Hi folks!!

I have finally gotten around to posting here at Chorrol. This story first appeared at the unnameable forum but I only managed to post the first chapter before the site fell head first off the cliff.

Hope you enjoy and dont forget to shout out any nitpicks you see.


**


CHAPTER 1 �


A Bravil watchman moved along the rampart in the gathering dark, his footsteps sounding on the wooden landing. Flickering light from the wall sconce danced across his heavy armor and surcoat, outlining a face that was crowded under lines of tiredness. Leaning over the railing he glanced downwards.

The dilapidated shacks of the town below pushed upwards through the dark like a set of broken teeth, the jagged eaves clashing against each other in the impoverished silence. The watchman�s eyes scanned the backdrop for any sign of alarm, but few signs of movement could be found.

A moment later a shadow detached from the left hand wall and another guard appeared beside the rail.

�Well met, my friend, how goes it?� he asked.

�Four bells and all is well,� the first man replied and stifled a yawn.

The replacement guard nodded. �Yes, it does seem as quiet as a church mouse out there. But as we know, that always the most dangerous time of all. The town may look like a slumbering animal, but the heartbeat is still ticking.�

�Yes, do keep a sharp eye out,� he noted, glad to be moving away slowly.

�Sleep tight, darling.�


**

The night was warm and humid. Tucked within their beds most of the citizens tossed fitfully in their sleep. It was the moment just before dawn when dark dreams gave way to the memories of youth, sweet impressions that spoke of a former time. Outside the mullioned casement footsteps could be heard, the sound mingling with the faint, snatched cries of the stall sellers that drifted across from the other side of town. The air was heavy with expectation, panting like a giant hound.

A figure headed down a quiet lane. Soft light teased across his pointed ears and dark outfit. It framed a neatly folded letter that poked surreptitiously out of one tiny pocket.

In part it read:



Aradroth smiled to himself. It felt good to be wanted again. Clutched like a greedy piglet to the teat he could feel the warm milk of the Night Mother running down his lips and throat, a gluttonous thrill that was paramount to death in its intensity. Her loving bulk provided all the sustenance that he needed, a clan love that would forever define who he was and leave the cretin world around him living in a bland, colorless land of emptiness.

Opening the front gate he stepped outside.

A member of the Bravil watch stood at the far end of the front bridge. Clad in sooty armor turned dark by the cloaking shadows of morning, he reminded Aradroth of that futile blockade that sheltered upon the edge of Kvatch.

As a man accustomed to studying the fortification and defence of people he was paid to kill, the small assassin was always mystified by the false assumption that the cutting of the bridge ropes would protect and seal off the town from the waiting horde of Mehrunes Dagon. Just how many people did the foolish Count of Bravil think would be able to slip unannounced through the secret tunnel to the tower of Fathis Aren? And how many would die under the harsh conditions of a siege?

The Bravil guardsman did not notice the assassin until it was too late. Spinning around his gloved hand came to a belated rest on the pommel of his steel long sword.

�Oh Aradroth, it�s you,� the guard said in shock, his heart beating rapidly inside his steel chest. �I didn�t realize that you were there.�

The Bosmer assassin stood silent and cold, a contrast to the humidity around him. Small and slight; his gray eyes shone with a feverish light from the shadows of his black hood.

�Sorry Gladius,� he replied, his voice soft and raspy, �I didn�t mean to scare you.�

The meandering eyes of the guardsman looked the assassin up and down.

�Are you out on a morning hunt, sir?� he asked, putting his hand out.

Aradroth shook his head. �No, not this time,� he answered, slipping two septims into the guard�s hand. �I am taking a little trip to Skingrad.�

�Are you there on business or do you have family or friends?� he asked curiously, pocketing the coins.

�I have enrolled myself into therapy,� came back the simple reply.

