Chapter 11: The Beginning of the War
Frostcrag Spire…
24 Frost Fall, 4E21
"Ignin was a traitor to the crown?" The Bosmer asked.
"Can you betray something to which you have never sworn fealty? As far as records tell us, which is sadly very little, he had been a member of the Mythic Dawn since birth," Aywin said. "Honor is a funny thing. Would he be considered more dishonorable to betray his vows to them?"
"But right and wrong-" The Nord began.
"Are points of view," Aywin explained. "We are running short of time for this evening. One more chapter before bedtime and then if you desire I can tell you the rest of the tale in the morning."
Aleron Loche's House, Bravil…
11 Hearthfire 3E433
Will sat before the wife of Aleron Loche. It was almost midnight, and he was having to explain to her how he had failed to protect her husband. The events of the past two days rushed through his head as he spun the tale. He would leave no detail out. She would know everything. She would be left with no questions. The only thing he could offer her now was closure.
Will had traced tale of the missing man back to an Orc by the name of Kurdan at the Lonely Suitor Lodge. Apparently Aleron had a bit of a gambling problem and had taken a loan from Kurdan and been unable to pay it back. The rumor was that he was now being held captive by the man.
"Yeah, I remember Aleron," Kurdan laughed, his greasy thin black strands of hair slithering down the sides of his face as he caressed the hilt of a mace. "He got in deep with me. If you want to keep that fancy Nordic head on your shoulders I suggest you not repeat his mistake."
Will was not going to be intimidated, even by an Orc, but chose to use diplomacy for the time being. Who knew what he would do to Aleron if he was angered, after all?
"My friend I am a very wealthy merchant," Will began, all the while thinking to himself that's a filthy lie and it'll net you nothing but trouble. He would be wealthier if the scumbag Altmer hadn't all but ripped him off. "I would be happy to pay his debt off."
More like obliged to you pig-faced s'wit.
Kurdan pondered the proposition for a moment. A grin came over his face which Will didn't care for at all. "I lost an axe of some value to me recently at Fort Grief. I can provide a boat there. If you are brave enough to delve into the dungeon and recover it for me then I'll let Aleron live."
Well they'd come to it now. Kurdan did have Aleron and was planning to kill him unless Will did this favor for him. By Thorig's balls you miserable creature, Will thought as he reluctantly agreed to this latest of insane tasks.
The following morning Kurdan had met him down in the river. The insects never seemed to die, regardless of the season, and were in full swarm at the moment. Kurdan paddled the boat slowly through the Niben, the salty air and the stench of the nearby bogs over-powering, even for the Orc. They finally arrived at a small island in the middle of the Niben. It was a small rocky spot of land with its only distinguishing feature being one of the ancient forts - this must be Fort Grief.
"I'll be back to pick you up at sunset," Kurdan said. "In the meantime, try to not get yourself killed."
Will was forced to pack light if he was going to be lugging an Axe around. He chose his trusty mace, as a backup for his fists, a torch and testament to the wisdom of his Uncle Hjellar, a bottle of mead.
"When life is lookin' sour, best to bring along something sweet."
Will chuckled to himself recalling his uncle, a true Nord who never forgave his mother for giving him "that girly Breton name, by Y'sgramor." Whenever he was sober he would call Will a "milkdrinker" or even give him an over-hard slap on the back to try and toughen him up. Fortunately he wasn't sober that often, and of the two legendary states of the drunken Nord, Hjellar was decidedly the jovial bard as opposed to the furious brawler.
He had given much to Will in the way of lore, songs and general advice while drunk which, despite the occasional sore shoulder, made him one of Will's favorite relatives. However as the iron-forged gate came crashing down behind him upon entering the fort and locking firmly in place, it was the one bit of sober advice he'd gotten from his uncle that came rushing to his mind.
"Watch your back."
There was a sudden dread, only alleviated by a man matching Aleron's description being a mere few footsteps away from him. Balding, Breton, and a lanky frame.
"Oh gods not another one," Aleron whimpered, backing away from Will.
"Aleron Loche?" Will asked.
He nodded. "You know me?"
"Your wife sent me to come find you. Kurdan told me that-"
Aleron cursed loudly and cut Will off. "Let me guess. He told you to come find his precious Axe right? There is no damned axe. He told me the same thing. Said if I found it he'd let me out of my debt."
"So we're prisoners here?" Will asked, looking around nervously at the high walls of the fort.
"If only it were so simple. We're unwilling contestants in a game of his, which he calls 'The Hunt'. The purpose is, quite simply, to be the last man standing. He says he'll let the survivor leave, but I'm not so sure. And if you try to escape, not that it's possible with that gate down, but he has two archers waiting on the opposite shore with longbows ready to pick off any escaping. I've seen two men make a run for freedom when the gate was open to let others in. Even at the range of a thousand meters, their shots were perfect," Aleron sighed. "I'm never going to make it home. I'm never going to see my wife again."
"Listen these old first-era forts always have some sort of escape hatch or back door. I'll go look for a way out, you hide here," Will said.
"You can't be seriously planning to go in there!" Aleron protested. "This has been going on for four days now. The only men left within are the people who WILLINGLY joined this hunt. Madmen and blood-hungry marauders."
"Well it's either that or we just hope that the men inside are feeling generous or that Kurdan is a man of his word," Will said. "Stay hidden, I'll see what I can find."
Aleron had not exaggerated, as each corner of the fort was filled with only the strongest and most bloodthirsty of former "competitors". On the first level he rounded a corner only to be confronted by a large axe-wielding Orc who rushed at him with savage fury. Will was certain it would be the end for him but in his fury the Orc stumbled across a pressure plate, activating an arrow trap. He fell to the ground at his feet with three massive bolts sticking out of his back.
He barely evaded combat with a Scimitar carrying Redguard on the second level. Will had adopted a stealthy approach after his near-fatal run in earlier, but still was making more than enough noise to be heard. The Redguard was slowly approaching him but he was interrupted in his hunt by another competitor - a Bosmer with a bow and arrow. The two engaged each other and he was free to sneak past.
He was not so lucky on the bottom floor however. There was in fact a way out, hidden beneath a sewer grate, but it was guarded by not one but two fellow Nords wearing a full set of steel armor and brandishing massive Claymores. Will had a mind to go seek help, but he doubted Aleron would be any good in a fight.
This was clearly a fight Will wasn't going to win. He was tough enough, but in close quarters like these against two living walls of steel…
Then it hit him. Close Quarters. It was far too narrow for them to properly use their Claymores. Will wasn't the most agile, but he was certainly quicker than two burly blokes under the weight of armor. He approached them with his mace drawn.
