Note: on currency.
1 gold = 1 drake, or 1 gold piece
100 drakes = 1 Septim
Example: an item that costs 125 gold costs one and a quarter Septim.
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Chapter 5:
Impressions of the Wicked
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Three days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar
West-Northwest of Windward Ruins
Balthi the Blade (no relation)
It was the beginning of spring, which meant one thing for Dawnstar: Balthi was coming to kidnap some of them, so his gang could ransom the poor souls.
Balthi himself never thought about getting caught; he'd been kidnapping fat-assed housewives and bratty children from the town for the past five years. Between the Dwemer sword on his hip, which he knew how to use, and the boys and girls he brought with him to take a few people from the snowberry bushes on the west end of Dawnstar…
Well, the amoral Breton smirked, it would just be another year, another group of people to ransom back to the town. Plus, it looked like there was a new girl in the bushes: a one-armed, long-legged beauty who smiled and laughed with the other women, children and their three guards. The group didn't know Balthi was near, all of them gossiping and playing while knocking snow off the plants and leather sheets that acted as buffers against the north wind.
Soon, he'd be hearing that voice as the tall girl writhed under him. But first, the guards had to die, and the children and women would need to be bundled away – to the Dwemer ruin the rest of the warband was stationed, three miles south – before reinforcements could pursue.
Not an issue, Balthi figured, tapping the hilt of his sword. No one'd managed to catch them in the past five years, and that wasn't likely to change. Jarl Skald was an ice-brain, as the Nords called their village idiots. He'd pay the ransom, the women and children would be sent back – though if some were a little worn out, that was just a matter of course – and the Brass Bows Warband would be fed and paid, as well as keep the other bandit groups out of the Pale.
The last was just good business. Like Imperial taxes.
"Right," Balthi grinned at the nine boys and girls he'd brought, including a mage deserter from the Legion, "We go in, stick the guards, grab who we can and knock out any who make a fuss, then book it back to base." No sense killing anyone; that'd put the Jarl in a mood to murder, rather than pay.
"Don't look like they got much coin on 'em," Salwa, a Redguard, scratched his chin and squinted through the bright winter sun at the bushes, and the people moving in them, "Peasants."
"Doesn't matter how much coin they've got, but whether or not the Jarl can pay to get 'em back before his people riot," rasped their Dunmer rogue, Callidia, with a savage grin; then she licked her lips, "That redhead boy, there, is mine."
"I'll take the black-haired lady with one arm," Balthi claimed, before any of the others could; so what if he got ribbed a little?
They'd see, once those fine pale legs were pointed skyward and shaking. He doubted the Jarl would pay for her, as she was a useless cripple, so Balthi might be able to keep the slender thing until he got tired of her; and if she was ransomed? He'd send her back with a child in her belly, so she wouldn't ever forget him.
It wouldn't be the first time he'd done that either.
A moment later, they broke cover and ran low toward the snowberry fields, weapons drawn and spells ready, the archers taking aim to skewer the guards where they stood.
And then the wasps started stinging.
Nug, the only Orc in the group, was the first, getting one in his ear; the burly greenskin grunted at first, then started screaming as more of the inch-long black pests made their displeasure known, but by then, the entire group, Balthi included, were fighting for their lives against a swirling swarm of black stingers. None of the archers even got a shot off, their hands stung before their shafts could be loosed!
It was over in seconds. Balthi could barely see through his puffed-up eyelids, but he couldn't miss the mage setting himself on fire and preparing a bigger fire spell between his hands; before the moron could set them all ablaze, or Balthi could do more than wonder who the fuck kicked a wasp nest, the wasps pulled away.
And an arrow sprang from the mage's forehead. He crumpled like a dropped sack of potatoes, spells dying before he hit the ground.
"DROP YOUR WEAPONS NOW!" through tears and pain, Balthi found his band surrounded by fifteen pissed off guards brandishing weapons…
Hisssss….
And he was looking into the horrible face of a drooling Chaurus Hunter; if he hadn't spent his past years in a Dwemer ruin, he wouldn't have known what the things were. Balthi could probably take the green-eyed beast…
Its five snarling, snapping brothers, and the swirling, buzzing swarm of wasps that surrounded them? And the guards on top of those?
His sword slipped from his fingers, a defeated moan passing Balthi's lips as his fellows did the same.
How did it happen, Balthi the Blade wondered as he watched Callida's head fall into a basket not even an hour later; how had someone other than the Falmer tamed the Chaurus?!
As he was frog-marched to his – deserving – fate, Balthi saw her, out the corner of his eye. The one-armed woman from the fields.
The largest Hunter, a yellow-eyed horror, was next to her. She was petting it, smiling and blushing at something another woman was saying… one who looked familiar to Balthi… apparently thanking the cripple.
