Chapter 2: Pit of sand, well of memories.
Aran walked through the Imperial city at a brisk pace. Those who were walking outside as well had to move aside when he came through.
“Lower the price? What is the Emperor thinking? Did he lose all sense of finance? And doesn’t he realize the importance of healers? When the healers can no longer support themselves, then who treats the wounded, or the sick?”
He came past the Black Horse courier. The latest edition had been pinned to the wall. Aran stopped to read the headlines.
EMPEROR SENDS HEIR AWAY. ‘A school in Hammerfell. Is the next Emperor being trained to be a new conqueror?’
TENSIONS RISE ON ELSWEYR-VALENWOOD BORDER ‘The latest chapter in the neverending conflict’
QUEEN OF MORROWIND FLEES TO HIGH ROCK ‘Local nobles claim to be pleased to be rid of the Dark Elven queen.’
DARK BROTHERHOOD STRIKES AGAIN ‘An ancient guild of assassins plagues our lands. Will the Legion do something?’
With each headline, his frown got deeper. Unlike most Dunmer, the hate towards queen Barenziah meant nothing to him. Where he was born, her rule was as strong as the morning breeze. The queen had never been an influence on his life, nor would she ever be.
What bothered him was that there seemed to be only tales of violence. War, a conqueror in training. As if Tamriel hadn’t seen enough blood in the past.
“I make no sense. I protest against war whereas my life has been nothing but one great battle, fuelled by the blood of my opponents and I.”
Silently, he continued walking till he reached his destination. The Arena.
The Arena looked from the outside like the city on a smaller scale. Only the great tower was missing. He took the fighter’s entrance, where he moved through the training area. Gladiators where demolishing bags, putting holes into wooden boards or simply breaking each other’s noses. In here, it seemed as if time did not exist. The only sign of time passing would be the replacement of old gladiators with new ones.
Aran walked up to the desk at the far end of the room. An old Orc sat behind it, his face disfigured from his own career in the arena. The Dunmer waited patiently to be noticed. When the Orc looked up, his eyes shone with recognition.
“I don’t believe my eyes! Aran Geydar, the spearwielder! What can I do for you?” He asked and took the Dunmer into a crushing embrace.
“I need money. Let me enter the arena.” Aran answered. Instantly, the Orc let go and took a step back. He tried to keep his eyes focussed on the man’s face yet couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at his left hand.
“Can’t you find a different way to make money? Face it, my friend. You’ve had your days of glory. Now they’re gone, they fled when you lost your hand.” He complained.
“You’re a cripple, Aran Geydar. I understand that a warrior’s true wish is to die by the sword. But you’re too young. You should find a woman first, pass on your blood to a new generation of warriors. Don’t throw your life away.”
Aran looked down at the cloth covering the stump. His hand had been severed at the wrist by Erinus, after an axe had turned it into a bloody pulp of flesh and bone. With his hand, most of his skill had vanished. He pressed his remaining hand into a fist. He would not give up, even if injured.
“As long as I have a spear. I can still fight! Let me do this, Ghorak! Let me.” He demanded. Ghorak sighed, an unusual thing for an Orc to do. Then again, just being a respected citizen was a miracle for an Orc.
“You have courage. I respect that. Very well, follow me.” He said and moved away from behind the desk. The Orc’s stomach bulged over his belt, yet the muscles underneath his skin remained strong.
He led the Dunmer into the trophy room. There, he moved to an exhibit composed of an axe and a spear. Both were stunning examples of workmanship. Steel mixed with gold, emeralds embedded into the hilt of the axe and the shaft of the spear. Runes engraved into the blades. Ghorak removed the spear from the wall and held it out.
“I made this spear before your last battle. If you became the champion, I would give it to you. Alas, you did. Only to get dragged off to prison. Here, take it. It’s yours.” He said with his rough voice. Aran didn’t take the spear outright but instead looked at the axe.
“The axe?”
The Orc looked as well and shrugged.
“I can’t play favourites. I worked on that axe as long as I worked on your spear. If he had won, he would have received it.” He explained.
“He was a worthy opponent.” Aran claimed and reached out to take the spear. With a sudden movement, Ghorak pulled the weapon out of reach.
“Just promise me one thing.” He said.
Aran looked intensely at the Orc. He had never asked for a promise before.
“What?” The Dunmer asked warily. Ghorak forced a grin.
“Don’t kill your sponsor.” Now Aran grinned as well.
“You have my word.” He said and received his spear. His first impression was that the weapon was remarkably light and exceptionally well-balanced. Truly, with this weapon the loss of his hand did not matter.
“Just why did you kill your sponsor after that battle?” Ghorak asked as they walked up to the gates. Just a moment earlier, the Orc had shouted at one of the gladiators to get ready for a match.
“That man slaughtered most of my tribe, tried to take our land. I vowed to avenge the Urshilaku who had been slaughtered and then left for the Nix-Hounds to feed on. I followed him all the way here and fought in the arena for eleven years before I got my chance. He sponsored me, so then I could get close enough to kill him. What happened to me after that was not important. He’s dead now, and the souls of my ancestors have found peace.”
Aran watched as the gates were lowered. He stepped into the arena, carefully avoiding the sharp tips at the top of the gate which had now sunk into the ground. Ghorak walked to the center of the arena.
“Listen, this match is private! There is no crowd! The winner receives a thousand septims, paid in solid coins. First one to admit defeat loses! Try not to kill. Begin!”
The Dunmer did not move as the Orc retreated to the edge of the pit. He let his eyes wander over the Redguard who was his opponent, analyzing his strengths and weaknesses. He began with the man’s race, a Redguard. Then, his eyes wandered down to the weapon, a katana held loosely in his right hand. Next, the armour, a suit of overlapping Bronze scales.
The Redguard was getting impatient. He’d moved to the center of the arena, expecting Aran to do the same thing. Yet, Aran was still standing at the gate.
“What’s the matter with you? Lost your guts? If you’re afraid to fight me, you shouldn’t have stepped into the ring.” The man shouted across the distance.
“I can’t blame you though. A spear is a two-handed weapon, impossible to use with just one. Come on, why don’t you step out while you have the chance? I won’t tell your girl about it. If you have one. Not much chance with such an ugly face.” He continued.
Aran’s eyes narrowed.
“Overconfident, impatient and jumps to conclusions. Furthermore, he tries to bolster his own courage by insulting the opponent. Pathethic.”
He continued to wait till the Redguard had lost all patience and charged him.
“Stupid fool! If you don’t want to admit your defeat, I’ll make you!” That comment brought a smile on the Dunmer’s lips. The Redguard looked surprised by this reaction and slowed down a little.
“As planned. Now, to make my move.”
Aran stepped aside and swung his spear around above his head. At the last moment, he flicked the shaft around with his fingers till the spear was pointing down. A loud ringing sound echoed across the arena when the katana bounced off the weapon. He brought the spear back into an horizontal position and trust the butt into the Redguard’s stomach, sending him down on his knees.
Aran brought his spear’s blade down to the man’s throat.
“A warrior hides his strength with an illusion of weakness. Remember this, or you’ll never win a battle.” He spoke solemnly. He pressed the blade against the Redguard’s throat.
“Do you admit defeat?” Aran asked.
“Yes.”
Cyrodiil, healer’s house
Erinus was humming an old tune. Her patient was still unconscious but she knew from experience that it wouldn’t last much longer. When the Bosmer woke up, she would have to explain the situation. She heard someone knocking on the door and got out of her chair to see who it was this time.
“I hope it’s Aran. He’d better not come back in pieces.”
The visitor was not Aran. Rather, he was an Argonian whose red scales matched his red clothes.
“Good day to you. I hope I do not disturb you?” It spoke in an odd hissing accent. Its expressionless eyes glanced at the Bosmer lying in the hut’s only bed. Erinus looked at her patient as well.
“No, you don’t disturb. How may I help you?”
Without a word, the Argonian took the woman by the arm and led her out of her home.
“It’s not safe to talk here. We’ll talk there, behind the bushes. It is an important matter that concerns all of us.” He spoke. While Erinus could not read the strange creature’s expressions, she felt that it meant her no harm. So she followed, although she was slightly concerned about leaving her patient.
“I believe that this is far enough. No one will hear us here, as long as we keep our voices down.” She finally whispered.
The Argonian turned to her.
“I am known as Marsh-Speaker. You may call me Marsh. I need your help, lady Codius. The matter concerns the Emperor, whose health I fear.” He whispered, still in his peculiar accent. Now Erinus knew what caused this accent.
“Its mouth is not shaped for our kind of speech. Just that it can speak comprehensible words is an achievement. To speak this well, he must have lived among us for a long time.”
“I heard nothing about his health and even if there were problems, he has his own private healer for that.” She answered, hiding her own doubts with a confident voice. He’d made some odd decisions lately.
“I know, but his own healer would not speak to me. Lady Codius, I do not ask of you to cure him or even to get involved. All I want to know is this, has the Emperor done strange things in your opinion?”
The healer shrugged.
“I suppose he does. But I’m a healer, not a politician. How can I judge his decisions?” She asked Marsh-Speaker in return. The Argonian nodded, another habit he’d learned from the humans and elves that surrounded him.
“True, but I am a politician so I can judge him. I’m telling you, the Emperor acts as if he is an entirely different person. I don’t know the soul of a man. Therefore I came to you, for advice.”
Back at the shack, a pair of pitchblack eyes opened. They squinted as they tried to make sense of the blurry image. The image cleared, revealing a wooden ceiling.
“Cut up trees, barbaric.” Rajn thought to herself and managed a weak chuckle.
“They probably think the same thing of me. The city people call the forest people barbarians, the forest people call the city people barbarians as well.”
Her eyes shot wide open and her mouth formed a soundless ‘oh’.
“This isn’t that stupid jail. There’s a window, air! I’m above ground! I feel so happy, I could hug a tree.”
She tried to sit upright but fell down before she’d even managed to lift her head above the pillow.
“My leg hurts. Next time I meet a dog, I’m going to kick it so hard, it thinks its ribs are floating above its head. I wonder where the Dunmer is? Or where I am, for that matter.”
She yawned.
