Corrupted Heart

Chapter 4: The keepers of peace.

Marsh knocked on the door.
“Are you coming out?” He asked, wondering if he should simply blast the lock instead.
“No, I’m not. Go away.” Rajn replied from the other side of the securely locked door. The Argonian bared his teeth angrily. It was an instinctive action he wasn’t aware off.
“It is written in the scrolls. You are coming with us.” He spoke with a growling undertone.
“So what? Like I care about a mouldy old piece of paper.”

The Argonian reeled back as if he’d physically been punched on the snout by an Orc.
“Mouldy old piece of paper?! The Elder Scrolls are the most divine and sacred artefacts in this world! Their wisdom is absolute, their truth unquestioned. If these scrolls predict that you have a role to fulfil, you will fulfil it, with or without your consent!” He shouted at the door. This time, Rajn’s answer didn’t follow as fast as usual. The Argonian’s outburst had intimidated her slightly.
“You don’t even know for sure it’s me. I’m not the only see-through-walls in the world. Besides, you don’t even know what you’re going to do.” Intimidation or not, she still refused to accept everyone’s faith in the scrolls.

Marsh calmed down slightly, no longer about to explode but still fuming.
“After you ran away, we talked about that. In Cyrodiil, you revealed to us that you’d been hired by the impostor as a guide. We would like to know where you led him.” He hissed through the keyhole. His claws rapped on the wooden frame. He waited for an answer, an answer that didn’t came.
“Are you still listening? Those monks back there died for you. Don’t you want to honour their death?” He asked, his anger rising again. A sphere of light formed in his hand, pulsing slightly with each heartbeat.
“My definition of honouring someone’s death is by not dying myself. Let me guess. If I tell you, you want me to lead you there as well which in turn means that I’ll be hunted by the bad guys.” Rajn answered and opened the door suddenly, poking her head through the gap. She withdrew just as sudden.
“You nearly blew my head off with that! Put that away!” She shrieked.

Marsh let his spell dissipate.
“If you had waited any longer, there would no longer be a door worth opening. Now, where did you led him?” He spoke, straightening his back in a way that was unusual and almost painful for an Argonian but usual for a politician who was trying to emit an aura of authority.
“Uh-huh. First things first. Let’s treat this as a normal job for one thing. If I’m going to die, I might as well get something in exchange for the trouble. I want to get paid. Ten.” The little Bosmer demanded while wagging a finger in front of Marsh’s snout.
“Ten septims?” The mage repeated a bit flustered.

“Not exactly.” Rajn stepped out of the room and began to pace back and forth, counting down her demands with her fingers.
“Ten septims a day. Plus free meals, free rooms at inns, not the cheapest dump you can find but a quality bed. First choice on whatever loot we might find, some time off whenever we visit a village, a city or some other place worth sightseeing. I want some good clothes before we start, a quality backpack, a fine bow and a hundred straight arrows worth their money, no broken tips or ruffled feathers. Ten strings not including the one already on the bow. A quiver, specifically designed for my size not to mention it needs to be comfortable and unable to slip no matter what kind of acrobatics I’m pulling. A steel knife, and whatever else I find during the shopping trip.”

Marsh leaned against the wall, barely listening.
“Is that everything?” He asked once he no longer heard her talking.
“Yup.” Rajn said with a big grin.
“Good, you’re hired.” The Argonian decided and walked away, leaving the girl standing at the door.
“What? He actually agreed? Drat, I’d hoped he would find my demands impossible and leave me alone. I’m in so big trouble.”

Wayrest, city

Hot steam rose from the bucket of water as the smith cooled his work for the last time. Gently, like a parent holding a child, he brought up the piece of metal and admired it from all directions.
“Aren’t you pretty? Yes, you are.” He whispered to the sharp blade. As if he’d only just noticed the other man in the room, the one-eyed Redguard gripped the spear in a more conventional hold and presented it to his customer.
“There you are, sir. As good as new. I even managed to incorporate the modifications you asked for.” He spoke, his eyes gleaming with pride.

A grey hand embraced the spear’s shaft and lifted it from the smith’s hands. A thumb stroke across the gleaming surface, flipping a barely visible switch. Without a sound, a second blade slid out at the spear’s butt. Another flip, and the sharp metal retreated into the shaft. The thumb felt around for another switch, and now let the blade at the tip retreat inside. Without the blades, the weapon looked like a relatively harmless staff.

This wasn’t why Aran had requested the changes though. His reasoning was that with only one hand to use, a blade at each end would be better. Also, by letting the blades hide inside the spear’s shaft when not in use, he would be able to preserve their edge till he actually entered battle. A pouch filled with rinkling coins switched owners.
“Good work. As we agreed on, here’s your payment.”

Outside the blacksmith’s shop, he was surprised to see a dozen of Wayrest guards standing around the door in a semicircle. In the cordoned off area, A woman wearing an expensive dress stood. Red eyes shone at him from under an elegant hood.
“Aran Geydar, I apologize for not having found the opportunity for a talk sooner.” Barenziah greeted him. The man said nothing, instead choosing to stare at her with an empty expression, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
“My husband, Symmachus. He died by Jagar Tharn’s treachery.” The Queen of the Dunmer continued. Still, Aran said nothing.
“Faithful Symmachus, who gave me the greatest pleasure in my life and now my greatest sadness. But before he died, something happened, something I must tell you.”

Now, Aran’s interest had been piqued.
“Speak.” He spoke with his gravely voice and was silent again. Barenziah was slightly taken aback by his lack of royal manners.
“Peasant.” She thought, slightly annoyed. Yet, in a land of Bretons, even the lowest Dunmer could be her hero.
“Some time before this crisis that threatens the empire, a man came to me in Mournhold. I won’t discuss the details except one thing. When he left, he took an ancient artefact with him, an artefact that should have never been left alone. This artefact is the Staff of Chaos. The scrolls didn’t speak about it but I believe it will be important to you.”

Barenziah looked up to see if Aran was still listening. He hadn’t moved. It was odd, how a man so big could be so silent.
“By all possible means, go to Rihad and request an audience with the queen. Tell her that Barenziah sent you. She knows more about the staff than I do. As your queen, I beseech you to grant my request. For my children’s sake and for Morrowind.” She began to sob as her thoughts wandered back to the man she’d loved, the man who’d died in an attempt to save her home.
“You are not my queen. The Urshilaku never swore loyalty towards the House Dunmer.” Aran replied and walked towards the guards who separated them from the bustling streets.

Barenziah had stopped crying. The revelation had made her completely forget about Symmachus.
“You are an Ashlander? The Urshilaku are nothing but bandits and simple murderers!” She shouted, easily heard outside the wall of guards. Aran took a single step forward. His hand flashed through the air, making contact with the woman’s cheek. The loud slapping sound also carried across the streets.

“Do not insult my tribe! Your title gives you no power in the Ashlands. For generations, we have lived there were you did not. While you’ve grown weak in the soft embrace of your homes and comforted by your false gods, we have endured where our ancestors endured. Even today, we fight against the devil who threatens to consume all. A devil greater than Jagar Tharn! Do not mock us!” He shouted. Towering above everyone else, with his scarred body and muscular build, he looked more like a god of war than a man. As such, the guards made way for him when he walked away, lacking the courage to avenge the woman who was in Eadwyre’s favour. Barenziah looked after him while feeling the swelling bruise with a thin hand.
“An Ashlander. We’ve put the last hope of Tamriel in the hands of an Ashlander. ALMSIVI, why have you forsaken us?”
Wayrest, castle

Rajn was rather confused after all that had happened and had no idea what she should do.
“Ok, let’s get it all down on a list. First, I led this Nightingale fellow into Valenwood. After that, he invited me to escort him to Cyrodiil in exchange for a nice bonus. There, he turns out to be a big important guy and throws me in jail. After going insane and sane again, I get out of there, nearly get eaten, stabbed, burned and eaten again. And now I’m here, stuck with this stupid prophecy that wants me killed.” She grumbled to herself. Quite unusual for a Bosmer, she had no eyes for her surroundings and soon entered the courtyard without even noticing.

“Not to mention that I’ve lost everything I own, twice. All I’ve got left is this neat dress that jerk gave me, before he turned out to be a jerk. Now what am I supposed to do?” She continued to think aloud, drawing attention to her from the many guards who were hanging around the place, either training or gambling.
“Ah, got it. I’ll go shopping. But first, I need a victim.” Everyone in the room visibly recoiled. Associating shopping with victims was something the roughed men and women were not used to and frankly, their own already somewhat violence orientated imagination did not reassure them.

This action made the girl finally notice where she was. After looking at all those around her, she made her choice.
“You, I need a bodyguard.” She demanded, pointing her finger somewhere between two of the guards. The two armour-clad men looked at each other for a while, trying to figure out which one of them was the ‘victim’. Everyone knew of the status Eardwyre’s guests had and had heard the story of their wet arrival. In short, the Bosmer’s will was their command. When they couldn’t figure out which one of them had been pointed at, the one on the left pulled out a coin and threw it into the air.
“Heads.” The other immediately called. Both watched the coin tumble through the air, going up before beginning its descent into a waiting hand. A small hand.

“Oh, shiny. It’s mine now.” Rajn said and stuck out her tongue. The man on the left shrugged.
“I just lost a coin to that little thief. You go, Jonas.” He decided and walked off, probably to fetch himself a new coin. Jonas shuddered and followed Rajn somewhat reluctantly, falling in a few steps behind her.
“Ok, so she likes to snatch coins from the air. Quite good reflexes I might add. But apart from that, she can’t be that bad, can she?” He reasoned with himself.

One street later, he’d already changed his opinion.
“Miss.” He called out.
“Miss.” He said again a moment later, more forcefully. Rajn still didn’t respond.
“Miss!” Jonas finally shouted. After brushing past one more richlooking woman, the Bosmer stopped in the middle of the street and openly began to transfer the contents of the various pouches she held in her hands into one of them. What she couldn’t use, she simply threw down on the street.

“Ten successful pilferings in just one street. It’s true what they say. People really let their guard down when a guard is near.” She said to herself.
“Miss, I’ve been trying to get your attention the moment you stepped out of the gate!” Jonas yelled at the top of his lungs, causing everyone in the street to stop and stare. Slowly, Rajn turned to face him, dug into her pouch and retrieved a single coin.
“Ah, I’m sorry I forgot about that. Here’s your pay, you’re doing a great job.”

Even in his confusion, Jonas’ hand tried to catch the coin, failing miserably. Before he could bend and pick it up, a beggar had already snatched it off the ground and ran off. Rajn chuckled at the sight.
“I’m not paying you again.” She commented. The guard’s patience had come to an end and he furiously stomped on the ground.
“Stealing is illegal!”

A collective gasp spread across the streets. Rajn felt the familiar burn of a blush reach her face.
“The filthy loose-tongued rat! How am I supposed to make any money like that? I might even end up back in a dungeon. Come on, think!” Frowning, she held up a finger.
“Not where I’m from. Since I’m in a faraway country, I have to represent my people in the best way possible. In order to do that, I will act according to the accepted customs and standards of the Bosmeri people from Valenwood.” She explained.
“Ha, take that! You people are not the only ones who can speak noble!”
“By stealing? You can’t make me believe that stealing is legal in that pile of badly dried firewood.” Jonas retorted with a sceptical frown.
“In Valenwood it is treated as a simple case of ‘you should have watched your stuff better’. If you can get away with stealing, it’s yours and no one minds. There’s only one thing we do mind about and that is the following. No one calls Valenwood a pile of badly dried firewood! If I had a bow, I would poke an arrow in your guts! Be glad I haven’t found an armory yet!”

Saying no more, she turned around on her heels and stalked off. Jonas whimpered and followed. If she got in trouble, he would be punished severely. It was better to escort a loose fingered, fanatical Bosmer than it was to be crippled and ridiculed for the rest of his life.

Marsh had no idea what was going on in the city at that time. He was in his personal quarters, getting ready for their trip.
“Hmm, telekinesis orb or fire orb? Perhaps both?” He thought, holding the two crystals in his hands. The door at the end of the room opened without knocking.
“What is it now, Rajn? I already accepted your terms and I no longer wish to speak about it.” He hissed in a tone that would be described as ‘annoyed’ if one knew the different signs of emotions in Argonian speech.

