"The food of Elsweyr is invariably sweet; candies, cakes, puddings, and sugarmeats are the staples of the khajiit diet," -Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, The Elsweyr Confederacy
Mid Year 26, 4E2
Sugar Groves District, Torval
It was a gray morning. Sun shined only faintly through the clouds.
Elsweyr continued to be a dark journey, trudging forward in hopes of one day the enemy just relenting, like we were constantly tempted to do. The tower (in which the late Rizzani said Antonius had his office), a tribute, in my eyes, to Zenithar and the Cyrodilic ethics, guided me towards the man who might provide something fresh. But what a sugar monger could want with me was beyond me.
The past two days had been heavily seasoned with anticipation. One little meeting with a businessman could captivate my mind, but that was because Elsweyr had lately been a cycle of mundane horror.
On this strip there were black toothed beggars, broken windows, and broken bottles. There was a watchman and a grieving woman in weathered shawl standing over a dead body on the sidewalk. It was another mark against me on the scoreboard, and against Elsweyr. Every ounce of despair this city felt was a stain on my ambitions and a source of shame to Ocato's vision. Every crime was a punch against idealism and egilitarianism. And every sight took a bit more vigor from my spirit. But such was all nothing new. For the past few months, it was life.
I was not taking this walk alone. Ah-Marz was with me. He had not had not left the sanctuary in a while, and I figured it was perhaps a bit too dangerous to travel alone. Not that I expected one could not make a business trip without getting ambushed by guerillas, but my life was not something to be handled recklessly, and I doubted the savages here would be kind enough to simply kill me if they got their hands on this 'foreign occupier.'
I saw some grafitti on a nearby warehouse. It was colorful: Two faces, mine and Collects-Rocks, with our distinctive features, maniacal grins and blood dripping from their mouths. Fire shot through my veins. Someone had spent a lot of time on it without getting arrested too, which was further unsettling.
They singled me out because I was the leader. Why did they single Rocks him among my subordinates? Likely because he had been the one to take down the owner of Adhazzka's Defenses. He had also probably been the most reticent of the task, yet he was the one with the talents to make it happen, and the bravery to do it, so he would be the one who received the title of murderer, the label of bloodthirsty, and the brunt of the hatred.
It was a pattern I had seen again and again. Those who stood up and played the spearhead were the ones with the lion's share of disdain vollied their way. Uriel, Ocato, and now me. The men who stood behind them were shielded.
The local art would have probably been even more engrossing if I did not have something else to focus on, the question of Kastav Antonius could have possibly wanted.
We were entering the poor district, as demonstrated by the nearly uniform, mostly doorless, windowless huts. Antonius kept his sugar plantations here, probably because of the plethora of unskilled laborers. It smelled like the Waterfront. It looked worse, though unlike my last trip to the Waterfront, most of the inhabitants were inside.
On the opposite side of the street, something stuck out: the sparse foot traffic held a group of five: four bipeds and a Pahmar. Three of them were armed, one (a Tojay-Raht) with a crossbow on his back; ranged weapons made me all the more tense and self conscious. Those arms probably cost more than a house here. They could be adventurers or private security, though I was mindful those could also be insurgents. The Cathay-Raht, the unarmed biped of the group, gave us a passing glance. Only a passing glance. Either harmless private guards, or very smart guerrillas.
Still, private blades were not exactly a drake a dozen in Elsweyr. And, being all Khajiit, those clearly were not Fighters Guild. Had things gotten so bad that I could expect to meet hostiles just visiting Torval? Or certainly that was golden luck for them, given I was without armor or augmentation right now.
As we passed the five, I turned my head as far as back as possible without breaking pace. Though nothing yet indicated they were a threat preparing to attack.
I faced forward again, promptly swerving after nearly bumping into a decrepit old Ohmes. I mumbled some quick apologies and circumvented him. A husband and wife shouted at each other from within a nearby hut. Ah-Marz and I kept advancing on the path. Should I put those armed men out of my mind? The idea of outright turning and waiting until the tough looking group passed out of sight had its temptations. But it also smelt a bit of paranoia.
