps more than a fool, for a fool does not keep secrets. It is wise to be subtle, especially in such auspicious times as these. But my opinion is meaningless in such matters: I am not a noble or a cleric, only a purveyor of knowledge and information."
"Finder of missing people," Crixus added. "Well, then, perhaps you would be interested in helping me find my missing companions? They were taken by the Synod on the ninth of this month I know not where..."
"And what are you prepared to offer me in return for my services?" he asked.
"I have made a lot of money on the gladiator fights in the Arena," Crixus stated. "I have enough drakes to pay handsomely."
"It is not money that I want," said the stranger. "My last employer paid me a huge sum of money. Even with a tight belt and tighter stomach, I've been able to travel to Bruma, Chorrol and here without spending most of it. You must have something else that would be valuable."
"Information?" Crixus asked.
"You don't appear to be one in the know about much," the stranger stated. "Though, I am willing to hear if you are. Looks can be very deceiving."
"Aha," Crixus chuckled. "My secrets are not worth all the money in the Empire. I was a Legate in the Legion and those secrets we take to our graves."
"Then there are many in the Legion who should be dead by now," the stranger replied. "I have had traffic with the Legion before and they have divulged many significant secrets to me before."
"What are you, some kind of spy for the Thalmor?" Crixus joked.
"I work for whoever pays the most," the stranger said. "And whose information is the most pertinent."
"What about my services, hmm?" Crixus asked. "I have many skills that I can bring to any job you might need. Aside from the Legion, I served time with the Thieves Guild, doing jobs for them."
The stranger shook his head, clicking his tongue. "I'm afraid you overestimate the grasp of the Guild. Whatever might have befallen the Thieves Guild in Skyrim has not yet affected those in Cyrodiil." At this, he lowered his head and swore.
"What is it?" Crixus asked.
"I have never met anyone," the stranger chuckled grimly. "Man, woman, mer or beast-folk, who could pry so much out of me for so little. There is more about you than meets the eye, stranger. Tell me your name."
"Valerius Crixus," he replied. "And yours?"
"Call me Lucan," the stranger stated. "Now then, Crixus, you claim to have the skills of a thief and the training of a Legionnaire and you offer me your services. What makes you think I would need your services?"
"Why else is a man like you in a place like this?" Crixus asked. "If you wanted knowledge, you should be in the castle, chatting it up with the Count and his courtiers, or hobnobbing with the locals here in the common room. You came to a dark, hole-in-the-wall place like this to find someone to do some work for you, probably some dirty work, it seems."
"Hmm," Lucan murmured, stroking his beard. "You're more perceptive than you appear. As my network of agents have failed me so far, perhaps it is time to seek independent help in this matter." He ordered a couple of drinks for himself and Crixus. Once the drinks arrived, Crixus fell to drinking periodically from his cup while Lucan gazed at Crixus from the top of his, examining him with his piercing, dark eyes.
"A few months ago," Lucan began. "I was invited to the court of Bravil for a secret assignment. A wealthy patron there asked for my service in recovering his daughter, whom he believed had taken up with the Thieves Guild."
"Tell me what you know about the Thieves Guild in Cyrodiil," Crixus stated. "I've been eager to know what they're like here."
"Little better than bandits, it seems," Lucan replied, shifting uneasily. "About twenty years ago, towards the end of the Great War, something happened that caused the Thieves Guild to implode. Houses were raided, men and women dragged through the streets and executed or imprisoned for their crimes. The skooma dealer gang wars in Bravil all but destroyed the old Guild headquarters there. Those that remained have taken to killing, a thing uncommon among the Thieves Guild. Then, last year, something happened. What more there is, though, I cannot say. Perhaps my contact, Lord Mayor Thwyndilion, will shed some light on the matter?"
"You're with the Merchants Guild?" Crixus asked.
"They are a means to an end, like all things," Lucan stated. "I use them when I can, but I am not partial to any guild, legal or otherwise. But I've said more than enough: tell me about your missing people now." Crixus shared with him what he felt he could share about Petruvius and nothing about Lethia beyond that she was a deformed mer who never showed her face.
"Hmm," Lucan mused once Crixus had finished. "It seems that you have not told everything concerning your companions. That may be best, but it would do to know a little bit more about this elvish woman. The Synod do not often interfere in non-magical affairs. Perhaps if I knew more about this elf, I might be able to tell you why they were captured."
"You look like a man who appreciates the value of a secret," Crixus noted. "Therefore I trust that you will appreciate my need of keeping pertinent details about the third member of my company secret. I'm a man who prefers to stay out of the public eye."