"If you don't mind, I'll be leaving," Will said.
He wasn't sure at the moment how Aleron would fit into this plan, but he didn't decide to sweat the details at the moment.
The first guard didn't bother talking, he simply lifted his Claymore and rushed towards Will. He did so with alarming speed that Will would never have guessed. Will would like to have been able to say that he had cunningly prepared some sort of elaborate trap or that he was taken aback but able to fight his way to victory. But that wasn't the case. He was thoroughly out-bladed and had made a grievous misjudgment about his foes. He retreated into the shadows the guard following him the whole way.
Will eventually found some cover behind some crates, but his pursuer was relentlessly hunting him still. The other competitors had clearly known better than to try and come down this far, perhaps having been warned of the defenders ahead of time. If Will was going to get him and Aleron home he had to find a way to deal with the immediate problem.
And lo and behold, an opportunity presented itself. The guard was facing away from him. His thick shimmering steel just feet from him. He hadn't been noticed. Will didn't like the idea of killing a man like this - striking from the back was a cowardly and deplorable action. That is, cowardly and deplorable when the odds weren't so unfavorably stacked against you against your will. He would deal with his conscience when he wasn't in immediate peril of untimely death.
He smashed his mace against the back of the guard's head, his well-tempered steel cutting through the helmet like paper. It rung like a bell, followed immediately by the loud clatter of his armored figure hitting the stone floor. Will wasn't willing to see if he got lucky twice. He would take his chances with coming back here with Aleron. Perhaps the two of them could plot out some surprise attack for his friend.
He carefully made his way back to the top floor, noticing that there were far less competitors and far more corpses than on his descent. The game was winding down. He got a sinking sensation in his stomach as he opened the door leading outside.
Aleron turned to face him from his hiding spot. "Oh! You're alive. How did it-"
Unfortunately Aleron's sentence was cut short by an arrow through his neck. He had just enough time to feel around his wound and pull back his hands. Perhaps he caught sight of the blood before he died.
Will didn't even have time to scream before Kurdan walked into the fort, accompanied by his two archers.
"Well, that wasn't much fun," Kurdan chuckled grimly. "I have to say, I'm rather surprised that you were the one who survived the game, not counting my little helpers."
"Why did you kill him?" Will asked, unable to take his eyes off of Aleron.
"He bored me," Kurdan shrugged. "But I don't see why you're so concerned. A deals a deal after all. You've won your freedom. I'll even be nice and give you the prize money I offered. 5,000 Septims. Not a bad pot considering you didn't really do any fighting of your own."
"That will be remedied you son of a bitch," Will cursed.
There was another famous saying from his Uncle that came to his mind, the usual preface of a drunken brawl. "If you're going to strike first, strike last."
Will charged headlong at Kurdan, emitting a furious bellow that would make his Nordic ancestors proud. Kurdan was dumbstruck just long enough for Will to get in his first strike, and the last he would need against Kurdan at the least. His mace tasted Orcish flesh, and shattered Kurdan's skull. The two archers drew their bows quickly but in the tight space of the fort courtyard there was no way they would be effective against this beast in Will's skin.
One fired a shot that missed horribly. He didn't fire a second. The other was nobody's fool and chose to flee, leaving the gate wide open behind him. Will wasn't sure if that was the archer who had fired the arrow that killed Aleron, but Kurdan was the true murderer and his death would satisfy the need for vengeance.
He brought back Aleron's body and the purse containing the 5,000 septims. He gave it all to his widow, save 100 septims which he donated to the local temple to assure Aleron a proper burial and rites. Will spent the night outside the city walls, camping in the small tent covering of his wagon. He had failed.
The Imperial City, Arcane University…
14 Hearthfire 3E433
Alessia was still getting used to her new role as a member of the Mage's Guild. Her arrival had been exactly what she had dreamed - entering the grand city and finally being able to set foot on the university grounds.
She had reported to one of the Council of Mages members an Imperial by the name of Raminus Polus. He was a man in his middle-age but had a youthful spark to him. His very body seemed bathed in magical energy. He wore the standard royal blue robes of the Mages Guild.
"Are so you're the latest initiate?" Raminus smiled. "I've heard some remarkable things about you. From Bruma, yes?"
Alessia nodded. "I've been training my whole life for this day."
Raminus laughed heartily. "Child I hope you have lived in that time somewhat. Understanding magic means understanding the nature of life. How can you understand life when you have not truly lived?"
Alessia was a bit offset by this remark. It wasn't as though she'd done nothing else with her life. Though, now he brought it up it seemed as though everything she'd ever done since she was a little girl was working towards her goal of becoming a mage.
"Oh, don't give me that face. I am pleased that you are, frankly, rather accomplished especially for your age. Taking down an enemy mage of a highwayman, matching spells with a few corrupt members of our own family. You have knack for it, and good instinct. It will serve well here."
She noticed something in Raminus's face.
"Is something the matter?" She asked.
"Well as you know there have been quite a few incidents of late. Members betraying their oaths, and some even entering into the ignoble field of necromancy. I'll not lie to you, child, it is a dangerous time to be involved in the Mage's Guild," Raminus shook his head. "But I don't mean to scare you. Here take these robes and then we'll talk about forging your first staff."
The apprentice uniform of green and black robes fit her perfectly, but the task of forging her staff was not so simple. She'd been sent to collect an unfinished staff from the nearby island on the lake, where the local botanists tended wood of superior spell-crafting quality. However upon her arrival she found them all dead and a pack of necromancers nearby. She was forced to wait for them to flee the scene before grabbing the staff and reporting the incident back to Raminus.
Things were clearly worse off in the Mage's Guild than she'd been led to believe, and she'd witnessed too much death in her young life already. Mere minutes after reporting the grisly site, she had been brushed off like it was nothing. Was this… commonplace? She marched - with no will of hers carrying her along - to the Chironasium where she'd been instructed to seek Delmar, a Redguard in a white robe who was responsible for forging the Staves. She barely heard him when she asked her what sort of staff she wanted.
"Child," Delmar said. "I know you are still in shock, we all are. But now, more than ever, you need a staff to defend yourself."
I am the pillar, and the pillar is me.
"My name is Alessia," she said. "I've heard that through magic you can control objects from a distance."
"Telekinesis is the technical term," Delmar said. "Yes that is true."
"Can my staff perform such a feat?"
Delmar rubbed her chin. "It is possible, but difficult for a newcomer to master. It requires the utmost of concentration, even with the staff as a conduit."
"My concentration is unparalleled. I have been preparing for this moment my entire life."