Yet the idea was stubborn. It tickled the back of my mind. And for all I knew a crossbow could be aimed at the back of my neck.
That tickle became a pinch on the back of my neck. I knew that feeling.
I swung around.
The five were nine paces behind me, the Pahmar at the front now breaking into a charge. Fear burst in my chest. At first my hand went for my hilt but he ate up the distance so I lept and rolled out of the way onto the cobbled road! A damn useful skill, but not a comforting way to start a battle. I heard Ah-Marz skewer the beast as I returned to my feet, but the others had began their attack. The two sword wielders were charging, each at one of us.
I unsheathed my weapon, tugging in vain once, but got it up no later than to intercept a swing.
And the fighter quickly shield bashed me in the stomach. In utter shock, the wind was knocked from me by the cruel and unexpected finesse. I stumbled back but raised my sword against his next swing loud ting. I back-pedaled clumsily and erected myself fully in time to block another, weaker and quicker swing with an awkwardly twisting wrist. Then I backed up vigorously in large steps, giving me a second to recollect. But the merciless guerilla gobbled up the distance in equal velocity. These opponents were a cut above, or perhaps imbued with confidence. Upon getting close, he went for a stab, which I swerved away from, and as his head was bowed I cleaved downward and into his skull.
Severing a million fibers in his brain, he crumbled, instantly terminated. Thankfully, my deadly grace had been greater than his.
But as if on que, the fall fully exposed a crossbowman who immediately let lose a shot. My heart skipped a beat but it zipped past my arm with a harsh buzz. Tremendous tension spilled out of me, but so close was the shot, I still looked down for injury, but the flesh had not been grazed.
Now Densius Fidelis had the upper hand. Instead of reloading, the rebel immediately ran, back in the direction of the sidewalk he had previously strided. He and the Cathay-Raht, who had taken out a hidden dagger, were both running for cover into a hut.
But instead of chasing, my gaze shot over to Ah-Marz. Yet he was finishing off his own adversary, turning the Khajiit into a useless sack of meat before my eyes shot back to the hut, where the two guerillas entered one after the other and took cover behind opposite flanks.
That had to become the prime focus of the battle.
Charging in there would be extremely risky. The passage was too narrow for both of us to go in at once without serious sluggishness and coordination, and attacking one would leave my back to the other.
The crossbowman was reloading now, no doubt. Could I make it in before he finished? Probably, but if I killed the dagger wielder first, I could get stabbed in the back with a bolt by hand. If I killed the Tojay-Raht first, I could get stabbed in the back more conventionally. Killing both unscathed was plausible, but I would put my odds at fifty percent by now, which was unacceptable for someone as important as me.
The other option was, of course, to depend on him taking action first, and dodging his shot. But that gambled too close to the void for anything less than chilling apprehension, since dodging a crossbow bolt was a feat, not a standard proceedure.
And with this delay, likely he had reloaded by now. And he was not firing yet. The empty doorway just stared at me as the gods held their breath.
I could not gamble with our lives. Densius Fidelis would not fall to two petty guerillas on his way to a meeting; I knew the only clean, quick, and safe solution.
I dropped my sword to clatter on the ground and whipped the staff off of my back. It would solve yet another battle. There could be a third person, an innocent, in that hut, but my death would mean a hundred evil doers would get to live. Maybe the Hist sap augmentations could have offered another solution, but it was too late for that now.
I jerked the device, M'Dazzir's key legacy being used once again.
The ball of fire flew. The outlaws did not know their fate was already sealed, but they would see the impact on the back wall a split second before it took their lives. Could there be anyone else, a civilian, inside? I had not heard their objections to the home invasion, but...