Balthi didn't have time to worry or wonder on the sight, as he was dead seconds later.
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Ten days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar
Crags south of the junction near Dawnstar, in a canvas blind
Dark Brotherhood Acolyte Fedura
It was a fine day to die.
The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the laughter of children drifted up to Fedura's ears. Over near the ruin, a spriggan was peeking out and examining the butterflies that swarmed amongst the flowers, though it kept a wary distance, as a pair of Chaurus stood between it and the group of village youngsters out for playtime.
The parents were further away, in the company of a Priest of Mara and a small Chaurus Hunter; the adults were preparing what looked to be festival decorations, the Hunter handing small pieces of chitin to the crafters.
The early afternoon was warm, and all the world seemed radiant and peaceful.
Fedura rubbed her hands together to warm them up, and lifted her strung Elven bow. Heart's Day was six days away, hence the feeling of festival present in the voices coming up to her hidden ledge; unfortunately for the soon-to-be revelers, they would be one participant short.
For Fedura would soon send one of their number to Sithis.
Her mark was Khepri, the one-armed woman in the white-blue tunic and fur-lined brown coat, who walked with the children and told them of butterflies, a radiant smile on her face, black hair pulled over her right shoulder in a simple loose braid, a small Chaurus perched on the left clicking its mandibles as small hands scratched its hide.
It was disgusting, to see someone so apparently kind and delightful, consorting with those horrid beasts. But that was why Astrid chose Fedura for this mission; the Dunmer woman hated the Chaurus, nearly as much as the Falmer, due to an incident in her youth, when the fell creatures raided her refugee family.
The payout only sweetened the deal for the Beekeeper's death, pun not intended; sixty Septims for a lone woman's life wasn't unusual, in the case of the Brotherhood's more wealthy clientele, but in the case of Fedura's target…
Planting a knife in the woman's back wouldn't work, nor was killing Khepri in her sleep a viable option; the Beekeeper was constantly in the company of at least one Chaurus, and could stir up all manner of insects, should she require reinforcements. If that was not enough, the local guards were always watching the woman, seeing Khepri as an early warning signal against trouble.
In this case, it mattered not; Fedura was out of Khepri's range. The Beekeeper would only know of her killer's presence when she felt the bite of the arrow. By then, Fedura would be long gone; she had no desire to see what the Chaurus would do, with their master dead. Likely turn on the townsfolk, but that wasn't the assassin's problem. The job came first. If the people of Dawnstar were so stupid as to allow someone to keep those horrid beasts nearby, they deserved whatever happened when that someone died.
Plucking the sheath off the poisoned glass arrowhead, Fedura nocked it as Khepri stood and waved some of the children away to their parents; as the little brats darted off, the woman's gaze turned to smile serenely at the roadside ruin, where the spriggan was staring back stoically. The nature avatar held Khepri's gaze for a moment, before retreating into its lair, a few butterflies perched on its bark-like flesh.
Seeing her chance, Fedura took aim, lining up her shot with Khepri's chest as the woman turned with a visible sigh; the Dunmer assassin whispered, "Hail Sithis," let her vision tunnel down the shaft as she prepared to fire…
And Khepri looked straight into Fedura's eyes.
The assassin didn't hesitate; she let the arrow fly.
A glob of Chaurus spit knocked it from the air right as it left her bow.
The next thing Fedura knew, she was lying spread-eagle on her front, arms and legs pinned by strong claws, a chittering hiss and buzz coming from the fell creature that pounced from behind and knocked the assassin from her blind. Turning her face to one side, Fedura's heart stuttered in fear at the sight of the massive Chaurus Hunter with yellow eyes, whose angrily snapping mandibles were inches from her face!
How?! All her observations said Khepri couldn't sense beyond a quarter mile, and Fedura was a third away from the field! But Fedura wasn't done yet; Fergus had taught her the Flame Cloak spell. All she had to do was…
More hisses came from around her, along with the bitter scent of the Chaurus' acidic spit. Fedura was surrounded by ground-bound Chaurus, all of them ready to splatter her with their spit should she make one wrong move. She'd been caught! Her! A Dark Brotherhood assassin-
The crunch of snow came from the direction she'd been facing, a moment ago. Someone was walking toward her.
"Well, Skitter, what have we here?"
Fedura looked. She immediately wished she hadn't.
All the Brotherhood's intelligence said Khepri was a pacifist, a retired, crippled veteran from some other shore, who was more interested in starting her own business and playing with her horrid creatures than fighting.
The woman's cold, calculating eyes, her noble bearing, her determined scowl… it was like looking into the face of a wrathful Daedra.
Fedura tried to work her tongue against the false tooth in her mouth; she didn't want to be eaten. But her tongue felt numb, her mouth full of Red Mountain ash, at the fear Khepri's gaze invoked in the Dunmer woman.