Delmar sighed. "Most beginners choose a staff that can shoot fireballs, light the way, charm others. Simple tasks."
"I am not a simple Mage," she said.
I am the pillar and the pillar is me.
Her fists crackled with energy and lightning began to encircle her.
"That spell!" Delmar gasped. "How did you-"
Before he could say anything she pointed her fingers towards one of the metal hanging sheets used for magical target practice. Lightning burst from her and the sheet was reduced to cinders.
"A staff of telekinesis, if you please," she said.
Delmar folded his arms. "You're clearly no beginner. But even as powerful as you are, destroying things is far simpler than controlling them. I will make your staff under the condition that you let me tutor you privately in the subtleties of Telekinesis."
Alessia nodded, and so her staff was forged. She returned the following day to find it all ready for her. It was black as the night and with a rounded bulbous tip, the most beautiful thing she'd ever held. An instant bond was formed as soon as her hand touched the polish wood. This was hers.
"Now, let's start with something simple," Delmar said. "That vase over there on the mantle."
He pointed to a simple metal vase. At least it wouldn't break when she inevitably dropped it. Her first attempt at pointing the staff was futile. It didn't so much as wobble. A second, third and fourth attempt passed without incident. On the fifth the vase teetered off the edge of the mantle and came crashing to the ground with a loud CLANG!
"You're jabbing. That's the sign of a beginner. You are still trying to make the staff do all the work," Delmar said.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Remember that the magic is still primarily in your mind. The staff is a conduit, yes but it is little more than a beacon to help you direct your energy. Controlling it is still your responsibility," Delmar said.
I am the pillar, and the pillar is me.
She thrust her staff forward gently, her mind focused on what had to happen. The vase slowly began to lift off the ground and for a moment seemed steady.
"Good, good, keep focusing," Delmar said. "The best staff wielders forget they are even holding the staff. In theory you should not even need to point it. The staff is just the conduit, and you are the staff."
The vase rushed towards her with a jolt. She lost control and ducked quickly the vase narrowly missing her head.
Delmar laughed. "Well, that was definitely impressive for a first-timer. Keep practicing. You have knack for it."
She spent the following week becoming familiar with her Staff but also studying all the new mysteries of magic that she could. There were daily lectures which most of the students attended, and she was no exception. This was her time and she was going to use it.
On her fifth day, Raminus Polus approached her.
"We have an issue that we need your assistance with, back in Skingrad," he said. "If you are prepared."
I am the pillar, and the pillar is me.
Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, Cheydinhal..
14 Hearth Fire, 3E433
Azeg-Rael was of the opinion that there was no such thing as a bad job within the Dark Brotherhood. In his short time there, each contract he'd been given tested him in some wonderfully perverse way. The initiation killing of Rufio, the stealth assassination of a pirate captain, his strange false murder in Chorrol. Each had their own unique spin that he found exhilarating. Even his most recent contract, an assignment to sneak out to a fort in the Gold Coast and kill a warlord by exchanging the medicine keeping him alive with poison - it was beautiful.
He had slunk through the damp tunnels outside the fort with only a spell of Night Eye to light his way, and avoiding confrontation the entire way (he was instructed to kill nobody apart from his target and to not alert anybody that he was there) he managed to make his way through the old catacombs directly up to the bed of the long ill marauder. In a way, Azeg-Rael's trade of quick acting poison for the medicine - that kept him alive, but useless - was a sort of mercy; a coup de grace. Perhaps the warlord would have preferred to die with steel in his hands. But the fates were not always kind.
As delightful as this journey was, it did lack a certain satisfaction in actually seeing the death with his own eyes, or indeed a killing by his own hands. While Ocheeva assured him that they had confirmed after the fact that his mission had been successful, there was something missing. It seemed Ocheeva knew of his longing, because for his next contract, she gave him a positive boon.
"You have been summoned to a party," she began. She certainly had a flair for the dramatic.
"Should I find a party hat and sweet rolls?" Azeg-Rael asked.
Ocheeva grinned. "Actually that might not be a bad idea." She elaborated. "The owner of Summitmist Manor in Skingrad is hosting a party for five of his acquaintances. Each has wronged him in some way. You must kill them all without anybody knowing that you are the murderer… so for goodness sake don't wear your hood."
"Five innocents at once," Azeg-Rael pondered. "That's certainly a new challenge."
"It will require you to play them against one another and to remain above suspicion. I have acquired some finery for you to help you blend in with the crowd," Ocheeva said, handing Azeg-Rael some fine gold-trimmed felt clothing. "The rest of the details you can get from the doorman."
Azeg-Rael changed into his new clothing in the common bedroom. He was a fine assassin. He wasn't much of an actor though. As much as it pained him to admit this to himself - he would need some help from his brothers and sisters.
Antoinetta was the first to offer her advice, the abnormally cheery girl seemingly eager to share her god-given talents for deception.
"You have to get them to like you. Which means for a while, a part of you needs to believe you like them. Anybody can act nice, but most people can see through false sincerity. If you're going to truly employ deception it has to be genuine," she huffed and folded her arms. "It would be much easier if you had to seduce them. That would be easier to teach."
"Seduction might not be a bad ploy," Teinaava cackled. "But I think simply remaining aloof might work better. Don't try to be too personal, just blend in with the group. If you're too cheery, people might suspect you are up to something."
Mraaj-Dar walked into the common area and suppressed a laugh at his foolish appearance, but only barely. "And why is the prey dressed up like a pretty doll?"
"Be nice, Mraaj," Telaendril said chastisingly. She then offered her input. "I think you should focus more on how you are going to stealthily kill all of them rather than how you are going to make them your friends. As long as you aren't seen in the act there is always reasonable doubt."
"What a strange day, when the elf and I agree on something," Gogron laughed merrily, favoring Telaendril with a hearty backslap. "Just murder them all quick as you can. Though if it were me I wouldn't even bother being too stealthy."
This strange assortment of half-advice was unfortunately not very helpful to Azeg-Rael and he folded his arms in frustration.
"If you find out what motivates them," said Vicente entering the room. "You can find out how to manipulate them. You would need to be able to get a complete stranger to trust you with information they'd never tell anyone else. I may be able to help with that."
"Oh?" Azeg-Rael asked.
"The Dark Gift. I promised that the time may come when I would pass it onto you. If you are ready…"
Becoming a vampire: that was an option that hadn't crossed his mind since Vicente first mentioned it. The fair and beautiful people like Telaendril and, yes, even Antoinetta would recoil at their features taking on a more ghastly appearance. But Azeg-Rael was an Argonian. People were already naturally afraid of him. Why not take it to the next level?
