Liar
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o8
"Why did you lie to your sister?"
Xander looked across at L'laarzen. They were walking back to Whiterun, Cicero trailing behind them. "You mean, why didn't I tell her about Amaund and the contract?"
"Yes." The Khajiit said. "That was your intention beforehand. Surely now we know there are others who will attempt to kill the Emperor, the need is even greater, no?"
"Yes. However." Xander licked his lips. "Okay, I'm aware what I'm about to suggest is really dumb, so I'm going to explain it to you, and if you still think it's stupid, we'll go right back to Dragon Bridge and I'll explain everything to her."
"A wise caveat." L'laarzen inclined her head, smiling. "So why?"
Xander tried to think of how best to phrase his thoughts. "The Morag Tong…they have no reason to suspect that we're with the Brotherhood, do they?"
L'laarzen paused, then shook her head. "Khajiit sees not why they would. Vendil will have been suspicious to see me, certainly, but will have nothing beyond that."
"And even if they did know we were Brotherhood, they may not know that they were hired after we failed to pull through." Xander continued. "With the exception of some plucky adventurers getting a little too close to catching them..."
"They have no reason to stray from the original plan." L'laarzen finished, eyes lighting up with realisation.
"Meaning that we know exactly what they're going to do, and when they're going to do it." Xander nodded. "We can be ready for them and stop them in the act."
He glanced at his feet. "Octavia is a schemer alright, but she's also careful, and this whole business already has her on edge. If she thinks for a second that the Emperor's in more danger than usual, she'll have him back in the Imperial City faster than you can say 'rationalist', even if she has to kidnap him, steal a dinghy, and row him there herself. And she'll probably extract every other secondary target to witness protection while she's at it."
"And would that not be a good thing?" L'laarzen challenged.
"Depends." Xander met her eye. "You know their tactics, you know Vendil Ulen. Do you think that increased security or a different country will stop them carrying out the mission?"
It was L'laarzen's turn to pause and look away. Xander let her think, some part of him hoping she'd just say 'yes, that'll do' and let him shunt this responsibility to someone else.
"…It is an infinite game, then. That is the problem." She eventually replied. "The Morag Tong do not give up on a writ until it is either completed or cancelled. They would keep trying until the emperor was killed. How long could the Penitus Oculatus keep him under maximal security? He must rule his Empire, and so must make himself vulnerable. No, I think Vendil will succeed. And even if the whole Morag Tong was destroyed, might not another killer be hired?"
"We need to find the group behind the assassination." Xander agreed. "That means we need to catch the assassins, alive, and find out if they know anything."
L'laarzen hummed. Then nodded. "Agreed. I do not think this is stupid, Alexander. But it is risky. We will have one chance to successfully catch them, after which they will be onto us."
"Whatever happens next, we tell Octavia they're after the Emperor." Xander added.
"We do." L'laarzen stopped. They had reached the stables, and could see Shadowmere stood (incredibly conspicuously and perfectly still) by the side of the road. "So, what is next?"
A good question. Fortunately, Xander had spent the entire trip to Whiterun poring over the extended plan from Motierre.
"They're going to try and kill Gaius Maro. Commander Maro's son." He recalled. "Implicate him in the whole mess, along with a list of seemingly randomly selected politicians across Tamriel. The hope is that it will destabilise Maro, while also convincing him that the plot has been foiled, and that the Emperor is safe."
"Would Octavia allow that kind of complacency?" L'laarzen looked doubtful.
"Absolutely not, no. But if we stop them here, it won't matter." Xander bit his lip. "We have no intel on Gaius or his movements."
"Dragon Bridge is our best bet." L'laarzen offered. "That, or I could speak to the Thieves Guild."
"And on top of that, I need to get back to Winterhold." Xander groaned. "We completely failed our main objective in going to Solitude. That being, gather competent warriors and go back to kill the other assassins. They still have to die, ideally before we un-kill Titus Mede."
"How long do we have before Gaius is at risk?" L'laarzen asked.
"No set time. He could already have been attacked." Xander replied.
They looked at each other.
"Split up?" L'laarzen offered.
"Take Shadowmere." Xander directed, walking over to the horse. "I can call her back if I need her."
I can do that, right? He thought.
Of course. The Night Mother responded.
"Find Gaius, tail him, keep him safe." He continued, aloud. "I'll be with you as soon as I've dealt with the other two assassins."
L'laarzen nodded.
Cicero bowed, with a wide smile. "Simply say the word, Listener, and they will die."
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ
How many times did one have to go through a dungeon/encampment/fortress to become an expert at it?
Hjar felt she had probably achieved the title. 'Enter location, progress through location, slaughter everyone inside'. It was starting to get dull. And though Thongvor assured her they were at the right place, they'd met no cannibals so far. Just undead.
