That night passed in a haze of unremembered dreams and when I awoke my body felt different. I was stronger, faster, more agile, and bit by bit, I was becoming more than I had ever been in my previous life. I awoke upon the bed of the dead necromancer, shaken into consciousness by Umbra, whom had sat at the table, guarding me while I rested. The fact that I woke up was, in fact, quite the success, given my disastrous first day of freedom. I sincerely hoped that this was the turnabout I'd been waiting for.
I stayed in those ruins only long enough to nab a few books on conjuration from the shelves of the dead necromancer, and a few glowing crystals from his desk that were labelled 'Welkynd Stones.' I had no clue what they were used for, but they radiated magicka, so I put a few in my pack before Umbra and I started on our merry way to Weynon Priory.
Umbra, as it turned out, was an excellent bodyguard, and as we worked our way to the northwest, following the road that ran around the Imperial City, we encountered our first robber, (last night events with the bandits notwithstanding). It was a khajiit highwayman in leather armor who spoke in a raspy voice and carried a curved iron dagger the likes of which I'd rarely seen in Cyrodiil. His tail twitched aggressively, and he looked ready to pounce.
"Your money or your life!" the highwayman purred.
Umbra moved so fast I didn't even have time to register she had gone from my side. There was a flash of black, the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheathe, and she appeared on the other side of the bandit, her sword sliding back into place as if she had never drawn it. The khajiit's body crumbled to the ground, and a shadow came over me as something fell from the sky. Extending my hands, I caught whatever had almost fallen upon me. It took a second for a horrified cry to escape my lips as I found myself gazing into the still twitching eyes of the highwayman. Umbra had cut the robber's head clean off.
I threw it down and stifled a gag before I noticed a large coin purse that was hanging about the khajiit's waist. I stooped and grabbed it, feeling a tad better as I lengthened my stride to catch up with Umbra, who had been continuing down the road as if nothing happened.
After that, we met a brown grizzly bear that probably would've torn me to pieces had I been travelling on my own. The bear lumbered across the road, larger than life and twice as deadly. Umbra pierced it with a venomous stare, and the bear hurried and waddled back into the underbrush from whence it had come. As strong and fearless as she was, it seemed to me that Umbra's only weakness was conversation. No matter what I asked of her, she replied with minimal words in a flat tone, and did not share any details of her life.
"So, Umbra, where are you from?"
"A small town."
"Where?"
She heaved a put-upon sigh. "Why do you wish to know?"
Her expression was guarded, as was her tone, and her distrust of me was clear. I stared into her intensely dark eyes, wondering just how thick the walls that she had erected over the years were. At the rate we were going, I'd know absolutely nothing about her by the time I'd finished my quest to save the world.
"Just making small talk."
"I do not make small talk," she informed me coldly, "we should stay focused on the task at hand."
"So we should! Speaking of which, would you carry this for me?"
I stopped for a moment to reach into my pack, digging around within its depths for a second before I found what it was I was looking for and pulled it out.
It was the Amulet, and I held it out for Umbra to take as easily and carelessly as I would hand her a mug of ale.
"You… wish me to carry the Amulet of Kings?" she said softly, her eyes as round as the fat golden septims jangling in my pocket.
"Of course. If I am ambushed or killed, you will need to deliver it in my stead. And between the two of us, you are much more likely to survive this quest."
Her eyes betrayed the struggle within as she held out a hesitating hand, and I dropped the Amulet into her gauntlet. After a moment, she shook her head and said. "I cannot carry-"
"Too late," I said with a smirk, swinging my pack onto my back once again and taking the lead, "it's your job to carry it, now!"
Umbra looked at the Amulet with something akin to resignation before she slung it around her neck and fell into step behind to me.
The road turned next to the crumbling ruins of a fort, and we headed west, towards the sun. To our left lay the Imperial City, and the waters that separated us from the great metropolis. The White-Gold Tower glowed in the sun like a great spire of blinding light. To our right, the Heartlands stretched forever onward in a sea of emerald, angling uphill and fading into trees that obscured my vision. It amazed me how very wild the world was outside of the Imperial City.
