IV

Arken walked into the Eight Plates tavern and sat down on one of the stools at the bar, waving to the wench to get him a light drink before hanging his head and taking a deep breath. It had been a trying day. Another successful Fighters Guild job had yielded its rewards, but the job he'd just completed for the Thieves Guild had gotten out of hand. Rather then stealing the Dwemer artifacts as planned, the whole thing turned out to be a set up that Arken had to fight his way out of. In addition to being tired, he'd just received word from his Redoran handler that while he'd been promoted within the house, he was also being ordered to cease his thieving for a week while they handled an overly nosy Indoril constable. All in all, the day had been very stressful, and Arken was looking forward to a nice evening of relaxation and a nice soft bed.

Arken took a sip of his drink as a man in leather armor with a low drawn hood sat down on the stool next to him. The man just sat there with his arms on the bar, not ordering a drink or a meal, or even talking to anyone. He just sat there silently, and his presence started making Arken nervous.

Arken canted his head in the man's direction and looked around the room, "Tough looking crowd tonight, huh?" The man simply replied with silence, not even acknowledging that Arken had spoken. Arken frowned. Whoever this guy was, he was kind of creepy and a little too shady.

Finally, the man spoke, "You're Arken Dralkes, of Balmora?"

Arken glanced around the room before leaning over to the man, "How do you know my name? I'm not that well known around here."

Though Arken couldn't see all of his face, he saw the man smile, "You'll find that there is much I know about you, Arken." The man looked around briefly before leaning closer and continuing, "I have a proposition for you. Meet me at the staircase on the north side of this building if you want to hear it." Without another word, the man stood and left the tavern.

Arken sat there, looking down into his drink. It didn't really matter if he had a choice to meet this man or not. The guy knew far too much about him to allow it to go unanswered. One way or another, this guy would have to be dealt with. Arken finished his drink over the next few minutes and dropped a few coins on the bar to pay his tab as he stood to leave. He walked out of the tavern and looked around. The streets were eerily empty. No people, no guards, nothing. A little more than alerted now, Arken cautiously made his way around to the north side of the Eight Plates to find this mysterious hooded man. He came around to the staircase to find the man waiting for him, casually leaning on the stair rail.

The man simply nodded, never revealing his face for the hood's shadow, "I had a feeling you'd take me up on my offer."

Arken crossed his arms, "You were right about that. You seem to know way too much about me, so now I want to know a little about you." Arken took a step closer, "Who are you?"

The man shook his head, "I ask the questions around here, Dunmer." He motioned toward the young Dunmer and suddenly Arken felt the edge of a blade press against the back of his chitin cuirass. A quick check over his shoulders revealed that two men had come up on his flanks and were trapping him.

The hooded man gestured to the men, "I ask the questions, while these two…gentlemen extract the answers from you. I advise you not to struggle, Master Dralkes. That tends to make things…a little messy."

Arken suppressed his mischievous smirk. One of the "gentlemen" the hooded man referred to had made one vital mistake. He'd touched Arken's back with his weapon, inadvertently broadcasting exactly where the weapon was and informing Arken of what options he had to escape this snare. Arken suddenly dropped to a crouch and leaned forward, snapping his leg out to scythe it through the thug's legs. Arken's low kick knocked the thug's feet out from under him and sent him crashing down to the ground. Arken continued his motion in a rising spin in which he landed an uppercut squarely in the other thug's jaw, following it up with a sucker punch to the abdomen and a hard roundhouse kick to the side of the head. That took him out of the fight, but the first thug had scrambled to his feet and was charging Arken with his blade held high. Arken bent forward and snapped his leg straight out, ramming his chitin boot into the thug's gut. Arken turned around with a hard backfist to the side of his head to take the first thug down. He then drew his sword as he turned around to attack the hooded man, but stopped with what he saw next. The hooded man was sitting there applauding slowly.