"On your left!" She called, slamming her mace through the skull of a draugr. To the side of her, Thongvor turned in time to catch the flailing weapon of a zombie on his greatsword, before bringing his weapon up and down again with a shout of exertion. His blade sliced cleanly through the draugr, leaving both sides steaming and crackling.
Hjar checked that the antechamber was now clear, before turning Thongvor and asking, "Silver sword?"
He looked back at her, expression guarded, as he wiped the residue off his blade. "Aye. Felt prudent."
"Fair enough." Hjar shrugged and turned away. "It only has special effects on me while I'm transformed. Before that, it affects me like any sword. By which I mean extremely well; I have Weakmarrow."
"That so?" Thongvor began walking after her. "You're very…forthcoming."
"I'm doing this to build trust, aren't I?" Hjar shrugged, not looking back at him. "Ask me anything, I'll be honest. Unless it's to do with me rutting with you, then you can save your breath."
"I'm not—" Thongvor cut himself off and sighed. Hjar couldn't help but feel a little vindictive pleasure, pushing onwards through the caves.
"…What's it like?" He asked, after a minute or so. "Being transformed?"
Not a question she'd expected. Hjar thought about how best to describe it.
"Raw." She eventually went with. "Every sense is heightened, every emotion magnified. It's hard to control your impulses because every impulse hits you like a sledgehammer. And the biggest impulse is the hunger. Unless I'm stuffed to bursting before I transform, I'm always starving after."
"And you've eaten people?" Thongvor continued.
Hjar grimaced. "As a wolf, aye."
"So, you wouldn't do it while you're in your Man-skin?"
"I would if I had to." Hjar admitted, after a moment's thought. She looked back at his disgusted expression, and clarified, "When I'm a Breton, I find the concept of eating someone much more repulsive than I do as a beast. Wolf-me doesn't really care, and it's a lot less fussy about snapping up clothing. But that's just a gut reaction. I'll eat what I have to to live."
"You do not hold the dead sacred?" Thongvor sounded almost as disapproving as he looked.
"I hold nothing sacred. If you hold something above judgement, you're setting yourself up for folly." Hjar turned forwards again. "The dead are dead. Where's the harm in snacking on what they left?"
Thongvor's arm reached out and snagged her shoulder.
"Then why are you here?" He demanded, voice cold. "Killing cannibals? Is it just as a service for my favour?"
Hjar repressed the immediate instinct to wrench his limb off her and sever it for the trouble, turning to meet his eye.
"There's a difference between me eating those I kill, and these nutjobs killing so they can eat." She answered. "Killing innocents is wrong. Killing innocents for a delicacy when you could easily eat animals or plants? It means they place no value in sentient life. As we are people who do, we have a responsibility to stop them."
She glanced to one side. "I have killed people I didn't mean to kill because I lacked control. That was awful, and I regret it, and I promise you now I will not let it happen again. But what these cultists are doing is worse than that, and I won't allow it." She looked back at him. "Remove the arm."
"And Thonar?" Thongvor pressed. "Was he the result of a lapse in control?"
"No. I decided to kill him when I was still myself." Had she just missed an out? Well, didn't matter. She was being honest. "I killed him because I judged him guilty. Him and Madanach and Igmund. But…I didn't think hard enough about what would happen afterwards."
"You killed your family because you thought he was wrong?" Thongvor confirmed.
"My only family." Hjar nodded, voice coming out as a rasp. "But…I hardly knew him. It could have been much harder."
"Could you have killed Margret for the same reason?" The Silver-Blood asked. His tone was cold, but Hjar noticed that he had actually used Margret's name. Progress over 'your girlfriend', at least.
"…I don't know." She replied, honestly. "Could you have killed Thonar?"
Thongvor's face tightened. But he let go of her arm, and after a moment, she kept walking.
They were silent for a few minutes, clearing out another cave-full of draugr without a word.
Then, Thongvor spoke up again. "Does the food you eat as a wolf stay in your stomach?"
Hjar blinked. "Aye. Body burns it fast though, especially transforming."
"What about inedible things? You said you sometimes eat clothes."
Hjar snorted. "Oh, they stay there. Some the body can deal with, some it can't, and the latter has to come out one way or another. You ever had to throw up a belt buckle?"
"Eugh. Remind me not to be a werewolf."
"Or a cannibal."
They shared a small chuckle, then moved on.
Margret had done a lot of things she didn't enjoy, in her Penitus Oculatus training and in later missions. Guard duty for dead people had, as a matter of fact, been one of them. But standing vigil in a Cyrodiil mausoleum was a much cleaner objective than…this.
Cidnah mine did not have the resources to properly prepare or inter those who had died in the fighting. The best Brother Verulus could do was isolate the bodies from the living to limit sickness. One large cave had been chosen for this purpose, and Hjar was currently leaning against one wall of the entryway. On the floor inside were rows upon rows of humanoid shapes, each covered in a sheet of some kind to protect their dignity and anonymity.
