You should have probably gone to bed MM , I had to because I had to got to a tournament today

I actually did go to bed, didn't feel 30-45 minutes of Morrowind was worth it. So I watched a TV show then went to bed, but today I'm DEFINATELY going to get some Elder Scrolls in.

Hmmm, things seem to be going a little slow over here in the Fan Fiction section. I guess everyone is enjoying their summers a lot. Well I'll reward the few people still around with an update! You're very welcome everyone!


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Savlian woke up with a dull pounding in his head and the vile taste of bile in his mouth. The nauseated feeling in his stomach only added to his discomfort as he slowly rose out his bed. It was going to be a difficult day if he felt like this the whole time. He trudged over to the washbasin and splashed the cool water against his face. Sighing, Savlian looked up into the mirror as he grabbed a towel to dry off his face. The previous day’s events had taken a toll on Savlian. His right eye was purple due to bruising, and slightly swollen, causing his vision to be less expansive. The right corner of his lip was large and swollen; basically, his face was a pale, swollen, and haggard-looking mess.

I am never going to drink again… Savlian thought bitterly as he gently touched his lip. Wincing, he retracted his hand. It looked like he was not going to be in any sort of shape to go out on patrol today. He probably needed a day to rest. First off, it would give him time to get over his hangover, and second, a stress free day would really do him some good. A knocking at his door caused an end to Savlian’s hopeful thoughts. People knocking on his door always meant that someone wanted him to do something.

Begrudgingly, Savlian trudged to the door and opened it up. The face on the other side made a surprised expression.

“What the hell happened to you Cap?” the guard asked.

“None of your business. Now what the hell do you want, I’m not feeling well so you better make it fast,” Savlian replied with an edge to his voice.

The guard stood there for a moment, conflicted. “Sir, we found more bodies… It’s George and Henrik. I think you should see this, being your case and all…”

Savlian cursed loudly, and walked around from the door, leaving it ajar. “Great! Just great! What did I do to deserve this!?” he asked the air and he began to pull out his guard attire. He then chuckled bitterly; I know damn well what I did to deserve this…

A few minutes later Savlian exited his home, wearing standard guard attire; chain mail, and the Kvatch tabard, equipped with the appropriate slashes for his rank. He nodded to the guard accompanying him and began to follow him down into the center of the town.

Shortly after they begun their decent into town, a flash of lightning filled the sky and was shortly followed by a peal of thunder. A heavy torrent a rain began to fall as if to answer the call of the thunder. Slumping his head forward, Savlian muttered, “Perfect…,” and continued on his trek. Though it was likely there would be no evidence if it indeed was the killer who struck again, the rain certified that there would be no evidence whatsoever.

Savlian knew immediately they reached the murder scene as a river of crimson flowed out of the alleyway and into the storm drains. The churning blood did no help to Savlian’s all ready queasy stomach. Suppressing the nausea, Savlian peered into alleyway. Despite not being as messy as the other crime scenes, the image displayed before Savlian was still upsetting. George was sprawled, face down, in a pool of water. The paleness of death covered his exposed body. Meanwhile, Henrik’s cold, dead eyes stared up to the sky. Not even the rain splashing into them would cause them to blink. His whole torso was discoloured with blood. A lump grew in Savlian’s throat as he tried to withhold the emotions rising up within him.

From the looks of the scene, Henrik had indeed tried to catch the murderer “his way”. He had set a trap for the killer by using George as bait. Unfortunately, Henrik must not have been able to intercept the killer killing George. Since Henrik’s wound was fatal, but not instantly, the killer must’ve gotten into an altercation with him. That simply defied logic though, how could an assassin, likely armed with a simple dagger, defeat a highly trained swordsman who had vengeance on his mind? This killer was more dangerous than Savlian ever anticipated if he could defeat a sword-wielding Redguard in armed combat.

Savlian took a moment to offer a prayer to the fallen men.

At least you’re with your brother again, Henrik, peace be with you, friend.

Savlian looked over to his accompanying guard, who was involved in a conversation with what looked to be a homeless man. The man seemed to be talking quite urgently with the guard, and suddenly indicated an action across his shirt. Both Savlian and the guard made a surprised expression as a streak of blood was revealed across his shirt. The guard looked over to Savlian and waved him over.

Savlian walked over to the two men, shivering from the cold rain falling down. “What does this fellow want?” he inquired.

“The name’s Madsen, been living here since that whole Tharn incident a wile back. Rather embarrassing situation wasn’t it?” he looked embarrassed momentarily. “Sorry, I’m getting off topic. I just wanted you to know about this odd thing that happened to me last night.”

Hope flickered across Savlian’s eyes. “Go ahead good sir, anything at this time will help.”

The homeless man cleared his throat roughly, “Well, there’s always this one gentleman who visits me for a little chat from time to time. We make some small talk, he then gives me a few gold septims and goes on his way. He seemed like a nice fellow, until last night. He seemed to be in a bad mood. I just wanted to start up a conversation, but he just brushed me off, quite roughly to add. I kinda glare at his back and then look down at myself and what do I see?” He pulled at his shirt, a disgusted look across his face, “Blood! I don’t know whose, but I would have to say his due to his mood.”

Savlian smiled, things were taking a turning point. He turned the guard assisting him. “Could you please take Madsen down to the barracks, get his nice and comfortable,” he then turned to Madsen, “You would be able to give us a decent description of this man, correct?”

“That I would sir.”

“Excellent, now you’re going down to barracks to give a description of this person. We’re going to try to treat you real nice. You all right with that?” Savlian asked warmly.

The homeless man smiled, “I would love a nice hot meal.”

“We will get you that at the barracks, Lucile here will escort you,” said Savlian, motioning to the guard beside him.

The two men began to set off, but something dawned on Savlian and he called out to them, “Hold on! Which direction did he walk off to, Madsen?”

Madsen pondered the question for a second. “He went off north of here, likely towards the more upper middle class area of town, seeing as his clothes were quite fine.”

“Thank you Madsen.”

“Very welcome sir.”

As the two men headed off towards the barracks, Savlian headed north. Eager to scope out the landscape of where the possible killer would be. Silently, he thanked Henrik yet again for his sacrifice.

Without your help, I don’t know if we would’ve had this opportunity.

Savlian chuckled dryly as his recently vanished determination began to settle in once again. Who would have thought that such a gloomy day would bring a glimmer of light at the end of this nearly hopeless tunnel?

Looks like our assasin needs to realize that beggers see everything

A bit of a shorter on with this one, ohwell, the next one will probably be more involved. Sometimes, you just gotta be subtle... But enough of my babble! Here it is!


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It had been quite a long time since Savlian had visited this area of Kvatch. He could only guess that the Count didn’t over tax the residents here, because he never had to come here to “problem solve”. For his atonement, Savlian decided he would patrol the likely “rough spots” of Kvatch; the downtown area where most of the pubs and taverns were located, and the district containing the lower class. He considered this place a rather peaceful part of town. Odd that it could possibly house a serial killer.

These houses were of modest Cyrodillic quality; grey stone, two story buildings with thatched roofs, many with smoke coming out of the chimneys to fend off the coolness of the rainy weather outside. Even in the dreary weather, the homes brought a cheery feeling within Savlian. When he retired, this would be the ideal place to live. He could never settle down in a farm, there would still be too much work to do.

Savlian noticed a young Imperial female tending to her garden, so he decided to approach her.

“Greetings miss,” he said modestly, drawing her attention.

She rose from her knees, wiping off the mud caked to her knees. She started once she caught a glimpse of Savlian’s face. “Oh my! Captain! What happened to you? Did you run into a horde of bandits single handily or something?” she asked with concern.

Savlian smiled warmly, trying to brush away her concern. “Oh don’t worry about me; it looks worse than it feels. You should see what I did to those bandits though,” he chuckled. “Why are you out in this kind of weather though?”

“Oh, it’s just a light sprinkle. I actually enjoy the feel of the rain against my skin; it’s refreshing considering the heat over the last few days. I just couldn’t wait for the rain to stop before tending to my garden,” she replied then smiled, “May I ask you the same question?”

“I received word that a suspicious person was seen heading in this direction. I too, am anxious to get something done. That being, catching this suspicious person. I was planning on scoping out the vicinity, but I saw you out here so I was wondering if you’ve seen anything odd over the last few days?” Savlian inquired.

The Imperial looked off to the side thoughtfully. After a few moments she replied, “Well I’ve seen some shady looking fellows visiting Vadame Dralen’s home over the course of a few weeks. They’re always looking dangerously cautious.”

“Which house is Vadame’s?”

“That one,” she pointed, “It’s the last one on the corner there. The shady people always come walking alongside the wall there.”

As Savlian observed Vadame’s home, another house caught his attention. It was three houses ahead of Vadame’s and on the opposite side of the street. It looked like every other house on that street, but that’s what made it stand out. Then he remembered.

“Someone is living in the Mandrake’s old home?” he asked.

“Oh yes, it’s actually their son, Simion, that‘s living there now. Poor fellow, having his parents abandon him with their disappearance. I was nearly shocked that he decided to return here after that. You would think living in that home would bring back too painful of memories or something. That might be the case; he’s a bit of a recluse,” the Imperial said sadly, pity mixed with her sadness.

Before Savlian was employed by the Count, he had heard about the abandoned Mandrake house. Supposedly one night, Mister and Miss Mandrake disappeared, leaving their son, Simion, all alone. Shortly after than, Simion simply left his home; no one knew where he went and it seemed he was basically forgotten. It looked like that had now changed with Simion’s sudden return. It was curious indeed on why he would return to such a place.

Savlian placed his curiosity aside as he thanked the Imperial for her help. He had a certain Dunmer to visit.

Wow. More and more intriguing with each read Mallet! Seriously, a very well written story, and i do hope you keep this up. I'll probably have to try extra hard to be as original in my fanfic though. Keep it up!

Short? I wished my update would be half as long as yours. Anyways I like the update... and I think this shady character Simion is hidding something... well time will tell.

right Mazelure, long time no post

Yeah I've been kinda bussy lately. But I am trying to cut some time for reading and writing in this forums again. Anyways it's good to be back in the FanFic section again... with my fellow writers. Cheers.

Well it's nice seeing you back and commenting, Mazelure, I appreciate them. Especially from those consistantly posted, it's nice to see you're enjoying my writing . Even those just reading, thanks for giving this a chance. But enough of my sappy appreciation Update time!


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As Savlian approached the Dralen residence, voices coming from along the outer wall were steadily getting louder. Silently, Savlian strafed across the road and flattened his back against a neighbouring house. Peaking around the edge, he had an excellent scope of Vadame’s home. Moments after Savlian found his cover, two figures appeared heading to Vadame’s house, cloaks over their heads to avoid the rain. Both the figures were rather large and a distinctive rattling of glass bottles reached Savlian’s ears even from the distance where he was situated. Before approaching the door, the figures cast glances around their surroundings guardedly. Savlian was able to identify one of the figures as a Nord, due to a distinctive beard. Satisfied that the coast was clear, the figures knocked on the door and patiently waited for it to open.

Moments later the door opened and a young, red-haired Dunmer poked her head out the doorway to survey the street before allowing the figures to enter. Savlian was able to see the whole scene from his vantage point. Indeed it did seem these figures were shady. Even Vadame herself had shown a want of secrecy. Not to mention the rattling bottles could be among a number of illegal things. Savlian had a vague idea what exactly were in those bottles. The best thing to do was investigate.