The hours passed, and my knees grew sore from walking nonstop. Umbra was silent, steady, and moved even more freely in her heavy ebony armor than I did in my robes. A figure on a horse approached, and I pulled my hood over my head, angling my face towards the dirt as an Imperial Legion rider passed us by.
"Why did you hide your face?"
Umbra's question caught me by surprise. "What?"
"Why did you hide from that guard? Are you a wanted man?"
I scratched nervously at my cheek, "Uh, yeah, something like that."
"What did you do?"
"I… I dunno." I admitted. "I was thrown into prison by the Imperial Watch for no reason. They didn't tell me why. And then, I was supposed to guard the Emperor during his hour of need. I failed, and now I fear that I may be the most wanted man in the Empire. Wherever I go, I'll be hunted down for the murder of the Emperor."
"Unless you clear your name."
"Yes… yes, maybe someday."
The day blossomed into adulthood, and the sun began to wane as Umbra and I carved a path down the road to Weynon Priory. It was nearing sunset when a small, ramshackle building came into view, nestled into the hillside, along with a wooden sign that said 'Roxey Inn.' Umbra pointed to the inn and informed me, "This will likely be your last chance at a warm bed for the night before we reach the Priory."
I fingered the coin-purse fastened to my belt. There were at least two hundred septims tucked away within, and an inn as run down as this could not cost any more than one in the heart of the Imperial City.
"Then let's stop for the night," I answered, guiding my steps towards the inn.
As soon as we opened the door, a rabble of sound rang out from inside. A shout of either pain or surprise, louder than the others, caught my attention, and I ducked out of the way as a man was launched from the premises. He hit his head against Umbra's chestplate, which rang like a gong, before falling to the ground, unconscious. He smelled of stale body odor and hard liquor. The Imperial watchmen who'd thrown him from the inn dusted off his hands.
"And good riddance," he said before turning his eyes to me. There was a moment of heart rending suspense, where I waited for the watchman to say something, or to draw his sword and attack. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at me, the silence between us growing longer and more uncomfortable with each moment.
"You coming in?" he asked suddenly, "Or are you just going to stare at me like an idiot?"
Umbra gave me a prod in the back, and I nodded lamely before sweeping over the threshold and into the inn.
There were people drinking for pleasure, and others making a contest of it. Some were nursing stiff drinks and stiffer upper lips, and others still were resting at the end of a long day with a cold cider in hand. A man with a bald head, save for a strip of hair around the crown of it, like a friar, clapped me on the shoulder as I passed him by and said merrily, "Divines bless you, my son!"
"Indeed, they have."
He blinked hard, focusing on me for a moment, but I was already moving away, steering my steps towards the counter, behind which a tall Nord woman with fiery red hair stood, looking quite grumpy. I wouldn't blame her, either. She was a looker, to be sure, and there was no doubt she got cat called and hit on by drunkards all day.
"Welcome to the Roxey," she sounded like she was quite sick of saying that, "My name is Malene. What can I get for you today?"
Her fingers drummed on the counter, making me lose my train of thought as I stared at her absently. I'd wager she thought I was gawking at her beauty or something like that. In truth, I was second guessing my decision to stay at an inn for the night, as the food and drink would likely double the cost of rooms.
"Well, stranger?" she asked in a huff. "Or should I direct the question towards you? You look like an able sort. You this nitwit's guardian or something?"
She turned her gaze to Umbra and jerked her thumb at me, who stood there silently. I looked around, noticing the obvious glances directed at us. With her gleaming ebony armor and fancy sword, Umbra cut an impressive figure in a place like this.
"Two drinks, make them strong," Umbra took a seat at the bar. The innkeeper poured two glasses of straight liquor, and Umbra peeled off her helmet, for the very first time since I'd met her.
She was beautiful, in a sort of eternal way, with dazzlingly bright opalescent eyes that had long, cat-like irises. Her face was unlined, though her expression was one that carried the weight of many, many sorrowful year. Her bangs were braided at her temple to keep long brunette hair out of her face, otherwise it fell freely.