Twenty-eight, she had counted. For some, the sheets that covered them were stained with patches of dried blood. Others were clearly missing limbs. Flies buzzed through the air of the cave, enduring the choking air to try and get a snack of the available food.
The second most horrific thing was the knowledge that most of those killed hadn't been successfully brought here.
The most horrific thing was the smell.
"Repugnant, isn't it?"
Margret turned to see who had spoken. A Breton woman in studded leather, one of her eyes milky white.
"The stink, or the war?" Margret replied, casually. This wasn't the first person that night who'd come to see the dead.
"Both." The woman said, with a sad smile. "The former a consequence of the latter. Makes you wonder who's even benefiting from all this, doesn't it? Besides the crows."
"People wonder that about every war." Margret shrugged. "There's always some fancypants in charge getting something out of their people's blood."
She took a glance at the woman's body language, and clarified, "I can't let you in to see them, I'm afraid. If there's someone you wish to pay respects to, you'll have to get permission from Verulus, he's back in the main chamber."
"Oh, no, that's quite alright. You're doing an excellent job." The woman simply stood for a minute, looking through the aperture.
Margret let her, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
After a few more seconds, the woman spoke up again. "And you just have to stand here in the stench?"
"Yup." Margret said, dejectedly.
"Ghastly." The Breton hummed. "Still…I suppose one could come to enjoy it, given enough time."
It…didn't feel like a strange statement.
"Oh?" Margret prompted.
"Oh, don't get me wrong, the smell is putrid." The woman clarified. She took in a long breath through her nose, then exhaled through her mouth, smiling faintly. "But there's something exhilarating about it, isn't there?"
Margret responded almost automatically, taking a deep breath of her own. "I…I suppose."
"You don't need to be embarrassed about it." The woman chuckled. "It's a natural reaction. From children playing in mud to adults getting explorative in the bedroom. There's something inside us that takes pleasure in being filthy."
She took a step forwards, coming up beside Margret and looking deeper into the room. "Have you ever considered it?"
"Considered what?" Margret asked, head feeling a little hazy.
"Going further than a sniff." The woman smiled, sliding past Margret and further into the room. "Perhaps taking a bite. You're the guard, nobody would notice. Haven't you ever wondered what human flesh tastes like?"
And at that, something snapped into clarity.
"Don't need to wonder." Margret replied. "I've tried it."
"Oh?" The woman blinked. "You have?"
"Yes. As a wolf." Margret put a hand out in front of the woman, shaking her head to clear it and smiling. "That is some insidious magic you're weaving, Eola. But you do realise that they told me what you look like, right?"
Eola looked confused for a second. Then she snarled and reached for her sword.
Margret was faster, one hand snapping up from her waist to punch Eola right in the nose, the other hand reaching back to her belt to grab a dagger.
Eola stumbled back into the wall, got her sword up to parry the dagger, then was sent sprawling onto her back as Margret booted her full in the chest.
The cannibal produced a hate-filled glare, right hand tightening about her sword, while purple light manifested in her left.
It took Margret a split second to recognize the spell, and by that time she couldn't do anything but curse as Eola's body vanished in front of her.
Thrown daggers impacted the ground where she had been a moment later, but encountered nothing, not even when Margret swept them up and in a wide arc in front of her.
Invisibility spells left a small but noticeable shimmer in the air, and they didn't stop sound, Margret knew this. But in the dim light of the cave, that shimmer was impossible to spot, and with the way even her own feet in the dust produced loud echoes she couldn't make out the—
Feet in the dust—
Margret planted one foot on the floor of the cave and dragged it along, scuffing up a great cloud of rockdust.
The cloud billowed forwards through the cave and parted around a distinctly humanoid shape. A shape that made a distinctly cough-like sound.
That was enough for Margret. She flipped one knife round in her hand and threw it.
Eola jerked to the left, and it was enough to stop the blade impacting right in her breast. It lodged instead under her right shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain. The illusion rippled, then vanished, revealing her form once again.
"Hi there." Margret wiggled her fingers and smiled.
Eola started running.
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡ 8
Dulurza had enjoyed working with Octavia in the past. The woman was intelligent, competent, and just the right amount of insane. She had quickly learned what Dulurza was good at, and their plans to attack the Dark Brotherhood had kept that in mind, setting Dulurza loose to do what was best with her abilities.
But there was a difference between working with Octavia in a debatably legal sting operation…and working with her under active instruction from the Emperor and his private guard.
Dulurza had been tossed a black and red half-cape and buried in a dozen guidelines, regulations, codewords and protocols before she had even made into the headquarters in Dragon's Bridge. Octavia's switch from treating her like an ally to treating her like an asset had been so immediate it had almost given her whiplash; the Captain had hardly spoken to her directly, and what she had said had all been orders.
If I'd known this was coming, I might have insisted on staying with Elisif.
The only saving grace was a personable young man called Gaius Maro, the son of Commander Maro. Octavia had put him in charge of 'handling' Dulurza (she had literally said 'handling'), and he had done his best to keep her up to date with the whirlwind of new information.