Savlian hesitated a moment. He wasn’t in the ideal physical condition at the moment to confront likely 3 armed suspects, 2 at the least. It would probably be a good idea to go get some assistance. Then again, by the time he did that the suspects could be gone, having completed their business with Dralen. Indecision reflected in Savlian’s eyes. Did he have time to get help? Or could he take on these criminals? Realization then sparked. He still had the advantage of surprise. He peeked around the corner of the house and noticed that Vadame had her drapes blocking the windows. He could get in front of the door without them seeing him getting there. If he could rush into the house and disarm everyone, no conflicts would arrive. Savlian had made up his mind.

He quickly closed the distance between him and the Dralen home, thanking the rain for masking the sound of his heavy boots smacking against the cobblestones. He now stood in front of the door, adrenaline beginning the pump through his veins. The pain and swollenness from last night receded. Flexing his fingers, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his broadsword. Easing the well-honed blade out of its sheath, Savlian took a steady breath to ease his nerves. This was a risk he was now committed to. He couldn’t pull back now, even if he wanted to without jeopardizing catching these criminals. He slowly knocked on the door. The murmurs from the other side of the door quickly died and footsteps approached.

“Who is it?” called a female voice.

“Tax Collector,” Savlian said calmly, taking a step back from the door. It was about time he used this method for something good.

As the door opened up a crack so Vadame could peer out at the would-be Tax Collector, Savlian heavily kicked the door, sending the Dunmer sprawling across the floor. Savlian charged in, sword ready into the room. The Nord went for a hand axe resting on the table, but a quick smash over the head with a broadsword hilt incapacitated the Nord. Turning his sword on the other figure, Savlian said “Hands up!” The figure complied. Savlian approached the now recognized Orc, and removed him of his weapon.

“Sit!” he commanded, surveying the room. The room was lightly furnished with the necessities, a couple of chairs and a table. On the table rested multitudes of skooma bottles. Just as he expected. He looked over at the Orc. “Where did you get the drugs?”

The Orc stared at him angrily, keeping his mouth firmly shut. It looked like some persuasion was needed to get what Savlian wanted. Savlian edged closer to the Orc. “I’ll ask you nicely one last time, Orc. Where did you get the drugs?” Vicious intent was clearly evident in Savlian’s eyes.

Before the Orc could speak, a terrifying screech sounded from across the room. Before Vadame stood a ghostly spectre, shrilling its death-like call. Vadame pointed directly at Savlian, smiling intently. The spirit then rushed at Savlian. Instinctively, Savlian grabbed the silver throwing dagger within his boot. Taking quick aim, Savlian threw the dagger, flying through the spirit and embedding itself in the shoulder of Vadame. The spectre wailed in pain as it dissipated while Vadame collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Turning around Savlian was suddenly bowled over by the Orc rushing out of the house, carrying as much skooma as he could possibly get his hands on. Cursing, Savlian ignored the vacancy of the Orc; he still had two perfect culprits to get answers from. A groan from Savlian’s right revealed that the Nord was coming to. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t going to like it.

Savlian roughly picked up the Nord and shoved him into a chair. “Now you’re going to tell me where you got these drugs from!” he said angrily.

Bewilderment was still evident in the stunned Nord’s eyes. Looking around, the Nord groaned, “Where’s Lug-Arglog?”

An idea instantly formulated in Savlian’s head. “He’s outside, dead. I did you a favour, you would’ve thrown up if you saw what I did to him,” Savlian sighed, “He should’ve talked…”

The Nord stared at Savlian in horror, gulping audibly. “Drugs ya asked abou‘? Right! Err, a Nord by the name o’ Hlodir told use t'deliver this skooma to Vadame. She distributes it to the local dealers… I think,” the Nord blurted out as quickly as possible.

Hlodir! That could only mean the Count is involved in this… Savlian thought. Things had just become more difficult.

“Well then, looks like you and Vadame here are going to pay a visit to the prison.”

Dun-Dun-Dun!! The plot thickens! Seriously, dude. This may be your first fan fic, but you must have written before. And written WELL.

Dumb Nords. Anyways that was a good update man... keep it up... please

Yea, you caught me, Black Hand. I have always enjoyed creative writing since I was child, I guess I just had a roaming creativity. Unfortunately, since the 8th grade, I just couldn't find any time or motivation to do any creative writing. None of my classes until grade 12 let me write anything creative, just boring essays and on spare time I was either busy playing sports or video games. But since I took a creative writing class in grade 12, I got that itch to write again. So I thought I would revive my this idea I had clunking around since grade 6 or 7. I had it based in a time much like TES, so it would improve and integrate well being changed into a fan fiction.

The interesting thing with my creative writing class was that I got my highest mark writing a poem. And I thought I was a terrible poet

Ah yes, I knew it! As my story hardly contains the consistency and structure of yours, I usually just try to write what sounds good based off the many many stories I have read over the years, If I ever pick up what seems to be your style of writing, consider it a compliment, as Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Damn, I even feel inspired to write another post after re-reading your last post......post machine!

You do yourself in injustice if you think yours is lacking in consistancy and structure when comparing yours to mine. I find that each of your updates are amazingly consistent in content, each post has either something exciting or interesting to read. You even seem to be drawing a larger crowd to yours than mine, so you must be doing something right! You are the true post machine, I'm more of a Commentasaurus

Though I do believe I'll get in an update today, I'm in the midst of writing it, so it might be an hour or two, possibly three....

And here it is! Enjoy!

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Out of habit, about when the light would’ve hit Goldwine’s eyes did he wake. Finding that no light woke him, he cursed into his pillow. “Dammit! Even when there’s no sunlight, I still wake up!” Dragging himself out of bed, he stretched, bones in his back cracking audibly. Sighing, he trudged to his bathroom to relieve himself and freshen up for the day. As was the routine, a knocking was heard on the Count’s door.

“Sir, I’ll just leave your messages in front of the door,” the humble voice of Brixley called out.

“That’s much better,” Goldwine said to himself aloud as he splashed water against his face in the washbasin.

Goldwine emerged from his room in a fine purple tunic, complete with a red and purple cape, trimmed with gold along the edges. He felt regal today. “I almost wished I had a sceptre…” he said quietly, smiling to himself. He picked up the stack of notes on the table beside his door and began scanning through them. It looked like most of them were standard business for the Count, but then that dreaded report showed up in his hand. His smile vanished as he read it:

2 GUARDS SLAIN IN ALLEY. PROBABLE SUSPECT UNKNOWN AT TIME OF REPORT. LIKELY SERIAL KILLER PRIME SUSPECT.

Throwing the stack of messages across the hall in anger, Goldwine hollered, “Why can’t my guards do anything right!!!! I ask them to do the simple thing of catching one murderer, and they haven’t caught him yet! By the Divines! Don’t they know how this reflects on me! It looks like I have no control over my cursed town!” The Count was now stomping the ground and flailing his arms around, venting his frustrations and anger openly. Any servants, nearby that witnessed the display quickly ventured out of sight to avoid the Count’s wrath.

To the Count, his breakfast tasted bitter and the tea tasted sour. The gloomy, and rainy weather reflected his mood rather well. He did wish there was more thunder and lightning to compliment his anger though. A servant asked if he needed anything and he swiftly waved him off, frowning the whole time. Soon after that Brixley arrived.

“Would you like me to get any services done for you, sir?” he asked politely, avoiding eye contact.

“Get my disgrace of a Captain in here, immediately,” Goldwine said, restraining the anger welling inside him. Brixley bowed and exited his presence.


It seemed that immediately for Savlian was early afternoon. Much to the dismay of Goldwine’s servants, who had to suffer through his irritable mood for much of the day. They had no sympathy for the verbal lashing, and possibly more, that Goldwine was going to give to the Guard Captain.

When Savlian stood before the Count, it took Goldwine a second to realize that he was facing his Captain of the Guards. It looked as though he had been in a street brawl. His one eye was slightly swollen shut and had a sickly blue and purple tint to it. A corner of his lip was badly swollen and it had slightly cracked open as well, a trickle of blood running down the corner of his mouth proving such. His brown hair was matted to his forehead from the rain, but his face was flushed so some of it would likely be sweat as well. Goldwine also noticed a little blood on his hands.

“Where did that blood come from?” the Count inquired.

Savlian looked down, looking as if this was the first time he noticed he had blood on his hands. “Hmmm, I believe this was from retrieving my dagger from the shoulder of a criminal I ran into today.”

“Well it certainly looks like you had quite a day so far.”

Savlian grinned, “It has been a good day.”

“You call the death of two guards a good day!” the Count said heatedly, “How can you honestly call that a good day!”

The grin across Savlian’s face vanished. “Sorry sir, indeed my day started sadly, but since then the day has picked up. We now have a suspect. A witness has given us a description of our suspect and we’re posting the picture up across town as we speak,” Savlian said, eagerness and pride clearly evident in his voice.

“It is about time, Captain. Now I hope you get this monster soon.”

“We certainly will now, sir. We know who we’re looking for,” Savlian said and suddenly became very serious, “I have an inquiry to make, sir.”

“Yes?”

“I would like to arrest Hlodir on offences of drug trafficking.”

“On what evidence?” asked the Count, suddenly experiencing a feeling of anxiousness.

“I ran into a drug trafficking operation on my patrol. Upon questioning the criminals, they fingered Hlodir as the one dishing out the drugs. As he’s under your jurisdiction, I need your permission to invoke the law on him,” Savlian said matter-of-factly.

“Denied.”

“Why?” Savlian said, shocked.

“Insufficient evidence. They didn’t give you a last name, so it could potentially be another Hlodir, and given the credibility of a criminal, they could be lying,” said the Count, returning the matter-of-fact attitude.

Savlian stood silently, looking as if he had just been punched in the gut.

“Is that all, Captain?”

“Yes, sir,” Savlian said hollowly.

“Then pursue this murderer, I expect you to catch him any day now.”

“Yes, sir,” Savlian said, bowing and leaving the room.

The Count sighed audibly. This was terrible news! He had to get word to Hlodir to halt operations momentarily until the situation was fixed. If Savlian tried to investigate the drug trafficking, the trail could very well lead to him. He now realized how foolish it was to have Hlodir run the trafficking operation, but he was good at what he did. This slip up was dangerous though. The situation had to be fixed. Unfortunately for the good Captain. That would mean death.

Pouring a glass of wine, Goldwine toasted the air. “Here’s for your years of service, Savlian. Unfortunately they must end.”

Simion woke to a reeling sensation in his head. Bolting upright nearly caused him to vomit from the sudden movement. The stench of blood was rank in the air and it only added to Simion’s nausea. It surprised him that blood would do that to him. He then realized why, as he was looking down at his arm. The blood was his. Looking at his bed, he saw the large red patch of dried plasma on his bed. With that sight still in his eyes, the remaining strength in his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor, panting loudly. He scolded himself for falling asleep with a mild wound, for the blood loss had sapped nearly all his strength. He crawled over to his lower cupboard where he kept a various assortment of poisons and potions. Opening it, he searched through the bottles until he found the one he wanted. Downing it in one swig, Simion immediately felt the affects of the restore strength potion.

With his replenished strength, Simion examined his wound. The wound wasn’t deep, merely a wide gash that would bleed a lot, and bleed it did. It was now bruised around the edges and his shoulder was stained crimson from the seepage of the wound. The wound itself was now a coagulated mess of dried blood. It would likely leave quite a scar once fully healed. Simion was just fortunate that it didn’t bleed more than it did, else he wouldn’t know what kind of condition he’d be in. He felt very foolish. He could’ve bled out during the night and all his effort would be for naught.

He then set out to clean up the mess. If he were to get a visitor, it wouldn’t be a good idea for them to see a bloodstained house, less they get any ideas. He first cleaned himself up by washing the blood coating his arm and dressing the wound with a salve. He then went about cleaning the bloodstains on the floor as best he could and incinerated his bed sheets. That much blood was not going to come out. He sighed as he saw the mattresses itself was stained. He couldn’t afford a new one at the moment so he simply flipped the thing over, chuckling at his ingenuity. It had taken him all morning to clean the place up, so he was famished.