“Who cares, not my problem. Maybe I’ll worry about it tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Maybe never.” Already, she’d used up her strength. She drifted off into sleep before she’d even realized.
Cheydinhall
A shadow walked into Cheydinhall, unseen by any of the guards. The shadow dropped down from the wall and moved quickly towards what looked like an abandoned building. He knocked three times on the door. After a long waiting period, a small hatch opened at eyelevel and two red eyes peered at him.
“What’s the colour of the night?” The eyes asked.
“Sanguine.”
The door opened, allowing the shadow to enter.
“Ah, it’s you, Ra’trith. How did the hunt…..” The doorkeeper slumped to the floor, blood dripping out of the hole where his heart used to be. Ra’trith squeezed the still beating organ dry of blood before placing it back in the gap.
“The night is coloured sanguine with your blood, Brother.” He whispered.
Without warning, a dagger stabbed into his shoulder, releasing its vile poison into his blood.
“Ra’trith, what do you think you’re doing?” A stern voice asked him. The Khajiit backed up into the doorframe where he could keep his opponent in front of him.
“Taking care of business.” He snarled. The man who’d attacked him put away his dagger.
“You mean the traitor? I’ve already met him days ago and taken my measures. There’s no need to kill the whole sanctuary. Sheath your claws.” He said, revealing unnatural fangs in a mad grin.
Ra’trith refused to sheath his claws. Not because he didn’t trust the vampire, but because he never sheathed them no matter what the situation was.
“You did kill one of your Brothers though. That cannot go unpunished. Normally, you would be marked for death. You’re a rare asset though so I’ll have you redeem yourself through the spilling of blood. The details of your mission are pinned to the wall in the armory. Get yourself prepared.” The man continued and turned his back to the assassin, becoming one with the shadows once more. Ra’trith watched the vampire’s back.
“As you wish…..master.”
He walked into the armory and wasted no time getting ready. He took a small chest from a rack and opened it. Inside, an Ebony dagger of sublime workmanship lay wrapped in the finest red silk. The Khajiit eased his fingers around the hilt and let the torchlight reflect on the blade. A Blade of Woe was a weapon unique to the Dark Brotherhood. It came in multiple sizes and a variety of shapes, each individual weapon was tailored to fit its owner’s hand perfectly. With a keen edge and a care that bordered on religion, the Blade of Woe was always ready to kill any victim efficiently. Most blades were unenchanted, and only the highest ranking members of the Dark Brotherhood and a few exceptional assassins had theirs enchanted by the Night Mother herself. Ra’trith’s blade belonged to those few that were enchanted.
He rarely used it, preferring to rip his victims apart with his claws instead. Some people had called him a mad beast before because of this habit. They’d all paid for that insult with their lives. This time however, the vampire would not forgive him if he didn’t take to the job like a real Dark Brotherhood assassin. Apart from the dagger, he also picked up a new outfit of light armour and a cloak, all coloured a pitch black that matched his fur. He’d lost his own set when he got dragged off to jail after his failed attempt at assassinating the emperor.
“Next time will be different.” He vowed.
He made a quick stop at the dining hall to grab an apple from a basket. He hadn’t been able to eat since killing Derin Horse-Mouth. He brought the fruit up to his mouth and sniffed. With a swift movement similar to the ones he used to kill, he threw the fruit at the cook’s face. The apple hit with a wet smack.
“I’ll let it slip this time. Next time you try to poison my food though, you won’t live to see the next day.” Ra’trith warned and headed out of the door.
The doorkeeper had already been replaced. The new one was quick to open the door for the one who killed his predecessor. Outside the sanctuary, the Khajiit scaled the wall and sat down on the roof of the building it was located in. There, he unwrapped the notice.
“Target: Revarim Kendri. A Redguard of around 60 years in age. Wears a worn robe of a brown colour. Target can be found at Cyrodiil, Plaza district. Sells carved statues made out of wood. Target is unarmed. Payment for execution is 5000 septims.”
He frowned as he tore up the piece of paper and let it be carried away by the wind.
“5000 for an old man who can’t even defend himself against a fly? That no one else has already taken the job. There is a bad smell about this. I’ll have to be careful.”
Several minutes later, the Khajiit was sitting on the lower branches of a tree, hidden from view by the many leaves. A coach came along. Ra’trith looked at in the vehicle and made his decision quickly. When it passed underneath him, he dropped down and landed on the roof without making a sound or causing a vibration. He slid down to the back where he was perfectly hidden from both the Imperial in controlling the horses and its passengers. He sat on top of a large suitcase, his legs dangling in the air. He absentmindedly scratched his wounded shoulder.
“Damn poison. It itches. I hate that vampire. Hmph, I’ll break free from him someday. No one lives forever, not even those who have sacrificed their soul for an illusion of immortality.”
Cyrodiil, tavern
A Breton moved around the tables with a plate held above high above his head. He arrived at his destination, lowered the plate and put two large jugs of Mazte on the dirty table. He then left as swiftly as he’d arrived. A grey hand reached out and opened the two jugs. Another hand, a green one, was dropping coins in a leather pouch.
“980…990…1000, it’s all there.” The Orc said with his rumbling voice and slid the now filled pouch across the table. Aran picked it up and deposited the fortune in his pocket where it would be quite safe.
“I do have a question for you.” The Dunmer stated before taking a swig of the Mazte.
“That’s fine but I have a question for you as well.”
Aran shrugged.
“You can ask anything you want. Now for my question, why did you make me promise not to kill my sponsor? It’s not like you to worry about such things. In fact, I must have caused quite some publicity with that act. Don’t you always grab every chance at publicity you can get?” He asked. Ghorak laughed, managing to make more noise than everyone else in the tavern combined.
“I know, I love publicity. Publicity is good for business. But what good is publicity for me if I’m dead? It took us hours to find and clean up every little bit of the guy’s head. I sponsored you this time. Forgive an old man his self-protecting behaviour, please.” He explained once he’d finally stopped laughing.
“Now as for my question, why do you need the money so much?”
Aran casually leaned back in his chair.
“It’s not for me. It’s for Erinus Codius. With the new law that forces the healers to lower their price, she can no longer sustain herself.” He told the Orc. Ghorak slammed on the table with a fist, causing a large wave of his Mazte to fly up into the air and splatter down on the table again, making it even messier than it already was.
“That woman?! Why didn’t you just say so instead of going out and teaching that fool who’s boss? Do you have any idea how many corpses we would have if she wasn’t there to fix up the survivors? I know about that law but I’d completely forgotten about it. Curse the Emperor and his name!” He raged. The Dunmer looked around the tavern calmly. While he did see a number of angry faces, none of those faces had violence in their eyes. Still, violence could occur if his friend continued to slander the Emperor.
“You might want to tone it down a bit, Ghorak. Getting killed in a bar brawl is bad for business as well.” He warned.
The Orc calmed down though he did utter a few more threats under his breath.
“Keep the money and don’t give it to her. Let me deal with it. Since the Emperor has forbidden us to pay her a fair price, I just thought of something different. What if we give her a weekly bonus for ‘outstanding service quality’? I bet that we could slip the money she deserves past that bloody law with this.” He whispered, grinning savagely. Aran grinned as well.
“They may say that all Orcs are barbarians with less intelligence than a rock. You, my friend, have a common sense and wit an Altmer would be jealous of. A bonus for outstanding service quality, that definitely sounds like something she deserves.”
Cyrodiil, healer’s shack
Erinus closed the door quietly.
“We might meet again someday. Till then, may the Divines watch over you.” Marsh-Speaker spoke to the closed door and moved out on the street, soon vanishing within the mass.
With her visitor gone, the healer had all the time she needed to take care of her patient. She hadn’t been able to do much about the wound yet. Now though, she would be able to mend most of the flesh with the potions she’d freshly bought during her conversation with the Argonian. She began to remove the bandage she’d applied and inspected the wound closely to see if there had been any unexpected changes.
“It hurts.” A voice whispered. When Erinus looked up, she found the Bosmer’s eyes staring at her.
“Well, of course it hurts. Any further, and there would be no way to save your leg. You’re quite lucky the wound wasn’t infected. Not only was it dirty, but your resistance to disease has been seriously undermined with your starvation. At least you’re awake now, that’s a good sign.” Erinus said calmly.
“Raw rat meat isn’t exactly a delicacy. There aren’t many edible bits on a rat either.” Rajn smiled weakly.
The woman ignored any further comments as she focussed on her task. She carefully administered the potion’s contents directly to the wound, making sure not to overdo the dosage. If drank as was usually the case, the potion would have never been strong enough to deal with a wound only half as bad since the liquid spread evenly and wasted itself on fixing inconsequential damage all over the body. If applied directly to the wound though, its effects were effectively concentrated where it mattered most. If too much was applied at one place though, the flesh would drown and the medicine would do more damage than it healed.
Before her eyes, the torn flesh reassembled and flowed back into its proper shape. It was a painful process, as evident by a few gasps and the tears that shone in the Bosmer’s eyes. When the miraculous healing was done, most of the wound had vanished as if it never existed, replaced by new flesh that had not yet taken on the signs of regular usage.
“I don’t fix the skin normally as it is quite a bit more complex than it might seem. You’ll keep a few scars I’m afraid. Those can be removed at a later date by any healer though.” Erinus explained as she put the now empty vial on the table. It could always be filled with a different substance later.
“Nah, that’s ok. I think I’ll keep them. As a reminder not to mess with really big dogs. Say, where’s the Dunm….” Rajn began but fell silent when her leg started twitching uncontrollably. Erinus smiled reassuringly.
“Don’t worry about the twitching. There’s some new muscle tissue in there. It hasn’t yet learned how to respond properly. For the first few days, expect some odd movements like those while it learns how to function. Try to bend and stretch your leg as often as you can to help speed up the learning process.” She said, then got up and lit up the fire of the oven.
“You’re probably hungry so I’ll make you something to eat.” She said over her shoulder.
To her surprise, the Bosmer was now staring at her still twitching leg with something that resembled sadness.
“She should be happy to be still alive. I wonder what’s wrong?” The healer thought.
“How do I pay? I don’t have any money. Neither does the other guy.” Rajn muttered, more to herself than to the Imperial.