It wasn't like she was being inducted into the organisation, he reasoned, so she just needed to know enough to understand what was going on until the threat was over.
There was a flaw in his reasoning.
Dulurza didn't think anyone understood what was going on.
"As glad as I am that we have asset four, we can't rely on it for the primary objective," Octavia complained, glaring at Commander Maro, "and I don't trust group two and six to maintain that with asset three, not with the prime's insistence on crafting all these ridiculous new side objectives!"
Dulurza leaned across to Gaius and muttered, "Was I meant to understand any of that?"
"Well I got two words in three, so I wouldn't worry." Gaius replied, frankly.
"Our job is to protect the Emperor, not imprison him." Maro retorted, his words at least making some sense.
"But you agree that what he's doing is—" Octavia tried,
"If the Penitus Oculatus has cause for concern over the Emperor's choices, I will raise them." Maro snapped back at her. "So when I return from doing so and give orders, I expect them followed. How fares the investigation?"
Octavia's jaw worked (another sign that the woman was tired, she never usually had tells like that) and she answered, "Poorly. We know we're after a small cell, probably less than ten men. They're not mingling with the populace, they're not living in-city, purchasing services, paying bribes. That limits their options but increases safety, and they've proven they can get a lot done with just blade and spell."
"What about Morrowind?" Maro asked. "Can we stop this at the source?"
"From what I've researched of the Tong, we can't stop this by talking." Octavia replied, looking down at the map. "There's a precedent for deals that stop writs, but only between the contractor and the victim, and we don't know who the former is."
"And dismantling the Tong?" Maro asked, as though he were asking her to fetch some water from a well.
"I could do it, but it would take time and it wouldn't stop this group." Octavia replied, just as frankly. "Though it might be necessary in the long run when we foil them…"
"Then save it for the long run." Maro stepped back from the table. "Find these killers, Octavia. Do whatever you need to. I'll keep the Emperor safe."
"Sir." Octavia saluted, then snapped her fingers at Gaius and flicked them towards the door. He rose from his seat immediately, and Dulurza (for lack of anything better to do) followed them both out into the waning sunlight.
"The Emperor's insane." Was the first thing Octavia said when the door closed behind them.
"Uh, isn't saying that treason? Or something?" Gaius asked.
"He's entirely too unphased in the face of his potential imminent murder." She continued, like she hadn't heard him. "So if he's not going to take the relevant steps, we will."
"We don't even know if he's a target." Dulurza spoke up from behind them both.
"Our job is to assume he is." Octavia barely glanced at Dulurza, turning to meet Gaius' eye. "We need leads, but we've got none, so our only recourse is taking shots in the dark. I want you sweeping our contacts in the adjacent holds. Morthal, Whiterun, Dawnstar."
"That's a long trip." Gaius warned.
"Then you'd best get a fast horse and get started." Octavia replied, impassively. "Try not to get eaten by a dragon, shot by a Stormcloak, or vice versa."
"I'll start packing."
"Good. I want you gone in an hour."
"And me?" Dulurza asked, crossing her arms.
Octavia met her gaze and sighed. "In all honestly, I grabbed you because I needed the muscle, not for your infamous detective skills. When we find them I want you with me, other than that, I don't care. Maybe accompany Gaius; he'll do fine with bandits but he's a bit of a wet towel by our standards."
"Heard that!" Shouted a retreating Gaius.
Dulurza grunted. "Well, glad to hear you pulled me away from my Jarl 'just in case'. I'll grab my things."
"Thank you, Dulurza." Octavia said, just before she could leave. Her face softened for a moment. "I mean it."
"Hmph. 'S fine." Dulurza waved, then turned away, moving to find where she'd stashed her own equipment.
That was, until she noticed a very familiar Khajiit peeking out from behind the stables.
L'laarzen was decked out in a full set of stealth gear and looked extremely serious. She made a beckoning motion with her head before disappearing behind the wall.
…Alright then.
L'laarzen leaned back against the wall of the stables and tried not to wipe her hands.
It wasn't the worst nervous tell (it certainly made less noise than tapping feet or fingers), but she'd rather not have to deal with the impulse in the first place.
Dulurza was surprisingly also very quiet in her approach, which L'laarzen supposed could be attributed to the muffled boots. The setting sun backlit the Orc as she walked round the side of the barn, then tilted her head. "L'aarzen. Happy to see you, surprised to be seeing you here."
"Likewise." L'laarzen decided to get straight to business. "Khajiit is here to stop an assassination."
Dulurza's eyes narrowed. "Whose? The Emperor's?"
"Hopefully it will not come to that." L'laarzen shook her head. "This one suspects the next victim is Gaius Maro."
"Him?" Dulurza looked almost personally offended at the notion. "What did he do?"
"Long story, Khajiit will explain later." L'laarzen looked around, shiftily. "She does not know when the attack will come but intends to remain hidden nearby until it does. You are trusted, you should know."