"What would I have to do?" Azeg-Rael asked.
"First I would have you spend the night here to recover from your travels. During your sleep I would visit you and transfer the gift. But be warned, there is no cure for Vampirism. When you change, it will be a new life."
"Good," Azeg-Rael nodded. "I didn't much care for this one."
That night, Azeg-Rael's sleep was disturbed by vivid nightmares. A strange pale figure stalked him through the corridors of the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. His eyes were black as pitch and his fangs were sharp as daggers. The creature eventually caught up with him and sunk his teeth into Azeg-Rael's neck.
Azeg-Rael woke with a start, his body drenched in sweat. At least some of the dream, if not all of it, had been real, as he felt the warm trickle of blood down his neck and two pinpricks in his throat. Once the realization of what had happened set in, he felt faint and weak, falling back into his bed where he slept rather unwittingly through the remainder of the day. He awoke as the sun was setting (not that he could see it from within the Sanctuary). This time Vicente was with him.
"How are you feeling?" He asked.
Azeg-Rael rubbed his forehead and answered. "Cold," he said. "And hungry."
"You need blood," Vicente said, handing a small vial to Azeg-Rael.
He recognized the scent, and even to an extent the taste. But he'd never appreciated just how good it was until now. As he downed the bottle he felt warm and strong. No, better than strong. He felt unimaginably powerful.
"The Vampiric disease is a form of anemia," Vicente explained. "Porphyric Hemophilia is the scientific name. If you are well fed you will be strong enough and look relatively human. Your powers will be impressive. But, if you are willing to let yourself become blood-starved your otherworldly abilities will become more pronounced. Toughness or mysticism; that is the trade-off. Also, you should be aware that the sun is now your enemy. Freshly fed it shouldn't harm you too much but it would be best to travel by the dark from now on. "
This didn't bother Azeg-Rael. The night had been his companion thus far, and he felt no reason to abandon it.
Waterfront, Anvil…
14 Hearth Fire, 3E433
R'darra didn't know if she would ever end up being the catalyst of change that Amusei suggested she might be. However, as far as improving the lives of the Thieve's Guild, she had been granted a particular honor. She casually walked down the waterfront in noble raiments - stolen, of course - and made her way into the city proper. As with all of her missions, stealth was required, but even moreso now that this particular task would need to be done in daylight.
She approached the center of town, and made her way towards the ramshackle house that marred the otherwise pristine visage of a wealthy port town. She knocked on the door and a gruff looking Imperial with a stern face.
"I've got the deed to this property and I'm not selling so you can piss off," he said scowling.
R'darra heard the man could be difficult. She ignored this and made her intentions clear. "A fox told me you're the man to speak to about a forgery."
The man looked around behind her and then beckoned her to come inside. The house interior was as shoddy as the exterior, though there were a few comforts - more than a few bottles of expensive Talmika Vintage amongst them.
"You're a right fool coming to me at this hour," he hissed. "A Khajitt bitch in finery, you stick out like a sore thumb."
"The matter at hand is rather time sensitive. I had no other choice," she said.
"Thieve's Guild work is always time sensitive. Doesn't help anybody to get caught now does it," he growled. "I know why you're here. The letter of recommendation right?"
"For Hieronymus Lex, yes," R'darra nodded.
"Wily cunt thinks he's so clever," the man shrugged. "The Gray Fox I mean. He's put the Countess of Anvil under his protection. Thinks transferring the shiny suited prick here will make things better for her."
"You're a member of the Thieve's Guild aren't you?" R'darra asked.
"Not all of us think the Gray Fox is Nocturnal reborn. He's a man, and a conceited twat, nearly as much as I am," the man insisted, snatching the letter from R'darra's hand. "Blimey if Dairihill's handwriting isn't as atrocious as ever."
"You've forged her work before?"
"You might say that. I've certainly read a fair share of her notes," the man said, quickly setting about to his task, quill in hand. His work was precise, even though he refused to let R'darra see it until he was finished, she could tell as he worked that his was a well-honed craft.
This was, perhaps, one of the cleverest bits of skullduggery she'd ever seen the guild come up with. S'krivva had set the ball in motion but it was under the direct orders of the Gray Fox. The time had come to take care of Hieronymus Lex once and for all.
The time had come to replace Captain Langley as the head of Anvil's Castle Guard. The steward, Dairihill, had prepared a list or suitable candidates, attempting to steer the Countess's opinion in favor of her own cousin. But she was not the only one who could play favorites. Indeed, the plan was to forge a new letter naming Lex as the preferred choice. The Countess had the authority to order a transfer and that would be that.
The tricky part was that there were several moving pieces in this play. For starters, the original note from Dairihill, which had just been completed that day had to be pilfered. R'darra was able to get into Castle Anvil easily enough, but from there she would have been at a loss as to how to get to the royal private chambers, were it not for the blacksmith. Orrin, the castle smithy, was another Thieve's Guild member and as luck would have it he knew of a secret passage leading to the back rooms - an escape hatch of sorts, long since forgotten.
From there, she had to sneak her way through the private quarters - packed with guards. But this time she was her own savior. She had the night prior paid a visit to one of the local clothiers and commandeered the fine clothes she now wore. She kept her face hidden behind a book as much as possible, and moving swiftly and confidently, she found her way to Dairihill's room, without the guards paying her any attention whatsoever.
The desk drawer that kept the letter was locked - simple enough. The letter was too the point:
Itius Hayn, loyal but not too bright - my personal recommendation.
Carmalo Truiand, smart but inexperienced - a good second choice.
Hieronymus Lex, overly fanatical - not recommended.
Audens Avidius, questionable morals - not recommended.
S'Krivva had mentioned "a stranger" who lived in Anvil who would be able to forge the new letter. All things considered the task was going startlingly easy.
The Stranger finished his work and handed the letter back to her. "Here. Careful the ink isn't quite dry and it wouldn't do to smudge it."
She looked over the new letter which was rather close to the original all things considered:
Hieronymus Lex, eminently qualified - my personal recommendation.
Carmalo Truiand, smart but inexperienced - a good second choice.
Itius Hayn, loyal but not too bright - unqualified.
Audens Avidius, questionable morals - not recommended.
R'darra was quite pleased to see that Hayn, Dairihilll's cousin, had dropped significantly in status on this revision.
"My payment," The Stranger insisted somewhat impatiently.
R'darra handed over 500 septims to the man in a small brown purse. He quickly counted the coins and then popped he purse into his pocket. R'darra stood up to leave but The Stranger stopped her.
"You're not done yet," he said.