The man clapped for a moment longer before standing up, "Bravo, Master Dralkes. Well done, indeed. You performed superbly." The man took a few steps toward Arken, but was stopped when Arken put the edge of his sword to his throat.

"Tell me what that was all about or you get a one-way ride to Oblivion."

The man stood there calmly and drew is hood back to expose his face, "Do you really want to know, or would you rather just kill me and be done with it?" Recognizing the veiled request to remove the blade from his neck, Arken cautiously lowered his sword, but didn't sheathe it.

The man stepped into the light, revealing an Imperial face with sunken eyes and short, brown hair, "My name is Artanus Savantus. I was sent here to evaluate your skills. Those two men you just put down single-handedly were trained assassins. In light of your superb performance, I can now extend to you my generous offer."

Arken cocked an eyebrow, "An offer for what?"

Savantus shrugged, "To join the Morag Tong, of course. We've been watching you for quite some time now, and Grandmaster Hlaalu admits that he is impressed with your prowess. He sent me to personally extend an offer to join our number, provided you passed the test, of course." Savantus took a step closer and looked Arken in the eye, "If you wish to join us, then listen well to what I'm about to say, and I will not repeat myself. Go to Vivec, the Arena Canton. Go to the Canalworks and look for a storage room. Inside that storage room, search the rooms within until you find a trap door hidden behind several crates. Knock on it three times, wait three seconds, then knock three times again. The door will open for you. You can figure out the rest on your own." Savantus looked around and pulled his hood up again, "Now I must leave. Consider my offer, Arken Dralkes. We will not speak again unless you join our ranks. Farewell." With his final word said, a green mist spiraled up from Savantus' feet to encompass his body and he vanished.

Arken stood there, still gripping his sword in hand, starring at the empty space Savantus had just been in. Morag Tong? Trained assassins? Watching him? It was a lot to take in all at once. Arken slowly sheathed his sword as he began to understand what had just taken place. He'd heard of the Morag Tong and knew that they were an ancient guild of skilled assassins, followers of Mephalla. What he didn't know was that they'd been watching him and wanted him to join their elite number. It was flattering, to say the least. Arken turned around to find the two men he'd beaten earlier were gone without a trace. These assassins covered their tracks well. Arken nodded slowly as he thought of the concept. Having the support of an ancient guild as influential as the Morag Tong could definitely gain him some much needed clout. Arken smiled to himself as he started out toward his home. It seemed he suddenly had business in Vivec.

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Arken looked up at the massive stone structure in front of him. Vivec was the largest city on Vardenfell, but it wasn't built like any normal city. Vivec was constructed entirely on the water of a series of enormous stone cantons that housed their namesakes. There was the Hlaalu Canton, Redoran, St. Olms, St. Delyn, the Temple, and the Foreign Quarter. Arken stood looking at one of the central cantons, the Arena. Within was the large, sandy pit in which regular gladiatorial matches took place. The Arena attracted warriors and fighters from all across Morrowind. Retired soldiers, adventurers looking for a quick score, brawlers who just liked to fight, the Arena drew all kinds to its bloodied sand pit.

What Arken was looking for wasn't in the pit, though. It didn't take him long to get into the canalworks and find the storage room Savantus had told him about. Arken pushed aside a heavy crate to reveal the trap door he was looking for. He knelt down over it and carefully counted three knocks, three seconds, then three more knocks. Not a moment after the third knock, the door's latch clicked and it opened downward. Arken peered down into the door for a moment before cautiously climbing down. He reached the bottom of the ladder and turned around to be facing a large, heavy-set Orc in leather armor.

The Orc looked Arken over once, keeping his hand on the large sword at his side, before speaking, "You are the Dunmer, Arken Dralkes?"

Arken nodded, "I am."