Khepri stopped in front of Fedura, ten paces away, the little beast on her shoulder hissing at the prone killer; a click of the woman's tongue silenced the bugs, and then the dark-haired woman looked at Fedura like she was an ant.
"I don't suppose you're willing to tell me who sent you, assassin of Sithis?"
Fedura remained silent, still trying to work the tooth free.
"Hm," Khepri knelt, and drew a boot dagger; one of the other beasts pressed Fedura's right hand into the snow until she was forced to splay it, "Well, in that case, I have a message for your group's leader. If you'd be so kind as to pass it along?" And the insect controller knelt next to Fedura's right hand and smiled at the Dunmer.
…she… wasn't going to kill her?
Khepri must've noticed something in the assassin's eyes, for she nodded kindly before her face went flat, her gaze and tone cold as the Void as she spoke, "I dislike killing needlessly, and I am aware that your organization provides a disdainful yet necessary service. Killers for hire have their uses, I know this too well; I may be retired, but I am neither innocent or stupid. However, what you just tried to do was incredibly foolish, assassin. Yet I am in a good mood, so I'll let you live, and in return for your continued life, you will bring a message to the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, whoever they are.
"Tell your leader this, assassin: whatever they are being paid, it is not enough to justify a repeat of this foolishness. Leave me in peace, leave Dawnstar in peace, and let me enjoy my quiet retirement… or I will come out of retirement, briefly, to find your Brotherhood's redoubt, and drown both you and your compatriots on dry land before salting the earth where you lay. Oh, you may run," Khepri held up the steel boot knife, its sharpened edges glinting in the light of the sun, the sound of crickets, cicadas, and bees coming from all around them, drowning out the distant happy laughter of the villagers.
"The Brotherhood may try to run, to hide, but I will find you. There is no distant sanctuary, no far-flung waste, no blighted crevice, where I cannot find you. The insects of Black Marsh, of Elsewyr, of Valenwood, Morrowind, Summerset and all the corners of Tamriel… they are mine to command.
"I extend the hand of mercy only once, servant of the Night Mother."
Khepri cut off Fedura's right thumb and index finger, and fed them to the Chaurus Hunter on her back. Never did those terrible green eyes break their cold gaze; to the assassin's credit, she only whimpered a little as she pissed herself.
The bloodied knife was held before Fedura's eyes.
"Do not mistake my kindness for pacifism."
The fell woman, who was surely a daughter of Lorkhan or some other eldritch monster, stood and walked back ten paces, then addressed the Chaurus on Fedura's back, "Let her up."
The creature did. Fedura surged to her feet and healed the flesh on her now-useless hand; the Chaurus around her chittered and hissed, clacking claws and drooling their acidic spit.
Except the yellow-eyed one; it simply stared, watching for any hostile move, tense and ready to tear her apart.
"Remember what I told you, and please pass it on, lest your brothers and sisters suffer for your poor memory retention. You have five minutes to get out of my range, assassin." Khepri told her coldly, her terrible servants chittering and buzzing along with her words, "I suggest you start running."
Fedura didn't need to be told twice. She bolted, tears of shame and terror flowing down her face.
She didn't stop running until she arrived at her camp near Fort Fellhammer, three miles away. After crying herself to sleep while cradling her ruined dominant hand, she returned to the Sanctuary.
"She said that, did she?" Astrid's question was clearly rhetorical, but Fedura nodded, not looking up from her ruined hand.
With a sigh, the blonde-haired leader of the Dark Brotherhood rubbed her temple and asked her assembled family, "Does anyone else think they can take Khepri down?"
No one replied for a moment, then Babbette piped up dryly, "I really don't want to test someone with that kind of perception, especially if they've earned the respect of the spriggans. And the Chaurus, of course."
"For how much the client is paying us," scoffed Nazir, folding his arms, "I'd sooner take a Falmer as my wife, than fuck with someone like that. Plus I'm allergic to bees."
A humorless chuckle rippled over the gathering, Fedura's hollow voice among them.
In the end, Astrid shrugged, "Well, I'll send our client a demand for more money; they can either pay us five hundred Septims or they can try with the Morag Tong."
"Yeah," laughed Gabrielle, "the Morag Tong aren't about to assassinate someone like her either. Too many chances for good potions ingredients and chitin; more profit in keeping her alive, than carrying out the contract."
"True," nodded Astrid, before she knelt before Fedura; the leader took her Dunmer subordinate's hand, and looked her in the eye, "We're keeping the other sixty Septims, though. Our brave sister needs a new hand."
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Seventeen days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar
Dawnstar
Glothun the Ghostbeard
Glothun thought himself a businessman. Arguing that opinion usually got the offender killed.