Malene slid the drinks towards us, but when I reached out to take mine, Umbra slapped my hand away. She seized the first one, gulped it down in a matter of seconds, and then made to chug the second glass. Fuming, I put my hand atop the glass, keeping it away from her mouth and earning a look that said, 'Take your hand off this glass or I will kill you.'
"Booze is expensive," I hissed at her, "how am I supposed to pay for those?"
"If you don't have money to pay," Malene said sharply, "I may have work for you to earn some."
"Not interested," I told her, "how much money for two rooms?"
Umbra slammed her second empty glass back down on the counter and tapped the bar, signaling for more.
"We'll only need one room," she said.
I looked between Umbra, who was flattening me with her expectations and demands, and Malene, whose poor attitude was not helping my situation at all.
"I'm afraid we're all booked up for the night," the redheaded barkeep shrugged, "if you really want a room, we may be able to work something out, but it will cost you."
"I have gold," my smugness dripped from me like honey as I leaned against the bar, "how much will it take for us to get a room for the night."
"Seventy five gold, and you've got a room," Malene grinned, "that would put your bid five septims more than that of the good Prior over there."
My elbow slipped from the bar, and I tumbled to the ground in a tangle of robes and cuss words. Getting my robes sorted out, and back on my feet, I stared at the innkeeper with astonishment.
"S-Seventy five? As in, seventy five gold septims?" I ripped off a glove and dug a finger into my ear, sure I hadn't heard right. Malene nodded, her grin not quite so pleasing as it might appear to be.
"Yes, sir." She said. "If you find that your coinpurse is too light for that, I would be more than willing to make a deal to help fatten it up for you."
Umbra was throwing back her fourth glass, and I saw several pairs of eyes upon her as many of the men in the tavern thought their chances of bedding her would go up. I needed to get Umbra to stop drinking away my coin and get to bed, but before we could get a bed, I needed to do whatever it was that Malene wanted.
"What kind of deal?" I wondered.
"Simple enough, really. I want you to kill Raelyn the Gravefinder."
And so there I was, fifteen minutes later, holding a torch as I stood in front of a door that led underground. Umbra was still at the bar, probably drinking her way through what little gold I'd managed to collect upon this journey. So it was with a sigh that I opened the door to the cavern and ventured inside.
Raelyn the Gravefinder, as Malene had informed me, was a necromancer. As soon as this cave-dwelling hermit woman had moved in, the dead had begun to walk, driving away customers.
As I was now a champion of Julianos, I decided to get both sides of the story before jumping to conclusions. It wouldn't do for me to waltz into a cave and murder an innocent woman in cold blood. I wondered if this woman was just a victim of circumstance; a poor, lonely widower who had been swindled by a sneaky travelling salesman. Maybe she'd been coerced into buying a scroll of undead, thinking she could bring her dead husband back to life.
My footsteps echoed in the silence of the cave, and an unnatural mist pervaded the area. The roots of a great tree impaled the ceiling, making it appear as though many people were standing in a dense fog, beyond which I could not see.
I was about to explore further, but I was waylaid by a nemesis I hadn't seen in a long time.
I drew my sword with my right hand, and a spell of fire flickered in my left. With a sonorous war cry that shook the cavern, I charged one of my most hated enemies of all time. It saw me, as well, and it came at me with hatred burning in its beady eyes.
Just who was this fearsome foe, who had caused me so much pain and suffering? Who could it possibly be?
It was none other than a mudcrab.
Yes, that's correct. A common, garden variety, or rather- beach variety mudcrab.
As anyone who has grown up on the Waterfront can tell you, these things are a menace. They are roughly the size of a dinner platter, with soulless black eyes and sharp claws that they are very adept at using. They do not know pain, or fear, these beings of pure hatred. Relentless and violent as they come, mudcrabs know no remorse, and would not hesitate to crawl up to you and nip you in the calf, bruising skin and drawing blood. Then they would look at you, as if to say 'What ever are you going to do about it, wretch?'
With a bloodthirst I had only rarely felt, I plunged my sword into the crab's back, piercing its hard shell and pinning it to the floor. Calming peace washed over me in the dark of the cave, and the hatred that had burned within my soul just moments ago was a memory, lost and forgotten as I swept back the hood of my robes and peered into the mist.