After finishing his meal of boar meat with steamed vegetables, he then set about formulating his next move. He was about to make a big decision. Due to the previous night’s fiasco, he couldn’t trust his mind with more preparation missions. Then again, his condition caused him to make a rookie mistake, and those had to be avoided like the plague if he were to successfully complete his revenge. He rested his head against the table, torn with indecision. If only his mind was fine! His choice would be a simply one then. A knocking on his door snapped him out of his dilemma.

Opening the door, Simion found himself staring into the all-too-familiar eyes of Lavos, burning in their intense reddened gaze. “Back so soon, Lavos?”

A hint of amusement flickered across Lavos’ face. “Yes, I just stumbled across something quite… odd I guess would be the word for it.”

Simion registered that something was going amiss, but still kept the conversation light. “Well what was so “odd” about it?”

“Oh, I just noticed the town guard posting these up all over town,” he said, laying down a piece of parchment.

Simion could barely keep a straight face as he looked at the piece of paper with his face on it. The headline read:

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ON SUSPICIONS OF MULTIPLE HOMICIDE
ANY LEADS ARE TO BE REPORTED TO THE TOWN BARRACKS

“Have you been lying to your apprentice, Simion?” Lavos inquired darkly, agitation lurking just on the edge of his voice.

“First of all, you’re my former apprentice, and second, that could be anyone,” Simion said, disregarding the notice.

“I don’t think “anyone” would have a scar above their right brow, much like this one shown here,” Lavos rebutted.

“Well if they are suspicious of me, they can simply take me in. If you didn’t notice from before, I’m a bit of a recluse. People tend to be suspicious of that. I have nothing to hide though,” Simion said, giving a look of certainty to Lavos. Confidence was key here. If Lavos was unconvinced, definite trouble would arrive.

Lavos decided not to press the issue any further and looked around the modestly furnished room, and sniffed indifferently. “The place smells nice, all fresh and clean.”

Simion smiled, he saw through Lavos’ questions like a glass window. “With a rainy day like this, there’s not much else to do but spruce up the abode,” he replied chuckling.

“Do you really think he buys this? He’s no fool! Kill while you have the chance!”

The voice suddenly erupted in Simion’s head causing him to stagger and drop to his knees on the floor. A look on anguish crossed his face as Lavos bent down next to him.

“Simion! Are you all right?” he asked, concern reflected sincerely in his eyes. Simion turned his head towards Lavos and nearly recoiled from the expression in Simion’s eyes. What he saw was pure, malicious intent. It disappeared quickly, but Lavos had all the information he needed now.

“Sorry to scare you there, Lavos. I just had a rough night. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. To be honest, that’s why I cleaned this place up. It reeked of vomit and… other things,” Simion said weakly.

“Well I definitely know how a hangover feels,” Lavos said smiling, “The best thing for me to do is to give you some peace and quiet. Even a little noise can give you such a headache, I know. Trust me.”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Simion said rising from the floor, massaging his temples, “I just hope you’re not offended, friend.”

“Not at all,” Lavos said, reaching the door, “I do hope you feel better.”

“I hope so too,” Simion said, opening the door, “Farewell.”

“Farewell,” Lavos said, returning the formality. Before the door could close though, Lavos grabbed it. “Could you just do me one favour before I leave?”

Simion looked at Lavos’ serious expression for a few moments before answering. “What would you ask of me?”

“Would you turn yourself in to the barracks? This picture is obviously of you, and it’s deeply disconcerting for me to see this,” Lavos asked, though it almost sounded like a plea.

Anger flared up within Simion. “As I said before, if the guards want me badly enough, they can come to me. I’m not going to turn myself in like some guilt-ridden criminal!” Simion said heatedly.

“It’s not like that though, you’d be simply telling them your alibi or something,” Lavos said calmly, tolerating Simion’s heated words.

The anger remained in Simion for a few moments but resignation crept in. “You’re right, once I get over this hangover, I’ll pay a visit to the barracks. Thank you again for your wisdom, Lavos,” Simion said gratefully.

“Bless your intelligence, Simion. It is the right thing to do. Farewell!” Lavos said and finally released the door.

After the soft click of the door closing Simion turned around, the hidden anger now apparent on his face. Turn himself in? He planned to avoid the guard at all costs. But now he was in another dilemma. Knowing Lavos, he’d would “privately escort” Simion to the barracks. If Simion didn’t, he’d be caught lying, and the Guild would come crashing down on him. If he did, then there was the possible chance that the guard would get even more suspicious of him if he answered their questions improperly. Any slip of the tongue and he was done for. He couldn’t risk that with his problem. All most as if being heralded, the voice arrived.

“You know what must be done then. Lavos must die! His blood must be spilt! The Morag Tong will not be suspicious if some thug managed to kill their operative. Kvatch, like any town, has it’s dangers. None will be the wiser…”

“You’re right,” Simion said aloud, grinning maliciously, “It’s the only way…”

Well it seems things have sloooowed down here Ohwell, I had difficulty getting this one out, I really wanted to get to another flashback but writing just this little bit just has drained me, so I decided to get the preamble out now and post the flashback next time. So sorry about the slight boredom with this one in advance


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Lavos walked down the streets of Kvatch with a grim expression. His second visit with Simion left no doubt that he was behind these murders. It grieved him deeply that he would now be forced to kill the man who trained him in the ways of the Morag Tong, but that was what their doctrine stated: Those who retired must end their practice of the assassination art. The punishment for breaking it was death without mercy. Yet, even with that rule, Lavos did not wish to kill Simion. For example, he wasn’t sure his technique would be capable enough to defeat his former master and trainer. Simion still possessed some of the best natural skill that the Guild was privileged to have received. He would need assistance.

He entered “The Dining Lodge” where he was staying for his duration in Kvatch. The room was slightly hazy from pipe smoke and the pleasant scent of roasting mutton wafted out of the doors leading into the kitchen. A few of the tenants looked up from their mugs or conversations to see who the newcomer was. They turned away once they got a looked at the Dunmer wearing a simple robe (wearing a Guild robe would be asking for the Dark Brotherhood’s attention). Lavos waved to the innkeeper as he headed to his room. The Imperial, cleaning out a mug simply nodded a greeting and returned to the conversation he was having with a patron.

Closing his room door, the din of the inn was immediately silenced. Lavos stood in place for a few moments, drinking in the silence. An assassin like himself seemed to find comfort in silence. When there’s silence that means there generally isn’t anything that could surprise you. With silence there was safety. Most of the time. A great assassin can instil fear even in the silence. Only a few could do that, and Lavos wasn’t sure if he was one of them. He knew for certain that Simion was though. Fortunately, Lavos felt confident that Simion was still within his home, or else he would have reason to feel some anxiety.

Lavos took a seat at the desk provided for him and took out a piece of parchment along with quills and ink. He took a moment to compose his thoughts and then began to write.
Upon completion, he looked at what he wrote:

To my fellow guild members,

I arrived in Kvatch safely; the journey was long but it gave me time to collect myself. My hopes for Simion’s innocence were forsaken. He is indeed the culprit and thus, must be removed. The madness in his eyes gave away his lies. I fear that I may need assistance, as he has maintained his skills. I intend to monitor him and attempt to prevent him from killing again, though doing so will likely end my life. I’m quite sure he will not expect me to send this letter, so use discretion upon arrival. Only then, will we be able to end his madness once and for all. May Mephala guide my hands in this endeavour. Since this may be the last thing I write, I want you to know I value my time spent with the Guild. I couldn’t ask for a better second home.

Lavos


Lavos reread the letter, making sure he had written down what he wanted. After folding up the letter into the envelop, Lavos melted some black wax onto the letter to seal it. He then stamped the letter with the insignia for the Morag Tong. Looking at the note in satisfaction, Lavos headed back downstairs with it.

Lavos walked up to the innkeeper, concealing the letter. “If I needed something sent with urgency and moderate secrecy, who would I go to?”

The innkeeper looked at Lavos thoughtfully for a few moments. He then smirked. “I happen to employ someone who deals with those types of “somethings” quite well. I need a few more details though,” said the innkeeper, keeping his voice low.

“I need this letter to get to Mournhold. From there, my informant can pass it on to the right people,” Lavos said calmly. The reaction he read from the innkeeper told him this wasn’t going to be cheap.

“Mournhold’s quite a distance away… but if you want it rushed, I can get it there in a week at the earliest. Though from the looks of you, I don’t think you can afford it,” the innkeeper mused.

Lavos cautiously revealed two small purses, fat with septims. “They’re gold too, if that was what you’re wondering,” Lavos said casually, “If you want them, just deliver a letter to the innkeeper at “The Winged Guar” in Godreach. Tell him, “The Webspinner spins a message”. He’ll understand.”

The Imperial nodded and said, “Come. We need to update your lodging fee.”

Lavos followed the Imperial into an office-like room beside the bar table. Closing the door behind him, the din of the inn died once more.

“I understand your apprehension about exposing that much gold, so I thought it best to finish our business in here. My inn is generally a safe one, but you never know who’s paying too much attention,” the innkeeper stated, looking expectantly at Lavos.

Lavos simply handed over the money and letter and reminded the innkeeper of their agreement. The innkeeper assured him and gave him a bonus. Drinks tonight were on the innkeeper. Now that was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

(continues to laugh ruthessly) who will triumph? Master or apprentice?

My moneys on Simion, who's with me?

Okay, I may have said there would be a flashback with this post. Now it does flashback somewhat, but it wasn't the expected flashback I wanted to write, that one, I promise you, will be the next update. So again, I give you a bit of a shorter one, but I believe it's quite informative... Hope it's somewhat enjoyable


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After several drinks, Lavos mind drifted to his past experiences with Simion. When he joined the Guild, Simion had established himself as a proficient assassin with a gift for teaching the tools of the trade. Lavos had received the privilege of being trained under Simion. A friendship quickly bloomed during the training sessions between the two assassins. Their mannerisms just meshed together and they were able to talk to each other easily. Sure, harsh words were exchanged between them from time to time, but they usually quickly resolved them after a little time was given. There was one thing that they would never discuss, at least for one of them.

Simion would never talk about his past, or at least his childhood. Lavos had tried to pry the information from him, but Simion had setup large defences. Trying to get Simion to talk about his childhood was like trying to scale a perfectly smooth, twenty-foot wall without a grapple. Impossible. He simply emptied all emotion from his eyes, looking at Lavos like a cold, dead thing, and said he didn’t want to talk about it. From that, all the Lavos could assume was that it was a traumatic childhood. For a lot of the Guild members, that was a reason that drew them to the Morag Tong. Many were abused as children and grew up to have violent tendencies, the lucky ones ended up finding the more just, and legal, Morag Tong while the unfortunate ones are discovered by the despicable Dark Brotherhood.

Lavos’ reasons for joining the Tong were different. He wanted to achieve perfection in his dagger-craft. At a young age, knives fascinated him and he was drawn into their use. Just the efficiency of them amazed him. You could conceal a dagger, or throw it, or slice and stab with it. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t find a home to enhance his craft. Sure House Hlaalu offered some training for daggers, but they also wanted him to help them with their money getting schemes. He also heard rumours on where to join the Thieves Guild, but upon inquiry, Lavos found out about their policy on avoiding the use of violence. He only stumbled upon the Morag Tong by chance on his visit to Vvardenfell.