Lucan grinned. "You certainly have an interesting way of staying out of public gaze, by attracting the attention of one of the most powerful organizations in Cyrodiil." He watched as Crixus drained his cup and shouted a barmaid down for more. "Everything about you is contradictory."
"Whatever the fuck do you mean?" Crixus winced through the strong beer.
"When you spoke of having served in the Legion," he stated. "You sounded very proud of yourself, as if it were an accomplishment for which you would wish to be remembered. Yet you also said that you were acquainted with the Skyrim chapter of the Thieves Guild. A thief does not join the army and a man proud of his service would have little recourse to resort to thieving, unless they were down on their fortunes which, as you yourself stated, you are not. You claim to be secretive, yet you've garnered the annoyance of the Synod and had your companions captured in the process. You speak forwardly, yet hide so much in your speech. You carry yourself like a king, yet swallow down beer like water. Also..."
"Also?" Crixus asked. "What also?"
"I can tell by your talk," Lucan stated. "That you are like myself, a man raised during the years before the War. The younger generation, those who lived in Cyrodiil in the aftermath, they don't talk like us. Yet, as far as your appearance is concerned, you seem to be younger than I am. It's not strange that there are some among the younger generation with more traditional ideals, but it is a rare thing in this day and age."
Crixus sighed. "And why do you think I am suddenly so interesting?"
"I am intrigued," Lucan replied. "By the prospect of working with someone after my own spirit. Perhaps after my meeting with the Lord Mayor tomorrow, we can adjourn here to discuss my assignment? I'm sure that, after meeting with the Lord Mayor, I will know where to find her."
"Her?" Crixus asked. "Who's her?"
"The one I'm seeking," Lucan stated. "I can give no further information, for my employer demands secrecy on pain of imprisonment."
"Sounds like a touchy matter," Crixus noted.
"That is the least one might say about it," Lucan vaguely added. "Now then, concerning payment..."
"What do you want?" Crixus asked. "And what are you offering? You haven't given me anything worth my time or money yet."
"I've given you the promise of a future engagement," Lucan stated. "Which is more than I give to anyone else. And I've already told you more than I usually do when dealing with strangers. I'd say that requires a sharing of information or else this meeting has been all in vain."
"Information, eh?" Crixus asked. "Alright, what news do you want to know?"
"You stated that you were in the Legion," Lucan noted. "And that you were acquainted with the Skyrim chapter of the Thieves Guild. I feel that I would not be amiss in assuming that you served lately in Skyrim, under General Flavius Tullius?"
"You would be right in that assumption," Crixus returned.
"In exchange for the wealth of information I've so foolishly divulged on your behalf," Lucan replied. "I would like to know the state of affairs in Skyrim. I heard that the War is over, but to what conclusion it has reached beyond victory for the Empire, I know not."
"And why would that concern you, Lucan?" Crixus asked.
"My dear Crixus," Lucan retorted, his deep voice still as even-toned and soothing. "The Empire is but three provinces: the stability of one affects the Empire as a whole, therefore, like as not, the fate of Skyrim and the Empire as a whole are linked."
"I wish it weren't so," Crixus muttered. "I wish to all the gods that the whole continent, from the Jeralls to the sea, Dragontails to the Velothi, would fall into the sea and take every last damned Nord with it."
"I take it then that you did not enjoy your time in Skyrim?" Lucan asked.
"Of fucking course I didn't enjoy it!" Crixus retorted. "Nothing but snow and big, dumb brutes fighting, fucking and beating their chests like apes to prove their dominance. And that was just the women!"
"Surely it couldn't have been all bad."
"Oh, but it was. And let me tell you something, Lucan: everything that happened there, or anything that may happen as a result of what happened in Skyrim, is on the heads of the Nord race and only the Nord race. They lost the eastern earldom because they have always mistreated the mer races; that was only the first of hopefully many bloody reparations to come. They lost the western earldom because their false heathen god Talos betrayed the Reachmen and made them the pariahs of the Nord people." Crixus looked over his shoulder, then leaned in closer to Lucan, speaking in a hushed voice.
"And their sons and daughters died in the northern earldom because of their blatant and deliberate defiance of the White-Gold Concordant. The Dominion served them due discipline."
"Wait, the Dominion?" Lucan asked. "The Dominion landed troops in Skyrim?"
"Yes," Crixus nodded. "To mete justice upon the Nords. I tell you, every man, woman and child of the white race that died in Skyrim deserved it: the world will not mourn their passing, the world will be all the safer for their lack."
"Even the children?" Lucan asked, though his voice did not show great concern.
"Especially the children," Crixus stated. "Fewer brats to mature, molest and rape pure Imperial, Breton and mer children and perpetuate their mongrel race."