But as it turned out, sight was not what saved my life- it was sound.
The gentle creak of a bowstring being drawn taut raised my hackles, and the loud TWANG as it was released drove away all thought of victory over my mudcrab nemesis. It shot through the mist and struck against the wall of the cavern behind me, coming so close that I had felt it tug at my robe.
Lurching through the mist was a grotesque shape, a skeleton devoid of all muscle and sinew, held up and directed by the darkest of magics. It carried an old, worn bow and a quiver of dusty arrows. Whether the skeleton had been conjured on purpose, however, remained to be seen.
Another arrow was let loose, but fell short, sparking against the stone at my feet. With little choice, I grabbed the mudcrab I had slain, which was still slick with bluish green blood, and charged the skeleton. Just as it nocked another arrow, I threw the mudcrab at it with all the force I could muster.
All that did was knock out most of the skeleton's midsection, which was its long, curved spine. The mudcrab glided between its pelvis and ribcage beautifully, which would've been a fantastic shot, if that was what I was going for. In this instance, I was hoping for a little more damage. Instead, the ribcage fell, and landed precariously on a few leftover vertebrae. The resulting skeleton was now long legged, long armed, and extraordinarily compact in the center. Unfortunately, this did not seem to impact its use of a bow and arrow.
But by the time it fired, I was already within melee range. I swung my katana in a two handed grip, slicing its arms off with a triumphant, "GYAA!"
The skeleton's head, which only came up to my middle, without his spine, turned to survey me with hollow eyes. It clicked its jaw with disdain, as if to say, 'Now you've gone and done it.'
Then, two skeletal hands, with wicked sharp fingertips, clawed at me. I raised my arm to protect myself, and felt my skin shred as the skeleton began an unarmed melee assault. I stepped out of range, cradling my wounded arm to my chest as I swung my sword at the undead creature with all the might I could muster.
It caught the skeleton on the shoulder, and took its head clean off. This, however, did not stop the body. I planted a kick in the skeleton's ribcage, shattering it and making it fall over backward, but that was still not enough. Bony hands clicked against the cold stone as they dragged themselves towards me. Off to the side, the skeleton's head was completely unharmed. It rolled so that its empty eye sockets were aimed at me. I sensed an intelligence therein, something that must have controlled the rest of the body.
Right as the skeleton was getting back to its feet, I kicked the skull as hard as I could, only to wince when the jaws opened, and clamped down around my foot.
I turned my face to the ceiling and swore as loudly as I could, but the pain did not abate. I bared my teeth at the skull, heard its body lurching towards me with uneven footfalls. The jaws of the skull were still clamped upon my boot, which did little more than keep the skeleton's teeth from rending my flesh.
With a roar I ducked the skeleton's arms as it swung at me, and brought the hilt of my sword down against the skull on my foot. The cranium cracked, and I heard the sound of many bones hit the ground as I sat back and surveyed the carnage.
"I'm starting to think that Raelyn doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt," my tone was the epitome of bitterness.
It took half an hour, and a few more healing potions before the wounds on my arm began to fade. Once I was sure I could cast spells without my concentration breaking, I rose to my feet and carried on with my quest, spurred onward by the thought of a large sack of gold and a cool ale back at the inn.
A quick recap, if I may: Malene wanted Raelyn the Gravefinder dead. That was it. Nowhere in that request did she stipulate that I had to cut off the witch's head, but as we all know, even the best laid plans go awry. And in my defense, it was her own blasted fault. Let me explain….
I had broken almost every lockpick I had managed to collect on the door on the far side of the cavern, which I assumed would lead to Raelyn. Finding her hideout had been a cakewalk, I just followed my nose until the rancid stench of death was so powerful that it coated my tongue and made me dry heave.
"Shite…shite….shite!" I incanted under my breath as the number of lockpicks rattling around in my bag dwindled to the single digits. Slinging my pack off of my back to pull out yet another pick, I heard the click of the lock as it came free on its own. Then the door swung open. If it had opened outward, I would've been knocked on my arse. That was my stroke of good fortune used up for the day, or so I believed.
I was kneeling at the feet of two women, both of whom looked about as happy to see me as the skeleton I'd narrowly defeated earlier.