“It’s just me. I just returned from the blacksmith. I had an encounter with your queen. Rajn is in the city by the way, mugging everyone she comes across.” Hearing the voice, Marsh turned around, still somewhat surprised at the gravely tone Aran always used.
“She’s not my queen.” The Argonian replied.
“Nor mine. I know that she is a temporary ally of Eadwyre. But that doesn’t matter. She wants us to travel to a city called Rihad and question its queen about an artefact known as the Staff of Chaos.” Aran spoke and looked at the two shimmering orbs with a distrusting frown.

Seeing the frown, Marsh put them in his backpack, chuckling inside. He had to admit, he liked the Dunmer, even if it was just because the man was absolutely honest with himself. He never hid his feelings, or his opinions. It was a characteristic he’d come to miss in the arena of politics where there was a dagger behind every smile.
“Ah, the Staff of Chaos. An artefact infused with the power to transcends this world, or whatever is meant by transcending. Rihad lies in Hammerfell, quite close to Elsweyr and Valenwood. We can stop by easily.” Marsh concluded and now considered the subject finished. Now it was time for a subject he found more important.

“Aren’t you worried about her? You’ve sworn to protect her yet all she does is jump into trouble any chance she gets. She could be injured or thrown in prison if she goes around to mug everyone.” The creature blinked, fixing its gaze on the man.
“I know that. What I didn’t told you is that she’s protected by a guard, one who is completely under her thumb. It’s safer to just let her run wild for the moment. Let her use up all that wasteful energy while in a safe haven. We’ll need her to be calm and focussed during our journey.” Aran said and walked out of the door without a warning.

Marsh turned back to his bag.
“Rajn thinks she’ll be killed, Aran believes that we must be careful and focussed. I must say, I worry about our safety as well.” His eyes fell upon the scroll. To protect their goal from spies, no copies had been made and he would take the original with him. He read the lines he already knew backwards, upside down and in his sleep.
“That list of people does not necessarily refer to companions but if it does, how are we going to find them? Tamriel is a large place, with many places to hide. No, I should maintain my fate in the prophecy, even though I do not understand. If we won’t find our companions, they’ll find us.” He carefully rolled up the scroll and put it in his backpack.
“We leave tomorrow before sunrise. I should get as much rest as I can. My body needs it after the exertion I’ve faced and the exertion I will face.”

Deep in the night, in Eadwyre’s bedroom, a hushed conversation was held.
“I’ve heard the news from my men. They’ll keep quiet. What do you want me to do?” One shadow whispered.
“Stop him, at all costs. Kill him if needed. He must not leave this city alive.”

Aran sat on his room’s bed, his legs folded underneath him and his spear resting in his lap. His mind wandered through his past, reliving hope and despair. Happiness and sorrow. One scene stood out, the one he’d witnessed so many times.

Red eyes broken, blood gushing from an open wound. He leaned heavily on his spear and surveyed the carnage around him. Pale men in heavy armour stood around him, their weapons forming a deadly cage.
“Give it up now, barbarian. The riches these lands hide belong to the East Empire company from this point. You are not wanted here. If you lay down your spear, I’ll let you leave.” A fat man dressed in an expensive robe said from behind the soldiers.

Aran glared at him.
“I’ll remember you.” He spat, his knees beginning to tremble due to the bloodloss.
“I won’t remember you. You’re just another red-eyed devil to me. Now get out of here.” The fat man ordered, wiping the sweat from his brow with a silken handkerchief.
“Never!” Aran shouted.

He lunged forward, driving the tip of his spear into the unprotected face of one warrior. Even as the chitin tip tore through soft flesh, he forcefully pulled it free and stabbed it into the wrist of the warrior on his right. Releasing the spear with one hand, he spun it around him in a circle, forcing everyone near to step back. In doing so, they’d created an opening. He stepped to the right, following the path of his spear. He reversed direction, finding a throat. Another turn, cutting through a knee. He finished off the disabled man with a quick thrust into his side.

Everyone had now retreated out of his range. Aran thrust his spear into the ground again, leaning on it once more. He’d reached the end of his powers. One last charge, that was all he could manage. The fat man looked at the new corpses that littered the already death filled battlefield. There was no care in his eyes, no sadness for the men who’d died to protect him, nor was there an expression of victory. Only boredom.
“I don’t have time for this. Die, devil.” He spoke with a yawn. His hands flew up, dropping the handkerchief which flew away on the warm breeze.

His hands gestured, forming a circle, an arrow, a triangle. Unknown words left his mouth. Then, just when the Dunmer narrowed his eyes, fire flashed from the pale hands and shot towards him, engulfing him in a blazing nightmare.

Aran’s eyes shot open. Outside his window, a dog barked. He looked at the stars for a while, pondering his past.
“I’ve grown in a land that is best described as an inhospitable monster that weeds out the weak. That’s where you made your mistake, by attacking me with fire in a land where fire is in the wind’s breath.”
He got up from his bed and walked to the window, looking out over the city which in his eyes, could’ve been located in an entirely different world.
“First Cyrodiil, now Wayrest. My hunt has led me far, taking the greatest step after my prey bled out his life on the sands of the arena. The end of the hunt has only put me on the path of a greater hunt. Not as hunter, but as prey. What is my destiny? Where will it take me?”

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft sound. The sound of a lock clicking. He turned to face the door but did not walk towards it.
“They locked the door. Apparently, someone wants to keep me here.” He concluded. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards.
“Bad planning.”

He leaned out of the window, looking around till he saw what he was looking for. Being claustrophobic and used to great heights, Rajn had chosen to sleep on the balcony. The Dunmer had protested against her choice at first, claiming that the balcony was an open structure and she could fall off. She’d ignored him, and done her own thing as usual. Now, he was actually glad she did that.

He moved back into his room, looking for something. When his search turned out to be unsuccessful, he moved back to the window and threw his improvised projectile. Instantly, he was rewarded by a few colourful profanities being flung in his direction.
“Hey, I was having a nice dream. And now you’ve interrupted it by…..throwing a smelly boot at me!” She yelled at him. Aran brought a finger to his lips.
“Someone locked the door to my room. Wake up Marsh, and then open the door to my room. We’re leaving earlier.” He whispered.
“Oh, and throw my boot back.”

Rajn sputtered for a bit more, threw the boot at him as hard as she could and vanished into her room. Aran returned to his bed and continued his meditation. Half an hour later, he heard voices from beyond the door.
“Miss, you aren’t supposed to run around with a bow. Especially not during the night.” A gruff voice said, probably coming from a guard who had been guarding the door.
“But there are rats under my bed! Big rats, I tell you! Who is in charge of keeping this place clean? Go get the Housemaster, now!” Rajn shrieked in an annoying Bosmer tone. Aran could already imagine the frustration the guard faced.
“I’m busy. You should ask someone else.” He replied.

There was a loud thunk. Aran looked up and saw an arrowhead sticking through the door.
“I hate rats! Just get the guy before I get angry here!” Aran smiled and shook his head. When words alone didn’t work, intimidation did the trick.
“Alright, I’m already going! Don’t be such a hothead! And I so don’t want to know what you’re like when you’re angry!”
The guard ran off, his boots echoing each time they touched the floor.

Rajn had the door open within just five seconds. She retrieved the arrow from the door and examined it for damage.
“Hey, there a small crack here. I hope you’re happy now, you’ve made me ruin a perfectly fine arrow.” She whispered annoyed. Her eyes shone with amusement however.
“You like doing this, don’t you?” Marsh commented as he strode into view. He then looked at Aran who nodded.
“Ocsdros, Jike bei.”

The familiar green smoke enveloped the fading features of the Ashlander.
“A small bit of advice, don’t go slapping Barenziah, even if you have all the right to do so. The ability of a noble to keep a grudge is infamous.” The Argonian hissed.
“Now let’s leave. I know a secret passage that should get us out of the city without being seen.” He continued and led the way.

“You slapped her?” Rajn asked as they walked after the mage.
“Yes. Barenziah does not like Ashlanders and the feeling is mutual. It’s quite similar to your hate for Khajiit I must say.” Aran answered. Marsh looked over his shoulder, his teeth bared.
“Shut up, you’re weakening your invisibility. We have several weeks of travel ahead, don’t start causing trouble at the start.” He warned.

Hammerfell

In the sweltering heat, he could barely see the stone walls rising up from the sands. His tail swished from side to side as he stood on the road, gazing upon the gates.
“So this is Rihad.” He noted, already beginning to hate the place just because of the weather. It was simply too hot to enjoy whatever beauty it might conceal. Weather or no weather, hate or no hate, he’d arrived at his destination. Now he just had to find the sanctuary. Easier said than done, seeing as how no one knew the location of any other sanctuary but his own. There were a few people lucky enough to know of more than one sanctuary, but no one knew who they were. But there was still hope.

“Seeing as how I’m wearing our traditional garb, it’s likely that they’ll attempt to make contact soon.” The Khajiit reasoned with himself and walked through the gate, watching the guards from the corner of his eyes, just in case they tried something. Fortunately for the Redguard, he did not pay any particular attention to the assassin who walked past. Inside the city, Ra’trith was assaulted by the smell of human sweat everywhere.
“Just why exactly did I chose to go to a desert? It’s hot, it stinks and I get sand between my toes.” He grumbled to himself. He had no answer for that so he dismissed the question.

The Khajiit walked around the city at random, sticking to the shadow for as much as possible. Even in the shadow the heat was murderous, in the open sun it would kill him in just ten seconds. As time went by, he became aware of being followed. A pair of feet, moving when he moved, stopping when he stopped.
“Ah, the contact. Now I’m supposed to act as normal and wait till he surprises me. I have no interest in games. Not in this pit.”

The Khajiit spun around and grasped the poorly dressed Redguard around the throat with his hand, letting the claws sink through the skin slightly.
“Out with it, before people notice and I have to kill you.” Ra’trith snarled. The other assassin gulped, his eyes wide open.
“Behind the chapel, through the well. You’ll be tested.” He whispered. Ra’trith released his grip and watched with mild amusement how the Redguard felt his wounds.
“See you there.” The Khajiit hissed and walked away, heading towards what was unmistakably the chapel.
“If that’s the best they have, it shouldn’t be that hard to achieve the highest rank.”

The well had dried up years ago and was now little more than a ring of broken rock. However, this was contrasted by the high hedges growing all around it and even above, cloaking the area in a cool shade that felt like paradise to Ra’trith’s overheated body. The hedges also served to hide whatever happened here from the prying eyes of the people on the streets.
“The bringers of death hiding under the chapel of the goddess of love, how ironic.” The assassin snickered and walked over to peer into the well.
“Now what was this about a test?”

The leaves above him rustled in a nonexistent breeze. Ra’trith bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty grin. He reared back, narrowly dodging the black dagger flying up out of the well.
“How nice, some fun.” He thought pleased with the turn of events and threw himself forward, catching the dagger in midair and throwing it back down the well before landing on the other side. A scream echoed from below as an assassin found his death. One down, an unknown number to go.

A bow emerged from the hedge ahead of him, an arrow already nocked. At the same time, the leaves above him rustled again and now split open to let something pass. Ra’trith stepped around the arrow, then spun around and kicked the assassin who’d dropped from above. Ribs snapped, being driven into the lungs with tremendous force. It was a lethal wound, but Ra’trith wasn’t done yet. He followed the path the dying assassin had taken, wrenched the sword from his hands and delivered a second crushing kick against the throat, changing the cloaked man’s path so he too dropped into the well. He then spun around and threw the sword at the hidden archer who was still in the process of drawing a second arrow from the quiver. A red fountain colouring the leaves red told the Khajiit he’d hit his mark. Three down, zero to go.

He breathed heavily after his exertion. With nothing left to kill, his bloodthirst was fading, to be replaced by a nagging discontent.
“That guy hiding down in the well managed to scream. I must be losing my touch.” He thought to himself and his grin re-emerged. There was still one person left to kill. A guard who had managed to take three steps after hearing the scream. Three steps which brought him to the entrance of this small lush hideout. Three steps to his death.
“I heard a scream wha….” The guard was rudely interrupted by Ra’trith’s Blade of Woe driving into his skull.