“So that’s it.”
“Don’t worry about it. Aran is a good friend of mine and I’m happy to help out. His friend is my friend.”
That night, Aran returned. When he arrived, he found an unexpected scene. Pots, plates and cutlery were littered all over the small cabin. At the table, the Bosmer he’d brought in was stuffing herself full with what looked like enough food to feed a whole garrison of Legionnaires. Erinus rushed over to him when he clutched his head.
“Aran! What did you get yourself into?” She chided the Dunmer. He waved off her attempts to help.
“There’s nothing wrong with me. I just tried to keep up with Ghorak in drinking. Bad idea.” He grumbled. Rajn snickered.
“Enough is enough. Don’t overdo it.” She joked.
“Look who’s talking. This must be like your fifth serving. Finish it up already.” Erinus chided the girl as well.
Aran took the healer by the arm and led her outside.
“About the payment.” He began but Erinus interrupted him before he could finish his obvious question.
“Don’t worry, I know you don’t have any money. It’s fine, even though she just managed to go through a week worth of food. I’ll have to turn over each coin twice, but I’ll manage.” She told him. Without making any more futile attempts at talking, the Dunmer simply pulled out the pouch containing a thousand septims and pressed it into her hand.
“Here.” He said.
The woman didn’t dare to open it, afraid that the illusion would be shattered. The hard coins in her hands felt real, very real.
“Aran, how can I ever thank you?” She asked with tears of joy in her eyes.
“Don’t thank me. This is the payment Ghorak owes you. He also insisted on giving you a weekly bonus for outstanding service quality. In other words, he found a way to sneak past that stupid law. Now let’s go in, it’s cold outside.”
“Done! I’ll do the dishes!” Rajn exclaimed and was about to jump out of her seat when Erinus pushed her back down.
“No walking for you yet. I don’t want you to trip and break everything. Now get back in the bed.” She ordered the Bosmer and then turned back to her old friend.
“Would you mind?” She asked, gesturing towards the sink. Aran shrugged.
“There is more to life than war. I’ll help you with cleaning the dishes.” He answered the unspoken question.
“Good, I’ll stuff the vegetables first. Turns out our little lady here is a religious carnivore.”
Cyrodiil
Deep in the night, a coach arrived at the gates.
“Please open! It is Mannimarco!” A voice shouted. Out of sight, sitting on a large suitcase, a slumbering shadow woke up. He dropped from the coach and clung to its underside. The gates opened and the coach entered the city, carrying an unwelcome guest.
“Now, let’s find that man. We’ll see what this is all about.”
Ra’trith let go of the coach and rolled over the street till he reached a dark alley where he pressed himself against the wall. He checked his surroundings for any potential witnesses before ascending the wall towards the roof. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, he made his way to the Plaza district. There, he gazed over the roof’s edge in the hope of seeing his target. There he was, a Redguard with hair as white as snow, a body bent over with age and a robe that had seen its better days.
The Khajiit resisted his urge to kill the man. First, he needed to assess the safety of this place. He looked at every roof, every shadow, every window. Nothing, no one was there.
“This can’t be. It has to be a trap so why isn’t there one? No matter, then I’ll just kill him here and now.” He thought and licked his teeth. He moved across the roof till he was directly above the Redguard. Then, he dropped down. His claws shone in the moonlight, his eyes were blazing with a thirst for blood that knew no bounds.
He landed on the street, dropping to all fours to cushion the impact. He looked in all directions, trying to find out where his target had gone so sudden. He’d expected to land on the man’s back, not on the ground.
The air moved behind him. He spun around, stretching his leg to deliver a bonecrushing blow to the old man. The blow never came. Instead, he found himself flying through the air towards the nearest wall. Only his reflexes that had been honed by years of hard training allowed him to turn around in midair and catch the force of impact with his legs instead of his face. He dropped down to the ground again and watched the Redguard warily.
“I should’ve known. Either there was a trap or the target was not helpless in the end. He moves quite fast for someone that old. Not fast enough.”
Slowly, the Khajiit unsheathed the Blade of Woe. He then approached rapidly, a shadow of death catapulting itself through the air. He passed the old man like an arrow and then used a crate to slow down and strike from behind. The man had turned to face his assailant though and met the deadly dagger with an opened hand.
A sound like ringing bells echoed across the streets. Ra’trith jumped back, completely stunned by his foe’s resistance. The man’s hand was no longer empty. A sparkling mist as bright as the sun was nestled within the grip of his weathered hands. The Khajiit had no idea what to make out of it.
“Now now, let’s not ruin this lovely night with violence, shall we?” The Redguard spoke for the first time. His voice carried no anger about the sudden attack. With a loud growl, the enraged assassin struck with all his fury.
Laughing softly, the Redguard danced around the blurred chaos of claws and Ebony. Then, he made a single downwards cut with the mist. Ra’trith jumped back and stared at the man, gasping for breath after his exertion. His hand went up to the wound. Where the mist had struck, his armour had been cut and so had his skin. It wasn’t any normal cut. There was no parting of leather and flesh. Instead, everything which had been touched by the light had simply vanished.
“You are a marked man, why?” Ra’trith asked, stalling for time. It was a tactic he preferred not to use but in this case, he had no choice. The man had proven himself to be more than a match for him and worst of all, he wasn’t even sweating or breathing any harder than when he’d just taken a nap.
“A matter that interests you, I presume. Of course, it is only natural to desire knowledge about that which you cannot defeat. That’s the Dark Brotherhood’s interest. I’ve had a few encounters with a certain member of your order. A Vicente Valtieri. I believe it’d suffice to say that he failed to kill me just as how you have failed yourself. Perhaps you have heard of him?” The old man answered the question with a question.
“I’ve met him.” Ra’trith snarled in return.
“Valtieri, so that’s why. You never expected me to win did you? So you’ve spoken with the traitor and dealt with him. Of course, you speak with yourself every day. You’re dead, traitor! Mark my words!”
“If this is personal, then perhaps you two should deal with it yourselves.” He told the old man.
“I’d love to spill your blood but there is a certain satisfaction in making two enemies fight each other while I watch from a distance.”
The Redguard shooed him away.
“I am a man of life, not of death. You however, are the chosen bringer of death in this world. I can see it in your eyes. Death has been around you from the day you were born and if you’re not careful, it will be with you till the day you die. I have no intention of killing anyone.” He explained and turned his back on the Khajiit.
“If you don’t desire to harm people as you say, than why carry a weapon? Do not convict my actions if you ignore yours.” Ra’trith accused the man. He’d caught his breath by now and was ready for a second round. The disastrous results of their first battle restrained him though.
The Redguard turned around and faced the assassin with a calculating look.
“I do not carry a weapon. As long as I do not fear and as long as my will remains absolute, I am invincible. You have some impressive skills but you show some great flaws. You rely too much on the strength of your body and too little on the strength of your soul. These are the words of Revarim Kendri, remember them. You’ve piqued my interest, ender of lives, embodiment of darkness. Who do you wish to kill?”
Ra’trith visibly recoiled.
“Embodiment of Darkness? How does he know my title? Was it a mere coincidence or perhaps not?” He thought, getting increasingly worried. He did not like people he could not comprehend and this Revarim Kendri was getting more incomprehensible with each passing moment.
“The cook, two prisoners, several guardsmen, Jagar Tharn, Vicente Valtieri, you, the Emperor.” He admitted reluctantly. Kendri clapped his hands.
“Ah yes, the Emperor. Who doesn’t want to kill him, with what he’s been doing lately?” He murmured and brought his face down to Ra’trith’s eyelevel.
“The Emperor is no mere man you know. If you truly desire to kill him, you must prepare for an incredible challenge. To face this challenge, your will must be absolute. You must learn how to sing, how to be a champion of justice as opposed to a champion of evil. Perhaps then, you’ll stand a chance. Also, you might find Jagar Tharn in your way when you make your move. You must fight two men, a powerful mage and the ruler of an empire. Now then, good night.” Ra’trith blinked. That short moment of blindness was enough for Kendri to vanish. The Khajiit shrugged and walked away in the night.
“Everything at its time. First, I must build my strength so I can face Valtieri. After that, I’ll start my quest to destroy the empire. And just what has singing to do with killing? Strange old man, I’ll kill you as well someday. No one escapes me. They can run but in the end, there’s only one fate that awaits all of us. Death.”
The next morning, the city picked up its pace once more and its inhabitants were out on the streets. Two of them were standing near the wall of a random building. One of them was pinning a notice to said wall with the help of a small hammer and a few nails. The other eyed the streets and shifted in his armour nervously.
“Calm down, Caius. You’re giving us a bad name like this.” The man with the hammer told his younger companion. Caius watched a passing Khajiit intensely for a moment.
“I’m not sure if this is such a good idea, Berius.” He replied, pointing at the notice.
Berius had finished his work and now leaned casually against the wall.
“Why not?” He asked with an interested voice.
“Just read it.” Caius answered. The two looked at the notice they’d hung up together. Underneath the sketch of a random Khajiit’s face painted black was a message written in bold letters.
To all citizens of Cyrodiil. The person depicted on this notice is known as Ra’trith, who goes under the title ‘Embodiment of Darkness’. Said person is wanted by the Empire on the charges of: Treason, membership of the Dark Brotherhood, killing of guards, an attempted murder on a high-ranking member of the palace, the murder of a large number of loyal citizens, jailbreak and other charges which may come apparent at a later date.
If you see this person, warn the nearest guard officer so that this criminal can be brought to justice. Do not approach said person. Said person is known to be armed and extremely dangerous.
Signed: Jauffre, Blade.
Berius grumbled something under his breath.
“Ah, he isn’t the most pleasant being I’m afraid.” He spoke more clearly. Caius nodded.
“Which is exactly why I feel uncomfortable walking around like this. I’ve heard the rumours. This….monster has already slaughtered at least five of our comrades like sheep. He might also be responsible for a large number of killings all over the province. I feel as if I’m wearing a huge sign saying: I’m a Blade, come and kill me!” He exclaimed. Berius shook his head and brought a finger up to his lips.