The guard�s eyes blinked. �Sorry?�

�I am hooking up with Else-Godhater and a few others. We are doing a seminar on �Righting past wrongs.� I have decided that it is important to open up on those deep and personal issues. It revitalizes the spirit when you learn to love again.�

Confusion spread across the guardsman�s face. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. �Are you having trouble, sir?�

The assassin smiled. �I don�t know. I feel isolated and disconnected. Like something is not quite right.�

�Well that is great that you are doing something about it. I have always felt that the step to join the Bravil watch was the most important one I ever took.�

Aradroth paused. �Yeah, I suppose you are right. I envy that sense of connection you seem to have around you with every little thing. Especially the way someone has committed a crime on the other side of Cyrodiil, yet you still are able to pinpoint them exactly. It must be some form of clairvoyance.�

The guard seemed taken aback. �Have you noticed that? I have always thought that it was our commitment to duty that made us rise above the call of duty.�

The assassin headed away. �Yeah, maybe you are right. That is the reason I am joining therapy. I am hoping to regain my balance with the world again.� With a smirk he added, �Who knows? When I am finished I might end up looking just like you.�

�Well, good luck with that endeavour, my friend,� Gladius called out in blissful ignorance at the retreating figure.

Aradroth turned. �Care to place a wager on that?�


**


The road that headed to Leyawiin stretched out of sight as it weaved through the southern forests like a muddy snake.

His mind was still thinking cynically pleasing thoughts about the mediocrity in the world when he realized that something was wrong. Cursing bitterly for allowing himself to become sidetracked, his slate gray eyes quickly swept the sides of the grubby track.

The green foliage and tall swampy reeds around him looked normal enough, but something teased at the tattered edge of his senses, something indescribable. From his neck a salty bead of sweat slowly trickled downwards, running its meandering way over the lined folds of skin. As it hit his leather collar he realized what it was.

The landscape was quiet. Not a bird or insect could be heard.

The tall reeds on the left hand side suddenly exploded with movement and a large shape charged into the clearing. Brown and very large, the creature swiped at the Dark Brotherhood member with a fearsome claw.

Scampering backwards the assassin fell onto his rump, pain lancing his left hip where he struck a rock. His bow disappeared off to the side.

Towering over him the creature was massive, standing over seven feet tall, with a dark snout and coarse, bristling fur.

Fear spurred the prone elf to action at the next moment and the Bosmer opened his palm. Magic light coursed down the inside of his forearm, the magicka flowing like a river of light. The blue veins rippled down his fingers.

�Guulosh Torr,� he cried, and a purplish-black shape materialized to his right hand side.

The bear�s caramel eyes blinked in confusion and it paused in its attack. The coin of fate that spun with a decreasing speed finally caught a reflection of two opponents that hung suspended in time. Slowly, beyond thought, control or even reason, the creature�s eyes turned and focused on the skeletal guardian.

The relieved assassin watched as the bear charged forward with a speed that defied its tremendous bulk and a vicious paw smacked into the undead. Taking the impact on its steel shield, the skeleton was thrown backward through the air, bits of bone from his shied arm flying in all directions. He landed far off to the side.

�Damn it,� muttered Aradroth as he rose quickly to his feet. Tiny spatters of mud were kicked up as he moved.

Reaching under his cloak he withdrew Cat�s Eye from its scabbard. Glowing runes danced up and down the hilt of the sword as it emerged into the morning air. The weight of the weapon felt reassuring in his grasp, a pull of energy that went deep down into his core.

Stepping forward the morning light ran along the elven designed hilt as it swung downwards. The sword bit hard and chunks of fur and blood disappeared past the edge of his vision. The next moment the shock enchantment of the weapon mauled just as hard, the assassin struggling to hold on as the sword coveted the gore and death of his adversary.

Roaring in horror the creature flung its broad head around and droplets of blood coated the assassin in a ghastly, decadent wine. A moment later a retaliatory claw smashed into the assassin�s leather shield. The impact threw Aradroth bouncing onto the road.

Spinning around him the world turned in crazy circles, a hundred stars dancing back and forth before his eyes.

Not again! he thought haphazardly as he looked down at the mud. Gritting against the pain Aradroth charged back to his feet and renewed the attack. From the other side of the road the Skeleton Guardian clanked over to aid him from the rear.