He retrieved his dagger and returned it to its sheath. After that, he waited. Half an hour later, a man dressed in the clothes of a wealthy merchant entered the small garden. His eyes looked around coolly, his face splitting in a crooked smile upon seeing the red blood still dripping from the leaves.
“So he wasn’t a true Brother after all. Good work, everyone. You can come out now and collect your payment.” He spoke in a hushed tone. The leaves above him didn’t even rustle when Ra’trith dropped down, landing on his shoulders and driving him into the ground.
“Here’s a bit of advice. Don’t test me when I’m in a bad mood.” He hissed in the man’s ear.

A scorpion crawled out from under a loos stone and made its way over to the reddened sand. It stopped at the edge of the bloody mess, as if it was contemplating the change that had occurred in its territory.
“What’s the meaning of this?” The false merchant whispered, spitting out a mouthful of sand as he did so. He knew that alerting the guards would only lead to more trouble.
“You decided to test me with some of your friends, I killed them.” Ra’trith explained, a malicious snarl on his face. The prone man could not see the snarl while his face was being pressed into the sand.

“You killed them?! Impossible! Those three are the best assassins in Hammerfell! A well-trained Brother can evade their attacks for a short moment, but he can’t retaliate at the same time! And even then, you weren’t supposed to kill them!” He sputtered, nearly choking on the warm sand. He felt how the Khajiit’s claws dug into the back of his neck for grip and hauled him up. The change in position was too unexpected for him to respond. A moment later, his chest painfully collided with the well and his face was pushed down so he could watch down the shaft.
“See for yourself. And if they were supposed to live, you should have warned me. I would have stopped after breaking their bones then.” Was all Ra’trith said.

When he peered down into the well, he realized that this outrageous claim was no more than the truth. The bottom of the dry well was reddened by blood he could not see in the darkness, though the smell rising up to meet his nose told him it was there. The few rays of sunlight which managed to reach all the way down reflected on the chain armour of a guard, and on two traditional Dark Brotherhood clasps. His thoughts wandered to the blood covering one of the hedges. He managed to glance that way and this time, he saw something new. The bloodsoaked hilt of a sword. A sword he knew. Not only had the Khajiit somehow slain three of the finest assassins in the province as well as a guard, he’d actually used their own weapons to do it!

“Who are you?” The false merchant asked with a quivering voice. Ra’trith released his grip and allowed the man to face him.
“The embodiment of darkness.” He answered and watched with pride how the man’s eyes gleamed in recognition of the title.
“The embodiment of darkness. I always thought that it was just a legend, that no one could be this good. I see how I was wrong. I am Pelagius, the Listener of Hammerfell. I extend a formal invitation to our Hand though there is a matter that needs to be taken care of first. You have killed three of your fellow Brothers. This cannot go unpunished. You know the traditional price for this act?”

Ra’trith sneered at the mention of ‘punishment’. The traditional punishment was death.
“As you just said, I killed your three best assassins without experiencing any problems. Do you honestly believe I would fear anything else you might throw at me? Not even Sithis would be able to stop me.” He countered. Pelagius nodded.
“True, the Dark Brotherhood is not capable of executing you according to the ancient rules. However, the Listener is in the position to propose an alternate form of punishment. I would like to present you with a task, a murder. You’ll be paid, though at a lower rate than usual.” The Listener offered.

Ra’trith shrugged.
“Only if I know who the client is.” He spoke which made Pelagius frown. It was unusual for a Brother to know the client. Then again, it couldn’t do any harm.
“Very well. The client would like to remain anonymous though I am sure I can trust your silence. The man who has offered us this contract, along with a sizeable sum, is Jagar Tharn.” He revealed.

The Khajiit let out an instinctive growl.
“Jagar Tharn. He’s bribed the Brotherhood to betray me. Working for him is not what I want, yet it could prove to be a valuable source of information. If I know what he’s up to, I’ll know how to kill him.” He reasoned with himself.
“Fine, I’ll take the offer.”

Pelagius descended down the well.
“Good, our sanctuary is through here. I’ll have the corpses cleaned up before anyone becomes aware of our presence here. In the meantime, I want you to go north, to Stonekeep. There, you will meet an Orc warlord. He’s Tharn’s accomplice. Question him for further information.” He shouted upwards. Ra’trith walked away from the well, contemplating his new mission.
“This reeks of betrayal. I’m sure it is yet another trap. Good, observing the trap is the first step on the path of avoidance. Or the path of retaliation.”



Before he could leave on his quest for personal vengeance and a good bit of money, he had to eat. It was becoming a bit of a habit for him, to enter a city, kill a few people, get the task of an assassination and leave again without a chance to rest.
“I really should change that. I can’t keep running forever without tiring. Especially in this heat.” He noted with cool self-knowledge.

His eyes scanned the city for potential food. The sun blazed overhead, baking the streets in the climax of boiling air known as noon around here. Ra’trith noticed quickly that he was the only one left on the streets. Everyone else had vanished into his or her residence, trying to escape the sun. Even most of the guards had left and the ones who remained all stood in the shade of an overhang, sweating like a mountainstream.

Something slithered in the sand under his feet as he passed one of the guards. He’d just been wondering why the small niches these tanned warriors hid in had a tiled floor. Now he knew why. He swiftly crouched down and gripped the snake just behind the head. His grip tightened, squeezing the life out of the poisonous creature. After a minute or two, the creature’s death throes ceased and the Khajiit took it with him into the nearest tavern. To the shock of both the proprietor and the customers, he publicly sat down at a table and sliced off the snake’s head.

Cutting the dead creature into small pieces, he ate it and threw the bones on a small pile. The only bit he spared were the glands containing its poison. His cold assassin side scolded him for this public act yet another part of him delighted in the disbelief and morbid interest of those around him. He gestured towards the proprietor who approached, a look of disdain on his face.
“Are you going to clean that mess, sir?” Was the first thing the short man asked once he reached the table. Ra’trith lazily looked at the bloodstained bones and grinned, showing his equally bloodstained fangs for all to see.
“Not a single hair in my fur even considers it. I want a vial, about the size of a finger.” He replied and after a short time pondering, he flipped a single coin on the table.
“And as an extra bonus, I’ll tell you that raw snake is a true delicacy. Just don’t eat the head, it’s poisonous.”

The bartender eyed the coin. Inside, he fought the old battle between keeping up his reputation and simple greed. In the end, greed won and he snatched up the coin while waving to a waitress to clean up the mess. He returned to his place and began to rummage around under the bar, hopefully for the vial.

In the meantime, the waitress had made her way to Ra’trith’s table with a large plate which she used to scoop up the bones.
“Haven’t seen your kind before. Aren’t you a k….kho…khan……cat thing?” She asked with what was probably supposed to sound polite but completely missed the effect.
“Interested in that which you don’t know?” Ra’trith inquired. He was already tired of the conversation before it had even begun yet until he got his vial, he would not move from his table. Now he could simply kill everyone and search for the vial himself, but there were too many in one room to kill silently and in the end it would not be worth the trouble.

“Just curious. So, what do you do for a living?” The Redguard continued, oblivious to all the physical signs of annoyance the Khajiit displayed. Though it had to be said in her defence that few people were aware of the subtle ear and tail movements that marked a Khajiit’s mood. With Elsweyr just about on the other side of Tamriel, the number of people who knew had dropped to near zero.
“Do you know the saying, curiosity killed the cat? There is another version. The cat killed curiosity. I am a hunter, and you’d do best not to ask about my prey.” The assassin warned. Finally, the waitress got the clue and left him alone. Ten minutes later, the proprietor had found the vial and deposited it on the table.

With the arrival of the vial, Ra’trith renewed his show. He cut open the glands and carefully let the poison drip into the vial. Once he’d finished the task, he left the shrivelled glands on the table and left the tavern. The stay in the cool tavern had rejuvenated him and he went straight for the gate. The guards complained loudly at the need to open the massive doors in the heat. Ra’trith passed through and set out on the road.
“Now, Stonekeep. If those drunks I overheard in the tavern are correct, it is directly north of here.”

Summerset

Roughly at the same time, yet so far away from Rihad that the city’s name was unknown here, a young man woke up. He took a single look out of the window and sighed. Exactly two minutes later, he bolted down the stairs, grabbed an apple from the kitchentable and ran out through the door.
“You forgot your jacket, dear!” A woman shouted after him. He stopped, cursed a bit, turned around and ran back to his house.
“Thanks, mum.” He spoke as he snatched the jacket from his mother’s hands and ran off again. Shaking her head, the woman went back inside.
“He actually overslept. Normally he’s always up and about an hour before sunrise. I wonder why, really.”

He stopped his mad dash at the other side of the small village. His feet had led him to the town’s only tavern, the lucky horse.
“You’re late.” The Proprietor snarled the moment he entered the door. The man shrugged and left out through the back, where the stables were. There, he moved about to perform his task of feeding and brushing the horses, sneezing every few seconds.
“I’m allergic for these mules and I land a fricking job that has me touch them all day long. Just what’s wrong with my life?” He complained inwardly.

A new smell reached up to his drooping nose. An unpleasant smell, one that was usually associated with organic waste products. Also known as horse dung.
“Ah, frickity frick! I hate this place, I hate this job and I fricking hate horses!” He shouted and levelled his gaze on the brown pile near his feet. The pile began to shift, the individual pieces of smelly slime tumbled over each other. Then, it shot up high into the air. When it was only a small dot in the blue sky, it exploded, devoured by an internal flame.
“Much better. They should train these monsters not to deposit their stuff in the stable. Do they have any idea how hard it is to clean the damn place? Achoo! Frick!”

While the young man was wasting time with his inappropriate and explosive cleaning techniques, his mother was cleaning the windows in a much more peaceful manner. She was interupted in her activity by the sound of rinkling bells. Smiling, she put away the piece of cloth she’d been using and dug into the basket near the door. As she’d already expected, a clean white envelope had appeared. One look at the silvery edges and the golden wax sealing it told her enough.
“It was about time you sent us a letter. You haven’t written in months.” The paper rustled as she opened the envelope and began to read the letter inside.

Dear Serena,

I apologize for not writing sooner. All I can say to defend this neglect is the chaos here. I’ve been so busy, it’s as if I’m living the life of two men! Well, maybe I am. I barely get time to rest. I suppose we’re lucky that sleeping is something our family was never good at. We’re always awake, living a busy life.

But enough about my petty excuses. How are you doing, down there at Seneth? Since I’m so late with this letter, I’m probably too late to say goodbye to Aureus. By now he’s probably returned to his project in Argonia. When he visits, could you please tell him I’ve found a potential client in the Colovian Highlands? Give him my regards and best wishes. When things calm down here, I’ll have to try and travel to meet you. A family reunion would be nice, don’t you think? I’ll bring over some Cyrodiilic recipes and ingredients. Then we can make a fabulous meal to celebrate.

I hate to tell you this, but I’m also writing for business here. I’ve got a certain key in my possession. It is of extreme importance that I give it to you. I wish I could tell you what it’s for but I can’t. I’m sorry, but there are things more important than family. This key is more important. I’ll send it to you in two days. Guard it well.

Of course, I can’t just drown you in bad news, can I? Like with a lot of things here, it’s supposed to be a secret but I believe I can tell you. Remember that you wrote me two years back about Novis’ interest in Magicka? He had been quite successful at schooling himself in the art of changing the shape and properties of objects, if I’m correct. I’ve managed to subtly bring this knowledge into the hands of several experts and after months of debate, they’ve reached their conclusion. Unfortunately, work caught up to me so this warning might be a little late.

Today, two Royal Battlemages will arrive. I’ll be brief about it. Novis has formally been invited to the Battlespire for a full education programme. For someone who has never received formal training before it might be hard, but I have full confidence in him. Our family is colourful, but that just makes our blood even better. I happily await the day that he’ll take his proper place among us, and the day that he’ll surpass me and his father. But don’t tell him, it would spoil the traditional prank.

Ah, annoying politics. An ambassador from Valenwood just arrived. He wants our support in the upcoming war with Elsweyr. My agents have reported the arrival of the Elsweyr ambassador as well who most likely has the same request. Choosing between barbaric mer or overgrown cats, this will be hectic. I have to go.