He had grown up on the mainland of Morrowind but had relatives in Vvardenfell. He received news of his grandfather’s death and decided to go to the funeral held in Balmora. After the services, he decided to roam the streets of Balmora, just to observe the city. It was much less elaborate than what he was used to on the mainland, yet it made it that much more interesting to discover. During his journey he found a guildhall nestled in the back of the Manor District. It struck Lavos as odd, since it was quite far removed from the more popular Fighters and Mages Guilds. It was as if this Guild was saying that they were different. The name of it was even striking to Lavos, the Morag Tong Guildhall. Now being from the mainland, Lavos had only heard little about this Guild. Most of which consisted that they were assassins that rivalled with the more popular Dark Brotherhood, who had more influence on the mainland. But he had his curiosity picked so he entered the building.

Upon entering, he instantly felt the atmosphere. It felt mystical, secretive, and right. He talked to the patron of the Guildhall and upon hearing their philosophy on how the Guild operates, and that they provided extensive training in short blades, marksmanship, stealth, and illusion, he immediately knew he wanted to be a member. He was shocked when the patron of the Guild said that he couldn’t until he discovered their hidden main Guildhall. He received a book that gave him a hint on where to find it. Being new the Vvardenfell, it took him a wile to get to Vivec, and even longer to figure out where in the gigantic city the Guildhall was located, but he was determined, even a little time wasted wasn't going to deter him. After watching a match in the Arena did he realize the answer to the riddle in the book. Shortly after that he found the Guildhall, met with Eno Hlaalu, and passed his initiation test. Straight after that he met his teacher and master, Simion, and from there on he had enjoyed a happy career as a Morag Tong assassin.

At least mainly happy career, he mused to himself as he took another sip of his drink. A couple of months before Simion went into retirement, they ran into an incident during a mission. It still stung him as the memories flooded his mind…

I haven't read this one in a while. The plot is definitely thickening. Keep it up.

Wow, I just caught up with this story and to say I'm hooked would be a definate understatement. Wonderful writing. I look forward to the next installment.

Realizing how big this flashback is, I'm kinda glad I posted that smaller one. This one is pretty large for my postings. Hopefully you enjoy it, because I enjoyed writing this one.


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“Parry. Parry. Lunge!” said Simion as he stroke out at Lavos, who was following the commands given to him by his teacher. “Good. Now it‘s time for a break,” Simion said as he blocked the lunge.

Lavos stepped away from his instructor, smiling at a job well done. It still fascinated him seeing Simion use his daggers. At first it took him a little bit to get used to his skills being humbled by Simion, but since then he figured that it was a good thing. How else could he get better at using his daggers if there wasn’t someone better than him? He now appreciated every session he had with Simion, drinking up all the possible knowledge offered.

Both assassins were busy towelling off their sweat when the Grandmaster himself entered the room, a serious expression on his face. “Good, you’re both here. Meet me at my quarters as soon as possible. We’ve serious business to discuss,” Eno Hlaalu quickly stated and vacated the room as both assassins nodded their understanding.

“Let’s step to it then!” said Simion said eagerly as he quickly patted at the sweaty areas on his body. Moments after he gathered up his cloak and ushered Lavos along to the Grandmaster’s quarters.

Lavos knocked quietly on the door before entering. The first sight he saw was Eno huddled over a desk, staring worriedly at a piece of parchment. Before thinking, Lavos said, “Is there a problem, Master?”

Eno jumped from Lavos’ question, looking across the room at them with wide, practically frightened eyes. It shocked Lavos to see the Grandmaster in such a state; his earlier calm demeanour was now shattered. It would take something very serious to scare Eno Hlaalu.

Eno sighed audibly, “Oh, it’s just you, good. Come.”

Both assassins shared a look with each other as they approached the Grandmaster. Both knew that something strange was going on. They also knew it was very serious if Eno was acting suddenly paranoid.

Eno brought his voice down to a whisper, “Now you both know that we’ve been at war with the Dark Brotherhood for a long time, correct? Now what I thought was a minor threat a few minutes ago has changed. Read this note I found as I entered my quarters.”

Lavos and Simion both read the note and their eyebrows raised in shock. By chance a Tong operative entered the Arena under works and discovered a large contingent of Dark Brotherhood agents. The operative could only guess that they’ve been slowly swimming into the under works over a long period of time. He only spotted five agents in view, but he was certain that he heard activity that numbered closer to 3 times that amount.

“We knew of their recent occupation of a Daedric shrine in the St.Olms canton, but this… This astounds me. We’ve become lax in our defences close to home. I fear they may have found our headquarters, or at least deducted that it’s in this canton,” Eno continued, fixing them both with a worried gaze. “Now, the problem is, how do we deal with this threat? If I send too many, our pre-emptive strike will be discovered and a good many lives on both sides will be loss. If I send too few, the great number of opponents might prove too painstaking to take out, and they’ll be discovered.” The Grandmaster pondered silently for a few moments, then continued. “What I’ve decided is to send my two best agents, you two. So prepare yourselves quickly, they could all ready be on our doorstep and if any word of our true location were to get back to their main headquarters, the Guild as we know it could be doomed!”

“Lavos and I will do our best, we won’t fail the Guild, Grandmaster,” Simion said solemnly and vacated the room with Lavos in tow.

Both assassins geared up quickly, grabbing every necessary apparatus to get the job done as silently as possible. While Simion grabbed an impressive looking bow, Lavos loaded up on heavily poisoned throwing knives. Marksmanship, had never interested him. Simion carried two sturdy daggers and had a shortsword strapped to his back. Lavos decided to go with four daggers, two were of Ebony, his family heirlooms. The other two, which he planned to use more readily, were of simple steel. They both doubled checked that they had everything and headed towards the exit of the Guildhall.

Right after Lavos exited the Guildhall, Simion laid a hand on his shoulder and motioned for silence. He silently stalked into the storage room while Lavos hung back, listening intently. A muffled cry reached his ears, shortly followed by Simion reappearing. He waved at Lavos to follow. As Lavos entered the storage room, he noticed the dead Dark Brotherhood agent slumped against the back wall, out of view from those entering the main entrance of the storage room. Lavos swallowed heavily. Seeing an agent that close to the Guildhall was worrisome. There could be a dozen of them roaming the canal works as they stood there. Lavos noticed Simion striding away and quickly followed him.

Lavos wasn’t surprised to find the Ordinators normally guarding the canal works face down in a pool of their own blood. Obviously, the Brotherhood didn’t want any distractions while they searched for the Guildhall. It always troubled him how the innocent are always the true victims during wars such as these. These Dunmer were simply at the wrong place during the wrong time. The whole canton was going to get into an uproar once their bodies were discovered. At least he knew the Guild wouldn’t be threatened by that, as he was quite certain that not even the Temple guard knew of the Guildhall hidden right in their Arena canton.

After searching the rest of the canal level of the canton, they found no other signs of the Dark Brotherhood. Knowing that, Simion decided to break the silence. “We must act quickly. It seems that the agent we ran into was a scout, and I figure they’ll get suspicious if he doesn’t return to report soon. I suggest we take separate entrances into the under works and work our way along. That way, if they begin to catch onto our presence they might believe we are overwhelming them with attacks from different sides.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Let’s just hope that we don’t kill each other while doing so,” Lavos said lightly.

Simion went to the nearby trapdoor. “I’ll take this one, you pick one away from here, that way we’ll likely run into each other when most of them are dead, hopefully,” Simion said grimly. Lavos wished Simion wasn’t always so grim about his work; the man never took a mission lightly. Unlike Lavos, who liked to lighten up the mood with quips every now and then. But now was not the time. He couldn’t take this mission lightly. He quietly watched Simion climb down the trapdoor and then proceeded to find one himself on the opposite side of the canal works.

The stench of fetid water entered Lavos’ nostrils as he entered the under works of the Arena. He had to admit, it would take a strong stomach to swim through that water. He cautiously scanned his surroundings. He realized that no assassin was guarding the trapdoor. He shook his head sadly at the Dark Brotherhood’s ineptitude at conducting cautious protocol. He fingered at his throwing knives nervously, figuring that they would probably be used before the up close and personal daggers.

He stalked through the under works, keeping in the shadows. He knew he had to employ every skill possible, because he was hunting the most difficult prey an assassin could hunt. Another assassin. For if you knew the practices of an assassin, you could better defend it. It took exceptional skill to elude these defences, for he had to be silent enough that the trained ear of an assassin would not hear him. He would have to be precise in every action he was to commit to, for if he didn’t his cover could be blown and he would have multiple trained murderers upon him. It was unnerving to Lavos, who now understood what he was up against. Setting aside his nervousness was difficult, but doable because of his training, and he continued on his path until voices ahead stopped him in his tracks.

“I do believe Jessup should’ve arrived back now with his report These canal works aren’t that big are they?” a foreign voice questioned.

“Give him a few more minutes, Brother. He knows what he’s doing, maybe he found something and is heavily studying it. He is the thorough type,” another voice answered and torchlight was slowly becoming visible to Lavos.

Lavos’ heart jumped. Two! So soon! This would require some risky work. He slid out two throwing knives into his hand and angled himself where he would get a good view of them but remain out of their torchlight. It felt like an eternity for the two assassins, still in conversation to appear, but once they did Lavos prepared himself. He held the knives comfortably in his hands, took careful aim, throw both simultaneously and chased after their path. Two soft sounds of metal piercing flesh reached Lavos’ ears as he reached the two assassins before they fell to the ground. He absorbed their weight and eased them to the ground. Closed-in dark areas were perfect for that technique. A swift footed assassin could throw a knife and catch their victim before they collapsed to the floor loudly if their aim was good. If it wasn’t, the initial shock of the thrown object would normally leave them open for a shortsword or dagger strike once the assassin reached his victim. Lavos was fortunate to achieve a textbook move.

Setting his victims in a dark corner, Lavos continued on, keeping his senses as heightened as possible. He discovered a single patrolling assassin and easily finished him off by slitting their throat. It nearly shocked Lavos that these assassins weren’t in tune with their surroundings at all. Not once did he see the assassin look behind him nervously, even though they knew they were nearby the Guildhall of their enemy. It was almost as if they thought this was their headquarters all along.

A brightly lit area caught Lavos’ attention. Right away he knew this was the main encampment and settled to scope it out before acting. Raucous laughter reached him as he edged closer to the encampment. He saw about 10 assassins huddled around a bonfire talking loudly amongst themselves and drinking. He did noticed that all of them were still armed though, and that posed a serious problem. There were absolutely no shadows to disguise himself in and he lacked the technique for Illusion magic to make himself invisible. He was vastly outnumbered as well…

A small smile crept across Lavos’ lips. He decided what he was going to do, it was risky, but then again, this whole mission was. Hopefully it would attract Simion as well, which would help greatly. The first thing he did was study the assassins and picked out what he could only guess was the possible leader. He then picked out another assassin who looked like a threat. Seizing two throwing knives, and remaining in the darkness outside of the fire, he threw the knives at his intended targets. Both hit true, killing both men instantly and immediately the assassins rose to their feet, cursing loudly. Lavos quickly threw two more knives, but just to injure rather than kill. He then spoke loudly.

“Give up, Dark Brotherhood! The Morag Tong has you surrounded and outnumbered! Drop your arms and surrender peacefully, else enact Mephala’s wrath!”

The assassins looked amongst themselves, hesitation and fear evident across most eyes. Some even bent down to set down their weapons. Suddenly, two assassins cried out and fell to the floor. Simion appeared behind the group and slashed out viciously with his shortsword, cleaving down two more assassins. The remaining assassins instantly set their attack on Simion. Lavos, shocked by Simion’s attack, quickly entered the melee, drawing his steel daggers. The fighting area was suddenly condensed into a frightening mob. Both Lavos and Simion had the near advantage of striking at any body within their site while the assassins had to worry about hitting their own brethren. The fighting was frantic and messy, basically hack and slash. Very unlike an assassin, but it was done to survive.