Boom. The magic exploded, from tiny molten ball to infernal blossom, concluding the battle, like so many others, in a pompous display that left no doubt the Knights of Elsweyr should be feared.
When the magical inferno cleared, little but the skeleton of the building remained, and the bones of the two who had opposed me falling. And-
But another sound caught my attention, coming from the side of the streets the guerillas had walked, and I swerved my head towards the pounding feet. There was a woman with barefeet and look of distress carrying a dark Ohmes girl of perhaps two or three in her hands. Were they running from something? Was there yet another threat, worse perhaps, to deal with?
They were about to cross the flaming wreckage I made, and they stopped in front of it and starred. I knew what that meant.
Something foul and heavy dropped into my stomach. I stood, slapped in the face by fate. Until the trance was broken my the shrill sound of the child bursting into tears.
With her face crinkled and wailing shattering the shell on my soul, I could almost feel the color drain out of me, while hoping it was only their home I had destroyed.
The noise, oh so loud and accusatory, slithered through the streets to fill the ears of a hundred bystanders, damning me.
The woman put the child down to inspect the ruins herself. It felt like broken glass in my guts to even consider what she might be thinking.
A voice to my side nearly made me jump. "Maybe you have been a little ham-fisted with that weapon, sir." It was Ah-Marz, now right beside me. I swerved around, but my disarmament converted into a burst of fury!
I shoved the staff into his arms, and immediately spat, "You think you can do better? Why don't you wield this!? Why don't you make the calls!? Why don't you be the one to decide what's fetching hamfisted, and what's worth protecting your men and all these people!"
He just looked at me stunned, shaken, my own disarmament perhaps passed onto him. I snatched back the staff, but that had made my attitude now tough, black, and shriveled like a raisin.
With angry hands and tiger eyes I threw the weapon back upon my back, then picked up the sword, blocking out the sound of the crying with a ethereal shield over my soul reconstructed, this one tougher and uglier, and went storming back in the direction I was originally walking.
Her cries continued, the little witch. But no, I could not fault her. It was a tragedy, and another casualty would be attached to my name. It was not good that it had to work this way, and she was within every right to weep over it.
But I was within every fetching right to feel no guilt. This was war. It was never without tragedy.
But that damn weeping had to be heard across these streets, seeping into the ears of every local, poisoning their minds with the view of me that graffiti illustrated, that little by little pelted against Elsweyr's progress.
No one would ever hear the screams of the murdered watchmen or social deviants who would have been killed if those guerillas had got away. That was the cruel injustice of being the one who prevented such tragedies. These stigmas were as much a part of my warriorhood as bolts and sickness and blades.
I tried to block out the sound as I stomped forward with stern resolve, though the little girl certainly was not making any concessions. But I kept my gaze hard, and angry, ahead.
If you are the one who's going to stop the flow of the blood, you are the one whose hands get red and sticky, I thought. That was a good way to put it.
Of the few huts ahead of me, no one had come out to look. Good. I would have been tempted to bust their faces. Maybe others had come out to see the source of the ruckus on the other side of the street.
Maybe they were staring at me, but let them stare. I did not have to stare back.
The corner was close, thank the gods. At least then I would be out of the direct line of sight of the strip I had blemished, though the child's crying cut far and wide through the air.
But, in a bit of mercy, a ricketting carriage with necklaced nobleman, pulled by two mighty Senche, was clattering around the corner and then in my direction. It provided a bit of noise to drown out others. He probably did not know I had caused the tears either, but would he figure it out?
I tried to stick my mind on what was ahead. Antonius. What could he possibly want? A mercenary contract, perhaps. The seemed shady to conduct with an outlaw super-soldier. I would not be surprised if I refused. But it was not like I could report him to the authorities. Or could I?
The corner was close.
And I made that turn. There was a more comfortable sight ahead, furry workers toiling in familiar fields. The workers probably heard the weeping, but at least outwardly, paid it no mind. Coming back to Antonius Sugar's Headquarters it, this time in a gray, tear dampened, thoroughly bruised Elsweyr, as the leader and a subordinate was nearly surreal. I was a much harder man now.