"It's a trap." Dulurza surmised. "And you want he and I to be bait."
"Maro is already bait, all that remains is when we choose to play our hand." L'laarzen moved closer to Dulurza. "They do not know about L'laarzen. Yet. She promises she will do everything in her power to keep the two of you safe. Do you trust her?"
"I do." Dulurza acknowledged, not looking happy about it. "Still, shouldn't we warn—"
Her gaze shifted to the ground behind L'laarzen, and she stopped to gesture at it. "Careful. Frostbite."
L'laarzen turned. She quickly spotted what Dulurza had seen, and understood why the warrior didn't look concerned.
Scuttling through the grass towards them was a small spider. Well, small by the standards of most frostbite spiders, at least. It looked entirely unobtrusive, the kind of threat either of them could kill without so much as breaking conversation.
Except for the fact that its shape didn't quite match that of Skyrim's natives, and that there was a dim red glow emerging from under its skin.
L'laarzen's heart went from quick to pounding inside of half a second, and her brain flashed through the concepts
Solstheim—
Vendil—
EXPLOSIVE—
And then she ran up to it, wound her foot up, and punted it as hard as she could.
Dulurza made a confused noise, the spider went flying a good two metres through the air—
Then there was a bang, and L'laarzen was hurled backwards as the spider burst into a ball of fire that scorched the grass and caused the stables to shake.
Dulurza caught L'laarzen before she could hit the ground, setting her on her feet and asking "What in the name of Malacath was—"
"Explo —ack, exploding spider!" L'laarzen coughed. "Get to Maro!"
She shrugged herself free as Dulurza nodded and started running, and moved the opposite direction towards the brushfire in the making…
Only to see over a dozen of the little critters crawling into the cracks of the nearest building's foundation.
L'laarzen barely had time to throw herself back behind the cover of the stables before the Penitus Oculatus outpost erupted in an explosion.
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ
Margret tore through the caves at a sprint, heaving musty air into her lungs and trying not to choke on it. Up ahead of her, Eola was clearly struggling. The cannibal hadn't had the time (or perhaps the magicka) to reapply her invisibility spell, and the wound left by Margret's dagger must be sapping at her strength.
Margret pushed herself harder, getting completely lost but staying hot on Eola's trail, hoping she wasn't about to be led into a small army of supporting cultists but determined to put another dagger in the psycho's back—
The cavern opened up in front of them. Eola tripped, stumbling and falling briefly out of Margret's sight. Margret jumped where Eola had fallen, getting her bearings and managing to slide down the steep incline her quarry had just tumbled on, preparing herself to keep chase and—
Oh, bugger.
Over fifty people stopped what they were doing and turned to look. Eola (now stumbling to her feet with one hand on her wound and a grimace on her face) had led them into one of the main chambers.
Huh. Wait, that's actually a good thing. Margret opened her mouth—
"Forsworn!" Eola beat her to it, pointing an accusing finger at her. "This Forsworn just tried to kill me!"
"What?" Margret gaped at her. "You lying bitch, I—"
"She was going for our honoured dead!" Eola gasped, looking very afraid and very very stabbed. "I tried to interfere, but she attacked me!"
It was then that Margret became aware of…quite a few things.
First: With the remnants of her old Imperial gear tattered and ripped (and nothing to replace it except for the stuff from Hjar's gang), Margret did look an awful lot like a Forsworn warrior. Eola, meanwhile, looked nothing unlike some of the mercenaries currently in this cave.
Second: Thongvor's association with the 'enemy' had not yet been told to the people. If Margret was a Forsworn, everyone in here wanted her dead.
Third: Margret was clearly, obviously the aggressor in this situation. And Eola had got the first statement in. Octavia said that the person who made the first accusation always had an advantage.
Fourth: Eola had mind control magic.
"She's lying!" Margret shouted. "She's not one of you, she's—" crap, should have said one of us—
"Forsworn!" One of the people shouted, and it was echoed multiple times as everyone in the cave started moving.
"Forsworn!"
"There's a Forsworn in Cidnah mine!"
The civilians started panicking, scrambling away from the commotion, while the fighters drew their weapons and started moving in around Margret.
She grimaced and dropped her hands to her weapons, Eola grinned a feral grin—
"ENOUGH!" The shout was accompanied by a burst of golden light that briefly outshone the torches, making everybody halt in surprise.
Brother Verulus stormed out from between two guards, robes billowing, restoration magic in his hands, eyes furious.
"Have you all taken leave of your senses?" He demanded, moving up to stand by Margret. "This woman is not your enemy! I employed her to protect our dead!"
His eyes narrowed, and he pointed at Eola, who suddenly looked a lot less comfortable. "She is the enemy! This heretic seeks to consume the bodies of your brothers in arms!"
There was a lot of confused muttering. The soldiers near Eola all started to back away from her.