A minute later the booming sound of Azura�s Star resounded in his ears as the mountain of fur crashed to the ground.

Aradroth collapsed onto one knee beside it.

Breathing in ragged gasps he glanced across at the bear and then down at the abject state of his dark travelling cloak in disgust.

�Oh bull dust.....� he muttered.

On the other side of the road the skeletal axeman brought its remaining arm wide apart and hissed loudly. Aradroth could not tell if it made a victorious or mocking sound.

�Don�t you start,� he warned, pulling himself slowly to his feet.

The skeleton hissed at him again.

Loved it. The discussion of "therapy" had me on the floor. And just when I recovered from that, the skewering of the "telepathic guardsmen" put me back down.

Nits- only 2 from the same paragraph:

As a man accustom to studying the fortification and defence of people he was paid to kill, the small assassin was always mystified by the false assumption that the cutting of the bridge ropes would protect and seal off the town from the waiting horde of Mehrunes Dagon. Just how many people did the foolish Count of Bravil think would be able to slip unannounced through the secret tunnel to the tower of Fathis Aren? And how many would die under the harsh conditions of a hunger and siege?

"...a man accustomed..." "...the harsh conditions of a hunger and siege"

Looking forward to more.

Ah, our favorite Bosmer assassin takes us to my favorite city in Cyrodiil. Your revamped version reads much smoother than before, especially the scene with the guardsmen in the beginning.

I liked this, it really paints a dark, bleak picture:
The dilapidated shacks of the town below pushed upwards through the dark like a set of broken teeth, the jagged eaves clashing against each other in the impoverished silence.

I have to admit though, when I read the title I keep thinking:
"Darkness Calls"
"Pick up the phone Imperious Leader!"

�Oh bull dust.....� he muttered.

that's really set the story for me

I really like the way its an oblivion story but it isnt set at the start of Oblivion if you know what I mean

It had excellent flow, and the character is intresting, I do like my assassins

You did it!!!!!! Oh Thank You Winter Wolf !!!! I was chewing the heads off of nails waiting for you to bring Aradroth to Chorrol.com !!!!!!

Hooray! Aradroth makes his meandering way to Chorrol!

Like trey I found myself laughing at the idea of 'therapy', especially with Else God-Hater (that woman has issues!). I also liked the fun poked at the telepathic guards.

But this line:

still floors me the most (maybe Aradroth is the one with issues!).

MORE please!

Ditto to all of the above!

I also love the little poke at the psychic guards Great write

Nice piece, look forward to seeing more.


Just a formatting thing but sentences often read more smoothly if you write out numbers in full - ie. seven feet tall, with...


I loved this description of magic. It feels right. Might read better if 'light' wasn't repeated twice in one sentence though... Something more like: "Magic light coursed down the inside of his forearm, the power flowed like a burning river." Just something to consider anyway.

Nice piece I look forward to its continuation.

I really liked that!

Just a nit...

I have had the good fortune to study bears IRL, and I know that if a seven foot bear swings at you, you go flying ten feet backwards. A seven foot (standing) bear weigns at least 500 to 700 lbs. Plus a bear has about 150% the strength of a human of the same weight. Think of a seven foor bear as equivalent to the strength of four WWE wrestlers.

Of course, Morrowind and Oblivion are fantasy worlds. You can do whatever you like there, and this is YOUR story after all. Feel free to disregard this criticism if you think it's not applicable!!!

- Treydog.
Thanks for the kind support oh son of Trey! I am glad you enjoyed the therapy conversation. I didn't quite flow the way I was hoping but it did do the job of conveying the 'us against them' that will be the driving force behind the story. This is only the second fiction story I have ever tried to write so thanks with the help with my grammar. There is bound to be more!

-SubRosa.
The critique that you gave me at Beth gave me plenty of food for thought. I really appreciate the time and effort you went to there. The start of the chapter had plenty of run on, so it did need to be fixed. Thanks! Favourite assassin??!!? Wow, thanks.

- Fiach.
Very kind of you to drop in and leave some kind words. Cheers!!
I would never dream of starting to write the main quest. If I did everybody would see how horrible my writing is when compared to SubRosa and Haute, lol. It is better to hide in the shadows like Aradroth.