Thanis

She smiled, overjoyed at the news. Her own son, a Battlemage in the finest order of Tamriel. Now she surely had the right to brag about her child.
“Just wait till Aureus hears this. He’ll leap a hole in the sky.” Her smile faded as she realized something else.
“For tonight’s meal, I’m going to need a few bits of Crabmeat, Ironwood nuts, Mutton and some spices. That will mean three hours in the kitchen. Oh dear, I’ll feel it in my bones tomorrow.”

Two men sat at a table in the lucky horse. They politely ignored the attention directed at them. While their garb was nothing special, their faces were. They were the only two who did not have golden skin.
“So, when do you think we’ll act?” One asked, carefully taking a sip from his beer.
“Do you have to ask? Tonight, like we always do.” The other replied with a chuckle and lit up a sigar.
“I hope the others have been successful. Some must be quite tricky to reach. Especially the Argonian. I pity Kadis and his wife. That buginfested swamp really must be hard on them.” He added. A dim explosion sounded through the room.
“Novis! Blow up one more thing and I’ll lower your pay!” The Proprietor shouted. The two men laughed softly.
“We have a winner.” They concluded most satisfied.

They sat in their corner, conversing quietly. With time, the attention they drew died down and by lunchtime, they’d become part of the furniture so to speak. As such, no one noticed when the snuck out a few hours later.
“Other side of the village. The house sits nicely in the shade of an old tree. Would do well as a place to spend your vacation.” One informed the other, just as a reminder. The other nodded with a smirk and gestured with his hands. Both faded from mortal eyes till only their breath in the wind and the swaying of the grass among their feet gave them away.

Together, they continued their stealthy approach to the small building, cautiously swerving around the few Altmer they passed. They crouched behind the cover of a simple well and rested their backs against the wall, conveniently under an open window.
“Novis, you should change into other clothes after dinner.” They heard a woman’s voice speak.
“Serena Lucis.” One of the two men mouthed without a sound. They continued to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Aw, come on. It’s not that bad. I made sure not to step into the fricking dung of those fricking nightmarish beasts.” A second voice, younger and with a male undertone, replied.
“Don’t argue with your mother. One, you reek. Two, I told you not to swear. And three, your father and I have been thinking.” The woman said sternly.
“Uh, oh.”
“Novis! Don’t go ‘uh, oh’ on me. It’s nothing big, really. It’s simply about your name.” Serena continued.
“My name? I didn’t pick it. What’s with my name?” Novis’ voice was slightly slurred, as if he was drunk.

“We have discussed it for a bit and we’ve come to an agreement. Novis, we want you to use the name of your family from my side. Living on Summerset with an Imperial name is not easy. You would have a much easier time getting married, settled down and such with your uncle Thanis’ name.” The Altmeri woman explained.
“Sure…..can…..do.” Novis spoke extremely slow, pronouncing each word after a moment of silence. What followed was a loud thunk. The two eavesdroppers looked at each other quizzically. Then, a shadow loomed over them. A bit nervous, they looked up.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Please come inside and have a cup of tea. Don’t mind my son. He’s just taking a nap.” They looked at each other with an expression that could be described in four words. Caught in the act.

Somewhere

Nausea, a throbbing headache and a dry throat. Those were the symptoms Novis had when he woke up. Oh, and stiff muscles.
“Wow, that was one spicy dinner.” He mumbled half in jest as he caught his first sight of the world around him.
“Very spicy. Welcome to the happy land of dreams.” He added, now slightly more awake than two seconds earlier.

Dark grey rocks, stacked on top of each other to form crude walls. A ceiling of the same stuff and cracked dirt as the floor. This was clearly not the livingroom of his home, nor any other place he knew for that matter. Not to mention that the smell was definitely not something he’d ever encountered before. The place smelled…..dead. Not just dead like a rotting corpse or ages of dust gathered in a tomb, but simply as if there never had been anything that could be called alive. No plants, no animals, nothing.

He got up from the sofa and walked towards the door he’d seen at one end of the room.
“Goldskin should keep the door closed.” A voice hissed in a dialect he could barely comprehend. Novis turned around while inwardly calling himself an idiot.
“Leave it up to me to not notice the only inhabitant of an otherwise empty room.” He thought and promptly his eyes widened upon seeing the inhabitant.
“Frickity frick! It’s a big lizard!” Fortunately for the Altmer, he did not say that out loud.
“Umm….hi. And umm….Why should I keep the door closed?” He asked instead.

“Because there’s no air on the other side. In short, you would suffocate.” An Imperial spoke and stepped through a second door, one Novis hadn’t noticed till now. He took a quick second glance at the room.
“Two doors, empty room except for a few comfortable sofas lined up along the walls.”
“A waiting room.” He concluded, speaking out the last few words.

“Correct, Novis.” The Imperial said with a nod.
“You know my name?” Novis replied. He didn’t like where this was going.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I spoke with your mother, she makes a sweet cup of tea.” The Imperial explained and took up a strategic position between the Altmer and the Argonian.
“Lady, gentleman, allow me to introduce myself. I am Harms Meritus, Headmaster at the Battlespire. You may have wondered why we ‘kidnapped’ you so to speak. Simply said, you have certain skills we desire.” He informed the two while stroking his grey goatee.

“Hold it. What if we don’t agree? Are you going to wipe our minds or something?” Novis interrupted with a raised eyebrow.
“Goldskin has a point. Ei-Rin concurs.” The Argonian agreed. Harms looked slightly taken aback. He smiled though.
“That won’t be necessary. What do we have to fear from you? You won’t be able to reveal the location of the Battlespire to anyone. And even if you could, it would do you no good. In fact, I can reveal its location right now. First you must go through a Shiftgate, called upon by your own will. This Shiftgate must lead to one among the infinite number of planes you can choose from. Then, you have to traverse a rocky path that stretches for five kilometres past deep cliffs, flowing rivers of magma and deep pits obscured by a thick layer of dust that will certainly spell your doom if you step into them. All that while in a complete vacuum. So, if you can find the right plane and the right pad and survive the harsh conditions, you’ll reach the Battlespire which is the most fortified structure ever created by mortals. Not exactly helpful, isn’t it?” He chuckled.

“Perhaps in a few years, you’ll know all the spells you require to reach the Battlespire. By then though, you’ll be completely loyal to us as you will be one of us. So, who wishes to leave? I can arrange that easily enough. You’ll be home in half an hour, should you desire it.” He offered and looked expectantly at his two potential pupils.
“Don’t look at me, I just want to know all of my options. This sounds like a good careerchoice and my mother doesn’t seem to mind.” Novis answered.
“Ei-Rin wishes to stay.” The Argonian hissed.

“Good, good! Now as I was saying before our conversation took a slight detour, the Battlespire is interested in your talent. You must know that the Battlespire is the training ground for the Royal Battlemages, the most exquisite order of mages in Tamriel. We only train the most exceptional of pupils, those who have displayed a great talent and skill before proper training. Only one pupil is selected from each province, which leads to nine pupils in total. If a pupil refuses, we won’t chose another to take his or her place. There is no second choice here. The average training takes about twenty years, after which the freshly graduated class spends the next twenty years training the next batch of students while perfecting their own skills. Therefore, only after forty years is a Battlemage allowed to return to Cyrodiil and take his place as an official representative of the Emperor.” Harms continued talking as he led the two back through the door he’d used to enter.

Beyond the door, the decoration of the Battlespire took a sudden change. The cold and crude rock was replaced by shining marble, the cracked dirt by a thick carpet of red silk. Lanterns hung along the walls, shining with an odd blue light. Giant banners covered the space between the lanterns, each with a mysterious symbol woven into its fabric. Amidst all that, pillars of black Ebony reached up to support an arched ceiling.
“When people think Battlemage, they usually think of the heavily armoured brute who bashes down anything that moves with a big axe and simple fireballs. A Royal Battlemage is different. Sure, we do teach you how to fight with weapon and spell, but in a more sophisticated way. The men and women we deliver are as skilled with their weapon of choice as the legendary Redguard Singer with his Ansei, and as skilled with their spells as the Archmage of the mage guild. More skilled, in fact. On top of that, you’ll learn about politics, mercantile, geography, history, the various religions, strategy. In short, a Royal Battlemage is not just an instrument of war, but also an example of virtue and wisdom.”

Harms turned around suddenly, clasping his hands together.
“Now before I continue with showing you your rooms which will be your home for the next forty years, let me get better acquainted. Or rather, let me make you two better acquainted with each other. Ei-Rin, you hail from Argonia, from the place we know as Thorn to be precise. You are the daughter of a hunter and a weaver. Your daily profession up to this point has been that of healer, a self-trained healer. While the normal Battlemage dismisses healing as a skill of the weak, we of the Battlespire do acknowledge its usefulness. Therefore, we’ve invited you to the Battlespire in the usual manner. By taking you from your home during your sleep. My apologies for that, but we’ve learned that most people dismiss our story as the illusion of a drunkard if we don’t show some visual proof.” He spoke solemnly and bowed towards Ei-Rin. He then turned towards Novis.
“Novis……..Just Novis, I suppose. You hail from the Summerset Isles, from the place known as Seneth. You are the son of Aureus Lucis, a wandering diplomat from what we’ve heard, and Serena, a commoner. Your daily profession is that of stableboy, an activity you don’t seem to enjoy, if your eloquence during the day is any indication.” He said with a wink.
“You sleep very little, so little in fact that your mother resorted to drugging you just so we had a chance of getting you to the Battlespire. The Shiftgate only works for those who are unconscious and for those who step through out of their free will. Anyway, your talent is that you are capable of changing the form of whatever material you come across. Might you give us a demonstration, please?”

Novis looked at Harms, then at Ei-Rin. He then shrugged and walked to one of the Ebony pillars supporting the roof high above them. He place a hand on the smooth surface and closed his eyes while his breathing slowed down till he inhaled only twice each passing minute. Two minutes past without anything happening. Then, the reflection on the pillar became distorted. Its smoothness was lost and in its place, the pillar grew several bumps which, while crude, could be read as writing.
You mean like this?

Harms clapped his hands.
“Most intriguing, indeed. Now after you’ve returned that pillar to its normal shape, I’ll give you two the grand tour. You’re the first students to arrive so it seems you have about a week to get used to the place.” He spoke and turned towards a large set of stairs at the other end of the hall.
“Come on, now. Follow me.”

Stonekeep

Ra’trith had travelled as fast as usual. Even the excessive heat that plagued the day could not slow him down. He’d simply chosen the cold night as the time he would travel and the day as the time he would seek shelter and rest.

Now he was sitting at a creek, hidden from view from unwanted observers by a few round boulders. The water flowed around his toes and for a while, drinking was the only activity he performed. Once he’d cooled himself with the fresh liquid, he returned to his mission. Upstream, about an arrowshot away, he could make out a few rough tents that had been planted on the grass which grew near the river. Downstream and much further away, he saw a massive fortress sitting amidst a labyrinth of fields and irrigation canals. A boat was slowly making its way up the stream.
“Stonekeep.”

His gaze returned to the tents and the green-skinned giants that walked among them. The Orcs made an incredible amount of noise, easily drowning out the sound of the clattering river. From his vantage point, he had no trouble listening in on their tall tales and rough jokes. And their constant bickering which usually ended with a broken nose or worse. The Khajiit growled under his breath and shook his head. He did not like the thought of dealing with those dumb oafs. Still, it had to be done.

He rose up from behind his rock and approached the camp in plain view. He calmly waited till every single Orc had turned towards him and raised his or her tool of death.
“Who asked for an assassin?” He asked bluntly. Subtlety would be beyond the mental capacity of these animals.
“Big boss did. He said that the assassin should go and kill the king with his woman and children. Also kill the scholars and advisors. But don’t touch any objects of value.” One Orc barked at him. Ra’trith frowned, a gesture that was completely invisible under his hood.
“Don’t touch objects of value?” He hissed at the ugly brute.
“Yeah, that’s what Big Boss said. Hrmm, you can take whatever you can carry, but don’t touch the maps. Not the maps.”

Without mincing any further words, Ra’trith turned around and stalked off.
“Oy, don’t forget to throw a torch from the wall when you’re done! That’s our sign to invade!” The Orc yelled after him. The assassin’s tail twitched.
“Maps? What is so interesting about a map? I’ll take a look before giving these idiots their sign. How does the destruction of Stonekeep fit in with Tharn’s plans? What is the importance of this map? I wonder what he’s plotting right now.” He thought to himself while simultaneously planning the best approach to the fortress.