The one on the left wore a faded, grey monk's robe, which was dirty and tattered. This, I presumed, was Raelyn the Gravefinder. An apt moniker, as she looked like she'd been busy digging graves all day, given the dirt on her feet and the hem of her robe. Her greasy greyish white hair framed her warty face, which was downright unsettling.
To the right was a wood elf in clean, dark robes, the chest of which was emblazoned with a red skull, and two skeletal hands, reaching up into the darkness.
"Well, well," Raelyn said, "what have we here?"
The Bosmer grinned wickedly, "Another plaything, I think!"
Together, they raised their hands, which glowed with otherworldly light. The air in the room dropped ten degrees in a single moment, and a loud, piteous moan echoed off the stony walls.
Two ghosts appeared between me and the woman I'd been sent to kill. So much for my lonely widower theory- Raelyn was just as bad as the necromancers she'd allied herself with.
In one deft movement, I stood, drew my blade, and swung as hard as I could at the specters.
And right around here is where everything went off the rails.
Steel, as it just so happens, has no effect on ghosts whatsoever. It will pass right through them as if nothing happened, leaving your sword covered in frost, and numbing you up to your elbow.
So my blade went clear through the first wraith, but did not stop. Time seemed to slow as my sword arced through the air in slow motion before catching Raelyn on the nape of her neck, and severing her head from her body.
The Bosmer necromancer was drenched in hot, slippery blood. She tried to strafe out of range of my sword arm, but she slipped and fell. There was a loud crack as her head struck a protruding stone, and the ghost she'd summoned departed with an incomprehensible wail.
I wiped my blood spattered face with the sleeve of my robe, unable to suppress the tired, half-hearted smile on my face. I was grateful to still be alive (for the moment, anyway) and I had a sizeable sack of gold waiting for me back at the inn… but that did very little to erode the burgeoning thoughts that I'd had ever since my encounter with those bandits at the ruins of Vilverin: I was still only alive due to dumb luck and good happenstance. If I was going to survive my quest to see Uriel Septim VII's last will be done, I would have to be stronger, smarter, and more adaptable.
It took no time at all for me to pack up everything of value from the Daedric Shrine in Raelyn's cavern. There was a small offering pan filled with a few saleable gemstones, which I poured haphazardly into my bag, and an enchanted vest that seemed to be of fine make. On my way out, I finished off my sacking of the shrine by giving the miniature stone figure of Clavicus Vile a light prod, knocking it onto the floor with an impish grin that would make Sanguine himself proud.
Umbra was at the bar with no less than four men gathered around her as she guzzled her second flagon of ale that evening. The men watched in awe as she downed it all in one go, and finished with a satisfied moan.
A colovian man who was clearly no stranger to the drink gazed at Umbra like he had found the love of his life. The Imperial watchman in heavy plate armor shook his head in disbelief.
"By the Emperor," he breathed.
All heads turned as the door was thrown open, and a Breton in blood splattered robes strode into the inn, the head of a witch tucked into the crook of his arm.
That's right, little old me walked into a bar. I almost feel like there should be a punchline in there, somewhere.
The guard was on his feet, "By the Nine, that man beheaded a woman!"
In answer, I plopped Raelyn's head down onto the bar, and pulled up a seat next to Umbra. Malene's eyes went wide as blood dripped from the counter and onto the floor.
"What the hell is this?!" she cried.
"Proof that I killed the necromancer. I'll take that sack of gold, a stiff drink, and that room we discussed earlier."
The innkeeper's face twisted into something that resembled a smile, but with none of the friendliness.
"So sorry," she said sweetly, "But your friend here drank through your reward, and then some. You now have a tab of eighty-five septims, and the room is now one hundred and fifty septims."
Never before, in either my old life or my new life, had I seen such bullshit. Even when I worked all day scrubbing the grubby decks of filthy pirate ships, which were captained by some of the most penny-pinching bastards I'd ever met, I was always paid fairly for my work. The injustice of the situation was such that I jumped to my feet, knocking the barstool back and sending it toppling to the floor.