It felt like hours of fighting had taken place in Lavos’ mind, but in actuality, it was only mere minutes. His body ached from exertion of the battle as he stood there with Simion. Simion had his back turned against him and was panting loudly, apparently from exertion as well. The scene before them was a bloody mess of crumpled bodies, none had survived the fight, they had made certain. Lavos turned to Simion.

“Good job, Simion. Let us go back and report that the Guildhall is safe,” he said tiredly, clasping his teacher’s shoulder.

Without warning, Simion swung around, slashing out with his shortsword. The sword grazed across Lavos’ torso, sending him to the floor, hollering in pain. “All enemies must bleed!” Simion hissed at the sprawled body before him.

The last thing Lavos saw before darkness enveloped him was the maddening glint in the eyes of Simion.



The burning sensation across his chest snapped him out of his state of unconsciousness. A Morag Tong member was applying a dressing to a large gash across his chest. He also saw Eno Hlaalu hovering over his bedside as well, looking down warmly. “You did well, both of you.”

Lavos looked over at the bed beside him and saw Simion asleep atop of it. He recoiled instantly, causing everyone to jump. “Keep him away from me!” Lavos silently hissed at the others, “He did this to me!”

A look of concern crossed the Grandmaster’s face. “Are you certain? We found him collapsed atop of the corpses of the Dark Brotherhood members in the Daedric shrine in St.Olms. When did he attack you?”

“When we finished off the members in the Arena under works, I clasped his shoulder and told him that we did a good job and he attacked me with intent to kill me! He said “all enemies must bleed” and stared at me. There was madness in his eyes!” Lavos said, fear ebbing from his voice.

“This sounds grave indeed…” Eno quietly mused, “I’ll have to look into it.”



“Would you like another drink, friend?” the innkeeper asked, snapping Lavos out of his reverie.

“…Oh! Umm, no thanks, I think I’ll just head to my room now,” he said slowly, rising out of his seat. He should really cut down on drinking. Digging up the past like that was painful.

Painful, and scary. So I guess that this forced his retirement?

Yes, shortly after he decided to retire. I meant to add that in the after flashback but the way I wrote that felt like it would sound odd to muse about

But the answer is yes.

The gloomy day had its up and downs for Savlian. He finally had a lead in his multiple homicide case, and he uncovered the leader behind the recent drug smuggling rise in town. The downside to his day was that while he did have posters of the suspect’s description posted up all over town for most of the day, no one had yet to make a report. The Count’s refusal to let Savlian arrest Hlodir didn’t help either. In fact, it made Savlian suspicious. What he needed was more evidence, and he had the perfect way to incriminate Hlodir.

The Kvatch Barracks was located just to the southeast of the Count’s Castle, an impressive work of solid stone. In case of invasion, it was the primary defence of the castle. The multitude of murder holes and the varying levels of causeways would provide plenty of projectile fire while providing ample protection of the archers. The streets of Kvatch were specifically designed to wind past the Barracks in order to reach the Castle. It the Barracks was attacked, it also gave the Castle plenty of time to prepare itself. The Castle itself was built soundly for defence. Savlian admired the capabilities of the two structures, but his attention was needed at the Barracks.

The off-duty guards saluted Savlian as he passed by, asking him about the hopeful capture of the murderer plaguing them. Savlian waved them off, putting that problem aside for the moment. He proceeded down into the depths of the Barracks. To the dungeons. Walking down the spiral staircase, dampness began to become more apparent. While Savlian made sure the dungeons were sanitary, there was no way to avoid the dampness of being underground. He did insist on the relative darkness though, the spacing between the torches began to grow farther apart as he continued down, the pitch causing his nostrils to twitch.

He finally reached the bottom of the staircase and entered the dungeons. They glowed faintly in the torchlight, casting flickering shadows throughout the room. Savlian approached the cell where the Nord was detained. He found it empty. Brow furrowed, Savlian proceeded to the cell where Vadame was kept. Her cell was empty as well. Something odd had happened. He called over the attending guard.

“Yes, sir?” asked the guard, snapping a salute.

“Where are the two criminals I brought in for drug trafficking? They were a male Nord and a female Dunmer,” Savlian asked, examining the other cells just to make sure he hadn’t misplaced his convicts.

“Sir, the Count’s servant came with some of his personal guard. He told me they were taking the prisoners to be privately interrogated by the Count. He gave me this decree. It’s signed by the Count so I couldn’t refuse it,” the guard replied, handing the decree over to Savlian.

Savlian hastily read the decree. He then angrily crumpled it up and threw it to the floor.
“Something is going on here and I don’t like it one bit!” Savlian said angrily, frustration etched across his face. This was the second time that the Count had taken prisoners involved with the drug trafficking in town. A normal citizen would think that he was taking the fight against drugs personally, but Savlian knew better. The Count was keeping them away from Savlian. He knew that, but the Count wouldn’t admit to that. Now his only leads to incriminating Hlodir were gone. He would have to wait until he caught another drug dealer. Next time he would immediately get a description from them. He pitied the next one though; they were going to be quite sore once he was done with them. He thanked the guard and stormed out of the Barracks. It had been a long day and he was tired.

When Savlian arrived home, he practically collapsed onto his bed from exhaustion. He had the mind to take off his armour, else he wake up sore, and placed his sword beside his bed. Almost immediately did sleep take him.

A creak of a floorboard caused Savlian’s eyes to slide open. Seeing a black form in front of him, with an upraised fist sent Savlian’s instincts flying. Rapidly swinging his feet out of bed caught the form off-guard, catching the form in the ribs and with a bellow it collapsed. Savlian rose out of bed and grabbed his sword. He suddenly realized that there was more than one form inside his home, black forms surrounded him. The form below him tried to get up, but a swift kick to the face kept him on the floor, still and silent this time. Another form slid towards Savlian, striking out with a dagger. Savlian nimbly dodged the blow and dealt one of his own, felling his opponent. The forms, realizing the folly of attacking one at a time, began to close in on Savlian. Savlian kept them at bay as best as he could by swinging his sword widely. The assassins, only carrying short daggers, weren’t eager to risk injury to kill Savlian. Suddenly pain bloomed from Savlian’s shoulder. One of them had thrown their dagger and found a mark. The pain inhibited Savlian’s use of his arm.

The forms began to close in once more, encouraged by Savlian’s injury. Savlian knew his only option now was escape, but the door was blocked. The assassins had managed to place a heavy dresser in front of it. They had left the window open though. He had to get through the descending circle of death first. His hand gripped an unlit lantern he kept beside his bed. He threw it at the forms closest to the window, their arms raised up to protect their faces instinctively. Catching the break he needed, he bulled past the distracted forms, catching a few scratches from the other forms, and dived out the window onto the street. He looked back and saw the assassins clamouring out the window, but running off down the street away from Savlian. Looking down the street Savlian knew why. The torches of the town guard were racing towards his home, the commotion had obviously gotten attention from the neighbours.

“Sir, are you all right?” the closest guard asked.

“Yes, just a few minor injuries I think,” Savlian said, wincing as he tried rotating his injured shoulder. “There should be two of them in there, one dead, and another unconscious.”

Savlian sighed loudly as the guards broke down his door in order to get inside his home. Another guard approached him.

“Do you think that these guys are the assassins that have been killing our guys?” he asked hopefully.

Savlian sadly shook his head. “No, they were too sloppy to be the ones murdering our guys. They were sent for some other reason…” he said as a flicker of realization began to form.

The pieces instantly fell together as they dragged out the unconscious form of the Orc that had run from his drug bust at Vadame’s. He approached the guards carrying him.

“Wake him up,” Savlian demanded coldly.

After a few moments of smacking the Orc across the face, his eyes fluttered open. Confusion was plain over his face as he took in the scene before him.

“Who hired you to kill me?” Savlian asked as his voice took on an edge, “And don’t make me ask a second time, or else you’ll regret it.”

The Orc examined Savlian’s face for a brief moment and swallowed raggedly. “Hlodir…” he admitted.

Hey Mallet, I've nearly caught up with your story...and it took me some time to do it considering how much content you've added since I last checked this...sadly I simply hadn't noticed that you'd updated, there are so many writers that your work was pushed close to the bottom every time I checked in and I assumed that there wasn't any new content. Luckily it was near the top this time and I realized just how much you'd added.

There is so much in each post to keep me reading...anyways sorry for the lack of comments here mate, I'll try and do better in the future.

*Goes off to finish reading*

Hey, no problem Kiln, it's nice to know you're getting back into my fic though.

I usually look at the dates on the forum to doublecheck if anyone updated recently. But yea, I've missed updates myself for periods of time. Harmless if you ask me, as long as you eventually get back to it.

Ah, finally. Proof! Though unfortunately I doubt that the count (or Hlodir) can be grabbed with something as simple as that. He's too rich and I bet that even he will choose his own skin over all the coins.

(I wonder what he does with all that money. I mean, he can't quite use it for anything else but improving his own luxury. Raising private armies right inside Cyrodiil would get the Emperor, the Blades, the Legion and who knows who else on his head.)

There's still no excuse for neglecting it for so long. I'll just be sure to check more carefully from now on so I don't miss so many updates.

A bit of a shorter one again, but there's always the chance I'll get in another update tonight. I'm feeling creative...


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Simion paced around his room throughout the night, contemplating his course of action. He still remembered the friendship he had with Lavos. There were plenty of good memories of joking around, and laughing. With those good ones come bad memories though, terrible ones even. One such memory drove him to retirement.

He didn’t recall much of the night that Lavos and him had defeated the Dark Brotherhood threat in Vivec. He remembered infiltrating the under works and disposing of the sentries along his path to their main encampment. He remembered thinking of an appropriate tactic to take out the assassins at the encampment. During his thought process, Lavos had enacted on his plan. With the diverted attention of the assassins, he had snuck up behind them. Once the blade hit the flesh of his first victims everything dissolved in a haze which soon followed darkness. Next thing he knew was waking up back in the Guildhall and being told he nearly killed Lavos. He had taken the news terribly; guilt and fear encompassed his thoughts for a long time. Long enough that he had made the decision to retire; he simply couldn’t trust his abilities anymore.

With his return to Kvatch though, his vengeance rekindled itself. He had hoped that the time off from killing had quelled this… bloodlust, but it hadn’t. With each time with each time he spilt blood, the voice became stronger, more controlling. Yet, he needed to do this, and if Lavos got in the way Simion would have to get him out of the way.

Consciously, he didn’t know if he could. The guilt from just injuring him still lingered in the recesses of his mind. The interference that Lavos could make must be avoided though. An idea crossed his mind.

Maybe he could bargain with him.

He could tell Lavos his situation, in confidence as friends, and hoped that he would allow him to do what he had to do. The Guild trusted Lavos so if he claimed that Simion had no involvement with the murders, he would have free reign to do what he must. If he declined, then he would send Lavos to his ancestors.

“No! He must die now! He knows what you’ve done… I can feel it…” the voice hissed within Simion’s head.

“I don’t care! Even if it’s just speculation right now, I’m going to tell him anyways. The point is to try to make him understand,” Simion said aloud to the air.

Great… it’s starting to get to me…

“He is not loyal to you. He is loyal to the Guild! He will kill you before you have the chance to finish. Strike him down now while he is unaware of our suspicion!”

“He’s my friend, he will listen. He will understand!” Simion said defiantly. He had to overcome this. He had to show he still had control.

“Enough years has past for the friendship to die. I saw your “friendship” die in the sewers of Vivec along with those assassins. All by my hand as well…” the malicious intent echoed within Simion’s mind. Pain erupted with each syllable causing Simion to drop to his knees, clutching his head.