"No! This is a misunderstanding!" Eola cried. "Please! If you would only give me the time I need to" (at which point she visibly gave up) "charge my magicka for an invisibility spell, then—"
"GET HER!"
Eola's hands flashed purple, and she vanished again, only to reappear moments later as Margret threw herself at her back, bearing her to the floor.
There was a scuffle, before Margret was able to get a knee on the cannibal's spine and an arm around her throat.
"Surrender." She bit out.
"Never!" Eola hissed.
"Hmph. Suit yourself." Margret whipped out her other dagger and buried it in the side of Eola's neck.
The cultist spasmed once, twice, and then went limp.
Interesting fact Hjar hadn't anticipated to learn that day about cannibals:
'Willingness to eat people does not correlate to ability to kill them.'
The cannibals of Reachcliff Cave had a secret back-entrance to their shrine that meant they didn't have to fight the draugr. When Hjar and Thongvor arrived in their inner sanctum, a dozen cultists set upon them with the ferocity of fanatics.
And the competence of civilians.
Hjar cracked her mace into the skull of one cannibal, then spun, drew Faolan's Redemption, and buried it through the gut of another. That one set alight with a scream, only to quickly be silenced as Thongvor finished off his own target and turned around to behead the burning man.
They paused…and found that that was it.
Hjar sheathed her weapons and leaned back against one wall, panting for breath. She had sprained her wrist tripping over a draugr body on the way in, but that was the only real injury she had taken in the entire confrontation. Now, she just felt vaguely sick.
"That's Banning." Thongvor grunted, gesturing to one corpse. "Trained dogs. That over there's Lisbet, from Arnleif and Sons' Trading. Nine Divines, she was a friend of mine…"
"They were just people." Hjar muttered. "Maniacs, aye, but…Gods, I wish we could have taken some of them captive."
"Might be hard for the people to believe." Thongvor nodded. "Hard for me to believe. How long was this going on under my nose?"
He looked truly shaken. Hjar could have mentioned the Forsworn conspiracy that had also happened under his nose…but decided that this probably wasn't the best time.
"Come on." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's see if we can find some identifying affects to bring back—"
"Oh? You expect to leave?"
The cave rumbled around them. Thongvor looked at Hjar with a panicked expression, but she just narrowed her eyes and looked up at the altar.
And here I was hoping I might get away without dealing with something like this.
"Namira?" She called.
"Indeed." Echoed the voice. It was feminine but grating; like a hagraven trying to sound seductive. "You filth dare to disrupt my worship? Slaughter my cult? Did you think there would be no consequences?"
"Oh, wonderful…" Hjar sighed. "Hi, Namira. Sorry for the inconvenience, but your cult was messing with my city. No hard feelings. There's nothing left for either of us here, but on the plus side, that means you'll never have to deal with us again!"
"Nothing for me?" Namira's words were echoed by a vicious cackle. "I quite disagree. For here the two of you are! Submit to me, or I will bring this cave down upon your heads."
The room around them rumbled again, rocks dislodging from the ceiling and clattering to the floor.
"Begone, Daedra!" Thongvor declared, impressively unafraid. "We will not submit to you! You have no more power here!"
Hjar's response was just as stubborn, if a little more relaxed.
"Molag Bal?" She asked.
"Greetings." Said her mace.
"Glad to hear from you. Hircine?" She checked.
I am here, champion. Declared her ring, continuing aloud, "Cease your threats against my disciple, Namira."
Thongvor gave Hjar a very concerned look.
"Hircine and Molag Bal, playing nice." Namira's voice simpered. "How adorable."
"You have no influence over our chosen, wench." Declared Molag Bal, with his usual tact. "Tuck your tail and run, 'Prince of Decay'. Or we will have her hunt down the rest of your covens."
Not what I promised, guys…
Namira laughed. Never a good sign."And how far does that protection spread?" She asked. "I may not be able to influence Hjarnagredda of the Reach. But I could ruin this handsome gentleman by her side. I could bring down a plague of decay, vermin, and squalor upon the city she so desperately cares for."
Hjar grit her teeth. Namira was likely overexaggerating her power. The influence of Daedra in the mortal realm was limited, limited further still with her cult disbanded and her shrine ransacked.
But did that mean she was helpless? Absolutely not. I do not want to guide the Reach while a Daedric Prince is Oblivion-bent on ruining it.
Time to change strategy. Xander had said that he could manipulate which part of a Daedra he was talking to with the right words; Hjar had done it herself with Hircine. Could the same be applied here?
"Is this not something to be celebrated?" Hjar spread her arms, walking forwards. "You are the goddess of filth, revulsion, decay. And look at what has become of your shrine!" She stamped a boot on the head of one cannibal to make her point, meriting a flinch from Thongvor. "Your disciples die in a frothing, glorious spectacle of base rage. And now they will lay together and rot before your altar, as a reminder to any who find it of your power. A fitting end, no?"