There were two guards visible. One was at the front door (through which I would enter) in full mithril armor, the other was among the stalks. The former looked to be Fighters Guild given his respectable suit. The other, supervising the workers and scanning the streets in alternation, was in leather, and looked like a local green boy, as much a token as a warrior. Both, if not more, were surely necessary; Working for a foreign mega-business in the open air had to be as dangerous. Deep inside the building, I could guess Antonius was safe from it all, though. He was spared the grit of the outside world. I had destroyed a home to get to this little meeting while the Imperial sat deep inside a corporate palace on a felt chair. The bastard better be cordial.
Still, I could not forget those were evil men who had been killed with the inferno too, whatever or who ever had been taken with them. They would have done some killing of their own if I had not incinerated them first. On net, I had probably saved lives, even discounting my own.
Whatever expression my face bore right now, the door guard could surely make it out at this point. But the Khajiit opened the door and gracefully beckoned me in, softening my previous bitterness a little. What was presented was a narrow hall, window lit with hardwood floor and a second guard (an Orc) sitting upon a sturdy wooden chair, next to a flower pot.
I stepped in and, perhaps courtesy of the polite welcome, rubbed my feet on the welcoming mat. The Orc looked over, but his eyes showed only malaiyse, before he went back to the drink I now noticed was in his hand. Just as well.
I got off the mat while Ah-Marz imitated my procedure and the door closed behind us. The directions were simple, unlike the rest of this afternoon, so I saw the corner we needed to turn. Then it was time to confront Mr. Moneybags himself and see what he could want with a cabal of magical visionary outlaws.
When my subordinate ceased, I began heading forward, finally going to see the man who should not have even known about our top-secret location. I had nearly been pegged with a bolt for this.
Turning the corner, it was no mystery where to find the boss. The door straight ahead bore a bronze plack, and yet another hired blade, an unarmored Imperial with slick black hair and arms as thick as tree trunks. It seemed rather arrogant of Antonius to keep most of his guards inside while his little workers toiled exposed to the volatile city streets.
What would the noble himself look like, I wondered passing the uniform doors on the left and right. The name Antonius sounded slightly familiar, but it definitely was not this Antonius who I was thinking of.
As I got close to the office entrance, the intimidating Imperial reflexively turned to tap the door with his knuckles. "Mr. Antonius," he called, revealing a counter intuitively effeminate voice, "your guests are here. Are you prepared?"
"Yes, tell them to come right in."
The burly biceps stepped aside. Time to find out why Kastav Antonius felt himself in need of the services of renegade super-soldiers. My prediction was that I would not like it. I opened the door.
The first thing I noticed was jarring! An undead skeleton standing by his side! I knew necromancy was legal in Elsweyr, but had not expected to see it used by a respected Cyrodiil nobleman! I had never bought the arguments that necromancy was evil, but it was still such a brash display.
"Ah, my apologies son. I didn't know you'd be bringing company." Antonius himself, a man of chin length, wavey brown hair and a dark, rich outfit said behind his mohagony desk. "Avita," he addressed his grotesque servant, "would you kindly bring that little chair over here and set it in front of the desk?" I thought his little pet would be the subject of his first apology. The clacking bones got to work, nothing I had ever witnessed before.
He looked back at me. "I'm sorry if my little servant unnerves you, son." I did not know if 'unnerves' was the right word, but it did nearly my skin crawl to be waited on by human remains. "It's just difficult to find reliable labor here that won't rob you out of house and home."
And, speak of the devil, she came back and placed the chair down next to mine. The creepiest thing I've ever seen. I would let the Argonian have that one. The servant began walking again, presumably back to her place. I saliently waited for 'her' to clear away. Then I took my seat. Ah-Marz took the adjacent. Maybe I was putz for leaving him the other, but right now was time to focus on our strange inviter.