“Stop!” Simion cried in pain, uncontrollable tears streaming down his cheeks. The pain was excruciating. What felt like hours of pain only lasted moments and the pain ceased its existence. He realized that if the voice could do that, control was limited. “Do not fear, I will be well prepared if he thinks he can kill me. You just have to trust me.”

The next time he met with Lavos, he would either be an ally or dead.

His thoughts were answered by the dark laughter of the voice.

AAaah. Treachery thy name is Insanity. Wonder if Sheogorath has anything to do with this? Or has a the Idea of being a legal Assassin within the Morag Tong created a schism within this poor outlanders mind? Will Batman defuse the bomb before the Joker gets away?....oh wait, wrong channel....

Who will win, the master or the apprentice? Oh, I can't bear to think about the fight. Whatever the outcome is, I think that the survivor (if any.) will regret what has happened.

oh aye....exactly what he said.....*shrugs*

Intense internal conflicts here make this update an interesting read, plenty of emotion throughout it but it doesn't seem to move the plot forward much. Please do continue when you can, I'd like to know what happens next.

Whew! Well I hope this one furthers the plot, just because this one is probably the largest update I've done yet. Hopefully the work I put into it turns out well. I particulary proud of it Enjoy!


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Lavos descended the stairs of the tavern, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His head was throbbing with a headache due to lack of sleep and drinking. Even under the influence of inebriation he couldn’t rest soundly. His thoughts were plagued with his near death experiences with the Guild, particularly the instance with Simion. Throughout the night all that Lavos could see was the maddening gaze of Simion and hear his haunting words. “All enemies must bleed!”

Shuddering, Lavos quietly ate a small breakfast and mulled over what he should do today. His binge had caused him to forget about checking up on Simion. Lavos didn’t know if Simion had turned himself in for questioning. Given his suspicions, Lavos figured he didn’t. He knew Simion was the stubborn type, but it was more than that this time. It was guilt keeping him from turning himself in.

Lavos looked up from his meal and nearly choked. Standing in front of him was Simion. Lavos broke into a coughing fit to clear the food caught in his windpipe. After recovering he noticed Simion nodding to a chair, asking if he could take a seat. Lavos nodded a confirmation and Simion casually pulled out the chair and sat down, facing him directly.

Lavos cleared his throat. “Did you turn yourself in?” he asked quietly, using his peripherals to see if anyone was paying any specific notice of the two assassins talking.

“No, I decided not to. They can find me if they wish to speak with me,” Simion said, keeping his tone low. Lavos couldn’t read any emotion across his face.

“How did you find me?” Lavos asked. Still in disbelief that he was talking to Simion at the tavern. Where he thought he was safe. He would’ve known if Simion followed him back to the tavern. Lavos was reasonably sure that he wasn’t that good to go unnoticed. Now his base of operations was compromised.

A small smile crept along the edge of Simion’s lips. “I know you Lavos. You’re not the type to stay at a dead end cesspool of an inn. You like things clean, yet fun, since you’re a talker. That tells me you would want to stay at a quality establishment, but not the Ritz. Now there’s a few inns like the one I described, but I knew you were here to see me. Logically that means you’ll pick one close to my home. This happens to be that inn.”

“I see that you’ve kept your mind as sharp as your skills it seems,” Lavos said, while scolding himself mentally for picking a place so obvious. After his first meeting with Simion, he should’ve realized what he was up against and moved to somewhere further away. With Simion now here, Lavos decided he may as well know why.

“Why are you here, Simion?”

“I need to speak with you, but not here. I have some explaining to do. Meet me at my house at midday. Do this for our friendship,” Simion said, a pain expression crossing his face with his last words. He then abruptly rose and exited the inn.

Lavos simply stared at the door for a few moments, the food on his plate no longer held any interest. He slid the plate aside and rose from his chair. He then went up to his room. Silently, he gathered up his belongings, consciously concealing a dagger on his back. Simion may have seem sincere in his words before he left, but there was always a chance that it could be a crafty ruse. Lavos couldn’t risk any possible danger to himself. He wanted to continue his existence and start to enjoy life.

Since arriving in Kvatch, Lavos had begun to sense weariness within himself. The continual test on his nerves since arriving were taking a toll on him. It was very difficult to predict what Simion would do. His sudden appearance this morning proved that. The simple fact that Simion could just be around the corner, ready to sheath a knife into his back, set his nerves on edge. After this issue was settled Lavos figured he would give retirement a serious thought. The stress was finally starting to get to him.

Sighing, Lavos shouldered his pack and left the room. He didn’t know what he was going to do until midday, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to stay at the inn.



Lavos stood outside the door of Simion’s home. He looked up to the sky, a hand across his brow to shade his eyes. The sun hovered directly overhead at it’s zenith. Lavos judge it was roughly close to midday. It was time to see Simion.

During his wait, Lavos had spent most of the time contemplating what exactly Simion was going to tell him. He surmised it wasn’t going to be good. No one says “I have some explaining to do” and tells you something nice. It’s always something that is either going to shock you, repulse you, scare you, or sadden you. In most cases it was a bitter mixture of some of those elements.

It definitely told Lavos that Simion was involved with the murders in some way or another. The best case scenario that Lavos could come up with was that Simion was a scout for the murderer, and was merely assisting him that way and not killing. That look in Simion’s eyes told of a different story unfortunately. They told Lavos that indeed it was Simion committing these acts of murder.

Worse, they told Lavos he enjoyed it.

Lavos made up his mind that he was not going to wait any longer. He stepped up to the door and knocked softly on it. After a few moments the door creaked open and the steel blue eyes of Simion peered at him. Simion stepped back from the door and opened it wide to allow Lavos in.

“Greetings, friend. Come right in and take a seat,” Simion said cordially, gesturing towards a pair of chairs around a small table.

“Greetings,” Lavos returned the greeting and stepped over a lantern on the floor, blackened with overuse that it would take a solid cleaning for any light to pierce through. Lavos thought it was a peculiar place to leave a lantern, but then again, Simion wasn’t a normal person. Not anymore.

Lavos took a seat on the closest chair while Simion walked around the table to take the chair on the opposite side. Simion rested his hands on the table, fingers folded together, and looked across at Lavos. Lavos suddenly began to feel uncomfortable and shifted in his chair in an attempt to find comfort. It almost seemed as if Simion was interrogating him with just a look. Perhaps he was. Reactions from Simion’s stare could give him the answers that Simion wanted.

The silence was starting to grate on Lavos. “Well, what do you have to explain?” he nearly blurted out.

Simion took a deep, heaving sigh and sat back in his chair, breaking the eye contact. He stared up at the ceiling, as if asking the Divines for the proper words to use, and slowly began to explain.

“You should know better than anyone that I wasn’t one to talk about my past before the Guild, right? I figure you probably assumed that it was a bad past. Well you’re right. Just before I discovered the Guild, I was wandering the cantons of Vivec begging for food. I would sleep in the under works because I knew that the Ordinators didn’t patrol those areas…” Simion stared off once more, a distant look in his eyes.

“Do you know what raw sewer rat tastes like? I’ll tell you right now, it’s not pleasant. But a starving youngster has to do what he must to survive, correct? In fact, it was the hunt for food that brought me to the Arena Storage Room. I had hit the jackpot I thought; actual food! There was even a discarded sleeping pallet in one of the side rooms. It was as if I had finally found a home. That’s when I heard a noise.”

“I thought it must’ve been a bandit of some sort, coming to drop off some loot. The place was filled with an array of weapons and currency, common to a bandit hideout now that it dawned on me. I hid behind a crate, and found out something surprising. I thought the person approaching would be entering through the entrance that I came in. Instead, they appeared coming out one of the side doors in the storage room. Once I spared a glance at this person I realized it couldn’t be a bandit. He was dressed to formally in a very expensive looking robe. I was obviously intrigued by this stranger so I decided to follow him as he exited the storage. After a few minutes of tailing him, I just couldn’t take the urge anymore and decided to tug on his robe to get his attention. Boy did he jump at that! I did regret it immediately when I found a dagger suddenly pressed tightly against my neck. Turns out I had been tailing Eno Hlaalu himself! He was stunned by my account of following him, and actually sneaking up on him. He didn’t believe me until I described the room he appeared from. From that moment, I officially became a member of the Morag Tong.” A wry smile had begun to form across his face at his relation of his past. It quickly vanished. “But I digress, that’s not what I really wanted to explain.”

Lavos simply sat there, transfixed by Simion’s reminisce of his past. He had always wanted to hear about Simion’s path. To know if his assumptions were right. To know that he had such natural talent left him dumbfounded. At any given moment, Simon could’ve ended his life with ease. Lavos wouldn’t have known what hit him.

With the opportunity to find out more, Lavos pressed him on. “Then continue, friend. Tell me everything.”

Simion took a moment to recollect his thoughts and continued. “You know that Kvatch was the town I was raised in. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I had to leave to escape the pain and memories that lingered in my home. This home. For this home has been stained with far too much blood… most of which is my father’s…” Simion trailed off, his words coming out slightly louder than a whisper.

“My family was murdered right before my eyes, for reasons unknown to me at the time. It took me a long time to figure out why. When I did, it was still unjust. The one responsible left this scar above my eye. Almost every time I see it, or brush my hand against it, brings back that horrifying night. How I stood mute, clutching my bleeding head, as I witnessed the terrible things they did to my father before they granted him his pleas of death. The fact I could do nothing has constantly bothered me. My time with the Guild was beneficial; it distracted my mind from my past. I could completely forget about it and start anew. Since retirement though, I felt a calling. It called me back here. Once I came back I realized why.”

“My parents’ killer still lives. I’ve seen him. The calling was for vengeance. My skills with the Guild has given me the tools that I need to achieve it. I have yet to do it though. I needed to make sure that I was still able to do what I must…” Simion trailed off once most, and looked intently at Lavos, attempting to read his reaction.

Lavos felt cold all over. He caught the meaning behind Simion’s last words. He couldn’t avoid asking the obvious question. “So you’ve been killing Town Guards to make sure you are prepared to murder your parents’ killer?”

A solemn look took over Simion’s face. “Yes. The murders done have been by my hand.”

Lavos couldn’t believe the absurdity of what Simion was doing. “Simion, you’re an assassin! If you sought vengeance with one man, why must innocents suffer? The one you’re after sounds like some street thug, it would’ve been simple to sneak into his home and cut his throat. One murder wouldn’t have caught our attention.”

Simion’s eyes darkened. “Lavos, you should know fully well that in some missions innocent lives are taken. They get in the way, and the only way to get them out of it is by the edge of a knife. In this case, the guards are the innocents,” Simion quietly explained, restraining his obvious anger at Lavos’ remarks.

Lavos wasn’t convinced and pressed on his attack. “The guards weren’t in the way. You’re playing some sort of sick game with this person. You’re intending to instil fear into him by showing how hopeless it is to get away from you.”

Simion couldn’t suppress his feelings any longer as he lurched up from his seat. “So what? The honoured user deserves what I’ve been doing! I want him to be looking around every dark corner, fearful that I’ll be lurking there, ready to do him in! It is the least I can do for my family,” Simion barked into Lavos’ face, spittle collecting on his lower lip.

Lavos averted his face, and casually wiped a glove across his face. “Why the Town Guard then? They’re good men, here to protect Kvatch. I would understand you killing street thugs. Killing the guards just doesn’t make sense,” Lavos said calmly, returning his vision on the heavily breathing Simion.