-mALX.
Thanks for the awesome support mALX!! Both here and at Beth. You are the best.
Chewing the heads off nails!!?? Wow, I think I've just realized why you have the warped sense of humor you do. It's the lead poisoning!!
I am glad you liked the 'greedy piglet to the teat' part. Thanks!! That was a lot of fun to write.

-Destri Melarg.
I really appreciate the pushing you have done to make me start my own thread. Although subtle, it is exactly what a lazy person like me needs. I am willing to bet that mALX and Haute would write more over breakfast on one morning than I would do in six months, lol.
The greedy piglet part was heaps of fun. It was actually the last part I completed on the chapter, the way it originally read was terrible and I kept coming back to it. I am glad that it finally hit the spot. Thanks!!

-Haute ecole rider.
Cheers Haute and thanks for dropping in. Writing at the speed I do I feel like I am limping along like Julian!!

-Jackie Dice.
Awesome to have you here at Chorrol. Thanks for the support. Aradroth loves to poke fun at the 'establishment'. Cheers!!

-Olen.
Thanks for the help there with 7 / seven. Your eagle eyes miss nothing!! I have lost count of the number of times that I have read that advice over at Beth and yet I still go and make that same mistake myself. Hopeless I am!!

-Remko.
So nice of you to drop by and leave a comment!! Awesome.

-D.Foxy.
Thanks for the combat advice oh master swordsman. Unfortunately living in Australia we have no idea what a North American bear would really look like close up. The largest animal that I see slinking outside is a 5kg possum. How do you guys live with bears, mountain lions, wolves and coyotes prowling the countryside? No wonder your Constitution allows every American the right of self defense. Now I know why!!


*******


CHAPTER 2 �


For sixty-six days and nights, he sailed, over crashing waves of dire intent,
past whirlpools, through mist that burned like fire.
-Father of the Niben.


The clouds rolled across the sky like a tumble of kittens. Ushered in from the south-west on the vast trade winds the cumulus towered over the patchwork landscape below. Bruised and pregnant, with a swollen underbelly, it trailed a sooty veil of rain in its wake.

Cresting the hill at the foot of the Valus Mountains the old man moved forward with tired and worn steps. A simple hide flapped around him like a bird of prey. Raising a skeletal hand up to his bony brow he glanced along the edge of the ridge line and down into the dark land below.

�You had better tell Mathis that a storm is coming,� he said to the boy beside him.

A small head turned and young brown eyes stared up at him with determination. The boy�s jaw was set with the same will and fierceness as the worn boulders around him. �I want to stay, Poppa,� he replied in a thin voice.

�No. You must go. Your first concern must always be for the sheep. With the storm about to hit it is very easy for a stray to be lost in the dark.�

Reaching down he ruffled the wispy hair of the small boy. �Go, Winston, now,� he insisted with a gentle push of his hand.

Setting off and running the tiny waif disappeared down the hill with fast and nimble steps, his voice lost within the shrill wind as he called out for his brother.

Turning around the old man followed the boy at a much slower pace.


**

Standing on the edge of a large, deep puddle, Aradroth lifted himself up on tippy toes and glanced over the rear of a tall Argonian woman. He shook his head in disgust.

The crowd before him stretched in a long, snaking line back from the western gate of Leyawiin. It was common knowledge that most of the citizens of this region came and went with the winds, hiding when darkness obscured everything and reappearing when the brief snatches of daylight shook the last rain lashed drops from their eyes. They stood there in annoying robes of linen, a motley assortment of farmers, peasants, fish workers and merchants.

Wet and drenched to the bone the assassin�s hair hung in dark rat-tails around his limp clothing. He had been waiting in the cue for half an hour already and his patience was completely spent. Voices from a hundred different dialects shouted around him and the people jostled back and forth in the throbbing rhythm of a large, sleeping dragon that seemed to be going nowhere. The gate that rose up before him was like the open mouth of the beast, the rain water dripping from the raised portcullis like venom from its jaws.