"Still," Lucan mused softly. "It-It doesn't seem to add up that the Dominion would be so careful for twenty years, only to play their hand early while at least a third of the Empire is still strong."
"It wasn't an act of war," Crixus replied. "It was vengeance long overdue, and it was well deserved." It was not Crixus' turn to muse in silence. He meant every word that he said, yet speaking them seemed to him to be a betrayal. Elisif's life had been in danger every day since the Dominion took Haafingar; what if she, who had brought such solace and comfort to Crixus, had been among the slain hung from the walls of Solitude? Did she deserve to die also?
"Nevertheless," Lucan replied. "The Dominion striking first, these are grave tidings indeed. There are many powerful people who should be made aware of this situation. The House of Nobles, the body of the counts, should be informed, they should be ready to stand up and defend their lands." He pointed to Crixus. "You must deliver this information to them personally."
"Why me?" Crixus asked.
"Because, should the wrong people discover this knowledge," Lucan replied. "It could be disastrous." He placed his hand upon the table, laying upright on its side with fingers held together. "We are standing upon the edge of a precipice, and any misstep could send us into oblivion. We must act swiftly and we must be cautious. Trust no one with this information."
"What about you?" Crixus asked.
"You can trust me to keep this secret safe with me, even if I am thrown in prison and tortured to death," Lucan replied, his hand moving off the table before Crixus could get a good look at the long, pale scar running across its surface. "I am many things, but loyal is certainly one of them."
"Oh yeah?" Crixus queried. "Loyal to who?"
"To the Empire," Lucan replied. "Rulers may come and go, but the Empire must endure."
"A noble sentiment," Crixus grinned. "Perhaps you may be worthy of my trust after all."
"If you put your trust in me, Crixus," Lucan grinned in return. "Then you are indeed a fool. But I will keep this secret safe, and once I have spoken to the Lord Mayor, I will make my way east to begin gestures of introduction for you to the other counts. The others are..." He cleared his throat. "...not as easily swayed as Count Romulus."
"Easy?" Crixus sneered. "If it were so easy, I wouldn't be here in a dark, seedy tavern, would I?"
"There is a saying in Kvatch," Lucan said grimly. "That to gain an audience with the Count of Kvatch, one must bring a child with them. Of course, there are few desperate or deviant enough to permit this, so they must try the other ways."
"Why are you saying this?" Crixus asked. "Shouldn't you at least show Count Romulus the respect he deserves for being Count?"
Lucan grinned. "Like you, Crixus, I am not like everyone else."
"Right," Crixus nodded. "Well, then, until our next meeting, farewell and goodnight."
Lucan nodded as Crixus rose from his seat and went towards the door. Though he had not gotten what he wanted, he found this Lucan to be an intriguing fellow. His deep, soothing voice seemed too reassuring, as if hiding some great secret. Even his bearing seemed to be hiding something: he hunched as if he bore a great burden upon his back. The eyes, also, were very remarkable; few people he could call into mind had such dark, piercing, relentless eyes. It was also intriguing that Lucan kept saying that he told more than he should. As far as Crixus had guessed, he had actually told very little concerning his own self: just what was this strange, thin man hiding?
Or was it an invitation? There was something about his focused desire to have Crixus inform the other Counts of the danger the Dominion had posed in Skyrim. Though Crixus denied it as much as he wanted, the Dominion were not there to punish the Nords: their aims were more sinister. While it was in fact wholly possible that Lucan might be an intelligent man who could see that a union of the counties was what Cyrodiil needed if it was to stand strong against the Dominion, it seemed far too uncanny that he had suggested this while Crixus had been, up until the capture of Petruvius and Lethia, planning to rebuild the Mages Guild for his own purposes.
As Crixus was making his way to the Hero's Welcome, he looked back in the direction of the Bloated Rat: who are you, Lucan, what is it you want and just how much do you know?
(AN: It will be a while until i get another chapter out, as my weekends are all spent up. But if anyone is still reading this, use this time to review...please? I'd like to get some feedback on Pelagius' character now that he's appeared among an equal. I felt that he was kind of different in this chapter, but i did try to keep to what character i had brought. As far as i can tell, he will be partially responsible for Crixus getting some kind of focus in his goals.)
(One thing i did while building Cyrodiil months ago [because i planned aspects of the story long in advance] was to have an Imperial rule that states that no weapons may be owned or worn publicly by anyone in the cities. My brother often complains that everyone in Skyrim has a knife and will try to defend themselves if someone attacks: so for his beloved Cyrodiil, we have the opposite, a world where nobody is allowed to own weapons unless they're in the Legion, the Fighters Guild or [obviously] the Dominion.)