The Orc jerked his head down the thin hallway behind him, "Savantus told us to be expecting you. This way." The Orc turned and started walking down the dimly lit hallway. Still not sure of what to make of all this, Arken followed at a cautious pace. They followed the hallway until they came into an open darkened room with some crates gathered in the corners and a shrine of some sort in a smaller room off to the side. Arken noticed a number of other assassins around the room, most of which had their faces covered and all of which started watching him as soon as he walked in. Arken looked away from them as he followed his Orc guide, sensing their gazes continuing to pursue him as they went into an adjoining hall.

The Orc led Arken down a short hallway with a door at the end. He stopped and knocked quietly, waiting for the door to open after a moment. He led Arken into the room beyond, but stopped at the doorway and motioned to the room's only occupant. Arken found himself in a small chamber that functioned as an office of sorts. A large bed rested against the far wall while an eerily clean desk stood against the closer wall. The room's occupant, an older Dunmer man, was standing in front of a bookshelf along the wall, flipping his way through the shelf one book at a time.

The Dunmer turned around and glanced Arken up and down once before turning back to the bookshelf, "Thank you, Gorek. You can go now." The Orc silently left the room, leaving Arken alone with his host.

The Dunmer spoke without turning around, still looking through books, "Please have a seat, Master Dralkes. I'll just be a moment."

Arken glanced around the darkened room once before responding, "If it's all the same to you, I'll stand. Thanks."

The Dunmer shrugged, "Suit yourself." He finally chose a book from the shelf and turned to face Arken, "Introductions, please. I wish to know more about you."

Arken furrowed his brow, "You first. You seem to know enough about me already."

The Dunmer nodded as he set the book on his desk, "Very bold of you to demand the name of your host. Especially when you know that your host is surrounded by trained killers who would not hesitate to eliminate you should he deem it necessary. I would say you're either very brave or very foolish."

Arken shrugged, "Pick one."

The Dunmer held up a finger and turned to face him, "And that, Master Dralkes, is what so intrigues me about you. You're so defiant, not afraid to stand up to anyone, no matter the consequences. It takes a man of particular character to do that." He folded his hands behind him, "My name is Eno Hlaalu, grandmaster of the Morag Tong. I've been watching you for quite some time. I must say your skills are most impressive, which has led to the proposal my messenger extended to you. I assume by your presence, that you wish to take me up on the offer."

Arken crossed his arms and leaned against the wall behind him, "I want to get something straight, first of all: I'm no daedra worshipper. If I join this guild, I'm not going to go kowtowing to some statue or shrine or whatever. My destiny is what I make of it; not the divines, and not the daedra."

Hlaalu nodded understandingly, "Master Dralkes, I believe you'd be surprised at how many of our number are not followers of Mephalla. Many join our ranks for the money, not the worship. Mephalla is merely our patron, the daedra that best embodies what we believe and how we act. No matter what your reason for joining is, the writs are legal and the money is good." He crossed his arms as he looked at Arken, "So, will you join us?"

Arken stared at the wall in front of him as he thought. It was good money, it could keep his skills sharp, and he didn't have to go following the daedra lovers. All in all, it looked like pros outweighed the cons.

Arken looked at the grandmaster and smiled, "When do I start?"

Hlaalu nodded, "Immediately. I have one more test to prove your mettle. I want to see just how capable you are of killing." He turned around and picked up a small scroll from his desk, "There is a man presently in the St. Olms canton. His name is Emil Rosteric. He is marked for death. You will take this writ of execution and carry it out upon Rosteric." He walked over to Arken and handed him the scroll.

Arken took the scroll and unrolled it to read, "Why is he marked?"

Hlaalu waved away the question, "That's of no concern to you. Mephalla may have marked him or a client may have. It doesn't matter to you."

Arken looked up from the scroll to Hlaalu with a hard stare, "Why is he marked?" He repeated the question with more enunciation for emphasis.

The grandmaster looked at Arken for a moment before nodding briefly, "Redoran contract. He's an Indoril constable that's been poking his nose into their private affairs. They want him dealt with."