"What now?" R'darra asked impatiently.
"The imperial seal on the original letter. Can't exactly forge that. When Dairihill met with the officers of the Imperial Watch to suggest a recommend she had to have approval for her selected candidates. You'll need that seal on this letter."
"You mean I'll need to go all the way back to the Imperial City?" R'darra asked.
"I took the liberty of acquiring a horse for you, if it helps," the Stranger said. "Get moving."
Arena, Imperial City…
15 Hearth Fire, 3E433
Another day, another fight. The tricky bastard this time around was actually a rather unfair matchup of twin Argonians both darting around the arena with short swords. Two at once didn't bother Borin. They weren't Orcs. They did annoy him something fierce though as their movements were a bit too swift for him to follow. Just as he got a bead on Bastard 1, and moved in with his axe, Bastard 2 took a jab at him from the back.
"Oh and another strike from the Yellow Team. The Blue Team fighter is going to have his work cut out for him with these two!" The announcer bellowed unhelpfully.
They were just going to stick him to death if he didn't focus. So he chose to pull himself together and simply charge at them one at a time. Bastard 2 didn't see this move coming - the sudden shift from defense to offense came as a real surprise to his skull. Bastard 1 was enraged by the creation of a fair fight and to his credit got a sizable chunk out of Borin's arm before Borin's axe met his gut.
"And against all odds, Borin gro-Kromlock advances to the rank of Warrior!"
Wonderful how he suddenly had a name as a victor. Borin returned graciously to the Red Room where he mended his wounds. The Gray Prince sat down beside him.
"Two buggers at once, eh?"
"I've seen worse odds," Borin shrugged.
"That's the spirit. Well you're a Warrior now. A proper arena member. I guess that means you're no flash in the pan," he laughed.
"I should hope not. As many nicks as I've taken it'd be a shame to leave her penniless and scarred," Borin said, wrapping his arm in a bandage.
"I'll make you a deal," The Gray Prince said. "You make it to the rank of Hero and I'll tell you my name. The real one."
This intrigued Borin. Of course he knew "The Gray Prince" was only a show name, but the kinship that had been forming between the two Orcs had crept up on him. He had a friend - that was unusual.
"Well, I have to go pick up something for this gouge or I'll die before I make it to Hero," Borin laughed.
The Gray Prince shrugged. "Most men do."
Borin headed towards the Market District and into Jensine's - the shop that had become his usual go to ever since the situation with Thoronir. She was looking remarkably upbeat today, and even a few years younger. The upturn in her business had reflected upon her features. Gone was the tired, worn Jensine. She was still as sharp-tongued as ever though.
"Greetings Borin," she said. "Oh what have you done to yourself now."
"Fell in a pricker bush, mum," Borin replied with a snarky smile. "Big prickers." I
"Well I'm told you Orcs would know all about big pricks, eh?" She replied coyly, grabbing a bottle off the shelf behind her. "Home remedy but it works like a charm for disinfecting."
"Thanks," Borin nodded. "How much do I owe you?"
"For you, I'll let you take it for 25," she said.
Borin gladly handed over the coin. Palonirya entered the store and sat down on a nearby chair. Her head was sunk low and she seemed on the verge of tears.
"Pal?" Jensine asked. She went out from behind her desk and sat down to comfort her. "What happened?"
"That Watch Captain came by again today. He said I still owed taxes," Palonirya rubbed her eyes and couldn't continue for a moment.
"Damn it all. Just when we thought things with Thoronir were the worst we could get, now we've got a Captain extorting us," Jensine cursed.
"What's this about extortion?" Borin demanded, folding his arms. If somebody was daring to hurt these women and men in the name of the law, he would not sit idly by.
"It's that Audens Avidius… He keeps saying we owe for this and that and takes the septims from us. If we try to protest, we get thrown in the dungeons for a day - or worse," Jensine sighed.
"Maro Rufus has been in since Tirdas," Palonirya added. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. If this keeps up I'll have to close up shop."
"Can't he be reported?" Borin asked.
"We'd need evidence that he was corrupt," Jensine sighed. "Any Captain is surely good about covering his tracks. And even if his men talk, it'd take another Captain to arrest him."
"Why not approach Captain Phillida?" Borin asked. "He's been a friend to the people."
"Hadn't you heard? Phillida retired just this week. They say he's moved down to a house in Leyawin to live out the rest of his years. Lucky man, he's earned it after all," Palonirya said, calming down somewhat. "Then there's Captain Lex, but the sod is too busy with his vendetta against the Gray Fox. Honestly, a grown man like that chasing fairy tales."
Borin folded his arms trying to think of any other names he might have heard. "There was one more fellow… Hayn wasn't it? Captain Itius Hayn?"
"We probably won't have Hayn around for much longer any ways. I hear his cousin is steward of Anvil and trying to get him a job as the Countess's Captain of the Watch," Jensine said. "Still, he's the only one left we can count on."
"Leave this one to me," Borin said.
The plan was good, but the details were a bit murky. For one, Borin was not entirely sure where he could find Captain Hayn. Asking around offered little more advice then "try the Prison District", "perhaps he's on patrol", "Captain who? I report to Captain Lex", and his personal favorite "sod off you pig-faced cretin."
He did eventually run into Captain Hayn - quite literally - in the Elven Gardens district. After nearly knocking the man over, he promptly apologized at which point introductions were exchanged as such:
"Beggin' your pardon. I'm looking for Captain Itius Hayn."
"I'm Captain Hayn."
"Oh."
As Borin went into detail as the complaints of the shopkeepers Hayn listened intently. When Borin had finished his story, Hayn seemed incensed.
"As if we don't have enough bloody corruption on this force to begin with," Hayn cursed. "I'll need the evidence to be corroborated. If we can get some of his men to testify then we can deal with him."
That went surprisingly well, which made it unfortunate that shortly after speaking with Hayn, Borin gro-Kromlock found himself being arrested.
Fighter's Guild, Chorrol…
15 Hearth Fire, 3E433
Modryn listened with mild amusement as Davion recounted his most recent contracts with him over a drink. For starters, his most recent trip to Anvil had proved just as exciting as always.
"What on earth is with the abundance of thieves in that rotten city?" Davion cursed, tipping back his stein. He swallowed hard and continued.
He regaled Modryn with about a job to simply clear out some thieves and recover some stolen goods from a nearby cave. This was quite well enough, except the Anvil Guild wanted the dog, Mojo, to accompany him for safety. And if that wasn't enough his informant, Newheim, had an errand of his own.
"He told me he had this wonderful flagon that kept ale cold as anything and never needed to be refilled. He said the thieves took it and he wanted it back," Davion explained.