Simion tensed visibly and returned to his seat stiffly. “You have no idea who I’m after that’s why. The Town Guard protects the man I’m after. He’s connected with them. By hurting them, I’m hurting him. I’m not after some street thug. If you want some assurance, I can offer you the promise that I will not be going after the Town Guard anymore. Unless they get in my way. I intend to finally end this. I need you to accept that,” he said, his voice taking on a pleading tone, “As a friend, you would let me do this.”

Lavos studied Simion closely, putting his skills to use. He needed to discern whether Simion was being truthful. He had to put his friendship aside in this matter. Innocent lives had been taken and now it was up to Lavos to decide if more lives were to be taken.

Looking at Simion, Lavos saw his old partner from the Guild, only worn down. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes seemed hollowed under darkness. Yet, he did see his friend there, asking him for forgiveness and approval. That alone made Lavos want to say yes but somehow the word seemed caught in his throat. Something seemed to nag at him for further assessment.

The time it was taking Lavos to deliberate with himself seemed to be taking a toll on Simion, as something flashed across his eyes that made Lavos remember. Simion was mad. Right now, he had control, but that wouldn’t last forever. It was that madness that expressed itself through Simion’s eyes that told him despite what Simion said, he wouldn’t keep his word. The madness wouldn’t allow it. It wanted mayhem, relished in it. Lavos’ mind was made up. Simion had to die.

Lavos cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Simion. The answer is no. There’s something wrong with you, and as a friend, I have to help you the only way I know I can,” Lavos said sadly, cautiously edging his hand to his concealed dagger.

A look of outright pain etched itself onto Simion. “No? How can you say no? You’re my friend… You’re supposed to understand…” Anger suddenly burst forth from Simion and Lavos knew that look in his eyes. “The Voice was right! You’re not my friend! I should have dealt with you from the moment we met again. Just like the Voice told me to do!” Simion hollered, standing up.

Lavos pushed aside his chair as he rose and drew his dagger. “Calm down, Simion. Just calm down…” Lavos said as gently as possible.

“No! And how DARE you draw a weapon on me!” Simion cried, stomping his foot.

Before Lavos knew what happened. Red hot pain laced across his entire body. It was so excruciating that he couldn’t even admit a cry to emote the pain he felt. He felt cemented to the spot where he stood, eyes spotting a broken lantern, charred black, resting shattered in front of him. He couldn’t comprehend how it had gotten there, or how it had shattered. His eyes found Simion, whose face was red with anger and frustration.

“You should have let me do what I must do, Lavos, like a good friend would’ve. I can’t let the Guild get involved with this. It grieves me that this must happen,” his face then took on a sick expression, “Though I am really enjoying the site of what’s flowing down your back.”

Lavos couldn’t even feel what he was talking about. It was becoming hard to concentrate on anything. At least the pain was going away, but a numbing coldness was taking it’s place. It was hard to keep his eyes open. He wanted to say something, yet the words wouldn’t come forth. He wanted to tell him it was too late. That the Guild was coming after him once they got here. He wanted the last laugh. The only thing he could do was smile at the madness before him as the darkness overtook him.



Simion watched Lavos’ eyes close for the last time. He raised his foot off the loose floorboard and the knife embedded in Lavos’ spine fell out, causing the body to collapse. Simion knew he should’ve felt sad about the death of his friend, yet the blood pooling behind him made him enjoy every moment of it. From the moment the lantern concealing the dagger sticking out of the floor went flying over Lavos’ head and the knife planted itself into Lavos, Simion felt an intoxicating euphoria come over him. Each moment of watching the life drain from Lavos was bliss to Simion.

The only thing that marred the whole experience was the sudden rueful grin that came across Lavos just before he closed his eyes.

**Standing Ovation**

Brilliant! Keep it coming!

Woo! Another update, this one comes straight from the job! I have a bit of spare time on my hands.... Ohwell, enjoy!


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Simion sat on a chair, hands buried in his face. His shoulder racked with silent sobbing, the ecstasy of the murder had long since diminished. He raised his face from his hands, revealing a red and tear stained face. Grief, sadness, and shame encompassed his being as he stared down at the body sprawled on the floor.

He had just killed his only friend he had. No longer would he have someone who understood him to talk to. Sure, he had plenty of disagreements with Lavos before, but they had always been able to settle them eventually. In this case, all arguments were settled permanently. Simion hated it. He couldn't believe that he did it. But wait... It wasn't him who did it. The Voice did it, not him. Since the incident, the throbbing in his head and the mutterings of the Voice had ceased. It was satisfied for now. For how long, Simion had no clue. It would come back, and Simion had no idea if he could resist its persistence.

He couldn't even resist it to save his friend.

A knock at his door caused Simion to jump, hand instinctively going for his dagger. He realised that the knock was too polite to be the Town Guard, so it must be a neighbour or some stranger. He couldn't let whoever it was see the body of Lavos. It would be hard to make up a suitable excuse to explain why there was a dead body in his house.

Wiping away the wetness from his cheeks, Simion tried to compose himself as another polite knock sounded against his door. He opened the door slightly to see who it was and saw the young Imperial who lived across the street. Her concerned expression made him uneasy. "Yes?"

"Sorry to disturb you Mr Mandrake but I thought I heard some odd noises. Is everything all right?" the Imperial asked.

Simion had hoped that the daily noise of Kvatch would mask the argument and the potential noise of a struggle if he ended up having to fight Lavos. It seemed it hadn't worked perfectly. "I broke a lantern and cut myself cleaning it up. Got a bit angry with myself. Sometimes yelling at your stupidity helps," Simion said, attempting a smile.

The Imperial smiled back warmly. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I cut my fingers while preparing vegetables and I just feel like screaming at myself," she said, admitting a chuckle.

Simion let out a soft chuckle as well. "I think I have the situation under control now. But thanks for your concern Miss...?"

"Bernise," she finished.

"Bernise," he repeated, "I'm sorry for not knowing your name, I've been here long enough that I should know. I guess I'm still getting used to being back," he continued, sounding embarrassed.

"Oh, it's understandable, Mr Mandrake. Just take your time," she said kindly, "Well, since my concern is satisfied, I'll take my leave then. Have a good afternoon Mr Mandrake."

"You as well, Miss Bernise," Simion said softly as he closed the door.

He sighed loudly, happy he defused a possible situation. It was then that he realised the throbbing sensation was returning. With that he knew the Voice was soon to follow.

"Do you honestly think she buys that? If she did, she's sure to change her mind once she spots one of those posters around town. She'll turn you in on an instant!"

"No! I've done enough needless killing! It's your fault Lavos is dead! I will not let anyone else be harmed. There's only one more person to kill and then I'm done with it. Done with you!" Simion said determinably.

Simion could almost sense the Voice grinning inside his head. "You seem to be forgetting something... You have a dead body in your house. If the Town Guard were to suddenly showup, just the bloodstains around the house would ruin everything. So what are you going to do with the body?"

"It's the middle of the day so right now, I leave him as he is. Once it's late enough, I sneak out of my house and stash him in an alley. I'll remove his valuables and make seem as if he was mugged. The wound is unlike any I've done to the Town Guard; they'll think it's someone else," he said, hoping to believe his words.

"Fine. That's good enough. For now, clean this place up and stick the body in the corner or something..." the Voice trailed off and the throbbing ceased.



Later that night, a stealthy Simion exited his home with a large lump hanging over his shoulder. He peered into the darkness. Satisfied, he carried the lump to the nearest alleyway.

Little did he notice the flicker of closing curtains coming from the home of a young Imperial woman from across the street.

Ohh, poor Bernise. Or poor Simion...we shall see.

Ah, yes. There's great tragedy and despair here. It's so sad.

Normally I would get depressed from these situations but you make it all good. The descriptions, the thoughts, the voice. They give shape to the story and force me to keep reading.

Another shorter one, kinda hit a fit of laziness plus long hours of work this week tired me out. Enough of the excuses though! Hopefully I'll get the next update out a bit sooner than this one.

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Savlian’s mood could be described as furious at best. Someone obviously thought Savlian was sticking his nose in business that was better left alone. That someone was Hlodir if the Orc was speaking the truth. Unfortunately, the Orc’s word wasn’t going to be enough to arrest Hlodir. The Count would demand better proof and Savlian intended to get it.

Hooking onto the Orc’s arm, Savlian said, “You and me are going down to the barracks for a talk,” and began dragging him towards the barracks.

Savlian knew exactly what had to be done to get ample proof of Hlodir’s guilt. If, indeed, the Orc had been issued orders by Hlodir to murder Savlian, then the Orc would’ve seen his face. All that was needed was to get the Orc’s description of Hlodir, and see if it actually looks like Hlodir. The Count would not be able to deny that proof, as well as the Orc’s testimony.

Unceremoniously, Savlian tossed the Orc onto a chair in the interrogation room. The room was completely unfurnished, excluding the chair, and there was a steady drip of water hitting the concrete floor in the corner. Savlian at first intended to get that problem fixed, but once he found out that the incessant dripping got answers from crooks better than standard procedure he kept it.

The Orc was in rough shape, considering he was beaten down twice in one day. His green trousers were caked with mud from the rainy weather, and his shirt was in ruins. Not only was it ripped from the struggles he had been in that day, but a large red stain filled the upper portion due to a wound to his head being struck with a sword hilt. His face was bruised from Savlian's foot to the face that had finally knocked him out and a trickle of blood still ran down his chin from a tooth being kicked out. He looked exceptionally tired, his eyes downcast at the floor, guilt written across his face. He could only guess at what was in store for him and he did not like his possibilities.

Savlian paced before him, gathering his senses. The adrenaline was still pumping through his system from the narrow escape from the assassins. Interrogating took time and precision, the point was to get every possible piece of information from the suspect. If one was too hasty, something valuable could be missed.

After enough pacing, Savlian figured he was calm enough to proceed. He looked at the Orc intently, measuring him up. The Orc had a look of defeat, so the procedure should go quite well. He then looked over at the scribe next to him, waiting with ink and parchment. Nodding that he was ready to the scribe, he turned his attention to the Orc once more. “What is your name?”

The Orc wetted his lips and hoarsely said, “Barlok gro-Mann, sir.”

“Well, Barlok, today you and I have had a few altercations have we not? First I catch you in a drug bust, you run away and then later tonight you try to kill me in my sleep. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir,” he said weakly, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Those are serious crimes, Barlok. Considering it was me you were trying to kill, death seems to be the only suitable punishment for yourself…” Savlian trailed off, observing the horrified look of the Orc and decided to continue, “But, I could always be convinced to show you some mercy. You just have to help me with a few things.”

Eager to save his own neck, Barlok blurted, “Just tell me what you want and I’ll do anything that’s possible to help you!”

Savlian smiled. That’s exactly want he wanted to hear. “Well first off, I want the names of those you’ve been working with. My job is to get skooma off my streets. It’ll be a lot easier to do my job if I know who is involved with this drug operation.”

With that, the Orc began to list a barrage of people involved in the drug trafficking operation that he knew of. Savlian kept a careful eye on the scribe, just to make sure none of them were missed. When Hlodir’s name was vocalized, Savlian cut the Orc off.

“Hold on a second. Wasn’t Hlodir the one who told you to kill me?”

“Yes he did. If you ask me, I think it’s because he didn’t want you catching onto who is behind the drug operation,” Barlok said plainly.

Savlian’s curiosity was piqued. “Does that mean you know who is behind the operation then?”

Barlok went to speak but hesitated. Savlian immediately jumped on it.

“They’re not going to get to you here, it’s safe to tell me,” Savlian said, attempting to encourage the Orc.

The silence before the Orc spoke felt like torture to Savlian. But the name Barlok uttered at barely a whisper stunned him.

“Count Vernon Goldwine, sir.”