“Not so loud, you’re scaring everyone. Remember, as a Blade you have to assure the people that everything is right. The moment you start showing signs of fear, everyone else will start to panic.” He warned.
Caius pointed at the park where a Dunmer was telling a story to a Bosmer and an Imperial.
“Say that those three will meet this Ra’trith. If he finds out they’ve been talking about him, how will we protect them from his wrath? If we can’t protect ourselves, then how can we protect anyone else?” He whispered. Berius shrugged.
“That’s a hard question. Anyway, our job is done here. Let’s return to the barracks and get our scheduled task assignment for this week.” He offered. After a last look at the notice, they walked away.
“And so the Tribunal claimed power over the House Dunmer. But it has been prophesized by Azura that one day, Nerevar shall return. He shall Slay the Devil in his lair and cast down the false gods who betrayed him. Then, Vvardenfell shall become fertile once more, the ash replaced by rain, the sand by grass. But when that will happen, no one knows.” Aran finished his story and sat down on the grass. Erinus handed him an apple and he took a bite from it.
“What?” He asked when he noticed Rajn staring at him. The Bosmer frowned for a bit before answering.
“Nothing. I’m just not used to vegetarians.”
“Plants are a great source of strength, perhaps more so than the flesh of the creatures you kill. I have no qualms about taking an apple from a tree. The apple I take provides me with nutrition, while I spread its seeds to thank the tree that has fed me. What is so bad about my view? The tree won’t be harmed and I simply use that which would otherwise go to waste. Birds eat fruits, Deers graze on the grass. It is nothing unnatural.” Aran finished his explanation with another bite from the apple.
“You’re not in Valenwood anymore. The customs here are different.” He added.
Rajn stretched and bent her leg a few times. The twitches had diminished greatly though they still returned from time to time.
“Speaking of Valenwood, I want to go back there. I miss my home. As soon as I can walk, I’m out of here. Screw Cyrodiil, I’ve found nothing but trouble here.” She said unamused.
“You did met us.” Erinus interjected.
“I suppose. But still, I want to go home.”
The healer plucked a handful of grass and played with the green leaves absentmindedly, much to Rajn’s dismay.
“They say that the war between Elsweyr and Valenwood has flared up again. I won’t stop you, but be careful if you go.” She advised.
“Those stupid furbals with sand between their toes! Can’t they ever leave us alone? They’re always burning our forest and chopping our trees to pieces!” The Bosmer girl complained loudly. A Khajiit who passed the park at just that moment reared back his teeth in anger.
“Shut up. Can’t you treehuggers leave us alone? You always have to expand your precious forest into our lands.” He hissed. Aran stepped between the two before a fight could erupt.
“Bring peace into your hearts and souls! I will not let violence and bloodshed taint this garden!” He spoke with an voice that would not tolerate any protests. The Khajiit bared his fangs at the man who’d dared to interfere but chose to heed his advice when the man looked at him without fear.
The moment the Khajiit was out of earshot, Aran turned towards the still fuming Bosmer.
“You’ll see that in this world, there are always two sides to a story. You lay the blame on the Khajiit, the Khajiit lay the blame on the Bosmer. If two sides blame each other, then who has right and justice on their side? No one. Remember that.” Having said his lesson, he sat down again and continued eating his apple as if nothing had happened. Rajn sat down after a moment as well and continued her own lunch which consisted of fish and bacon.
“Two sides? I wonder where he learned that nonsense.”
Cyrodiil, attic
Dust floated through the air in the attic, lit by a few rays of light that passed through the various cracks in the roof. A soft squeaking was the only sound that originated from inside the attic. It was nearly drowned out by the noise from the streets outside. A new sound, one of parting air. Then, the squeeking was abruptly cut off by a loud thump.
Ra’trith opened his eyes as he woke up. He looked at the dead rat he held in his paw.
“Breakfast is served.” He thought slightly amused and ate the rat raw, skin and all. He licked the blood off of his claws and leaned against a wooden beam as he replaced his sleep with a light nap. Those who knew him might have noticed that the snarl on his face was one of his more rare ones. This snarl was not one of anger, or bloodlust, or savage pleasure. This was one of worry.
“Vicente. Out of all people, why you?”
The tiny hut was covered in darkness, shadow upon shadow. A heavy smell filled the air, a smell that had a profound effect on the two sole living inhabitants. To one of them, this smell was a part of his everyday life. To the other, it was a new smell. Full of mystery and hidden promise. To him, this smell was unknown though he would become intricately familiar with it over the following years. It was the smell of blood.
The one who knew this smell bent down over a still form in the middle of the room. With a pale hand that shone in the moonlight, he gripped the hilt of a cruel dagger and wrenched it free from its victim. There was a soft wheeze when the blade was withdrawn from the Khajiit’s lung. Then, the Khajiit abandoned this world forever. The pale hand stabbed the dagger into the other forms systematically till its owner had assured himself that the entire Khajiit family had died.
The dagger was brought up to a mouth. A tongue, as pale as the hand, licked the blade clean of blood.
“Fresh blood, delicious.” The man spoke. He looked upon the gruesome scene and smiled, proud of a job well done.
“Sithis will be pleased. Well then, it’s time to leave. I want to be out of this forsaken desert before the sun rises.” He whispered to himself, sheathed his dagger and stepped over the pile of corpses towards the entrance.
Unexpectedly, a sharp pain stabbed through his ankle. Annoyed, he looked down. There was nothing visible in the darkness of the hut. Only a row of tiny white teeth glistened as they dug deeper into his flesh. A pair of bright yellow eyes opened and bore into his. The man reached for his dagger again to kill the young Khajiit when something else caught his eye. Numerous little sparks of light danced around the small creature’s claws. When one spark touched the man’s foot, he screamed out in pain.
Instantly, the silence outside was ripped apart. Voices shouted, rusty iron was drawn out of leather scabbards. The man bent down and grabbed the Khajiit around the neck. He pulled the child away from his foot and held it up in front of his face.
“Now look what you’ve done. I’d hoped to do this without being discovered.” He whispered hatefully. His expression softened somewhat, turning into a calculating one.
“Hmm, your will is unusual. A child, barely a few months old and already you’ve achieved a level most Redguards can only dream about. And your fur, it’s the perfect camouflage during the night. Finally, you show the desire to kill.” He wrapped his cloak around the little bundle of fur.
“Yes, I think that training you will be very profitable.” He spoke, louder this time. He then burst out of the hut and vanished into the night, dashing past the confused Khajiit before they knew what was among them.
Ra’trith awoke from his nap.
“You took me with you to Cheydinhall and taught me every trick you know.” He spoke without a sound. He looked at his claws.
“Yet somewhere during your training, I lost the ability to form the sparks that caused you so much pain. Was this a deliberate action on your part? I was more dangerous to you then than I am now. Did you make me lose that talent so I would be unable to hurt you?”
He got up and stretched his muscles.
“I’ll relearn it. Only better this time. You will die Vicente, and I will be the bringer of your doom.” He promised. Ra’trith then wrapped his black cloak around him and climbed onto the roof from where he could lower himself into an alley. He walked swiftly across the street. His plan was to leave the city as soon as possible. It would really surprise him if he wasn’t a wanted man yet, especially in the city where he nearly claimed the Emperor’s life.
A large group of people had gathered in front of one particular wall. The Khajiit walked over to join them and looked at the large Wanted notice pinned to the wall. He grinned in amusement.
“Why did they drew my ears so big? What do they think I am, a rabbit?” He stopped grinning when a pair of Bretons pointed at him and began to whisper amongst themselves, obviously under the illusion that he hadn’t noticed them. Ra’trith calmly walked over to them.
“Is something the matter?” He asked with his most pleasant voice. The effect was still better suited to instil fear than to cause a feeling of friendliness.
“Oh no, not at all. We were just looking at the picture up there and noticed that your fur colour shows some resemblance. Just a coincidence, we’re sure.” The couple told him nervously. Around them, a gap was created which made the Bretons even more nervous. Ra’trith gave them one of his favourite snarls.
“Just a coincidence indeed. That sketch is so wrong. The ears are too big for one thing and those eyes, much too far apart. The information they’ve put underneath is far from sufficient as well. They forgot the destruction of the shrine of Talos.” He told them, looking them in the face. His nose caught the heavy smell of their fear.
He leaned in closer.
“Now I would be more than willing to kill you. However, I am on a tight schedule and don’t have time to loiter and enjoy the simple pleasures of murder. If you value the life of your guardsmen, you won’t send them after me. Have a nice day.” He whispered in their ear and walked away through the crowd.
Cyrodiil, Roseworks
“And here’s the Roseworks office. From here, you should be able to get a ride with a caravan to Valenwood.” Erinus said and hugged the little Bosmer.
“Good luck.” She added.
“Sure, thanks for the leg again. Bye.” Rajn replied and went inside.
The Roseworks office was dimly lit by only a few candles, creating large and deep shadows. Rajn closed her eyes and counted to ten slowly, still standing in the doorframe. While she wasn’t on the verge of panicking anymore, she still suffered from claustrophobia. Having calmed her mind, she walked over to the counter and leaned heavily on the wood. The girl wrinkled her nose as she caught sight of the large amount of wood that had been used in the interior.
“Barbarians.”
An aging Imperial with a really big nose looked up from his notebook.
“Can I help you?” He asked with the bored voice of a man who only offered to help because he got paid for it.
“I want to book passage to Valenwood.” The Bosmer replied uneasily. The bored tone combined with the dark shadows and the heavy use of wood made her nervous.
With deliberately slowed movements, the clerk retrieved a map of Valenwood from the rack behind him.
“Where exactly in Valenwood?” He inquired.
“Anywhere, though Fallinesti would be best.” Rajn answered with a shrug. Now the Imperial picked up a quill and began to fill in a form.
“This form will grant you permission to join our caravans. Just show it to the caravan master and you’ll be on your way before you know it. What’s your name?”
“Rajn Treesap.” The clerk retreated into a back room, muttering something about placing a stamp on the form. From one of the shadows behind the Bosmer came an Argonian whose red scales matched his red clothes.
“Step outside.” He ordered the girl. When she didn’t respond immediately, he revealed a dagger and pressed the tip against her back.
“Now.” He hissed with a heavy accent.