The brunette extended his hand. "Kastav Antonius." I only just realized we had not been greeted officially. Was shaking hands sitting down proper? Regardless, I accepted. It was hardly the most jarring occurrence today. "The pleasure is all mine."
He had eyes a dull green, with a pipe and coaster on his desk as well as a little wooden bird. And, of course, the standard ink and quill, and a modest stack of papers. Behind him hung tapestries, local design.
" I heard some ruckus outside. I hope the trip over here wasn't too...inhospitable." It softened me a bit to hear him mention that.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," I replied dryly. I did not want to get into the darkness behind those words. Then, sort of antsy about the subject, I added "I thought your office was in the tower."
"I have two rooms to call my own here, Mr. Fidelis. The chamber two floors above is where I keep my bed and watch my workers...and get a little work done on occasion. But this is where the lion's share of my labor gets conducted."
Satisfactory answer. Not really an important question though.
Kastav folded his hands. "Now, son, I'm sure this invitation came as a bit of a surprise to you." No kidding. "But I assure you, you won't regret attending." He paused for a second, adjusting his collar. "There's a lot of talk about you around here, son. Rumors are you've been in a bit of a...low spirit recently." That was an interesting example of local gossip. I suppose it was true. When was the last time I was in high spirits about Elsweyr? Before I could interjected, he added, "I understand it may be hard to keep a jolly disposition seeing what is going on here in this sunny city, but I assure you your work is appreciated."
He was buttering me up...where was he going with this?
"Here's why I brought you here." The grand moment of truth. "Your work in Elsweyr has been very profitable to me. Anyone who keeps the streets safe and clean is an aid to my business. But I understand keeping high spirits might be a bit of a challenge, given the circumstances." He was trying to get this out nice and slow.
He went on. "I think it's high time someone compensate you for your efforts."
Wow! Oddly, that did not sound sinister at all. I was a bit taken aback.
I felt guilty at my previous assumptions. Maybe a bit of Fourth Era cynicism had leaked into me too.
He continued. "I am willing to be very generous. A stable and free Torval should allow me to hold a fruitful business here until the end of my days. If you stay here and fight, see this through, son, there's be twenty-five-thousand gold coming your way. All its written in contract right here, son. All you need do is sign."
Twenty-five thousand. That was more than I had received for going into the heart of Black Marsh.
Yet oddly I did not feel very enthusiastic for the offer.
Wealth. The spectre had so often chased in the past did not have much of an appeal to me now, oddly. It just seemed...worthless. Not that I was ready to turn down twenty-five thousand Septims, but...
I replied sardonically, "You, a high profile businessman, are willing to strike a deal with a war criminal?" Did not he expect some fallout?
"People like me have a way of slipping out of sticky situations, son," he said cockily. "I have too many friends in high places for things to go sour." An unpleasant reminder of how the world worked. But it was what it was. I could at least get some cash out of it.
Yet if I failed here, found no redemption for how I had disgraced the legion, all it would do is make me burn brighter when I wanted to shrink into obscurity. If I succeeded, I would have everything I wanted out of life. And, making this deal, I might lose something...something that was with me right now...
"No deal, Antonius." The words almost seemed to make the air quake, the anticipation dropping a level in a moment of sealed choice and morality.
The Colovian, of course, looked surprised. "Why not, Mr. Fidelis? I think the terms I've outlined are very generous." Indeed, it almost surprised me to feel this way, but...
I took a deep breath. "The people in Torval need to know I'm fighting for them. I'm sorry, Mr. Antonius, but you can keep your money." He kept his coin, I kept my image. This may have felt somber, but it was a win-win.
He looked a bit taken a back, and softly replied, "Son-"
Our attention was snatched by the sound of moderately distant screams, vocal cacophany, smashing wood, and thunder footsteps. I shot up from my seat.