Cyrodiil, palace

At the moment, Jagar Tharn wasn’t plotting anything, unless deciding which bottle of perfume to use in his bad could be called plotting.
“Roses? No, I’d better not. Before you know, people will be spreading rumours of a romance with the priestess of Dibella and that is something I can’t handle right now.” He told himself with a nasty scowl. He settled his dilemma by putting the bottle with rosefragrance back on the rack and then picking a random bottle from the remaining pile. He let out a satisfied sigh as he sank into the water.

“I’m glad I’m rid of those two. Forcing the Emperor to pick sides in their war? Hah, this would be amusing if it didn’t give me a headache. Valenwood and Elsweyr should have known better than sending their top generals to me. Accusing them both of being involved in a complot against me was a stroke of brilliance. Of course, a few charm spells here and there helped out a lot. With those two out of play, I’ve effectively broken the organization in their respective armies. Now, the conflict will simmer at a ‘border skirmish’ level rather than at a ‘war’ level. Perfect.” He thought pleased with himself. His mood sank though when he realized that his solution wasn’t that perfect in the end. His master had asked for something else.

“I want full-out war. Let them annihilate each other. Genocide.” That’s what the monster he served had demanded.
“I’ll need to come up with a very good excuse for why I’ve prevented genocide.” Jagar noted.
“Mehrunes Dagon, how I loathe you. I’ll cheer the day you fall.” He then whispered at the ceiling with a faint smile.
“And oh yes, you will fall. It is your destiny. The pieces are set, the game is about to begin. The end, is inevitable”

He lifted a hand out of the water and gestured towards his wardrobe. A gnarled staff floated towards him, the emerald at its tip bathing the room in an ominous light.
“A man can never relax, it seems. Back to work then.”

Stonekeep

Ra’trith had swam over to Stonekeep’s modest harbour. He’d noticed that the ship was a cargovessel, with a few huts for passengers built near the stern. It would be no surprise at all if it stopped at Stonekeep for the night. Then, he could smuggle himself inside with the cargo. It was a perfect plan. There was only one flaw. He absolutely hated swimming. As such, he was more than a bit impatient for the ship to arrive.

“Stonekeep, home of the keepers of peace. Allow me to remind you that it will be greatly appreciated if you two give up your weapons during our stay here.” An unfamiliar voice hissed from up on the deck when the ship had finally gotten close. Ra’trith peeked his ears and tried to listen in on the conversation. Any information he might receive would be helpful.
“Keepers of peace. That might explain why they haven’t driven out those Orcs yet.”

“Keepers of peace? Everyone is entitled to believe in peace, but somehow I doubt that that Orc camp over there is so peaceful.” A gravely voice now spoke. Ra’trith frowned. That voice was familiar.
“If I was in charge, I would have either forced them to flee or slain them. It’s impossible to farm with them nearby.” The voice continued.
“They probably hope that the Orcs will simply leave. And we don’t have time for heroics. We spend the night here and tomorrow we’ll sail right on to Rihad.” The first hissing voice now replied.

“Aw, I could shoot them. I haven’t gotten a chance yet to try out this new bow. Ten coins I can hit the nose of the biggie.” A third voice, a female one, now got involved with the conversation. Ra’trith snarled in silence under the dock. He remembered that voice. He remembered it all too well.
“I’ve been waiting for a chance to kill you, Elf.” He said inwardly with malicious intent.
“And then you’re going to bug us till we go out and retrieve your arrows. No way, Rajn. If you want to shoot, fine, but you collect your arrows yourself.” The gravely voice countered.
“Drat. Why can’t I be lazy? Fine, I’ll just have to amuse myself by wandering around this place then.” The girl complained loudly.
“But be in your room and bed at ten. We’re leaving early tomorrow.” The first voice hissed. Ra’trith dove underwater and swam to a location from where it would be easier to reach the ship’s cargo. He missed the remainder of the conversation as a result.

He resurfaced at the ship’s stern, just in time to hear three pair of feet moving across the wooden board that served as a bridge between the ship and the dock.
“One with leather soles….No, barefooted Argonian. One light person, probably the Elf. I remember that she wasn’t the heavy kind. One heavier person, wearing heavy boots with the balance of a warrior. The Argonian wears a robe, the warrior wears leather with metal plates covering critical areas and the Elf has light leather with a quiver of arrows on her back. Mage, warrior, thief? That means all three general classes of possible troublemakers in the assassination business. This could be interesting.” He deduced with only his sense of hearing.

He waited till he heard a door slam shut. Then, he dug his claws into the ship’s hull and climbed up onto the deck. Just when he vaulted over the railing, the small door in the fortress’ wall opened up again, forcing him to hide behind the mast. Two pair of feet walked the board, both barefooted. Sailors. Ra’trith listened to their grunts as they picked up one of the crates littering the deck.
“Man, a shipment of pure ebony. Smuggling is good for business, but bad news for my back.” One of the two complained. Ra’trith grinned from behind the mask.
“Oh yes, Ebony is very good for business. Not just for your business, but mine as well.” He thought and caressed the hilt of his Blade of Woe.
He listened to their grunts as they shuffled back over the board which creaked in protest to the heavy weight. Once they were gone, the assassin moved away from the mast and made a quick survey of the area. Most notably, the location of the mast. Smuggling himself in with the cargo was one idea but if possible, he preferred a less risky plan. He was in luck, for the mast was right where he’d wanted it. He climbed to its very top, using the ropeladder so he wouldn’t leave dents in the wood.

Once up in the crow’s nest, he measured the distance three times before performing his leap. His target was a small wooden outgrowth on the wall, with a circular hole in the floor.
“Entering through the toilet. It reeks, but it works.” He thought, squeezing his nostrils shut and breathing through his mouth. He considered himself quite lucky when he found out that the toilet had not been used in quite a while. There were cobwebs and dust everywhere. He sat down on the toilet and weighed his options.

“Now, who do I kill first? The king and those close to him, or the Elf and her newfound friends? The king, he’ll be most heavily guarded. If I kill him, the whole place will panic which gives me a chance to kill the Elf during the confusion. Alright, now that I have a plan, I need to find out where to find him. Standard castle architecture involves a tower in the center, containing the throne room and the private quarters of the royal family. Guest quarters are usually located in a smaller tower nearby. Looks like I have to go to the very heart of this place.” He put his ears against the door and listened. Nothing.
“No one around, then let’s get started.” He slowly opened the door and slipped into the dark corridor.

“Bring in the entertainers!” With those words, King Erick of Stonekeep announced the banket’s official start. At a signal of the Housemaster, a troupe of brightlydressed acrobats, a tanned firebreather wearing only a simple loincloth and a welldressed bard with a lute. As the entertainers began their work, Erick looked at the creature sitting to his right. He hadn’t often seen Argonians before and never one whose scales were red like rubies.
“Had a pleasant trip?” He asked politely.

Marsh-Speaker looked back at the king and forced his snout into a smile. Argonians had no lips to speak off and their mouth movements were restricted.
“Most pleasant, milord. Wind in our backs, a warm sun overhead. Most pleasant.” He replied in the same polite tone.

The truth had been different. In fact, the pleasant bit had been over before they’d even made it out of Wayrest’s gate.

The first few steps had been without any complications. That was till they ran into Barenziah who apparently had trouble sleeping tonight. Or was she aware of what was going on? Marsh doubted it though he had to admit that with a politician, nothing was sure. And Barenziah was a born politician.
“My, you’re up late, Marsh-Speaker.” She greeted him with that awfully smooth voice of hers. As slippery as an eel.
“And so are you, little one.” She added to Rajn. This naturally sparked a fuse in the hotheaded girl.

“You bloody racist! Hah, I bet you’re all happy with being tall! I’m Bosmer, of course I’m short! No need to rub it in! You dirty dustspitting prostitute!” She yelled, which caused two pairs of eyes to study the ceiling in a sign of annoyance. One pair was invisible.
“Right. I told her about the park we have here earlier and now she’s set on visiting it during the night. I’m just going along to protect her from robbers and such.” Marsh said just as smooth as Barenziah. He positioned himself before Rajn just in case she would do something stupid. Or in case Barenziah would do anything stupid. He’d never seen her that mad before. He’d never seen her mad before, period.
“Yeah, and there are rats under my bed! I hate rats!” The girl yelled from behind his back, causing the two pairs of eyes to repeat their circular motion.

“Come along.” Marsh grabbed the Bosmer by the arm and literally dragged her out of the gate. He could feel Barenziah’s glare in his back and he didn’t like it.
“We’ll be back after visiting the park.” He called out. He wasn’t lying, just not telling that they wouldn’t visit the park at all.

“Now what was that all about?” Aran asked five minutes later in a dark alley. The invisibility spell Marsh had put on him had dissipated a moment ago.
“Just trying to get the blood flowing. If she’s too focussed on my insults, she won’t notice the third pair of footsteps, now would she? Let me tell you something, Aran. You’re not a good sneak.” Rajn answered with a smug grin.
“Yes, it worked and I never had an interest in the shadowy arts. But calling her a prostitute?” Aran continued.
“What can I say? I found a neat little, illustrated, outlawed book in the back corner of a certain armory owned by a certain not too civilized muscleneck. I bet he was only in it for the pictures, too dumb to read. Turns out our lovely queen had quite the interesting life and quite a few males……How shall I put it? Males for entertainment and distraction.”

Marsh raised his hand.
“That’s enough for now. Interesting to hear but we’re still in Wayrest. Follow me. I know a small harbour about half a day’s march from the city.” He hissed.
“And one more thing, be quiet. When I spoke about bandits, I was not joking……..Akatosh’s tail!” He stopped suddenly, nearly causing the two elves behind him to crash into him. Light reflected off steel ahead. Light reflected off steel behind them.
“Bandits.” Aran growled between gritted teeth. He kept his spear horizontally, ready to slash wherever it was needed.

“Heh heh heh, look what’s out so late at night. A fat lizard, a dustcovered miner and a little girl. Think they have some money?” One of the bandits called out to his friends.
“I’m Bosmer, not little!” Rajn shot back. In one fluid motion and the time of a single heartbeat, she’d drawn an arrow, taken aim and released the string. The talkative bandit let out a yelp of pain and dropped his dagger on the muddy cobblestones.
“My leg! You shot my leg!” He screamed, hopping around on his healthy leg while clutching the wounded one. Needless to say, he was losing the respect of his fellow bandits.
“I don’t like it when people insult my height. Can I have my arrow back, please?” Rajn replied casually.

If she’d hoped that the bandits would flee, she’d hoped wrong. As one, minus the crippled one, they advanced from both sides, daggers flashing in the moonlight.
“Aran, can you handle those in front? I’ll take the ones in the back.” Marsh asked and turned to face the two soon to be charred victims.
“Yeah, and get my arrow back!” Rajn added while she took up a comfortable position against the wall.
“Heyat!”

Aran nodded and moved to the two in front who weren’t hopping around on one leg.
“If you stay, blood will be spilled. It won’t be mine.” The Dunmer threatened. His crimson eyes seemed to burn in the faint light of the moon, making him look more like a demon who’d come to consume the flesh of the living than a man. The two bandits and their injured companion backed off slightly. The screams of pain coming from Marsh’s victims did not bolster their courage.

“Too slow!” Aran dashed forward. His spear twirled around above his head, slashing down to the neck of one bandit. Bones cracked under the steel shaft which bounced off towards the spine of the second bandit. Both screamed out before they slumped to the floor. Now, only the talkative bandit was left standing. Or hopping to be precise.
“Leave, now. You can collect your unconscious friends later.” Aran said. He reached down and yanked the arrow out of the Breton’s knee. As the bandit hopped away, the Dunmer rejoined with the others.

“Your arrow.” He said and handed over the projectile.
“Ah, that’s sweet.” Rajn squealed and hugged the much bigger warrior. Marsh coughed.
“I hate to interrupt this romantic scene, but can we move on?” He asked and laughed at the two flustered faces.