On to the next chapter
Aran walked through the Imperial city at a brisk pace. Those who were walking outside as well had to move aside when he came through.
“Lower the price? What is the Emperor thinking? Did he lose all sense of finance? And doesn’t he realize the importance of healers? When the healers can no longer support themselves, then who treats the wounded, or the sick?”
He came past the Black Horse courier. The latest edition had been pinned to the wall. Aran stopped to read the headlines.
EMPEROR SENDS HEIR AWAY. ‘A school in Hammerfell. Is the next Emperor being trained to be a new conqueror?’
TENSIONS RISE ON ELSWEYR-VALENWOOD BORDER ‘The latest chapter in the neverending conflict’
QUEEN OF MORROWIND FLEES TO HIGH ROCK ‘Local nobles claim to be pleased to be rid of the Dark Elven queen.’
DARK BROTHERHOOD STRIKES AGAIN ‘An ancient guild of assassins plagues our lands. Will the Legion do something?’
With each headline, his frown got deeper. Unlike most Dunmer, the hate towards queen Barenziah meant nothing to him. Where he was born, her rule was as strong as the morning breeze. The queen had never been an influence on his life, nor would she ever be.
What bothered him was that there seemed to be only tales of violence. War, a conqueror in training. As if Tamriel hadn’t seen enough blood in the past.
“I make no sense. I protest against war whereas my life has been nothing but one great battle, fuelled by the blood of my opponents and I.”
Silently, he continued walking till he reached his destination. The Arena.
The Arena looked from the outside like the city on a smaller scale. Only the great tower was missing. He took the fighter’s entrance, where he moved through the training area. Gladiators where demolishing bags, putting holes into wooden boards or simply breaking each other’s noses. In here, it seemed as if time did not exist. The only sign of time passing would be the replacement of old gladiators with new ones.
Aran walked up to the desk at the far end of the room. An old Orc sat behind it, his face disfigured from his own career in the arena. The Dunmer waited patiently to be noticed. When the Orc looked up, his eyes shone with recognition.
“I don’t believe my eyes! Aran Geydar, the spearwielder! What can I do for you?” He asked and took the Dunmer into a crushing embrace.
“I need money. Let me enter the arena.” Aran answered. Instantly, the Orc let go and took a step back. He tried to keep his eyes focussed on the man’s face yet couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at his left hand.
“Can’t you find a different way to make money? Face it, my friend. You’ve had your days of glory. Now they’re gone, they fled when you lost your hand.” He complained.
“You’re a cripple, Aran Geydar. I understand that a warrior’s true wish is to die by the sword. But you’re too young. You should find a woman first, pass on your blood to a new generation of warriors. Don’t throw your life away.”
Aran looked down at the cloth covering the stump. His hand had been severed at the wrist by Erinus, after an axe had turned it into a bloody pulp of flesh and bone. With his hand, most of his skill had vanished. He pressed his remaining hand into a fist. He would not give up, even if injured.
“As long as I have a spear. I can still fight! Let me do this, Ghorak! Let me.” He demanded. Ghorak sighed, an unusual thing for an Orc to do. Then again, just being a respected citizen was a miracle for an Orc.
“You have courage. I respect that. Very well, follow me.” He said and moved away from behind the desk. The Orc’s stomach bulged over his belt, yet the muscles underneath his skin remained strong.
He led the Dunmer into the trophy room. There, he moved to an exhibit composed of an axe and a spear. Both were stunning examples of workmanship. Steel mixed with gold, emeralds embedded into the hilt of the axe and the shaft of the spear. Runes engraved into the blades. Ghorak removed the spear from the wall and held it out.
“I made this spear before your last battle. If you became the champion, I would give it to you. Alas, you did. Only to get dragged off to prison. Here, take it. It’s yours.” He said with his rough voice. Aran didn’t take the spear outright but instead looked at the axe.
“The axe?”
The Orc looked as well and shrugged.
“I can’t play favourites. I worked on that axe as long as I worked on your spear. If he had won, he would have received it.” He explained.
“He was a worthy opponent.” Aran claimed and reached out to take the spear. With a sudden movement, Ghorak pulled the weapon out of reach.
“Just promise me one thing.” He said.
Aran looked intensely at the Orc. He had never asked for a promise before.
“What?” The Dunmer asked warily. Ghorak forced a grin.
“Don’t kill your sponsor.” Now Aran grinned as well.
“You have my word.” He said and received his spear. His first impression was that the weapon was remarkably light and exceptionally well-balanced. Truly, with this weapon the loss of his hand did not matter.
“Just why did you kill your sponsor after that battle?” Ghorak asked as they walked up to the gates. Just a moment earlier, the Orc had shouted at one of the gladiators to get ready for a match.
“That man slaughtered most of my tribe, tried to take our land. I vowed to avenge the Urshilaku who had been slaughtered and then left for the Nix-Hounds to feed on. I followed him all the way here and fought in the arena for eleven years before I got my chance. He sponsored me, so then I could get close enough to kill him. What happened to me after that was not important. He’s dead now, and the souls of my ancestors have found peace.”
Aran watched as the gates were lowered. He stepped into the arena, carefully avoiding the sharp tips at the top of the gate which had now sunk into the ground. Ghorak walked to the center of the arena.
“Listen, this match is private! There is no crowd! The winner receives a thousand septims, paid in solid coins. First one to admit defeat loses! Try not to kill. Begin!”
The Dunmer did not move as the Orc retreated to the edge of the pit. He let his eyes wander over the Redguard who was his opponent, analyzing his strengths and weaknesses. He began with the man’s race, a Redguard. Then, his eyes wandered down to the weapon, a katana held loosely in his right hand. Next, the armour, a suit of overlapping Bronze scales.
The Redguard was getting impatient. He’d moved to the center of the arena, expecting Aran to do the same thing. Yet, Aran was still standing at the gate.
“What’s the matter with you? Lost your guts? If you’re afraid to fight me, you shouldn’t have stepped into the ring.” The man shouted across the distance.
“I can’t blame you though. A spear is a two-handed weapon, impossible to use with just one. Come on, why don’t you step out while you have the chance? I won’t tell your girl about it. If you have one. Not much chance with such an ugly face.” He continued.
Aran’s eyes narrowed.
“Overconfident, impatient and jumps to conclusions. Furthermore, he tries to bolster his own courage by insulting the opponent. Pathethic.”
He continued to wait till the Redguard had lost all patience and charged him.
“Stupid fool! If you don’t want to admit your defeat, I’ll make you!” That comment brought a smile on the Dunmer’s lips. The Redguard looked surprised by this reaction and slowed down a little.
“As planned. Now, to make my move.”
Aran stepped aside and swung his spear around above his head. At the last moment, he flicked the shaft around with his fingers till the spear was pointing down. A loud ringing sound echoed across the arena when the katana bounced off the weapon. He brought the spear back into an horizontal position and trust the butt into the Redguard’s stomach, sending him down on his knees.
Aran brought his spear’s blade down to the man’s throat.
“A warrior hides his strength with an illusion of weakness. Remember this, or you’ll never win a battle.” He spoke solemnly. He pressed the blade against the Redguard’s throat.
“Do you admit defeat?” Aran asked.
“Yes.”
Cyrodiil, healer’s house
Erinus was humming an old tune. Her patient was still unconscious but she knew from experience that it wouldn’t last much longer. When the Bosmer woke up, she would have to explain the situation. She heard someone knocking on the door and got out of her chair to see who it was this time.
“I hope it’s Aran. He’d better not come back in pieces.”
The visitor was not Aran. Rather, he was an Argonian whose red scales matched his red clothes.
“Good day to you. I hope I do not disturb you?” It spoke in an odd hissing accent. Its expressionless eyes glanced at the Bosmer lying in the hut’s only bed. Erinus looked at her patient as well.
“No, you don’t disturb. How may I help you?”
Without a word, the Argonian took the woman by the arm and led her out of her home.
“It’s not safe to talk here. We’ll talk there, behind the bushes. It is an important matter that concerns all of us.” He spoke. While Erinus could not read the strange creature’s expressions, she felt that it meant her no harm. So she followed, although she was slightly concerned about leaving her patient.
“I believe that this is far enough. No one will hear us here, as long as we keep our voices down.” She finally whispered.
The Argonian turned to her.
“I am known as Marsh-Speaker. You may call me Marsh. I need your help, lady Codius. The matter concerns the Emperor, whose health I fear.” He whispered, still in his peculiar accent. Now Erinus knew what caused this accent.
“Its mouth is not shaped for our kind of speech. Just that it can speak comprehensible words is an achievement. To speak this well, he must have lived among us for a long time.”
“I heard nothing about his health and even if there were problems, he has his own private healer for that.” She answered, hiding her own doubts with a confident voice. He’d made some odd decisions lately.
“I know, but his own healer would not speak to me. Lady Codius, I do not ask of you to cure him or even to get involved. All I want to know is this, has the Emperor done strange things in your opinion?”
The healer shrugged.
“I suppose he does. But I’m a healer, not a politician. How can I judge his decisions?” She asked Marsh-Speaker in return. The Argonian nodded, another habit he’d learned from the humans and elves that surrounded him.
“True, but I am a politician so I can judge him. I’m telling you, the Emperor acts as if he is an entirely different person. I don’t know the soul of a man. Therefore I came to you, for advice.”
Back at the shack, a pair of pitchblack eyes opened. They squinted as they tried to make sense of the blurry image. The image cleared, revealing a wooden ceiling.
“Cut up trees, barbaric.” Rajn thought to herself and managed a weak chuckle.
“They probably think the same thing of me. The city people call the forest people barbarians, the forest people call the city people barbarians as well.”
Her eyes shot wide open and her mouth formed a soundless ‘oh’.
“This isn’t that stupid jail. There’s a window, air! I’m above ground! I feel so happy, I could hug a tree.”
She tried to sit upright but fell down before she’d even managed to lift her head above the pillow.
“My leg hurts. Next time I meet a dog, I’m going to kick it so hard, it thinks its ribs are floating above its head. I wonder where the Dunmer is? Or where I am, for that matter.”
She yawned.