Arken's head came up at hearing who the target was, "He's…an Indoril constable? Investigating the Redoran?"

Hlaalu simply nodded, "Yes, Indoril. Is something wrong with that?"

Arken had a hard time suppressing his smile, "No, no. Nothing's wrong." The smirk finally worked its way to his face, "Nothing's wrong with that at all." He rolled up the parchment and secured it to his belt, "I'll be back soon." Without another word, Arken turned and walked out of the room, Hlaalu watching him as he shut the door behind him.

Once he was sure that Arken was gone, Hlaalu looked at the darkest corner of his chamber and nodded, "It's clear."

Two men stepped out of the shadows of the chamber. One was Artanus Savantus, and with him was another assassin.

Hlaalu nodded toward the door, "He's on his way. I want you in place to observe him, Savantus."

Savantus nodded as he pulled his gloves on, "Dralkes is a perfect candidate to join the tong, grandmaster. Are you sure he really needs watching?"

Hlaalu nodded in response, "The Morag Tong does a different kind of killing then the common adventurer or Fighters Guildsman, Savantus. If Dralkes is not up to it, I want you two to bring him back so he can be properly…dealt with."

The other assassin, a blond haired Imperial with green eyes, scoffed, "Somehow, I doubt we'll need to do that. This 'Dralkes' kid seems like he could muster the will to kill. I'd personally like to see what he's made of."

Hlaalu shook his head, "You can keep that idea for another time, Krayven. Though I am quite confident that Dralkes will succeed, we must be prepared if the worst should happen." He looked at his men, "You both know your duties, so get to it." Both men disappeared into the shadows of the chamber. Now it was time to see just what Dralkes could do.

Arken found his step surprisingly light as he left the Morag Tong hall and the Arena Canton to make his way to St. Olms, pondering the possibilities as he went. If this particular Indoril constable was the one that was causing the Redoran to suspend him, then he was about to get paid to eliminate the source of his problems. He smiled in appreciation of the ironic twist of it all.

Arken arrived in the St Olms Canton and immediately went to work looking for this Emil Rosteric. After a little snooping around and dropping a little coin in the hands of some of the locals, Arken learned that Rosteric lived in Suran, but was presently on holiday in Vivec perusing through the Waistworks of the St. Olms Canton.

Arken walked through the door into the waistworks and looked around. With a name like Emil Rosteric, he was probably a Breton, which helped narrow his search, but not by much. The waistworks were busy today. People of all races and occupations were walking through the area, transacting business at the local shops, or just milling around aimlessly. Arken moved through the crowd, trying to blend in while he looked for his target. He searched for nearly half an hour before he identified the one who was likely the mark. The St. Olms quarter was more of a lower/middle class area, which meant it was rare to find someone who dressed like a wealthy aristocrat. Arken eyed a well-dressed Breton adorned in expensive silk clothes and a fine leather overcoat, casually cruising through the shops. He was about mid-to-late forties with graying brown hair. He wore a large silver amulet hanging from his neck, possibly a symbol of his station as a constable. He stopped at a food vendor to look over the items on display. Arken came up next to him, pretending to look at the goods, but eyeing the man warily. At this point, there was only one way to find out if he was right.

Arken looked at the man out of the corner of his eye, "You're Emil Rosteric?"

The man's head came up and he looked at Arken, "Yes, I'm Emil Rosteric. Why do you ask?"

Arken shook his head, "That's not important." He picked up a large fruit from the vendor and started looking it over as he spoke, "If you don't mind my asking, you're currently conducting an investigation of House Redoran, am I right?"

Rosteric nodded, "Yes, I am. That's right."

Arken nodded as he looked the fruit over, "And, if I may ask, what did you turn up?"

Rosteric shrugged, "I suppose there wouldn't be any harm in telling you. I've discovered some very interesting things. I've found evidence that the Redoran are harboring a thief that they employ to steal goods from the other great houses. His name escapes me at the moment, but I know the thief is a younger Dunmer."