"And did his flagon do any of that?" Modryn asked.
"If it did, Modryn, I'd have never returned the thing to him. He wasn't the contract-holder," Davion laughed. Modryn joined in.
"But I assume all went well then?"
"I lost the tip of my ear," Davion replied, pointing to a small but overt cut on the left side of his head. "You see right around the corner the damn dog barked as loud as anything which startled my attackers. Oh it did wonders they all fell to my blade but in their excitement one of them let loose an arrow which did this to me. Bad dog."
"You haven't lost a part of your ear so much as gained a battle scar," Modryn smirked. This time Davion joined him in the laughing.
Once they'd settled down he began to discuss his other assignment.
"Then there was the Amelion situation…"
This was something far closer to Davion's heart, and the reason for his sudden need for the drink. Burz from the Cheydinhal Guild had sent him to take care of Biene Amelion, whose father had been stolen away by loan sharks. To any other member of the Fighter's Guild this would be just another contract.
But not to Davion.
Biene's sweet, but sorrowful smile. Her strength in a hopeless situation. It was all too heart-breaking for a man of Davion's age to witness. She recounted the tale to him of how she'd inherited the debt of her father, a sum of 1000 Gold. There was no way she could hope to earn that kind of money. Working every day for 10 years on her farm wouldn't amount to half of that.
Then what shattered Davion's heart was how she meant to pay for his bounty.
"There was a tomb on the Niben," he told Modryn. "Where her grandfather was entombed with a set of rare enchanted armor. The armor would be worth the ransom and then a bit besides. This poor girl would have to dishonor her grandfather to save her father."
"That is a sad story," Modryn sighed. "You went in with those fellows from Leyawin yes?"
Davion shrugged. "After their encounter with the Oblivion Gate they were more than willing to join me on a more profitable venture. The four of us made quite the hunting party. The three of them jolly as can be, and myself - moping and dreading what I was about to do."
Davion took another hefty gulp and continued.
"The entranceway was wide with some branching paths. We figured it would be best to split into two groups. Vantus stuck with me, Rellian and Dubok went together. Course only one path actually led to the vaults - a ploy to deter grave robbers you see. And Vantus and I were the ones who found it. "
"No undead entanglements?" Modryn asked.
"Not until we reached the Vault. And what a sorry sight it was. Drenched in the fog of death and decay, yet in the damp candles were still burning. Vantus wanted to wait for the others to meet us, but I didn't want to drag the mission out any longer than needed. I told him we could handle anything the waited for us and Rellian and Dubok could catch up with us. Too his credit, he only agreed after I promised him that they'd still get an even share of the loot."
"Stand up fellow. I take it you did run into some trouble though?"
"Draugr, of course," Davion sighed. "A batch of four of them. We were right buggered for a moment. I am proud to say I took down two of the bastards myself, but Vantus hadn't fought anything like them before and was having trouble. Well as it turns out Rellian showed up to help us finish the other two off."
"Rellian only? What happened to Dubok?" Modryn asked.
"Dubok was caught in a falling rock trap and had his leg crushed. After Rellian helped us out of our little jam we went back to where he was waiting. He was in a miserable state, poor bastard. Vantus and I were able to lift the rocks off of him and pull him out. The sight of his ankle though… still makes me sick."
Davion shuddered from the recollection. He'd suffered a fair few boyhood injuries from rock climbing. Once at the tender young age of 11 he fell off a rock scramble near Bruma and landed upright. Good for his vital organs, very bad for his legs. He walked with a limp for several years after that. But even as atrocious as his wound had been he was still able to walk after it. The site of Dubok's leg, mangled with the bone bent completely the wrong way, made Davion wonder if he would ever walk again.
"So what happened next? I assume you didn't just leave Dubok?"
"No," Davion shook his head. "I had Vantus and Rellian escort him out of the tomb. They'd been able to snatch some gems and old books and they seemed satisfied to call it quits under the circumstances. I told them I would go in and finish the task. Of course Vantus was sure I'd end up dead. And in the middle of that bleak place I was rather sure of it myself.
"I continued down into the lower chambers. No more Draugr, just the occasional wandering skeleton. When I finally reached the Amelion resting place, I saw the armor that would win Biene Amelion back her father. It was then that I came face to face with the spirit of Brusef - her grandfather, you know. I had steeled myself for a fight, but he simply looked upon me with pity. He knew the sorry state I was in, and what this dishonorable deed would do to all involved. How it would dishonor me as a warrior, how it would disgrace Biene as a loyal daughter, and how it would strip Brusef of his last earthly remains. All would suffer."
"So you didn't do it then?" Modryn asked.
"I left every piece of his armor where it lay. But I gathered up every spare gemstone and valuable pebble in that place. Anything of which there were a thousand like it in the world, but enough to still have unique value. I hauled my plunder to Bravil and sold it to a traveling Nord merchant at a more than reasonable price. In the end I walked away with a little more than 1,000 septims."
"And you gave it all to Biene?" Modryn seemed astonished.
"It was by rights hers anyways. But it was nothing as precious as her grandfather's armor. She was able to pay for her father's ransom and we were all spared," Davion finished the last bit of his drink.
"I can promise you very few men would have the integrity and honor you displayed in there, Davion," Modryn said patting his shoulder.
"Aye, and what a sad state of the world it is when that is true."
Modryn chuckled darkly. "Well I feel obliged to promote you to Protector. And perhaps when you are sobered up some, you would care to assist me with another personal matter."
"As long as I don't have to plunder any holy ground, consider it done," Davion said, before passing out in his chair.
Shrine of Sanguine…
15 Hearth Fire, 3E433
Cierra hadn't had a home in quite some time. Her old homestead in Cheydinhal still stood, but she could not return there until she finished her quest. It was a place of too many painful memories - the spot of her failure.
She was able to take some small comfort in the Waterfront home that had been provided for her. It made her ventures far easier, and the Imperial City was as good a place as any to gather information. She found that the Waterfront in particular was a source of many peculiar tales. Owing to her habit of late-night eavesdropping, she overheard two drunk sailors mentioning the Daedric Prince Sanguine and his particular interests.
"The Goddess Dibella has nothing on Sanguine," the first said, a young Redguard with tangled dreadlocks. "I prayed to that misty cunt and all I got was nasty looks from the parishioner. But one deed to Sanguine and I was in bed with two Dunmer whores that very night."
The second, a somewhat older Imperial, laughed. "I don't need no god or daedra blessing to land the lasses. Maybe you just took a bath that night is all."