Marsh-Speaker returned to the here and the now.
“Your companion isn’t eating her carrots. She sick?” King Erick mumbled to him. Marsh looked up from his own plate. Indeed, Rajn had meticulously shoved her carrots to one side of the plate and her beef to the other. She was only eating the beef.
“Don’t worry about it, oh king. It’s just that time of the month.” The Argonian said, not mentioning the fact that it was always that time of the month. If not, he had yet to see her turn vegetarian for a day.

He put a carrot of his own on his fork and inspected the sickly green hue.
“Not such a bad idea, at least the animals were slain this morning and not last week.” When no one was looking, he cast the rotten vegetable on the floor.

Aran had put one of the few non-rotten carrots in his mouth and now returned his fork to his plate, only to see that his pile of vegetables had grown.
“Stop doing that.” He grumbled to the girl sitting next to him.
“Doing what?” Rajn replied with feigned innocence and flipped yet another carrot onto his plate.
“Dumping the food you don’t eat. Just leave it on your plate if you insist.” The Dunmer whispered. He promptly received another carrot.

He looked closer at the Bosmer. There had been many times that he regretted his debt to her but still, he couldn’t help but genuinely worry. She had helped him out when he was in need. Or at least, she tried.
“You okay?” He asked. She wasn’t going on with her act out of defiance, but simply because she hadn’t registered what he’d said. This was not good in Aran’s opinion.
“I’m fine.” She mumbled after he repeated the question.

“You don’t look fine to me. What’s wrong?” The Ashlander inquired despite having been waved off.
“Just a bad feeling. Not enough windows. You know, claustrophobia.” Aran dropped the subject and returned to his meal. She’d claimed claustrophobia but he realized that her symptoms were different. If she’d had an attack of claustrophobia, her eyes would be wide open for one. Now they were almost closed. She was hiding something, yet he had no idea what it could be. His hand reached for the spear behind his back to make sure it was still there. Marsh’s idea of claiming that the staff and the spear were walking aids had been pure genius. He felt much better with a weapon within reach. Another carrot landed on his plate.

Somewhere else in the building, an assassin was performing his trade. Grease, oil, sweat and burning embers. The scents told him everything about what to expect up ahead, an armoury. Ra’trith pressed his back against the wall and edged closer towards the door.
“A smith, weapons, information. Destroying the weapons would lower the amount of resistance once the killing commences. But I need the information more. Interrogation is hard next to an open flame that can put my fur on fire. I need to draw him away from there.”

The Khajiit pulled back his hood and walked through the door, all in plain view. He nodded at the smith who nodded back and returned to hammering the glowing piece of metal, while casting the occasional glance at the potential customer. Ra’trith walked from rack to rack, inspecting the various weapons on display. One item in particular caught his interest. As an assassin, he had no need for claymores and pole-arms. A bow however, was a different story. He bent over to pick it up.

“Sorry, sir. That one is not for sale.” The smith spoke up and, after carefully putting down his work, he wandered over to the Khajiit.
“Why not?” Ra’trith asked with fake interest.
“It’s the property of a guest. Damn fine piece though, real Dwemer craftsmanship. If you want it, you should try to strike a deal with its owner. Here, look at….” The Redguard said and bent over to point out a particularly interesting feature.

Ra’trith had stopped listening. His hand flew to the Blade of Woe hidden under his cloak, his feet spun him around. The Ebony reflected the flames of the forge as it traversed its deadly path, plunging into the man’s stomach till half of it was embraced by warm flesh. Blood gushed out of the wound.
“Right now, you’re suffering a non-lethal wound. Part of my blade however is coated in a very fast and very lethal poison. Give me what I want and I’ll let you live. Refuse, and I’ll push the poisoned bit inside you as well.” He snarled.
“What do you want?” The smith whimpered, fighting the urge to pull out the dagger. He felt an odd cold creep up through his guts.
“The direction to the map room. You have thirty seconds.”

“Go out to the left, second right, down the stairs, third left, past the grates.” Ra’trith grinned and pulled the dagger out of the wound. The smith clutched it with both hands in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
“I didn’t tell you, but the tip of my blade is also coated in poison, a slightly slower one. It should reach your heart about…now.” Having barely said that, Ra’trith watched amused how the smith toppled over and fell into the flickering flames of the forge. He could honestly not tell what killed him first. The poison, or the fire.

The assassin picked up the bow together with the quiver lying next to it. He noticed a card dangling from a thin rope tied around the steel shaft.
Property of Wayrest Essential Supplies. Price: 20.000 septims.
“Damn expensive, even for a Dwemer piece.” Ra’trith thought and tore off the pricetag. He tried out the bow’s draw and found out that while the Dwemer knew how to make their weapons, it was still not his thing. The balance and power was excellent, but it was extremely hard to maintain a draw. He would not have time to aim properly which meant his accuracy would suffer. Still, it would suffice for his current job. The Khajiit systematically broke every weapon he found in the armoury before leaving.

Left, second right, down the stairs, third left, past the grates. Ra’trith followed the smith’s directions to the letter. The now dead man had no reason to lie to him but he was still wary in case there was a trap involved somewhere.

Footsteps, ascending the stairs he had to take. The assassin slinked into the shadows and waited. The footsteps drew closer. A servant, a soldier? No, the shuffling steps told him that he was dealing with an old person, perhaps a priest or a scholar. There, a white shoe stepping into view, followed by a white robe, a hand holding a large bottle of brandy and finally a white beard. The mark of Mara was stitched into the robe with golden thread. A priest. Ra’trith suppressed a grin and came out of hiding.
“So good to see you, father. The smith has burned himself severely, your help would be appreciated.” He said.

The priest brought a hand up to his ear.
“What?” He called back, quite loud and with a slurring undertone. Ra’trith frowned and made a mental note never to try this stupid plan again. It was too noisy.
“The smith has burned himself!” He shouted back.
“Again? That dumb oaf, how often did I tell him not to stand too close to the fire. But does he ever listen? No, he’s too drunk for that. I always tell those youngsters that excessive drinking is a sin.” Muttering against himself, the priest set course for the armory.
“Speak for yourself.” Ra’trith thought and closed in on the man’s back without a sound. The priest felt something warm and covered in smooth fur reach across his throat. He let out a gasp and struggled for a few seconds before dropping into unconsciousness. Ra’trith kept up the pressure till he was sure the unconsciousness had been permanent. He then hurled the corpse down the stairs. With the shattered bottle, it would appear that the drunken priest had fallen down the stairs and broken his neck.

Down the stairs, third left, past the grates. The grates were another obstacle. A guard stood on the other side, dressed in ornate leather and holding a simple wooden staff. An iron key dangled from the belt. The Redguard leaned casually against the wall and yawned, unaware of the shadow lurking nearby.
“The way he’s holding that bit of firewood, he does not know how to use it. Probably never even practiced. That armour is more for show than for actual use, with a large gap right where the heart is. He’s just asking to get killed.” The Khajiit observed and fingered the hilt of his dagger. With the grates between them, there was no chance for classic hand-to-hand. He didn’t thrust himself with the ‘borrowed’ bow for this either. Shooting a target was easy, not so easy when there were iron bars as an obstacle. He was good, but no Bosmer. No, his skill at throwing was the only option.

He pulled the dagger from its sheath slowly, to prevent any sound that could give away his position. Not that he really had to be quiet with all that awfully loud yawning, he just preferred to do this in a professional way. He raised the Blade of Woe to eye-level and steadied his hand. He had one shot, one shot that had to drop the guard immediately and prevent him from moving away from those grates. He smirked. It would be a good test of his skill.

He crouched down and moved forward slowly. This close to the ground and obscured by the long shadows cast by the torches, he was practically invisible. When he reached the correct position, he stopped. The Redguard hadn’t moved and it appeared like this wouldn’t change anytime soon. Ra’trith swung up his arm and released the black blade. He followed its path with his eyes, saw how it shot between two bars and buried itself into the man’s head right under the chin, moving upwards till it cleaved his brains. A near silent gurgle, followed by a louder thump. The guard was dead.

The assassin calmly retrieved his dagger and took the key which he then used to open the grates. Now he could pass. The corridor went straight ahead till it reached a simple wooden door. The entrance to the map room. Ra’trith gave the door a closer inspection. It swung outward and was for as far as he knew, the only entrance. It was a perfect ambush, impossible to sneak up on without breaking down the walls, something which was beyond his abilities.
“Only one way to do this.”

The door splintered into a hundred pieces. The scholars and their apprentices looked up. Something swept through the air, piercing a heart. Something else followed, bigger and more dangerous. It tore out a young boy’s throat and then hurled the dead body against a group that stood around a table. The survivors had not yet realized the threat before it was too late.

Ra’trith sniffed up the smell of fresh blood and laughed. He’d expected about a dozen guards but what did he find? Elders and children. His paranoia had grossly overestimated the danger that hid in the room. He cast a glance at the map on the table. It was a large map of Tamriel, with nearly every single known settlement marked. Most of it had become unreadable from the blood that had sprayed all over the room. The doubtlessly expensive map had become useless in five seconds. He looked further but only found a continuation of the same pattern. Paper soaked with blood, ink mixed with the same blood. He stopped laughing.

“I screwed up again. I wanted to take a look at the maps but I destroyed them before I had the chance. All that’s left is that chest.” He walked over to the chest and kneeled down. He became more hopeful when he noticed the sturdy construction of the wooden box. Surely it was meant to hold something valuable.

Large amounts of Iron had been used to reinforce the basic structure. The lock was heavy and complex. He could see the countless needles sitting inside small tunnels. It was trapped, and if the trap went off, it could cause as much carnage as he’d just caused himself. He couldn’t force it open, as that would likely set off the trap, not to mention that he wouldn’t be able to crack the bands of iron in the first place. Likewise, he couldn’t pick it. While he was an assassin, his approach walked the line between ambush and frontal assault. Picking locks was something he’d never bothered to learn.

He stepped back from the chest and then took one last look at the room he was in. He needed a key and there was only one place he knew where he could find one.
“In the end, I’m back where I started. All paths lead to the king of this place. Heh, killing him and taking his key will be easy if all guards are as stupid as the one at the grates.”

“And then when I was fourteen, I went in search of the great crown of Lindai. Have you ever been in an Ayleid ruin? I’m telling you, those things are nasty. Nice ambience, but nasty traps. Especially dangerous for a young kid like me. So anyway, I…..” Marsh clamped a hand over his ear. King Erick had been droning on and on about his obsession for two hours now.
“Treasurehunting, such a boring subject. Someone shoot him.” He grumbled under his breath.

“AIEGH!” The king threw his heavy throne back and writhed on the cold floor in agony. A simple steel arrow had drilled a hole through his heart. Everyone else in the room flew into a panic.
“Wow! I was just joking!” Marsh thought. A second arrow flew out, this time hitting him in the arm. He let out a hiss and dove under the table. In doing so, he threw his chair back which hit his staff and caused it to tip over and roll under the table as well. He gratefully gripped the curled shaft.
“What’s going on?”

Aran had responded right after the second arrow had been fired.
“Get down!” He shouted at Rajn and forced her under the table. He then reached for his spear and took cover as well. The Bosmer was shaken out of her zombie-like state by the sudden turn of events.
“Wah? Hey, that’s my arrow!” She shrieked, looking at the arrow that stuck into the chair she’d been sitting on.
“Who stole my bow?!”

“Silence!” Aran called back and peered out from under the table. Whoever was shooting at the inhabitants of the room, he couldn’t see him. But judging from the arrows, he was quite sure that the archer was firing from beyond the double doors.
“The world has gone mad. It seems like we can’t have a single night nowadays without someone trying to kill us.” Marsh spoke, having crawled up to them. He glared at the arrow that stuck into his arm.
“And I’m seriously doubting the balance of our party. What we need if we get out of here is a healer.” He added.

Aran nodded.
“The thought occurred to me as well. Anyway, the archer is shooting from behind the doors. Comments, suggestions?” He said, not letting his eyes wander from the doors.
“Apart from having stolen my bow, it is my opinion that the jerk is good but not a professional. He can’t keep it straight while drawn. Damn thieves, I hate them!” Rajn complained. Her two companions blinked and then suddenly began to laugh.
“What?!” She asked them in an annoyed tone.
“I hate thieves, says the thief.” Aran hiccupped.