There was a pause. The shaking of the room relented, and Hjar clenched her fists, trying not to show visibly how concerned she was.
After a while, Namira spoke again.
"Your words ring true, daughter of the Reach. It is a beautiful mess that you have made of my domain. Perhaps I will allow this debacle to end here."
Hjar sighed in relief—
"But first." Namira continued. "The chaos must be…consummated."
Hjar's eyebrows went halfway to her hairline. "C—Consu-what now?"
"Feed." Namira's order thankfully shattered Hjar's first thought, but replaced it with something all the more sinister. "Choose one of my disciples and feast upon their flesh. Do this, and I will refrain from taking my revenge upon your people."
Hjar glared up at the altar. "That's not—"
"My champion will not submit to your orders, filth!" Molag Bal roared. "Make your assaults upon the Reach. They will be rebuffed, as will any who dare—"
"I'll do it."
Hjar's eyes widened. She looked left, and saw Thongvor staring up at the altar, eyes hard.
"Silver-Blood." She hissed. "You don't have to—"
"It is not you and yours who are in danger, Hjarnagredda." Thongvor interrupted her, raising a hand. His face was tense, his jaw locked, but nonetheless, "My duty is to aid my people. I will do what I must, no matter how unpleasant."
"Excellent." Namira's glee was palpable. "Well, do not delay. They will only grow rottener the longer you leave it. Or perhaps you would enjoy that…"
Thongvor stiffened, then turned back to the bodies. Hjar followed his gaze and knew what he was thinking.
All of these psychos are people from his city. He knew most of them. And now she wants him to…
She hardly made the decision consciously.
"Here."
He looked across to her, seeing one hand outstretched with a silver ring held between its fingers. "Is that—"
"The ring of Hircine." Hjar nodded. "You wanted to know what it was like to transform, right?"
He looked at her aghast, and she winced. "I can't save you from hating yourself afterwards. But I can at least make the process less unpleasant. If you're lucky, you won't even remember it."
Thongvor met her eyes. She tried to apologise with her gaze, but was fully aware that she may as well be offering the frying pan as an alternative to the fire.
What Thongvor thought of the offer, he didn't say.
But he took the ring.
Dulurza's ears were ringing, and her body throbbed.
She gasped, then coughed as her mouth was filled with ash and dust, and flailed to try and regain control of herself.
She was on the ground, covered by a few blocks of stone, a layer of soot, and one large wooden log that might once have been part of a roof.
Her eyesight was blurry, but she could smell fire.
Still coughing, she shoved the offending objects off herself and staggered to her feet.
She was in the middle of Dragon Bridge's main street. The Penitus Oculatus outpost was…gone. Or, more accurately, it was strewn across the road and buried into the adjacent houses. There were bodies in black and red scattered around, but Dulurza couldn't get a proper head count or even tell if they were alive. She didn't like their chances, though.
What in the name of…
The ringing in her ears was subsiding, replaced with the crackling of flames and the screaming of citizens. Those were just distractions; further down the road, she could hear clashing steel and a familiar voice. She took off at a stumbling run.
She spotted Octavia first. The woman was trapped by a trio of wooden beams, with her leg bent at an odd angle and one hand trapped across her torso. With her other, she was desperately hacking at the wood atop her with a summoned blade. The weapon was sharp, but she had no leverage to build up force for the swing.
Dulurza charged in, looking for the best place to help, but Octavia immediately started waving her away.
"N—No! Stop—gah—get them!" It didn't sound like Octavia was breathing properly. She pointed with her sword, and Dulurza looked up to see the source of the fighting.
Maro (Commander Maro; Gaius was nowhere to be seen) was beset by a pair of figures in chitinous armour. Morag Tong. One of Maro's arms was hanging limply by his side and he appeared horribly burned, but he was still shouting hoarsely with rage and swinging his great-sword wildly with one hand. Also in the fray were a set of (presumably) illusions cast by Octavia, their appearances shifting between her, Maro, and the assassins themselves in an attempt to cause confusion.
It didn't last. Before Dulurza could even skirt Octavia's trappings to help, the smaller assassin ran straight through an illusion to grab the real Maro's blade arm and yank it backwards.
The larger Tong didn't hesitate. He darted forwards with a pair of daggers, burying one in Maro's heart and another in his throat.
Octavia screamed, Dulurza tensed, and Maro collapsed.
The assassins exchanged brief words Dulurza didn't catch, before looking over at her, then taking off at a run towards the nearby woods.
Dulurza grit her teeth, then turned back, reaching down to get a grip on the first of the beams on top of Octavia.
"What are…you doing?" Octavia croaked. Her face was going purple. "Get…after them…"
"You're dying." Dulurza grunted back, simply.
With a heave, she was able to lift the first beam up enough to shove it sideways, sending it thudding to the road.