It seemed inconceivable at first, but suddenly Savlian knew that Barlok wasn’t lying. It explained some of the Count’s actions. The previous criminals involved in the drug operation weren’t being taken for private interrogation. They were being silenced by the Count. It also explained why he didn’t let Savlian arrest Hlodir. He hoped to change that though.

“Barlok, can you give --” Savlian began but a knock on the door cut out what he was going to say. Savlian opened the door and found himself facing another guard.

“Sir, there’s someone here to see you,” the guard said.

“You can tell them I’m busy. I’m doing important work here,” Savlian said, slightly annoyed at being disturbed by something so trivial.

“I think you should speak with her though. It’s regarding the serial killer,” the guard said calmly, obviously expecting Savlian’s initial reaction.

Savlian now found himself at an impasse. Both situations were important, and he felt that he should personally deal with both. After weighing both the situations in his head, he made up his mind. He turned back to the Orc and the scribe.

“I’m going to put you in a special cell for the time being. It’s away from the public cells, so you’ll be by yourself. Hopefully no one will know you’re here. I’m going to issue an order to not allow anyone but myself to release you from your cell, even if it’s the royal guard trying to get you out. You’ll be perfectly safe there,” Savlian stated to the Orc, who simply nodded grimly.

Savlian returned his attention back to the guard waiting at the door. “Show me to this woman.”

Uh oh, living next to a murderer ust cause nightmares. Now Savlian has two problems. The count and Simion. I wonder if the guards are still loyal enough to their captain to put the count away. Or wait, this is Kvatch, right? Maybe the Daedra will attack and Savlian *cough* accidentally *cough* hits the count while defending him.

So much possibilities. I want answers. So please continue.

Excellenty described, I felt like I was watching one of those police shows! As Cloudy Said, continue!

And continue I shall. This update is yet again brought to you from work. Rainy Saturdays are soooo boring!


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Savlian followed the guard to the room where he left the witness. During the walk, Savlian pondered on just what this witness had to say. He wasn’t in the mood to be bothered with trivial suspicions, as they would interfere with the dangerous situation he found himself currently in. The town of Kvatch was becoming a nightmare for Savlian. Not only did he have some psychotic killer murdering his men, but also the ruler of the town was actually trying to kill him to cover-up his involvement with a massive drug operation. If this witness was just wasting his time, he was going to give them a piece of his mind.

The guard waved Savlian through the door into the armoury. At Savlian’s questioning look, the guard replied, “She asked for privacy. Next to the interrogation rooms, this is the next private place at this time of night.”

Savlian thanked the guard and told him to return to his duties. He watched the guard walk out of view before entering the armoury.

The room was pitched in darkness, excluding a flickering light of a torch at the far corner of the room. Savlian wove his way instinctively past stands of armour and weapon cases. As he approached the source of the light, Savlian saw the flickering silhouette of a woman. He rounded the crate of arrows and stood before the person holding the torch. She wore a simple grey cloak over modest clothing. Her dirty blonde hair was neatly tied behind her head, but the torchlight left her face shadowed.

“Evening, Ma’am. I’m Captain Savlian Matius. Are you the witness I’m supposed to meet?” he asked calmly. Sometimes witnesses were often distressed. It was understandable in this case; this lady could’ve possibly seen the killer murder someone. Death was hard to witness for some people.

The lady stepped forward, allowing the torchlight to hit her face, revealing the young Imperial woman he had talked with earlier that day. “Sorry to bother you this late at night, Captain, but I thought it was important enough,” she said apologetically.

“Don’t worry, I was up anyway. I’m sorry, but I don’t recall if I ever got your name from this afternoon.”

“It’s Bernise,” she said, extending her hand, which Savlian shook and greeted her once more.

“Now I know you wouldn’t come here asking for me unless it was serious. So what do you have to say to me?” Savlian asked, becoming serious.

Bernise stared intently into Savlian’s eyes, her own eyes glistening in the light. “My neighbour matches the posters you’ve been posting around town and tonight I saw him carrying a body out of his house,” she said, her voice mixed with shock and horror.

“How certain are you?” Savlian asked eagerly, his patience broken by the day’s events.

“His face is nearly identical to the picture on the posters, he has the same scar. I was watching him leave the house with the body from my own home. Though it was dark out, I’m quite sure I could make out the hands dangling behind his back. I think it was a Dunmer, but it was too dark to distinguish what race the body was.”

“So who is this neighbour of yours then?” Savlian asked.

“His name is Simion Mandrake,” she said shuddering, almost as if she was repulsed by the name now.

“Mandrake? The recluse?” Savlian asked.

“Yes, the one we were talking about earlier,” Bernise answered.

Savlian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It makes sense… Isolation is a sign of odd behaviour. Serial killers aren’t usually the most stable mentally, yet they exude stability to the public.”

Bernise’s eyes shown with understanding. “That’s exactly what he did to me. He lied straight to my face, with a sorry little smile on his face.”

Savlian looked at her confused. “What are you talking about?”

Bernise, looking embarrassed, replied, “Sorry. Earlier today, I heard yelling and some thumping coming from Mr Mandrake’s house. Later on I went to his home and asked him about it. He just acted embarrassed and said he cut himself on a broken lantern and threw a fit. It was after that that I found the posters and became suspicious.”

Savlian absorbed the information for a few moments before asking, “Around what time did you hear these noises?”

Bernise thought for a few seconds and answered, “Around midday, Captain.”

“Thanks you Bernise, you don’t believe how beneficial your report is. Do you have anything else to tell me?” Savlian asked, making sure he had gained all possible information. She shook her head no and he continued, “Well then, you best be off home. I’ll escort you home if you’d like.”

“No, that might draw suspicion if he happens to see me,” she said.

“Smart thinking. Just make sure you lock yourself up safely. If what you say is true, and I believe it is, then you are living next to a very dangerous man,” Savlian cautioned.

“What are you going to do about it though, Captain?” Bernise asked fearfully.

“I have a body to find,” Savlian replied grimly.

DUN DUN DUN!

Our brave hero, Savlian, ventures out into the night. Shall he find the body of he who lost his life in his attempt to bring back the slayer's sanity? Will he survive the great dangers of the night? Will the count find a way to slay our valiant defender of the innocent? Will it rain? Will it snow? Will it be a sunny day? Or will the weather be something else? Stay tuned here, where the night is coloured Sanguine without any involvement of the Dark Brotherhood!

Note: Unfortunately, our Tamrielan weather sattelite was knocked out of orbit by a stray fireball. Curse those bloody mages.

Whatever you do Mallet, just keep writing.

**Randomly casts fireballs into the Atmosphere attempting to see if Secunda and Masser are solid**

Ooops. Sorry about that Jack!

And yeah MM keep writing brother. I am VERY intrigued.

Great stuff you write here Metal M! Really interesting and a definite must-read. I beg your pardon I haven´t commented as much as I really wanted to, but that thing called RL..is very intrusive sometimes!

Anyway keep it up it´s really good!

Yay! The first week of school is done and I still find time to write! Though my updates might be more on a weekly basis now. I think before school started it was like that anyways but whatever. For all I know today I might pull a Black Hand and make like 5 updates today!

Anyways, time to continue!



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Dawn’s first rays of sunlight were just beginning to cascade across Kvatch when Savlian found the body of a robed Dunmer. No valuables or money were found on the Dunmer, so the most likely situation was that the Dunmer was killed in a mugging. Given Bernise’s report though, Savlian knew this was simply a cover-up. While it didn’t have the flair that the usual murders did, Savlian still felt the malicious intent committed upon this mer. He knew that the same person that had been killing his men killed this mer.

But what was the reason? When Savlian first examined the body, he knew right away that this was a stranger to Kvatch. Did he happen to witness a murder and the murderer knew he witnessed it, so the only resolution was to remove him? Or did he know the murderer?

Upon pondering that question, the mortician present at the scene called Savlian over.

“Look at this,” the mortician said, indicating a black tattoo located on the inner forearm of the Dunmer, “What do you think it is?”

Savlian studied the marking closely, finally voicing his answer, “It looks like a hand to me. A Black Hand….” His voiced trailed off after realising what he was saying.

The mortician fixed Savlian with a curious look. “What’s the problem, Captain?”

“This Dunmer is an assassin…” Savlian whispered, “Though I have no idea with what faction.”

Savlian’s knowledge on the Morag Tong and the Dark Brotherhood were very limited. He had heard the coined term “the black hands of Mephala” before. He knew that Mephala was the patron of the Morag Tong, but that’s about it. He also found out when interrogating a captured Dark Brotherhood murderer that the top five ranking members of the Brotherhood are known as the “Black Hand”. Unfortunately, that was the only information they could get out of the assassin before he was executed.

The tattoo alone wasn’t too helpful in determining which faction this Dunmer was apart of. Savlian was leaning on the Morag Tong though. While it was certainly very rare for the Morag Tong to pursue a writ that goes out of Morrowind, it wasn’t unheard of. Savlian also thought the Dark Brotherhood would only allow actually members in the Black Hand to wear such a tattoo. If that were the case, this assassin would be extremely skilled and probably would’ve put up a fight if his life were threatened. Signs of struggle weren’t evident, so Savlian felt that the Dunmer was likely a Morag Tong Agent. This still posed some more questions though.

Was this Dunmer an accomplice that failed to meet his partner’s standards? Again the question on whether the Dunmer knew the killer could be brought up. If the answer was yes, then what caused the killer to murder someone they knew? More than likely, if they knew each other they were both in the same faction. It certainly explained the skill present in these murders. The thought that this was involving the Morag Tong was becoming more certain as Savlian thought about it more. He knew that the Morag Tong practice was considered legal, at least in Morrowind. Certainly they would be upset if they found that one of their agents went rogue and started they own killing spree. Obviously, they would send someone to “dispose of the situation”, less it’s discovered a Morag Tong Assassin was behind the murders. It would tarnish their reputation of being honourable and neutral.

What still unsettled Savlian was that the Dunmer looked like he enjoyed his death. A smirk was stretched plain across his face. How can anyone be seriously happy with his or her own death? To Savlian, that was unimaginable. His goal was to preserve life whenever possible by apprehending, or, in the worse case, eliminating the threats on life. It was something he felt like he had to do. He had spent too much time as a threat on life and needed to redeem himself. So what could possibly make someone smile at his or her own demise? Some sort of deception? The wound to the base of the back of the neck wasn’t instantly lethal, so he would’ve been able to react in facial expression at least. Wounds like that generally render the victim immobile, and given Savlian’s presumptions, it was a surprise attack. Betrayal didn’t seem that amusing to Savlian. There was obviously something missing that Savlian wasn’t likely going to figure out. For all he knew, the Dunmer might have been in a delusional state and thought of something funny just before death. Savlian was just going to have to leave that unanswered it seemed.

Savlian was finished with his work here. He told the mortician that the rest was up to him and if any urgent discoveries were made that he was to be informed immediately. By now, the sun had risen well over the horizon and Kvatch was slowly waking up. People were all ready beginning to roam the streets, and discussing with each other the latest gossip or the weather, which was nice compared to the gloom of the day before. It was then that Savlian realised how tired he was. He wasn’t really sore anymore, but he was absolutely drained of energy from lack of sleep and the extended use of adrenaline.

He set off towards the barracks; as his home was still too damaged to return to. There would be bed there he could use. He would need his wits sharp when he took Mr Mandrake in for questioning.

Oh I like this one...I like this one a lot....I wonder why?

Hmm, I dunno. Maybe because it frequently involves the discussion of assassins? It mentions the Morag Tong and the Dark Brotherhood? Possibly a CSI reference (possibly, it is a crime drama basically). Maybe the mention of your name, Black Hand? I could keep making assumptions but I think that's enough.

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