The Bosmer cocked an eyebrow.
“So what? Just because I like stealing doesn’t mean I have to like people who steal from me. Never knew the hardened Dunmer warrior could laugh by the way.” She giggled.
“A whole tribe of thieves. Bosmer society must be so disfuntional.” Aran commented, still trying to get his breathing back under control.
“Yeah, our society is very dysfunctional. It’s a miracle the normal shops aren’t robbed out of their business.”

“Anyway, we’re still in trouble. Stay here.” Marsh hissed, all serious again. He snapped off the arrow embedded into his arm and gestured with a bloodied hand.
“Mekras Olfis.” He chanted slowly. The air around him seemed to thicken, forming into a nearly invisible shell.
“Now watch and be amazed.”

The mage got up from under the table and made a run for the doors. An arrow launched out to meet him, only to shatter against the barrier that whirled around him. He’d now reached the door. He swung his staff around and raked it against the doorframe.
“Force Wall!” A second barrier just like the one that protected him took form, effectively sealing off the room from the hidden archer.
“Non-Argonian spells. They lack finesse, but sometimes they do come in handy.”

He turned his back towards the barrier and addressed the survivors.
“It is safe to come out now. The barrier will hold for approximately five minutes. I suggest you prepare for when it falls.” He hissed loudly and then walked back to the two elves.
“Not bad.” Aran grunted, nodding in respect.
“That was sweet! Can you teach me?” Rajn squeeled.
“And why would you want to learn this?” Marsh inquired, bending down to see under the table.
“Well duh. If I mess up and get the townguards after me, this would be one good trick to know, don’t you think?”

Outside the room, Ra’trith threw the bow down together with the quiver of arrows.
“Alright, the king lies dead. That’s the good news. Bad news is, I only killed about four non-essential anonymous meatshields and missed the two who were most important. The Elf and the mage. Hmmph, and with that stupid wall of air in the way, I can’t get to them or the key. I think I’ll leave now and ambush them when they crawl out of hiding.”

Marsh shook his tail.
“I should’ve guessed it. Now back to more serious subjects. That barrier will fall, what are we going to do?” He hissed, somehow trying to bring the role of leader to their mottley group. He was rather surprised that they hadn’t fallen apart yet. He had his own thoughts on what they should do yet to push his own oppinions would make the others feel undervalued. And nothing was worse than feeling undervalued. It would cause a lack of trust and ultimately, certain death.
“Hmm, I wouldn’t trust the guards any longer if I were you. They’ve taken ‘keepers of peace’ a bit too far. The only weapon they have is a simple piece of wood and I doubt any of them know how to use it. No, we must get out of this on our own, preferably sooner than later.” Aran grunted. He used his spear to point out the two guards in the room, who seemed too terrified to make any rational judgement. Obviously they had never had to deal with anything worse than a drunken brawl. Having an apparently deadly killer in their midst was a new experience for them.


“Escape. That would be a good plan. Now that we have the basics, let’s fill out the details. There’s not much time left. Rajn, what do you know?” The Argonian asked next. The Bosmer blinked for a moment and finally raised her hands.
“Know what?” She asked.
“Know what we are up against, of course! What hostiles there are, where they are and what the best escape route is!” Marsh explained in an impatient tone.
“How should I know?”

By now, he felt the desire to strangle her. But the scrolls had spoken. That, and he wasn’t the type who committed murder out of passion.
“Why did we bring you along, unbound eye?” He instead spoke, placing heavy emphasis on the last two words.
“Oh. What, don’t tell me you expect me to do that all the time. I go with normal sight most of the time. Constant see-through would be sooo awkward.” Rajn said with her irritatingly innocent voice. Then, she gigled.
“Of course, it does have its perks.” She added.
“Rajn.” Aran interjected. He had a much greater sense of authority than Marsh and managed to get her back in line with just that one word.

“Ok, ok. At the door, no one. Several guards walking around on their own. About five dudes taking a nap in a room with lots of tables, a deliciously well-trapped chest that’s just asking to get picked….Ok, no distractions!” She began and paused when the Dunmer and the Argonian gave her a warning glare.
“Can’t take a joke, dullies. Not much else. A bunch of servants running around, a guard taking a nap, a robed guy who’s fallen down the stairs. Three more guards taking a nap, one guard running…”

Ra’trith heared the loud thumping of footsteps coming closer. He slinked back in the closet he’d chosen as his hideout and waited.
“One….two….now.” He jumped out and drew his claws across the man’s face, followed by a kick to the heart. The guard dropped with a muffled scream. The assassin dropped his latest victim in the closet, on top of the three earlier ones and closed the door.
“That’s the problem with individual patrols. No one to watch your back. Not that two would have caused much of a problem. Heh, I can get every guard this way before a decent alarm is raised. The ones from the throne room will have to come past here as well.”

“Eww! Marshie, you’re looting a bleeding corpse!” Marsh-Speaker raised a mental eyebrow. Now he was ‘Marshie’?
“This bleeding corpse was king Erick. It speaks for itself that he was the primary target for this assassination. Anything else would be a random bonus. Now the important thing is that all kings, dukes and whoever is in charge of a place has the keys to all locks on his person. It is tradition. Having keys would make our job easier.” He explained. A bit more fumbling in the man’s pockets and he found a large ring with countless keys attached, varying from tiny and light to huge and heavy.
“We don’t need keys. I keep lockpicks in my hair.” Rajn muttered under her breath but did not voice her opinion out loud. Despite appearances, she knew when she was pushing the limit. It was just so much fun to play the ‘annoying shortie’ stereotype.

“Somehow, I doubt that there were any random shots there.” Aran said, scratching his chin and looking at the arrows sticking into things.
“Consider this, out of the people that were hit. There was one king, one entertainer who practiced dagger-juggling, one firebreather, one animal tamer and his animal. With the exception of the king those where the only ones who would have the means to fight back. The guards here are pathetic as I’ve already said. Now the worrying thing is this, he also targeted you, Marsh. And why would he target Rajn? She is perfectly helpless without her bow. She couldn’t even drop a fly without one.” He continued.

“Well thank you for the compliment.” Rajn grumbled. Marsh though nodded.
“I think you have a point. The amount of randomness might be a lot smaller than I thought. He targeted Rajn and me as well. In case of me, it is easy. I was sitting next to the king, I had to be important. But Rajn? Does he know her? Does he have a score to settle?” He asked himself.
“Oh, come on. The only people who would want me dead or injured are on the other side of the continent. Valenwood! Just stick with the random theory, it’s the only one that makes sense. I’m saying, you politicians are all addicted to your imagined conspiracies!” Rajn shouted for all to hear.
“Right, that would be reasonable.” Marsh agreed.

“Nevertheless. We should get moving, your barrier has fallen.” Aran interrupted their conversation and readied his spear in case someone would come through. His greatest fear at the moment was another salvo of arrows.
“Yippee! My bow is lying just outside the door, no one to watch it!” He managed a grim smile. His greatest fear had been dissolved, but his other fears remained. And he couldn’t help but wonder who was behind all this.

His thumb caressed the small switch embedded in his spear’s shaft. Someone had started killing in here. Keeping up the disguise as a simple walking aid was no longer desired.
“How is your arm?” He asked Marsh who fell in step beside him. The Argonian looked at the crude bandage he’d wrapped around the wound.
“I don’t know a lot about restoration but I should be fine. Argonian wounds rarely get infected and even if it does, I am capable of warding off such a scenario with just about the only restoration spell I know.” He hissed in return. Aran nodded and followed Rajn silently as she led them through the castle towards the exit and with it, safety.

“Hold it.” The Dunmer suddenly called out.
“What?” Rajn and Marsh asked him simultaneously as they came to a halt.
“The Orcs outside. I’ve forgotten about them till now but they’re probably still out there. We’ll have to avoid them.” Aran explained.
“Nah, no big deal even for a noisy guy like you. Orcs are dumb, just throw a rock and they’ll all run after it.” Rajn claimed with a slight grin.
“Not as dumb as most people believe. Orc society is crude, yes. But it is a society based around warrior clans. They know quite a bit about tactics and the like. It is more likely that they’ll encircle the location from where the rock was thrown.” Marsh countered deadserious.

Not too far away, Ra’trith crawled through the shadows. He heard voices up ahead. Familiar voices.
“We’ll worry about the Orcs when it is the proper time. Right now we should leave. We left Wayrest with the plan to go Rihad, remember?” The Argonian mage said with his hissing accent. Ra’trith’s ears rose up and aimed at the sound beyond the corner.
“Wayrest? That’s far up north in High Rock. How did they get there so fast? And why are they travelling south now? It’s like they somehow skipped their trek north before it even began.” He wondered but cast aside the thought. He should focus on his assassination and after he’d claimed his revenge, such questions wouldn’t matter anymore anyway.

“Right. Rajn, stop staring at the wall and lead the way.” The gravely voice of the Dunmer warrior now spoke. Ra’trith remembered the name he’d heard while hiding under the dock. It had been partially obscured by the rolling waves but this time he’d heard it clear as glass.
“So, my target has a name now. That’s just the way I like it. I’ll call you by your name when you are about to die.”
“Right on. Follow me. And I’m not staring at the wall.” He peeked his ears once more. Had he detected a quiver in the Elf’s voice?

Any further thought was cut short by the torchlight reflecting on an arrowhead appearing from beyond the corner, an arrowhead shooting straight at him with a soft twang of the bowstring. He ducked and fled through the dark passages. For twenty heartbeats, he kept running. Then he stopped and ducked behind a large vase. One of his paws went up and stroke his face, stopping when it encountered blood wetting his pitchblack fur.
“I’ve been hit? How, how did she know I was there? Just who is she?” He shook his head wildly. Yet another complication in his plans. This would be harder than he expected.
“I need more information. I have been foolish and impatient. They said they were going to Rihad. Fine, I’ll finish my original mission here and then follow them to Rihad where I’ll surely be able to persuade the Listener for the freedom he required to take them down. Now what was next? Yes, the torch that calls in the Orcs. Heh, with a bit of luck they’ll finish it for me. I hope not. Letting others do the dirty work is not as pleasant as doing it myself.”

“AH! Prepare for death!” Aran screamed and flung himself around the corner, ready to skewer anything that might present itself. All he saw though were torches and a broken arrow at the far wall.
“Heyat!” A bolt of light gracefully curved around the corner and raced down the corridor before crashing into the wall above the arrow.
“Geez, you bunch of showoffs. No one is there! Not anymore, that is.” Rajn called out.

“Then why did you shoot?” Aran countered and bent down to look at the arrowhead. He noticed a small fleck of fresh blood on it.
“Who did you shoot?” He added to his question. Rajn was extremely agitated.
“He dodged it! I never miss! Drat, who is he anyway?!” She thought.
“I can’t give you a name, big guy. It was a furrball I’ve been tracking for a while now, our mystery assassin.” She replied. Aran rose an eyebrow and Marsh blinked.
“A Khajiit?” The Argonian questioned.

“No, I’m not going back to that discussion about racism. Khajiit are evil, end of story!” Rajn grumbled and stormed off. The Dunmer and the Argonian followed.
“It’s a long and boring story. In short, she’s racist against Khajiit.” Aran explained when Marsh cast a questioning glance his way.
“So I noticed.” The Argonian said back.

Aran fell back to silence. He felt uncomfortable, distinctly uncomfortable. He’d put his fate in Rajn’s hands and there was nothing he could do but hope for the best. He felt useless. The Bosmer would lead the way, sometimes stopping to look at the walls, the ceiling or even the floor. And he had no idea what she saw. The situation had spiralled out of his control and it left him frustrated.

“Of course, she means well, somewhere underneath all that posing. But still, I would feel so much better if I could take charge here rather than follow meekly like a blind Guar. Hah, that comparison hits the mark.” He thought slightly bitter. It was then that he noticed something on the floor, just after they’d passed a set of grates. He bent down for a closer look, oblivious to the fact that the others had gone ahead.
“Blood, barely dried.”

He rose up from the ground and smoothly turned from his crouched position to a full sprint. Upper body leaning forward, his legs kicking the ground nearly horizontally, his spear extended to shift his balance forward even further. He brushed past Marsh and Rajn and jumped over what appeared to be the fragmentary remains of a door. Then, he stopped, slipping on the half-dried blood that covered the floor.