The energy in the inn grew contentious instantly, but I paid it no mind. I pointed a finger at Malene, with all the vindictive outrage of a father scolding his dishonest daughter, saying loudly, "Now see here, you two-timing-"
The woman gasped, recoiled so visibly that it felt like I was watching a play, and shrank back from me in what was an excellent portrayal of terror.
"Guards!" she sobbed loudly, "Someone, help! This mage killed a woman and is threatening me with magic!"
Scoffing, I turned to the other patrons, sure that they were just as unconvinced of Malene's feigned fear as I was, only to be met with curt scowls and angry glares. All at once, I knew that I had made a mistake. I was all alone in a sea of hostility. Er, almost alone.
Quick as a flash, Umbra set down her flagon, vaulted the counter, and put the tip of her sword against Malene's collarbone.
"We'll take the gold you promised us," she said harshly, "and this bottle of brandy."
My mouth hung agape in shock, but I recovered quickly enough when I realized that I was all that stood between Umbra, who was currently embroiled in a hostage situation, and an angry crowd, some of whom were armed. The good Prior who'd blessed me on my way into the inn put a bottle of liquor to his lips and chugged. Hope swelled in my chest, as I was sure that the priest would vouch for a peaceful resolution to the conflict.
Then he smashed the empty bottle against the edge of a table, brandishing the jagged edge with a relish I'd only ever seen in zealots.
"Send these miscreants to Arkay!" he hollered to the crowd, "Let the Divines sort them out!"
Umbra came round the bar, a bottle of brandy in one hand and her naked sword in the other. A bulging sack of gold hung from her belt. As she came to stand behind me, I noticed that no one in the crowd looked too eager to attack first.
"Come," she said to me, "we're leaving."
Taking a knee, she stooped, swept me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and carried me to the door. Normally, my pride as a man would demand that I resist, or at least protest, but the second Umbra turned her back, the guard drew his sword and charged us.
Aiming as best I could while Umbra's pauldrons dug into my ribs, I gestured at the guard and fired off a flare. Seeing the fireball roaring right at his nose, the watchman dove aside, as did everyone else. I was sure it was going to hit Malene when she ducked behind the bar at the last second. The spell struck the wooden wall of the inn, which smoked and smoldered before bursting into flames. The door closed behind us just as the patrons began to notice the blaze.
Umbra sang through the air (the sword, not the woman) and I heard a whinny. Strong hands lifted me up before slapping me over the flank of the horse which had been tied up, but was now cut loose.
Umbra (the woman this time) clambered into the saddle as I tried to spit horse hair out of my mouth. I'd been hoping for an icy pint. Instead I got a parched throat and the taste of barnyard. What fun.
"Hold on," she said.
"Too what?!" I asked shrilly, "give me but a moment and I can sit in the saddle with you!"
The door to the inn was thrown open, and people piled out in droves, coughing and wheezing as smoke billowed in their wake.
"The inn is on fire," someone shouted, "everyone out!"
"That LUNATIC burned down my inn!" Malene shrieked as she was dragged from her establishment by its patrons. When she saw me, she let out a horrible screech, like a banshee keening for blood.
"There! There they are! Get them! GET THEM!"
But Umbra shook the reins, and kicked the horses ribs with a "Hya!" and we galloped away from the burning inn and the angry mob led by the drunken priest. Only the guard gave chase, yelling something about a stolen horse. The night air was cool and sweet as it kissed my sore limbs and caressed my half-healed wounds, but the anger in my heart did not waver.
"Damn- you," it was difficult to string two words together, for as soon as I had drawn a breath it was knocked out of my lungs by the powerful flexing muscles of the horse's hindquarters. "You-double-crossing-wench!"
My hateful words were lost upon the wind, and the lack of air made it hard to stay awake. Even as I faded from consciousness, I felt Umbra's hand on my back, holding me in place so that I would not fall.
The very next day, back in the Imperial City, wanted posters with bounties were drawn up at the Imperial City Prison, and a sketch artist sat down with eye witnesses, and worked out the descriptions of the two people responsible for the arson of an inn just outside the city. After the sketches were deemed accurate by the witnesses, the portraits were supposed to be supplied to the printer, so that they may be pasted to bounty posters, copied by printing press, and posted through the province. The sketch artist, however, did not do that. She was under orders from her superior to deliver the portraits directly to the Captain of the Imperial Watch, Heironymus Lex.