"Oh you haven't been abed in years you old crow," the Redguard hissed. "Anyway, you know what they say about them Morrowind girls."
"You listen to too many songs boy," The Imperial replied. "If you're lookin' for Elvish wicket, you'd be better with the Bosmer. Their legs aren't just for climbing trees, sonny. Course, I prefer a good polite Breton girl meself."
The two continued in this lecherous manner for a while before returning to the topic of Cierra's interest.
"So you really do worship that Sanguini Fellow?" The Imperial asked.
"Sanguine," The Redguard replied. "His shrine isn't too far from here. Just leave him an offering of Cyrodillic Brandy and he will speak to you."
And that was how she had ended up at the shrine of the Daedric Prince of wild gatherings just northwest of Skingrad. She carried with her an offering of a fresh bottle of Cyrodillic Brandy. The liquid drained from the bottle before her eyes and the Daedra spoke to her.
Ah... another mortal come to beg Sanguine to add a bit of spice to an otherwise drab existence. I would have you perform a service for me. The Castle Leyawin is a dull, dreary place. The mistress is an especially somber soul, and tomorrow she will hold another excruciating dinner party. I want you to liven it up. Use this spell on the Countess and her guests. I think it will make the party much more interesting. You should probably try to be inconspicuous. Or they might kill you. Oh, and the party is by invitation only. You'll have to find a way in. Have fun!
A scroll appeared within the drained bottle. It certainly looked arcane enough, but she felt that there was nothing overtly malicious about the spell. Mass murder did not seem Sanguine's style.
Getting to Leyawin was a long trek on foot at the best of times and seemed longer still with a party to crash waiting at the end of it. She took a boat from the edge of the Imperial City and sailed down the Niben towards Leyawin. Harder still was finding her way into the castle dining hall without being seen. With guards only relaxed during the evening, she was forced to wait until only an hour before the start time of the party to make her move.
She reached into her pocket for the Skeleton Key. Fortunately this was not one of those nights where the Thieve's Guild required its use. Working deftly, though without much difficulty, she unlocked the now unguarded door leading into the dining hall. It was empty for the moment, but she carefully concealed herself in a nearby pantry. Time crept by slowly, with Cierra's heart pounding from nerves against her neck.
When the guests finally did arrive, including the Countess herself, Cierra decided to make her move. The Countess raised her glass to propose a toast, and Cierra raised the scroll. The dark words escaping her lips and a brilliant flash of light shook the castle. Cierra's first sensation was feeling far lighter. The second was feeling far less clothed. She looked down on her bare body to see that she was now gearless and completely nude. Out in the dining hall, the same could be said of the party guests.
The Countess let out a shriek and concealed herself in drapery. Two other noblewomen were attempting cover their assets with dishes to varying degrees of success. The men began scouring the room for the culprit and Cierra decided this was as good a time as any. Somewhat embarrassed, she rushed out of the closet and, not bothering to conceal anything, leapt cleanly over the table and out the door into the hallway.
As she shoved the door open it knocked out a guard who, still clothed, had made his way towards the Countess. Another was with him and he shouted something unintelligible as he gave chase. The remarkable thing about being naked however is it makes one considerably faster than somebody in armor. Once she was outside the Castle Walls she pilfered a set of undergarments from a clothesline and then ran back towards the bay.
Upon arriving back at Sanguine's shrine, she was not happy to say the very least.
A rousing success, mortal! And it appears you joined in the festivities as well. Good for you. You need to lighten up a bit. You'll find your equipment in that chest over there. And here's a little something for your efforts. Maybe we'll celebrate again sometime...
No they most certainly would not. But Cierra took the Sanguine Rose, a staff that radiated immense power and had a bloom made of wood. She opened the chest that sat at his feet, reclaimed her gear and decided that she would take the next couple of days off.
Main Gate, Bruma…
15 Hearth Fire, 3E433
Saryn found herself with little time to marvel at the massive rocky arch that had appeared a short distance from Bruma's main gate before Daedric monsters began spewing forth from it. Fire and sulfur enveloped her senses - she saw, smelt, tasted and even somehow felt the decay about her. The snowy wilds were nothing compared to this new heat. Her bow was ready, but unfortunately she had barely a chance to nock her first arrow before the Bruma Watch laid into the beasts with blade and bow alike.
Aywin sat on a stump behind Saryn, observing the men take to the beasts.
"You seem rather calm for a battle like this," Saryn observed.
Aywin nodded. "When the enemy's strength is fear, stoicism is your greatest defense."
The melee was soon over and for a short time there was peace. Saryn knew from horrible experience that it would not last.
"Any casualties?" Aywin asked, looking over the men.
"No dead, a few injured," the Captain replied.
"Leave the wounded behind with the reserve. The vanguard will march forward," she said.
"You mean us to charge into that bloody thing?" One soldier asked.
"If you want to close it, then yes," Aywin said. "If you're unmanned you can wait with the wounded."
Saryn decided at once she liked this woman, vampire or no. Aywin had chosen a sword for this encounter, a brilliant silver masterpiece of a weapon with a thin blade meant for slashing. She also boasted magical abilities which seemed equally fluent in all of the colleges. But her true gift was in her speech, as the affronted soldier now fell sheepishly in line, preparing to reclaim his honor at her insult.
"The great tower you will see upon entering is our target. We will attack it together. Those who die will be remembered as heroes, and those who live will be the mark against which all other warriors set themselves," Aywin declared.
She rushed into the gate without even waiting for the others to be ready - such was her confidence that they would follow. And they did. Every man capable of wielding a sword and not beset to other tasks did. It was a humble watch of only 25 men, but it was enough beside Aywin and Saryn.
The fiery hell into which they entered had a host of fiends awaiting them. Another melee began as soon as feet hit the ground. Aywin herself came in slashing fiercely with one hand while shooting ice from the other. The Bruma Watch proved their honor, loyalty and strength a hundred times over as they entered the fray. Each sword met at least one Daedric neck, and every bow fired at least one arrow that hit its mark. Saryn herself felt rather inadequate compared to these trained warriors but her marksmanship was nonetheless impressive, felling two of the beasts herself.
The tide was not entirely in their favor however. A host of Dremora began to appear on the horizon, coming down from the tower to face the invaders in full strength. They were no Scamp or Clannfear but true Daedric guards and their lethality was remarkable. True to Aywin's word, the Dremora made heroes of six men once they arrived. And Aywin herself while powerful was not invulnerable. The fire bolts that hit her skin from the advancing Dremora Battlemage forced her to her knees from the pain. The bane of any undead, especially vampires, is in the fire.