For ten years, he'd been shaking down merchant vessels and raiding settlements from his base, an island deep in the Sea of Ghosts. His pirate gang were known for not taking more than their share, for allowing ships to leave with minimal casualties; if the captain of Glothun's target was smart, they'd stand down and let his boys and girls take the choicest bits from their holds.
If they weren't smart… well, the Sea of Ghosts was a dangerous place to sail, wasn't it? Ships went missing all the time, what was one more, going down with all hands?
Occasionally, he'd take a job from one of the rich landlubbing merchants living in Skyrim, knock over one of their competitor's cargoes for a nice bonus of food, or coin, or a pretty exotic thing. Not that the last was in short supply; in ten years, Glothun had bedded each of the races of Tamriel, both captured sailors and career slaves. He had a certain fondness for Altmer; for all their haughtiness, they were easy to turn into mewling, wanting sluts. Two were waiting for him at home, readying his things.
Maven Black-Briar sent him a missive through the usual channels, not four days ago; she was willing to pay a Jarl's ransom in goods and gold, if his Ghostbeards raided Dawnstar. There was a caveat - there always was with Maven - the brewer wanted a crippled mage, Khepri the Beekeeper, dead.
Personally, Glothun knew he was getting too old for the life. Every winter, his joints ached more, the vision in his left eye became more clouded, old scars acted up and… well, if he was being honest, the pirate captain was fond of those Altmer girls, Lanelte and Aroliel, and they him. But the past winter wasn't all that great, at the base; gold could only buy things if you were near a city, and Glothun was certain Lanelte was pregnant.
Scalawag though he was, Glothun didn't want the pirate's life forever.
Luckily, that missive from Black-Briar coincided with another letter, from his cousin Shargam; the Zenithar-blessed coot actually bought a damn island, down in Elsewyr! Had a whole farm going, with hands on the fields and trade and could Gloth get his arse down there to spend his last days with family?
Well, how in the sixteen hells could he say no? A tropical island, his two women, and easy work for the rest of his days… and little ones he could teach to sail, maybe?
But Black-Briar already paid, and it was just a little crippled Beekeeper; still, Maven stressed that the woman could control Chaurus – bloody terrifying – but her swarms were limited, and it was rumored she needed line of sight. Easy enough to get around.
The Ghostbeards made their reputation by sending a fog – Jacobi, an old Redguard friend and mage, made it look easy, and the man was looking at a nice spot in southern Morrowind; Glothun would take him on his way to Elsweyr – rolling it out ahead of his ship, The Green Destiny. The landing boats would go out, all quiet like, and get the job done. It worked plenty of times, never steered Glothun wrong.
They would use it in Dawnstar, most of the boys and girls would hit the docks, knock over the East Empire trading post, and Glothun would deal with the main target with four volunteers. A quick in and out, and he'd be back with shiny trinkets for his girls in no time.
A pity he'd never see them again.
It started halfway to the shore: the bugs. Ticks and fleas and lice, everywhere.
His men and women were screaming before they hit the rocks; Glothun would've screamed too, but he was used to pain, and an Orsimer.
All he wanted, he knew, as ticks burrowed into some very sensitive places on his body, was Khepri's head.
As soon as the landing boat hit the rocky shore, he was off the boat and running for the bitch's house; he didn't care that his calves were bleeding badly, or that it felt like something was tearing at his armpits. Glothun was going to fuck that bug-controlling whore with his axe if it was the last thing he did!
The guards didn't even stop him, though one was on Khepri's porch. His blonde hair shone in the light of multiple candles, he held a steel mace, and his shield and gear all looked new and in good nick. The man was glaring at Glothun and working his hand over the haft of his mace…
The bitch was on the porch too, sitting there… drinking tea.
She looked small, frail, in a cloak of grizzly hide, sitting on a chair and looking right at Glothun with an expression of tiredness and pity.
In front of Glothun, on the rocky shore with him, was a massive Chaurus Hunter with yellow eyes, its long forelimbs tearing at the sands as it chittered and hissed in anger; others were waiting in the alleys, but Glothun didn't care. He was dead anyway.
"I don't suppose you'll surrender, sir?" called over Khepri, lifting a steaming cup of tea to her lips, adding, "I will plead for a trial, if you do." The guard scoffed aloud. Glothun scoffed in his mind, as so much of him was bleeding.
He wouldn't plead.
He wouldn't beg.
He knew who and what he was. His fate was the block.
He wasn't a coward.
Glothun would die on his feet, like a man.
He lunged for the Chaurus with a roar of rage and hatred, aiming to take something of Khepri's with him to Malacath.
His overhand blow missed, the Hunter weaving around the strike, pinning his axe in place with a hindleg and jabbing into Glothun's eye with a barbed forelimb.
The Chaurus was faster than Glothun. It didn't miss.