The warrior gritted his teeth. In his life he’d seen many things but this topped them all.
“Stand back!” He called out with considerable effort. It felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing his throat shut. He fought the impulse to turn and run. Instead he forced himself to survey the nightmare he’d walked into, even though he knew that each image would be etched into his soul forever. It was a carnage like he’d never seen before. People were lying about the room, as if a giant had tossed them like dolls after he tired of playing. Most were cut open or partially crushed by forces that were no longer there. And everything was covered in blood, as if some mad painter had thrown his buckets at random.

“This isn’t a mere slaughter.” He thought next. No one in his right mind would do something as horrible as this. A madman might but it was too horrible, too brutally efficient to have been done by a madman. And looking at the scene he realized something else. It had all gone too fast to be done by a single man. At least half a dozen, he estimated, had performed this crime.
“There was a purpose, somewhere.” He then saw a chest, a sturdy construction of wood and steel.
“And once they couldn’t open that chest, they came for the king.” He reasoned further. At the back of his mind there was a voice telling him that the king’s assassin apparently worked alone but he ignored it. He didn’t dare to think that a single being was capable of something so vicious, so terrible.

He left the room, leaning heavily on his spear. His companions were shocked when they saw the expression on his face.
“What happened?” Marsh asked warily. He had the feeling that the Dunmer was at the verge of exploding.
“Nothing. Don’t go and look. If you value your night’s peace, you will not look.” Aran replied.
“No, not even you, Rajn! Don’t look, not even through the wall! Turn around now! Anyway, I need the king’s keys for a moment.”

After having made sure that Marsh would keep Rajn looking away from the room, he returned. His foot hesitated over the doorstep before moving through. He stepped carefully around the carnage and approached the chest. He wasn’t an expert as far as locks were concerned. The only thing he could say was that the key it required was a large one. That, and it was obviously trapped.
“If I slip in the wrong one, I’ll probably trigger the trap. But if I don’t try, I’ll never know what justified this horror. I need Rajn for this, she probably knows more ways to open that lock than I know how to strike with a spear. No, I can’t let her lay her eyes on this place. The only thing I can do is to make the best guess I can.”

He looked through the keys tied to the metal ring he was holding. All of them were an anonymous stick of barbed metal to his eyes. In the end, he picked the largest and most complicated of them all. He closed his eyes and inserted it into the lock. As he turned the key, he imagined he heard a spring being released, or was it just his nerves? Was that the sound of the trap being sprung? He spun the key around with a decisive pull and waited. No poisoned needles ripped him apart. There was a loud click and the chest opened.

He opened his eyes. The chest was nearly empty, safe for a scroll and a folded letter. He took both and left the room in a hurry.
“I hope I’ll never have to do something like that again.”

Marsh looked at him without saying a word. Aran threw his price into the Argonian’s hands. The words that followed made his heart freeze.
“So, are the guys in there still sleeping?” He looked at Rajn, stunned.
“Did she already see? Then how come she acts so light under it?” He asked himself and feared the answer.
“I swear, you’re the least sneaky person I know. If those guys are still sleeping after you rummaged through the place, they’re either very drunk or have smoked the wrong stuff.” The girl added. Aran then remembered that she’d once said something to the effect of everything being blurry to her unnatural sight. She’d seen it, only she hadn’t realized what she’d seen. He felt a wave of relief wash over him.
“Yeah, all drunk. It’s really embarrassing and I didn’t want you to see.” He said, elaborating on the framework she’d already provided him.

“Riiiight. You’re hiding something, and it isn’t a bunch of drunks.” Rajn replied with a sarcastic tone. The relief he’d felt vanished right then. His mind milled over the dilemma. On the one hand, he really didn’t want her to know. Marsh was neutral in the whole affair. He wouldn’t go look for himself but he wouldn’t help to get Rajn off the subject either. Aran wondered if he could make up a convincing lie but realized he couldn’t. It wasn’t in his blood. The only thing he could say in a convincing way was the truth, which was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. He knew of only one solution. An appeal to her loyalty.
“Listen, Rajn. If you trust me, you will control that thrice-cursed curiosity of yours just for this one time.” He pleaded.

The Bosmer was silent for a long time.
“Ok, I promise. I swear it on my soul. Good enough?” She finally answered. The Dunmer nodded.
“Yes, that is good enough. Now why did you lead us here in the first place?” He asked, finally able to relax. The Bosmer turned to the wall she’d been leaning against and kicked a brick just above the floor. An unseen mechanism creaked and the wall sank into the floor with a loud rumble.
“I saw this secret passage. This should get us out and away easily. It does lead through a Goblin nest though.” She explained while casting a short glance at the ceiling.
“That’s odd. The furrball just lobbed….a torch over the wall?” She muttered. Marsh blinked and then hissed.
“Of course, the Orcs! I knew there was something odd with them. The Khajiit’s mission was to pave the way for them. Now they’ll come flooding in and kill everything that moves. Let’s go.” He spoke, ducked and crawled through the narrow hole. On the other side, he found that the ceiling was high enough for him to stand.

Aran was about to follow when a thought made him hesitate.
“Rajn, we’re going deep underground through narrow passages infested with goblins and rats.” He said slowly. He felt two hands push against his back.
“Don’t you think that is the first thing I noticed? Of course it’s cramped in there. But I’m not alone and I’ve been through this once before. Anything is better right now than walking out through the front gates. I’ll worry about myself, you worry about the goblins. Now get moving!”

Marsh waited till the two elves had joined him before casting a heyat to serve as a floating torch. Not only did it light up the tunnels enough for them to see, it was also a handy deterrent that scared away a large rat. He didn’t know how frightened a goblin would be though. He looked at Rajn, whose breathing came loud and fast.
“Rajn?” He asked.
“I’m fine! Just get moving before I suffocate in here!” The girl hissed back at him. Marsh shrugged and set out into the narrow passage.
“Aran, would you be so kind and take the lead? I’ll come up second and Rajn comes up last.”

While they were walking, the Argonian unfolded the letter. Keeping one eye at the tunnel up ahead, one eye on the paper, one part of his mind on his spell and the other on the writing, he began to read.

To Erick Stonekeep, king of Stonekeep

I, Uriel Septim VII, emperor of Tamriel, have written this letter to address a very important matter. I have long been entertained by your stories of adventure and delving into old and forgotten places in search of treasure. It is due to this reason that I have directed this letter at you.

Since recently, there have been rumours about an ancient artefact, known as the Tooth of Chaos. I asked the Imperial Battlemage, Jagar Tharn, for further information. He revealed to me that this artefact is a weapon, capable of making or breaking an empire. He further revealed to me that the Tooth of Chaos has been referenced in an old prophecy. I shall quote the prophecy directly to please your curiosity.

“And in the waning days, when the Dragon’s breath shall falter under the shadow of deceit, a traitor shall rise and betray his master for an old promise, once given in a moment of folly. And night shall fall upon dawn’s beauty. Forces from beyond the Ebony jaws shall enter in disguise. Chaos shall come, shining like gold yet burdened by sin. And his tooth shall fall, shattered in eight. And the tooth shall be united, by an unknown hand. This hand will decide when the next morning shall come, with dawn’s beauty as its arena.”

While the prophecy is delightfully cryptic in places and even ‘feels’ sloppy, I cannot allow this possible threat to occur. Through this, and through the trust I place in you, I ask of you to collect a fragment of this tooth. My scholars have ascertained its location. It is marked on the map I’ve sent with this letter.

Good luck.

Uriel Septim VII, Emperor of Tamriel.

Marsh sniffed. There was something odd about the letter. Something didn’t match. The prophecy was crude, with none of the style that accompanied the two prophecies he was familiar with. And why would the Emperor trust this minor king like that? Why had the letter not been burned, as it should have?

He unwrapped the scroll and took a peek at it. It was a crude map of Hammerfell, with a single cross near a sketched mountain with a castle on its top. ‘Dragon’s gate, first piece.’
“This is so odd.” He noted to himself and checked the date, only to find out that it had been written today.
“Impossible! No letter can make it to Hammerfell in a day, not without a shiftgate! And even then, it shouldn’t be here! It is as I suspected, someone has planted this here without king Erick’s knowing. But who? Not Jagar Tharn the usurper. He would never allow any information regarding a weapon that can ‘make or break an empire’ to leave the palace.”

He looked at one corner of the letter. There was a signature, in very fine handwriting.
“A.L.”
Next to the signature was a small sketch, of a sun rising up over a tree. Marsh made up his mind. Whoever had written this had given them enough information to proceed to Dragon’s gate and find a fragment of this Tooth of Chaos. He would bring up the plan of going to Dragon’s gate. It was the best option they had. They were only going to Rihad because of something queen Barenziah had desired. After that they would move on to Valenwood, in search of a shadow. Here however was a solid plan, with a clear destination and purpose. And the Tooth of Chaos had been mentioned in his own prophecy.
“If it can make or break an empire, it can make or break Jagar Tharn. This must have been placed here for us. It makes me wonder though who our mysterious benefactor is?”


Outside the castle, Ra’trith sat on a rock just on the other side of the river. The last Orc had just stormed through the now smashed and broken gates.
“Well, good night to you.” The Khajiit leaped off his rock and aimed a deadly kick at whoever had sneaked up on him. It was an instinctive reaction, one he happily followed. But his foot hit nothing but empty air. He planted both his feet firmly on the ground and looked around him, observing with both eyes and ears. There he was, standing only two steps away.
“Revarim Kendri, what are you doing here?!” Ra’trith snarled.

The old Redguard smiled, looking completely at ease despite being in the prescense of what the Dark Brotherhood considered to be the most dangerous assassin to walk the land. And the Dark Brotherhood’s opinion regarding assassins was respected among those with less knowledge.
“I am just wandering about.” The man answered with his cryptic voice. Ra’trith was not amused.
“Really? You just walked into death’s open arms!” He spat at the old man. Now Revarim Kendri laughed.

To the assassin’s increasing confusion, the Redguard sat down on the rock and then produced a bottle of flin and two mugs.
“Care for a flin? It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” He spoke casually.
“This man is insane!” Ra’trith thought but he had to admit to himself that the man had piqued his interest. For the moment, all thoughts of killing were gone from his mind. A bit warily, he sat down on the rock next to the Redguard.
“Why be carefull? If he wants to kill me, he can do it before I get the chance to blink.”

Kendri looked up at the stars while sipping from his flin.
“The stars are beautiful, don’t you think? Imagine, each star holding worlds so strange, it boggles the mind. And to think my son has gone to one of them. Ah, how I miss him. And how I miss her.” He mumbled.
“His son is on a star? He’s definitely insane.”
“But a bird has to leave its nest and learn how to fly. It won’t be long, just a few decades, before he’ll be a match for his uncle. Add a few centuries, and he’ll even surpass me. Yes, it’s good to see a child surpass his parents. It makes life worth living.”

The Redguard turned to the Khajiit seated next to him.
“So, embodiment of darkness, what have you been up to?” He asked as if they were old friends. Ra’trith felt the confusion increase even more.
“The normal stuff.” He said in the end. Kendri nodded with a pitiful look.
“I presume you mean killing. I can follow your reasoning. What’s dead can’t hurt you. But have you ever considered the advantages of sparing someone’s life?” He replied.

“What advantages? There are none.” Ra’trith claimed at which the old man shook his head.
“There, my young friend, there you are wrong. There are advantages with mercy. How to put it? Consider this for a moment. You have just defeated someone in combat. His life is in your hands. You can take it, or spare it. You spare his life and walk away. What happens? By walking away, you show that you don’t fear the revenge of him or his allies. By turning your back on the one you’ve defeated you make him realize how futile resistance really was. Neither he nor his allies will come for you as in their mind, any attempt to kill you would only end in disaster. Even if they could succeed, they won’t realize it. You have removed a threat in your footsteps while at the same time preserved a future source of information or whatever you might need. If you would kill him, you would be practically assured that an attempt at revenge would someday follow.”

The Redguard stood up.
“Well, it has been a pleasure talking with you, but I must be going. The ones you are following are no longer here by the way. If you want to find their trail again, go to a place known as the Dragon’s gate. Here’s a map.” A scroll appeared out of thin air into the wrinkled hands. The man put it down on the ground and vanished without a trace the moment after. Ra’trith stared at the scroll, utterly confused.
“Strange old man.”

On to the next chapter