His office was located in the barracks, in a sealed room by the stairwell. The pretty dark elf sketch artist adamantly ignored the glances and mutterings of the guards as she knocked on the Captain's door and waited for him.
But when the door opened, it was not the Watch Captain who stood in the doorway. A Redguard in scaled plate armor peeked out suspiciously before beckoning the artist inside.
Heironymus Lex sat at his desk, scribbling away at some parchment with a large quill.
"Is that the sketch artist?" he asked, not looking up from his work.
"Aye," the Redguard said, "let's see them, miss."
The dark elf handed the portraits over to the Redguard, who quickly tossed one to the side, and put the other down on the desk in front of Lex. The sketch artist noted the curved sword hanging at the redguard's waist- a katana- the symbolic weapon of the Blades.
"This is him!" the Blade said, "this is the man from the sewers! I want his bounty raised to twenty- no, fifty thousand septims! We need him alive!"
"That's one hell of a bounty," the Watch Captain raised an eyebrow, "you sure that reward is one you can give?"
"It's a matter of the State," the Blade said simply.
The sketch artist, who'd been standing quietly at the door while the Blade and the Watch Captain conversed, craned her neck to get a look at the face of the wanted poster. It was the portrait of a Breton man in robes, with twinkling eyes, a mischievous smile, and hair that fell to his shoulders. He certainly didn't look trustworthy, but he also didn't have the look of a man who would murder fifty people in cold blood.
"What in Oblivion would earn a man like that a fifty thousand septim bounty?" she wondered. She went stiff as a board as the Blade eyed her up. It didn't occur to her that she'd spoken aloud.
"I suppose there's no use hiding it," the Blade said.
Lex banged a fist on his desk, spilling the inkpot. "Baurus-" he began warningly.
"She'll find out soon enough," the Redguard interrupted the Watch Captain. "They all will. It's not a secret we can keep."
Turning to the woman, Baurus looked her dead in the eye and said, "This man is wanted in connection with the murder of Emperor Uriel Septim VII, and is to be brought in alive and unharmed, otherwise the reward is forfeit."
"The Emperor," the pretty young Dunmer said faintly, "he's… dead?"
Baurus hung his head, unable to bear the shame of his failure. "I'm afraid so."
Heironymus Lex scowled down at the portrait of the Breton. "I'll put out these bounties myself. You may go, miss."
The sketch artist bowed to each of the men and said, "Talos guide you." Then she took her leave.
But that same night, as the good people of the Imperial City slept, rogues and ne'er-do-wells slunk through the shadows, servants of nameless masters whose nefarious plots and twisted schemes would never see the light of day until the sun rose on pools of blood and shining golden septims.
For someone had seen that wanted poster, and immediately recognized the name and likeness of the young Breton upon it. It bore such a striking resemblance to that of his father that it was hard to tell them apart.
Ill-gotten gold exchanged hands as people with even fouler intentions in their hearts made plans to cover their tracks, lest the final Aurelius discover who it was that had him thrown in prison.
A prayer was made to the Night Mother, a bargain struck with the shadowy representative who arrived to do her bidding, and gold exchanged hands yet again.
And so it was ordained: Magnus Magellan Aurelius would be slain, ideally before anyone could collect the massive bounty on his head by returning him to the Imperial City alive.
Author's Notes:
This was gonna be two individual chapters, but I'm too lazy to break it apart. Writing this chapter was a lot of fun, but it clocks in at around six thousand words, and barely scratches the surface of the story I'd like to tell. Haha yikes. Umbra is bae. Sigan is sassy. Malene is a hoe. And the Prior is based.
Music:
Onyx-Sewerperson
Waiting for the lightning to strike me- powfu & sewerperson
Yung God-Juice WRLD
The Light-Juice WRLD
I Just Don't Care That Much-Matt Maeson
Dear God-Confetti (this may or may not inspire some intersting conversations between Sigan and Julianos)
Peace.