Octavia gasped in relief, but then glared up at Dulurza with eyes marred by soot and tears. "Ignore me! They can't be allowed to—"
"I can't catch them." Dulurza set to work on the next of the logs, even as the shouts of nearby guards indicated help was on the way. "But there's someone who can."
8
L'laarzen tore through the woods, eyes flicking rapidly to keep her from crashing in the gradually dwindling light.
Her target was a scant few metres in front of her, darting away between the trees. His boots, like hers, were muffled.
"VENDIL!" She shouted. "STOP!"
He stopped.
The assassin skidded to a halt in the underbrush, turning to face her with a dagger in each hand. She stopped as well, not two metres away, before pulling down her Nightingale scarf and hood.
A few seconds passed before he, too, reached up and pulled down his outfit's goggles and mask, revealing a face she'd only gotten a brief look at in Solitude.
Vendil Ulen looked much the same as L'laarzen remembered. More tired, perhaps, the bags under his eyes more pronounced. And in the shades of her night vision, obscured by the clouds of frost emerging from his rapid breaths, his red eyes looked a lot colder than they had before.
"So it was you." He uttered with a pained expression. "What are you doing here, L'laarzen?"
"Stopping your mistake." L'laarzen's heart was pounding, but she was just about able to keep her voice steady. "Khajiit knows you are used to Morrowind politics, but the Emperor is not a man to be assassinated on a payment. Give up and provide evidence on your employer, you will likely be spared."
"What?" His face wrinkled in what appeared to be genuine confusion. "That's what you're here about? The writ?"
"I take it Mirri is your accomplice?" L'laarzen blanked his words, looking around to try and spot the Dunmer woman. "I'd recognise her little pets anywhere. That's two of the old core, how many—"
"No, shut up!" Vendil suddenly snapped, swiping one dagger through the air and then pointing at her. "You don't get to do what you did and then show up talking about business!" He looked utterly furious, his face tense and his teeth clenched. "Where did you go, L'laarzen? What happened?"
Now it was her turn to grit her teeth, hoping that he couldn't see how her arms were shaking.
"L'laarzen…had a change of heart." She said.
"A…change of heart?" He repeated, expression flickering between rage and confusion.
"The Morag Tong are killers." She continued, reciting the facts she was confident she could say safely. "L'laarzen could no longer justify the death of others for her own gain, so she left."
Vendil spat out a Dunmeri curse word that essentially meant 'nonsense', making her flinch. He continued "Try again. The Tong do let you retire, L'laarzen, there's bloody paperwork for it. You know this, we discussed this, remember? Because we had money, and we had Just Been Married!"
L'laarzen's eyes flicked down to his extended arm. To the golden band there, glinting on the ring finger of a hand clutching a knife.
"Khajiit was…she…" L'laarzen's brain wasn't bringing the standard excuses to mind, "She was no longer able to endure it, Vendil, Khajiit needed to go, she—"
"And you didn't so much as talk to me?" He glared. "Was this planned? Or did you just run on a whim? Mephala, but if it isn't like you. Doing things for yourself, never giving a damn what I might think, tell me, how far did you get before you even considered what I would do when you left? I thought you'd died, woman! It took me a month to learn you'd left the country, and not been ambushed and left in a dust dune!"
"And you were rather prompt after that in taking a writ on the ruler of Tamriel!" L'laarzen shot back, resorting to the verbal attack just to try and move pressure away from herself. "You have not changed. What should I care for the feelings of a killer?"
"We're both killers!" Vendil shouted back, visibly outraged. "Even if you've kept your head in the sand the last few months, and you—" He scoffed, almost laughing. "I don't believe this. I don't. You run off into the night on our thrice-damned honeymoon and then you have the gall to —"
"Vendil!" That shout was not L'laarzen. Mirri, her own mask also down, ran up next to Vendil from behind and grabbed his shoulder. "She's distracting you! The men in Dragon's Bridge are rallying, we need to go!"
Vendil looked back at Mirri, then again at L'laarzen, then over her shoulder.
He grimaced. "Alright. You want to leave me so badly? Fine. Vanish into the woods. But if I ever see you again, I will gut you like a Netch."
With that, he turned and ran into the woods.
L'laarzen waited until she was sure they were gone before collapsing to her knees and sobbing.
Welp, another long one.
Best Cat is sad, so break out the pitchforks. Though from what Vendil says, there's a very real case for it being her own fault. I hadn't watched any of the John Wick movies when I first came up with L'laarzen's backstory, but I recently have, and am noticing some very real similarities. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill a pet dog. Just, the authority figures of supporting characters.
Meanwhile Hjar is getting her first taste of difficult choices. Cannibalism: Your best bet for bonding with your mortal enemies. Why the hell does the Reach have so many goddamn Daedra? It's really the Tatooine of Skyrim.
(Tatooine, of course, is the Falkreath of Star Wars. Or perhaps the Riften. There's a lot of truly awful cities in Skyrim.)
Next Time: Someone gives a lecture, someone gets found out, and someone sleeps for an extended period.