Saryn rushed to her aid, finishing the Battlemage with a swiftly fired arrow, but taking an arrow herself in the leg. As Saryn sought to help Aywin the initial skirmish ended with little ceremony. The last Dremora was taken down with an axe blow by the Captain himself.
Aywin stood slowly, attempting to heal her own wounds through magic, which was working with mixed results.
"And how many now?" She asked, attempting to put on a brave face.
"You and your Bosmer friend for starters," the Captain sighed. "8 of my men dead and all of us have some manner of wound. I imagine most of us can march though."
"We still have a tower to siege and I cannot be certain there are not more waiting in the wings," Aywin said. "We shall opt for the stealthy approach."
"What just you and I?" The Captain asked.
"And Saryn," Aywin noted. "I wish her to learn this as well."
"Right then," the Captain nodded. "The rest of you lot stay here and hold the gate. If any more of those bastards come you finish them for us."
The Bruma Watch, while doubtless brave, were also human and rather relieved to not have to face the final stage of the journey themselves after such a fight.
Fortunately there was not much to it as the Dremora had indeed emptied most of their ranks onto the battlefield. Only the top level of the structure still had any measurable guard force. That being said, they did outmatch them 2 to 1.
"That orb at the top of the spire must be removed. The power holding the gate in place will shatter. We shall be removed from the realm as the gate collapses, but so will any within the range of the spire," Aywin explained.
"Meaning we need to kill the bastards first," the Captain nodded. "I'm good for my two, what about you lasses?"
"I can hit one from here," Saryn said. "After that I'll do my best."
Aywin nodded. "Take your shot and we will do the rest."
Saryn readied her bow. She wasn't going to be left out of the fun this time. Her arrow nestled in the ear of the Dremora furthest from the group. His death knell drew the attention of the others away from them. With a furious bellow the Captain and Aywin charged into the ranks, cutting down the next two before they had time to turn and face the invading party.
The battle now level each went one to one. Saryn's bow took two arrows to finish her attacker, but it did the job. The Captain's sword work was superior to his foes who lost an arm before losing his head. Aywin's frosty touch finished the last.
"And now, Captain, take the orb from the pedestal and get us out of here," Aywin said.
"And my men?" The Captain asked.
Aywin thrust her hand into the air and a flare went up. The forces began to retreat through the gate. Once the last soldier had returned to Tamriel, the Captain pulled the orb from its resting place. The world faded to white before their eyes.
Shrine of Mehrunes Dagon, Lake Arrius Caverns…
17 Hearth Fire, 3E433
The time since Ignin had rejoined his brothers of the Mythic Dawn felt as though he were born again and had relived his entire life in a matter of days. He was given his old status as an Acolyte and had set to some of the minor chores of the life within the cult. He spent the first few days simply helping out in the kitchen. He was not much of a cook and so was little more than slop drudge for the few prisoners, dragging them enough scraps to keep them alive.
The days had given him a considerable amount of time for reflection, something he'd been to rushed in the past month to do. He sat with Harrow each evening who helped him recover his lost memories.
"As far as we know you were born in Kvatch but quickly moved to the Imperial City as a young lad," Harrow said. "Your mother and father were merchants for a time, but your father came down with Ataxia and could no longer handle the business. He died when you were just a young man and you had to fill his place."
"What were their names?" Ignin asked.
Something so simple carried an immense burden, but unfortunately Harrow could not give a full answer.
"Your mother's name was Vivian. However we never learned your father's name. This was well before our time with you that he perished," Harrow explained.
"And is my mother?"
Harrow's face turned even grimmer. "Dead, I am afraid. Shortly after you joined us. Old age gets the best of all of us."
"Why did I join the Mythic Dawn?" Ignin asked, resolving to bury the moment before it overtook him.
"Now we're getting to the meat of it," Harrow said. "I was your sponsor so to speak. You had taken it upon yourself to read the Commentaries and met me seeking the fourth volume as per the tradition. I remember well where we met, a snowy field near Bruma. Vast and open. I believe the idea was to be a metaphor for your mind opening to the possibilities of Daedra worship."
Harrow allowed himself a small weak chuckle at the memory. He folded his arms and looked back at the cavern ceiling as if recalling something pleasant.
"You came to us a young man with little more than a score of years to him. You arrived wearing naught but some borrowed furs for the cold. You read the fourth volume right there with me, the two of us sitting down before a campfire. I tried my hand at cooking," Harrow laughed again. "Well I was not blessed with that particular talent. But I did convince you of the word of Dagon and of the will of Mankar Camoran. From that day forward you were as loyal an acolyte as we could have ever asked for."
"And the assassination of the Emperor?"
"That had been planned for several years, but the timing was the tricky part. We needed to murder not just Septim, but his heirs. With that the Dragonfires will die and the borders between Tamriel and Oblivion will break down - as you have already seen."
"And we will live forever in Camoran's Paradise," Ignin recalled. "Servants of Dagon forever."
"Those who bear witness to the Dawn - yes," Harrow replied. "You were placed in prison to deal with Septim. You would force him into our second line. This worked remarkably well of course even with your accident. However your murder of Mephis-"
"Is something I will have to atone for," Ignin replied. "You know very well we were good friends. Ungra too. Both are dead because of me. If I must sacrifice my own life-"
"That will not be necessary, Brother," Harrow replied. "I have already pled your case to Mankar Camoran and he knows you have seen the error of your ways. We are unable to foresee every path our life might take us down, after all."
Harrow ran his hands through his hair and sighed. The surreal conversation had been getting to him slowly, as did the casual mention of his now deceased friends and allies. He took a sip of water from a nearby underwater pond. Ignin felt a pang of guilt, knowing that this was all his fault.
"There is something I must ask you," Harrow said, after finishing the water. "We have been hearing rumors about this Brother Martin. We've been making moves against him to be safe but I must know: Is he really the son of the Emperor?"
"It would appear so," Ignin said. "Illegitimate, but definitely of royal blood."
"That is problematic. Were the Elder Council ever to stand behind him he would quickly ascend to the throne and rekindle the Dragonfires. I will inform Camoran and we will redouble our efforts against him," Harrow explained.
Two more days had passed since their conversation when Harrow returned to him. Ignin was peeling some potatoes and stopped at the sight of his friend.
"Camoran will speak this evening. You are to attend. There is a testament you shall bear witness to and then you shall prove your loyalty."
"Prove my loyalty?" Ignin asked.
"Dagon needs a sacrifice, and we have found the perfect offering."
Harrow beckoned towards Ignin, who followed him down to the prison chamber. The recent acquisition was a familiar face: Baurus.