“Who cares, not my problem. Maybe I’ll worry about it tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Maybe never.” Already, she’d used up her strength. She drifted off into sleep before she’d even realized.
Cheydinhall
A shadow walked into Cheydinhall, unseen by any of the guards. The shadow dropped down from the wall and moved quickly towards what looked like an abandoned building. He knocked three times on the door. After a long waiting period, a small hatch opened at eyelevel and two red eyes peered at him.
“What’s the colour of the night?” The eyes asked.
“Sanguine.”
The door opened, allowing the shadow to enter.
“Ah, it’s you, Ra’trith. How did the hunt…..” The doorkeeper slumped to the floor, blood dripping out of the hole where his heart used to be. Ra’trith squeezed the still beating organ dry of blood before placing it back in the gap.
“The night is coloured sanguine with your blood, Brother.” He whispered.
Without warning, a dagger stabbed into his shoulder, releasing its vile poison into his blood.
“Ra’trith, what do you think you’re doing?” A stern voice asked him. The Khajiit backed up into the doorframe where he could keep his opponent in front of him.
“Taking care of business.” He snarled. The man who’d attacked him put away his dagger.
“You mean the traitor? I’ve already met him days ago and taken my measures. There’s no need to kill the whole sanctuary. Sheath your claws.” He said, revealing unnatural fangs in a mad grin.
Ra’trith refused to sheath his claws. Not because he didn’t trust the vampire, but because he never sheathed them no matter what the situation was.
“You did kill one of your Brothers though. That cannot go unpunished. Normally, you would be marked for death. You’re a rare asset though so I’ll have you redeem yourself through the spilling of blood. The details of your mission are pinned to the wall in the armory. Get yourself prepared.” The man continued and turned his back to the assassin, becoming one with the shadows once more. Ra’trith watched the vampire’s back.
“As you wish…..master.”
He walked into the armory and wasted no time getting ready. He took a small chest from a rack and opened it. Inside, an Ebony dagger of sublime workmanship lay wrapped in the finest red silk. The Khajiit eased his fingers around the hilt and let the torchlight reflect on the blade. A Blade of Woe was a weapon unique to the Dark Brotherhood. It came in multiple sizes and a variety of shapes, each individual weapon was tailored to fit its owner’s hand perfectly. With a keen edge and a care that bordered on religion, the Blade of Woe was always ready to kill any victim efficiently. Most blades were unenchanted, and only the highest ranking members of the Dark Brotherhood and a few exceptional assassins had theirs enchanted by the Night Mother herself. Ra’trith’s blade belonged to those few that were enchanted.
He rarely used it, preferring to rip his victims apart with his claws instead. Some people had called him a mad beast before because of this habit. They’d all paid for that insult with their lives. This time however, the vampire would not forgive him if he didn’t take to the job like a real Dark Brotherhood assassin. Apart from the dagger, he also picked up a new outfit of light armour and a cloak, all coloured a pitch black that matched his fur. He’d lost his own set when he got dragged off to jail after his failed attempt at assassinating the emperor.
“Next time will be different.” He vowed.
He made a quick stop at the dining hall to grab an apple from a basket. He hadn’t been able to eat since killing Derin Horse-Mouth. He brought the fruit up to his mouth and sniffed. With a swift movement similar to the ones he used to kill, he threw the fruit at the cook’s face. The apple hit with a wet smack.
“I’ll let it slip this time. Next time you try to poison my food though, you won’t live to see the next day.” Ra’trith warned and headed out of the door.
The doorkeeper had already been replaced. The new one was quick to open the door for the one who killed his predecessor. Outside the sanctuary, the Khajiit scaled the wall and sat down on the roof of the building it was located in. There, he unwrapped the notice.
“Target: Revarim Kendri. A Redguard of around 60 years in age. Wears a worn robe of a brown colour. Target can be found at Cyrodiil, Plaza district. Sells carved statues made out of wood. Target is unarmed. Payment for execution is 5000 septims.”
He frowned as he tore up the piece of paper and let it be carried away by the wind.
“5000 for an old man who can’t even defend himself against a fly? That no one else has already taken the job. There is a bad smell about this. I’ll have to be careful.”
Several minutes later, the Khajiit was sitting on the lower branches of a tree, hidden from view by the many leaves. A coach came along. Ra’trith looked at in the vehicle and made his decision quickly. When it passed underneath him, he dropped down and landed on the roof without making a sound or causing a vibration. He slid down to the back where he was perfectly hidden from both the Imperial in controlling the horses and its passengers. He sat on top of a large suitcase, his legs dangling in the air. He absentmindedly scratched his wounded shoulder.
“Damn poison. It itches. I hate that vampire. Hmph, I’ll break free from him someday. No one lives forever, not even those who have sacrificed their soul for an illusion of immortality.”
Cyrodiil, tavern
A Breton moved around the tables with a plate held above high above his head. He arrived at his destination, lowered the plate and put two large jugs of Mazte on the dirty table. He then left as swiftly as he’d arrived. A grey hand reached out and opened the two jugs. Another hand, a green one, was dropping coins in a leather pouch.
“980…990…1000, it’s all there.” The Orc said with his rumbling voice and slid the now filled pouch across the table. Aran picked it up and deposited the fortune in his pocket where it would be quite safe.
“I do have a question for you.” The Dunmer stated before taking a swig of the Mazte.
“That’s fine but I have a question for you as well.”
Aran shrugged.
“You can ask anything you want. Now for my question, why did you make me promise not to kill my sponsor? It’s not like you to worry about such things. In fact, I must have caused quite some publicity with that act. Don’t you always grab every chance at publicity you can get?” He asked. Ghorak laughed, managing to make more noise than everyone else in the tavern combined.
“I know, I love publicity. Publicity is good for business. But what good is publicity for me if I’m dead? It took us hours to find and clean up every little bit of the guy’s head. I sponsored you this time. Forgive an old man his self-protecting behaviour, please.” He explained once he’d finally stopped laughing.
“Now as for my question, why do you need the money so much?”
Aran casually leaned back in his chair.
“It’s not for me. It’s for Erinus Codius. With the new law that forces the healers to lower their price, she can no longer sustain herself.” He told the Orc. Ghorak slammed on the table with a fist, causing a large wave of his Mazte to fly up into the air and splatter down on the table again, making it even messier than it already was.
“That woman?! Why didn’t you just say so instead of going out and teaching that fool who’s boss? Do you have any idea how many corpses we would have if she wasn’t there to fix up the survivors? I know about that law but I’d completely forgotten about it. Curse the Emperor and his name!” He raged. The Dunmer looked around the tavern calmly. While he did see a number of angry faces, none of those faces had violence in their eyes. Still, violence could occur if his friend continued to slander the Emperor.
“You might want to tone it down a bit, Ghorak. Getting killed in a bar brawl is bad for business as well.” He warned.
The Orc calmed down though he did utter a few more threats under his breath.
“Keep the money and don’t give it to her. Let me deal with it. Since the Emperor has forbidden us to pay her a fair price, I just thought of something different. What if we give her a weekly bonus for ‘outstanding service quality’? I bet that we could slip the money she deserves past that bloody law with this.” He whispered, grinning savagely. Aran grinned as well.
“They may say that all Orcs are barbarians with less intelligence than a rock. You, my friend, have a common sense and wit an Altmer would be jealous of. A bonus for outstanding service quality, that definitely sounds like something she deserves.”
Cyrodiil, healer’s shack
Erinus closed the door quietly.
“We might meet again someday. Till then, may the Divines watch over you.” Marsh-Speaker spoke to the closed door and moved out on the street, soon vanishing within the mass.
With her visitor gone, the healer had all the time she needed to take care of her patient. She hadn’t been able to do much about the wound yet. Now though, she would be able to mend most of the flesh with the potions she’d freshly bought during her conversation with the Argonian. She began to remove the bandage she’d applied and inspected the wound closely to see if there had been any unexpected changes.
“It hurts.” A voice whispered. When Erinus looked up, she found the Bosmer’s eyes staring at her.
“Well, of course it hurts. Any further, and there would be no way to save your leg. You’re quite lucky the wound wasn’t infected. Not only was it dirty, but your resistance to disease has been seriously undermined with your starvation. At least you’re awake now, that’s a good sign.” Erinus said calmly.
“Raw rat meat isn’t exactly a delicacy. There aren’t many edible bits on a rat either.” Rajn smiled weakly.
The woman ignored any further comments as she focussed on her task. She carefully administered the potion’s contents directly to the wound, making sure not to overdo the dosage. If drank as was usually the case, the potion would have never been strong enough to deal with a wound only half as bad since the liquid spread evenly and wasted itself on fixing inconsequential damage all over the body. If applied directly to the wound though, its effects were effectively concentrated where it mattered most. If too much was applied at one place though, the flesh would drown and the medicine would do more damage than it healed.
Before her eyes, the torn flesh reassembled and flowed back into its proper shape. It was a painful process, as evident by a few gasps and the tears that shone in the Bosmer’s eyes. When the miraculous healing was done, most of the wound had vanished as if it never existed, replaced by new flesh that had not yet taken on the signs of regular usage.
“I don’t fix the skin normally as it is quite a bit more complex than it might seem. You’ll keep a few scars I’m afraid. Those can be removed at a later date by any healer though.” Erinus explained as she put the now empty vial on the table. It could always be filled with a different substance later.
“Nah, that’s ok. I think I’ll keep them. As a reminder not to mess with really big dogs. Say, where’s the Dunm….” Rajn began but fell silent when her leg started twitching uncontrollably. Erinus smiled reassuringly.
“Don’t worry about the twitching. There’s some new muscle tissue in there. It hasn’t yet learned how to respond properly. For the first few days, expect some odd movements like those while it learns how to function. Try to bend and stretch your leg as often as you can to help speed up the learning process.” She said, then got up and lit up the fire of the oven.
“You’re probably hungry so I’ll make you something to eat.” She said over her shoulder.
To her surprise, the Bosmer was now staring at her still twitching leg with something that resembled sadness.
“She should be happy to be still alive. I wonder what’s wrong?” The healer thought.
“How do I pay? I don’t have any money. Neither does the other guy.” Rajn muttered, more to herself than to the Imperial.