Arken suppressed a cringe as he continued, "And I assume you're going to take your findings to the Indoril house council?"

Rosteric shook his head, "Actually, I intend to bring this information directly to the Duke of Vardenfell once I have something solid."

Arken nodded again as he set the fruit down and looked at Rosteric, "Then it may interest you to know that I have information regarding your search."

Rosteric's eyes widened when he heard, "Well, out with it, man. I'd appreciate some help in my investigation."

Arken shook his head, "Not here. Outside. Fewer people to hear us. Follow me." Rosteric eagerly took the bait as he followed Arken out of the waistworks and into the afternoon sun on the outer walkway, where there were no witnesses.

Arken brought him to one corner of the canton before Rosteric spoke up again, "This should be private enough. Now, what do you know about my investigation?"

Arken stopped walking with his back to Rosteric, "It's a piece of very important information." In one flowing blur, Arken drew his sword and turned around to jam the blade half way to the hilt into Rosteric's gut all in the same motion.

Arken leaned close to Rosteric's face and smirked, "I'm the Redoran thief."

Rosteric's eyes widened with the surprise and he coughed up a wad of blood before falling limp to the ground. Arken slid the body off his sword and shook the blood off before returning it to its sheath. He knelt down over Rosteric's body and yanked the large silver amulet off his neck. Hlaalu might want proof that the deed was done, although Arken was certain that a Morag Tong agent would've already informed him. He stood and started heading back to the Arena Canton, putting some distance between him and the dead constable before the Ordinators found him. When he arrived, the trap door opened for him before he knocked and he was immediately shown in to Hlaalu's chambers.

Gorek ushered Arken into the room and closed the door behind him. This time, the room was occupied not only by Hlaalu, but a young and good-looking Imperial with green eyes and long blond hair tied into a ponytail that rested on his right shoulder. He was adorned in a thicker variant of the leather armor the Morag Tong favored and had a large Elven claymore secured to his back. The Imperial was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

Hlaalu turned to Arken and nodded, "Well done, Master Dralkes. You eliminated the mark discreetly and without hesitation. Well done indeed."

Arken pulled the silver amulet from his pocket and tossed it to Hlaalu, "So I take it you don't need this then?"

Hlaalu caught the amulet and looked at it, raising his eyebrows as he examined it, "No, but having some proof never hurts." He walked to his desk, where he set the amulet down and pushed a large sack with a rolled parchment over to Arken, "Your payment for a job well done, and your copy of our creed. Study it well; I expect you to know its tenets from memory." He motioned to the Imperial in the room, "This young man is Krayven Harkonus. He's been a brother of the tong for about three years now. You'll be working with him. He will instruct you in our ways of going about business and will help you accomplish your contracts, if need be."

Krayven stood up and offered his hand, tossing his ponytail off his shoulder with a shake of his head, "I look forward to seeing what you're made of, Dralkes." Arken shook Krayven's hand, but something about the Imperial just didn't quite sit right; something Arken couldn't quite put his finger on. Arken left Vivec that day with a pouch full of money and a sore spot on his left forearm where he'd received a tattoo that the Morag Tong used to identify one another. Not only was he now a member of one of the most ancient and influential guilds in Morrowind, but he'd just been paid to kill the source of his suspension from the Redoran. All in all, it was clear that things were looking up.

Arken stopped and looked out at the view of the land from the top level of the Foreign Quarter. He took in the amazing vista under the setting sun and just shook his head. Among the lands of Tamriel, Morrowind was a land that had more than its fair share of mysteries. He'd become part of one of those mysteries today. Some of those mysteries could be glorious wonders, or they could be life threatening dangers. One thing was clear, though. By the way more of these mysteries kept popping up every day, no one could solve them all in one lifetime.

Arken smiled as he turned and headed to the Mage's Guild. He did enjoy a good challenge.