“So that’s it.”
“Don’t worry about it. Aran is a good friend of mine and I’m happy to help out. His friend is my friend.”
That night, Aran returned. When he arrived, he found an unexpected scene. Pots, plates and cutlery were littered all over the small cabin. At the table, the Bosmer he’d brought in was stuffing herself full with what looked like enough food to feed a whole garrison of Legionnaires. Erinus rushed over to him when he clutched his head.
“Aran! What did you get yourself into?” She chided the Dunmer. He waved off her attempts to help.
“There’s nothing wrong with me. I just tried to keep up with Ghorak in drinking. Bad idea.” He grumbled. Rajn snickered.
“Enough is enough. Don’t overdo it.” She joked.
“Look who’s talking. This must be like your fifth serving. Finish it up already.” Erinus chided the girl as well.
Aran took the healer by the arm and led her outside.
“About the payment.” He began but Erinus interrupted him before he could finish his obvious question.
“Don’t worry, I know you don’t have any money. It’s fine, even though she just managed to go through a week worth of food. I’ll have to turn over each coin twice, but I’ll manage.” She told him. Without making any more futile attempts at talking, the Dunmer simply pulled out the pouch containing a thousand septims and pressed it into her hand.
“Here.” He said.
The woman didn’t dare to open it, afraid that the illusion would be shattered. The hard coins in her hands felt real, very real.
“Aran, how can I ever thank you?” She asked with tears of joy in her eyes.
“Don’t thank me. This is the payment Ghorak owes you. He also insisted on giving you a weekly bonus for outstanding service quality. In other words, he found a way to sneak past that stupid law. Now let’s go in, it’s cold outside.”
“Done! I’ll do the dishes!” Rajn exclaimed and was about to jump out of her seat when Erinus pushed her back down.
“No walking for you yet. I don’t want you to trip and break everything. Now get back in the bed.” She ordered the Bosmer and then turned back to her old friend.
“Would you mind?” She asked, gesturing towards the sink. Aran shrugged.
“There is more to life than war. I’ll help you with cleaning the dishes.” He answered the unspoken question.
“Good, I’ll stuff the vegetables first. Turns out our little lady here is a religious carnivore.”
Cyrodiil
Deep in the night, a coach arrived at the gates.
“Please open! It is Mannimarco!” A voice shouted. Out of sight, sitting on a large suitcase, a slumbering shadow woke up. He dropped from the coach and clung to its underside. The gates opened and the coach entered the city, carrying an unwelcome guest.
“Now, let’s find that man. We’ll see what this is all about.”
Ra’trith let go of the coach and rolled over the street till he reached a dark alley where he pressed himself against the wall. He checked his surroundings for any potential witnesses before ascending the wall towards the roof. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, he made his way to the Plaza district. There, he gazed over the roof’s edge in the hope of seeing his target. There he was, a Redguard with hair as white as snow, a body bent over with age and a robe that had seen its better days.
The Khajiit resisted his urge to kill the man. First, he needed to assess the safety of this place. He looked at every roof, every shadow, every window. Nothing, no one was there.
“This can’t be. It has to be a trap so why isn’t there one? No matter, then I’ll just kill him here and now.” He thought and licked his teeth. He moved across the roof till he was directly above the Redguard. Then, he dropped down. His claws shone in the moonlight, his eyes were blazing with a thirst for blood that knew no bounds.
He landed on the street, dropping to all fours to cushion the impact. He looked in all directions, trying to find out where his target had gone so sudden. He’d expected to land on the man’s back, not on the ground.
The air moved behind him. He spun around, stretching his leg to deliver a bonecrushing blow to the old man. The blow never came. Instead, he found himself flying through the air towards the nearest wall. Only his reflexes that had been honed by years of hard training allowed him to turn around in midair and catch the force of impact with his legs instead of his face. He dropped down to the ground again and watched the Redguard warily.
“I should’ve known. Either there was a trap or the target was not helpless in the end. He moves quite fast for someone that old. Not fast enough.”
Slowly, the Khajiit unsheathed the Blade of Woe. He then approached rapidly, a shadow of death catapulting itself through the air. He passed the old man like an arrow and then used a crate to slow down and strike from behind. The man had turned to face his assailant though and met the deadly dagger with an opened hand.
A sound like ringing bells echoed across the streets. Ra’trith jumped back, completely stunned by his foe’s resistance. The man’s hand was no longer empty. A sparkling mist as bright as the sun was nestled within the grip of his weathered hands. The Khajiit had no idea what to make out of it.
“Now now, let’s not ruin this lovely night with violence, shall we?” The Redguard spoke for the first time. His voice carried no anger about the sudden attack. With a loud growl, the enraged assassin struck with all his fury.
Laughing softly, the Redguard danced around the blurred chaos of claws and Ebony. Then, he made a single downwards cut with the mist. Ra’trith jumped back and stared at the man, gasping for breath after his exertion. His hand went up to the wound. Where the mist had struck, his armour had been cut and so had his skin. It wasn’t any normal cut. There was no parting of leather and flesh. Instead, everything which had been touched by the light had simply vanished.
“You are a marked man, why?” Ra’trith asked, stalling for time. It was a tactic he preferred not to use but in this case, he had no choice. The man had proven himself to be more than a match for him and worst of all, he wasn’t even sweating or breathing any harder than when he’d just taken a nap.
“A matter that interests you, I presume. Of course, it is only natural to desire knowledge about that which you cannot defeat. That’s the Dark Brotherhood’s interest. I’ve had a few encounters with a certain member of your order. A Vicente Valtieri. I believe it’d suffice to say that he failed to kill me just as how you have failed yourself. Perhaps you have heard of him?” The old man answered the question with a question.
“I’ve met him.” Ra’trith snarled in return.
“Valtieri, so that’s why. You never expected me to win did you? So you’ve spoken with the traitor and dealt with him. Of course, you speak with yourself every day. You’re dead, traitor! Mark my words!”
“If this is personal, then perhaps you two should deal with it yourselves.” He told the old man.
“I’d love to spill your blood but there is a certain satisfaction in making two enemies fight each other while I watch from a distance.”
The Redguard shooed him away.
“I am a man of life, not of death. You however, are the chosen bringer of death in this world. I can see it in your eyes. Death has been around you from the day you were born and if you’re not careful, it will be with you till the day you die. I have no intention of killing anyone.” He explained and turned his back on the Khajiit.
“If you don’t desire to harm people as you say, than why carry a weapon? Do not convict my actions if you ignore yours.” Ra’trith accused the man. He’d caught his breath by now and was ready for a second round. The disastrous results of their first battle restrained him though.
The Redguard turned around and faced the assassin with a calculating look.
“I do not carry a weapon. As long as I do not fear and as long as my will remains absolute, I am invincible. You have some impressive skills but you show some great flaws. You rely too much on the strength of your body and too little on the strength of your soul. These are the words of Revarim Kendri, remember them. You’ve piqued my interest, ender of lives, embodiment of darkness. Who do you wish to kill?”
Ra’trith visibly recoiled.
“Embodiment of Darkness? How does he know my title? Was it a mere coincidence or perhaps not?” He thought, getting increasingly worried. He did not like people he could not comprehend and this Revarim Kendri was getting more incomprehensible with each passing moment.
“The cook, two prisoners, several guardsmen, Jagar Tharn, Vicente Valtieri, you, the Emperor.” He admitted reluctantly. Kendri clapped his hands.
“Ah yes, the Emperor. Who doesn’t want to kill him, with what he’s been doing lately?” He murmured and brought his face down to Ra’trith’s eyelevel.
“The Emperor is no mere man you know. If you truly desire to kill him, you must prepare for an incredible challenge. To face this challenge, your will must be absolute. You must learn how to sing, how to be a champion of justice as opposed to a champion of evil. Perhaps then, you’ll stand a chance. Also, you might find Jagar Tharn in your way when you make your move. You must fight two men, a powerful mage and the ruler of an empire. Now then, good night.” Ra’trith blinked. That short moment of blindness was enough for Kendri to vanish. The Khajiit shrugged and walked away in the night.
“Everything at its time. First, I must build my strength so I can face Valtieri. After that, I’ll start my quest to destroy the empire. And just what has singing to do with killing? Strange old man, I’ll kill you as well someday. No one escapes me. They can run but in the end, there’s only one fate that awaits all of us. Death.”
The next morning, the city picked up its pace once more and its inhabitants were out on the streets. Two of them were standing near the wall of a random building. One of them was pinning a notice to said wall with the help of a small hammer and a few nails. The other eyed the streets and shifted in his armour nervously.
“Calm down, Caius. You’re giving us a bad name like this.” The man with the hammer told his younger companion. Caius watched a passing Khajiit intensely for a moment.
“I’m not sure if this is such a good idea, Berius.” He replied, pointing at the notice.
Berius had finished his work and now leaned casually against the wall.
“Why not?” He asked with an interested voice.
“Just read it.” Caius answered. The two looked at the notice they’d hung up together. Underneath the sketch of a random Khajiit’s face painted black was a message written in bold letters.
To all citizens of Cyrodiil. The person depicted on this notice is known as Ra’trith, who goes under the title ‘Embodiment of Darkness’. Said person is wanted by the Empire on the charges of: Treason, membership of the Dark Brotherhood, killing of guards, an attempted murder on a high-ranking member of the palace, the murder of a large number of loyal citizens, jailbreak and other charges which may come apparent at a later date.
If you see this person, warn the nearest guard officer so that this criminal can be brought to justice. Do not approach said person. Said person is known to be armed and extremely dangerous.
Signed: Jauffre, Blade.
Berius grumbled something under his breath.
“Ah, he isn’t the most pleasant being I’m afraid.” He spoke more clearly. Caius nodded.
“Which is exactly why I feel uncomfortable walking around like this. I’ve heard the rumours. This….monster has already slaughtered at least five of our comrades like sheep. He might also be responsible for a large number of killings all over the province. I feel as if I’m wearing a huge sign saying: I’m a Blade, come and kill me!” He exclaimed. Berius shook his head and brought a finger up to his lips.
“Not so loud, you’re scaring everyone. Remember, as a Blade you have to assure the people that everything is right. The moment you start showing signs of fear, everyone else will start to panic.” He warned.
Caius pointed at the park where a Dunmer was telling a story to a Bosmer and an Imperial.
“Say that those three will meet this Ra’trith. If he finds out they’ve been talking about him, how will we protect them from his wrath? If we can’t protect ourselves, then how can we protect anyone else?” He whispered. Berius shrugged.
“That’s a hard question. Anyway, our job is done here. Let’s return to the barracks and get our scheduled task assignment for this week.” He offered. After a last look at the notice, they walked away.
“And so the Tribunal claimed power over the House Dunmer. But it has been prophesized by Azura that one day, Nerevar shall return. He shall Slay the Devil in his lair and cast down the false gods who betrayed him. Then, Vvardenfell shall become fertile once more, the ash replaced by rain, the sand by grass. But when that will happen, no one knows.” Aran finished his story and sat down on the grass. Erinus handed him an apple and he took a bite from it.
“What?” He asked when he noticed Rajn staring at him. The Bosmer frowned for a bit before answering.
“Nothing. I’m just not used to vegetarians.”
“Plants are a great source of strength, perhaps more so than the flesh of the creatures you kill. I have no qualms about taking an apple from a tree. The apple I take provides me with nutrition, while I spread its seeds to thank the tree that has fed me. What is so bad about my view? The tree won’t be harmed and I simply use that which would otherwise go to waste. Birds eat fruits, Deers graze on the grass. It is nothing unnatural.” Aran finished his explanation with another bite from the apple.
“You’re not in Valenwood anymore. The customs here are different.” He added.
Rajn stretched and bent her leg a few times. The twitches had diminished greatly though they still returned from time to time.
“Speaking of Valenwood, I want to go back there. I miss my home. As soon as I can walk, I’m out of here. Screw Cyrodiil, I’ve found nothing but trouble here.” She said unamused.
“You did met us.” Erinus interjected.
“I suppose. But still, I want to go home.”
The healer plucked a handful of grass and played with the green leaves absentmindedly, much to Rajn’s dismay.
“They say that the war between Elsweyr and Valenwood has flared up again. I won’t stop you, but be careful if you go.” She advised.
“Those stupid furbals with sand between their toes! Can’t they ever leave us alone? They’re always burning our forest and chopping our trees to pieces!” The Bosmer girl complained loudly. A Khajiit who passed the park at just that moment reared back his teeth in anger.
“Shut up. Can’t you treehuggers leave us alone? You always have to expand your precious forest into our lands.” He hissed. Aran stepped between the two before a fight could erupt.
“Bring peace into your hearts and souls! I will not let violence and bloodshed taint this garden!” He spoke with an voice that would not tolerate any protests. The Khajiit bared his fangs at the man who’d dared to interfere but chose to heed his advice when the man looked at him without fear.
The moment the Khajiit was out of earshot, Aran turned towards the still fuming Bosmer.
“You’ll see that in this world, there are always two sides to a story. You lay the blame on the Khajiit, the Khajiit lay the blame on the Bosmer. If two sides blame each other, then who has right and justice on their side? No one. Remember that.” Having said his lesson, he sat down again and continued eating his apple as if nothing had happened. Rajn sat down after a moment as well and continued her own lunch which consisted of fish and bacon.
“Two sides? I wonder where he learned that nonsense.”
Cyrodiil, attic
Dust floated through the air in the attic, lit by a few rays of light that passed through the various cracks in the roof. A soft squeaking was the only sound that originated from inside the attic. It was nearly drowned out by the noise from the streets outside. A new sound, one of parting air. Then, the squeeking was abruptly cut off by a loud thump.
Ra’trith opened his eyes as he woke up. He looked at the dead rat he held in his paw.
“Breakfast is served.” He thought slightly amused and ate the rat raw, skin and all. He licked the blood off of his claws and leaned against a wooden beam as he replaced his sleep with a light nap. Those who knew him might have noticed that the snarl on his face was one of his more rare ones. This snarl was not one of anger, or bloodlust, or savage pleasure. This was one of worry.
“Vicente. Out of all people, why you?”
The tiny hut was covered in darkness, shadow upon shadow. A heavy smell filled the air, a smell that had a profound effect on the two sole living inhabitants. To one of them, this smell was a part of his everyday life. To the other, it was a new smell. Full of mystery and hidden promise. To him, this smell was unknown though he would become intricately familiar with it over the following years. It was the smell of blood.
The one who knew this smell bent down over a still form in the middle of the room. With a pale hand that shone in the moonlight, he gripped the hilt of a cruel dagger and wrenched it free from its victim. There was a soft wheeze when the blade was withdrawn from the Khajiit’s lung. Then, the Khajiit abandoned this world forever. The pale hand stabbed the dagger into the other forms systematically till its owner had assured himself that the entire Khajiit family had died.
The dagger was brought up to a mouth. A tongue, as pale as the hand, licked the blade clean of blood.
“Fresh blood, delicious.” The man spoke. He looked upon the gruesome scene and smiled, proud of a job well done.
“Sithis will be pleased. Well then, it’s time to leave. I want to be out of this forsaken desert before the sun rises.” He whispered to himself, sheathed his dagger and stepped over the pile of corpses towards the entrance.
Unexpectedly, a sharp pain stabbed through his ankle. Annoyed, he looked down. There was nothing visible in the darkness of the hut. Only a row of tiny white teeth glistened as they dug deeper into his flesh. A pair of bright yellow eyes opened and bore into his. The man reached for his dagger again to kill the young Khajiit when something else caught his eye. Numerous little sparks of light danced around the small creature’s claws. When one spark touched the man’s foot, he screamed out in pain.
Instantly, the silence outside was ripped apart. Voices shouted, rusty iron was drawn out of leather scabbards. The man bent down and grabbed the Khajiit around the neck. He pulled the child away from his foot and held it up in front of his face.
“Now look what you’ve done. I’d hoped to do this without being discovered.” He whispered hatefully. His expression softened somewhat, turning into a calculating one.
“Hmm, your will is unusual. A child, barely a few months old and already you’ve achieved a level most Redguards can only dream about. And your fur, it’s the perfect camouflage during the night. Finally, you show the desire to kill.” He wrapped his cloak around the little bundle of fur.
“Yes, I think that training you will be very profitable.” He spoke, louder this time. He then burst out of the hut and vanished into the night, dashing past the confused Khajiit before they knew what was among them.
Ra’trith awoke from his nap.
“You took me with you to Cheydinhall and taught me every trick you know.” He spoke without a sound. He looked at his claws.
“Yet somewhere during your training, I lost the ability to form the sparks that caused you so much pain. Was this a deliberate action on your part? I was more dangerous to you then than I am now. Did you make me lose that talent so I would be unable to hurt you?”
He got up and stretched his muscles.
“I’ll relearn it. Only better this time. You will die Vicente, and I will be the bringer of your doom.” He promised. Ra’trith then wrapped his black cloak around him and climbed onto the roof from where he could lower himself into an alley. He walked swiftly across the street. His plan was to leave the city as soon as possible. It would really surprise him if he wasn’t a wanted man yet, especially in the city where he nearly claimed the Emperor’s life.
A large group of people had gathered in front of one particular wall. The Khajiit walked over to join them and looked at the large Wanted notice pinned to the wall. He grinned in amusement.
“Why did they drew my ears so big? What do they think I am, a rabbit?” He stopped grinning when a pair of Bretons pointed at him and began to whisper amongst themselves, obviously under the illusion that he hadn’t noticed them. Ra’trith calmly walked over to them.
“Is something the matter?” He asked with his most pleasant voice. The effect was still better suited to instil fear than to cause a feeling of friendliness.
“Oh no, not at all. We were just looking at the picture up there and noticed that your fur colour shows some resemblance. Just a coincidence, we’re sure.” The couple told him nervously. Around them, a gap was created which made the Bretons even more nervous. Ra’trith gave them one of his favourite snarls.
“Just a coincidence indeed. That sketch is so wrong. The ears are too big for one thing and those eyes, much too far apart. The information they’ve put underneath is far from sufficient as well. They forgot the destruction of the shrine of Talos.” He told them, looking them in the face. His nose caught the heavy smell of their fear.
He leaned in closer.
“Now I would be more than willing to kill you. However, I am on a tight schedule and don’t have time to loiter and enjoy the simple pleasures of murder. If you value the life of your guardsmen, you won’t send them after me. Have a nice day.” He whispered in their ear and walked away through the crowd.
Cyrodiil, Roseworks
“And here’s the Roseworks office. From here, you should be able to get a ride with a caravan to Valenwood.” Erinus said and hugged the little Bosmer.
“Good luck.” She added.
“Sure, thanks for the leg again. Bye.” Rajn replied and went inside.
The Roseworks office was dimly lit by only a few candles, creating large and deep shadows. Rajn closed her eyes and counted to ten slowly, still standing in the doorframe. While she wasn’t on the verge of panicking anymore, she still suffered from claustrophobia. Having calmed her mind, she walked over to the counter and leaned heavily on the wood. The girl wrinkled her nose as she caught sight of the large amount of wood that had been used in the interior.
“Barbarians.”
An aging Imperial with a really big nose looked up from his notebook.
“Can I help you?” He asked with the bored voice of a man who only offered to help because he got paid for it.
“I want to book passage to Valenwood.” The Bosmer replied uneasily. The bored tone combined with the dark shadows and the heavy use of wood made her nervous.
With deliberately slowed movements, the clerk retrieved a map of Valenwood from the rack behind him.
“Where exactly in Valenwood?” He inquired.
“Anywhere, though Fallinesti would be best.” Rajn answered with a shrug. Now the Imperial picked up a quill and began to fill in a form.
“This form will grant you permission to join our caravans. Just show it to the caravan master and you’ll be on your way before you know it. What’s your name?”
“Rajn Treesap.” The clerk retreated into a back room, muttering something about placing a stamp on the form. From one of the shadows behind the Bosmer came an Argonian whose red scales matched his red clothes.
“Step outside.” He ordered the girl. When she didn’t respond immediately, he revealed a dagger and pressed the tip against her back.
“Now.” He hissed with a heavy accent.
On to the next chapter