�Alright, move along,� called out a member of the Leyawiin watch; a tall man of noble bearing, clad in shining steel armor. The green Leyawiin standard of a prancing white horse stood out like a beacon in the dreary surroundings.

The people moved ahead slowly, the grumblings from the cluster around Aradroth ceasing as the group closed upon the outside gate.

�No, no, to the side,� the watchman commanded. �Over here now.�

The Argonian woman stepped out of the line as instructed. Her slim reptilian shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

Moving forward the watchman�s trim moustache bristled in annoyance. Reaching out he struck the woman on the back of her dawdling legs with a thick cane. The loud smack reverberated in the hushed air.

�You know the rules. Now move.�

Rushing forward two nearby guards quickly grabbed the woman by the arms, dragging her off to the side. Her scaly claws left two sets of drag marks in the soft, clay soil. Pushing open the heavy, wooden door to the watchtower they disappeared inside.

�Okay, move!� the Imperial cried out at the group around him. �Stop gawking. There is nothing left to see.�

The humanoid tide surged from behind, pushing Aradroth towards the mighty gate.


**

The air inside Leyawiin hung like a funeral pall over everything, dark and foreboding.

Clustered together in a tight circle, a large collection of wooden stalls were set up in the town square. Swirling around the people like the pleading fingers of ghosts; the dry, raspy voices of the merchants cut knife edge through the murk. On the side young men carted water with buckets on yokes; little girls carried baskets with eggs, goats bleated; roosters crowed; dogs barked. A number of chickens flopped up and down in small, wire cages.

Dominating the landscape beside the western gate the Great Chapel of Zenithar rose up from its bed like a grizzled father. A black hulk against the steel of the sky, it stared down on the people with silent eyes of reproach.

Passing through the jostling crowd Aradroth�s quick eyes scanned his immediate surroundings. The dreary landscape felt horribly ugly compared to the majestic spire cities of the Valenwood. The people, the smell, it was all overwhelming. Leyawiin seemed more like a melting pot of disease, as if the worst parts of both Cyrodiil and Black Marsh came together at a single point.

Stepping over the rubbish and the horse manure Aradroth ignored the raucous banter and screeching merchants and disappeared into the background of the gloomy town.


**

A wooden door opened wide and two men appeared on the steps. Dressed in shining steel armor, embossed by regal motifs and insignia, they both headed forward through the parting crowd like a proud ship, leaving the startled citizens in their wake.

The man at the front, a young, haughty Imperial with dashing brown eyes, never let his gaze stray from the crowd nearby. The man at the rear was older, but perhaps even more self-assured. He wore a full set of Imperial Watch armor, and silver long sword rested next to his gloved hand. The famed weapon, known as Bellerophon, held a collection of deadly enchantments and was spoken about in hushed tones throughout most of Cyrodiil.

�Feels good to stretch the legs, does it not, sir?� the young male asked.

�Indeed,� replied Adamus Phillida, recently retired Commander of the Imperial Legion. �I only wish that I had more time to really enjoy my retirement, and not spend it cooped up like some damn barn owl.�

Claudius Avellan smiled but chose to remain silent. Stepping forward he pushed a small Bosmer out of the way.

�I never did like paperwork from the start,� continued the Commander, �but that shadow of the Dark Brotherhood just never seems to go away. I hope I hear back from the spies soon, as you never know where those blasted critters might be.�

�Yes,� said the bodyguard and nodded fiercely. �It is a shame that you still have to tie up those loose ends. The word around town is that the Leyawiin chapter here has moved on, of course we managed to shut that down several months back. But sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing there?�

�Damn right, son. We kept those peasants under the thumb down on the Waterfront because we always knew where they were. You guys made the mistake of hounding the Dark Brotherhood underground, and now who knows which hole they have slunk to.�

�A few of us spoke up about it at the time, sir, but the chain of command is very different to the way things are down up north.�

The ex-Commander nodded. �Yes, well, we shall see about that.�


**


The building was cracked and fading. Surrounded by a tired garden of wiry bauera it had definitely seen its better days. Weakened by a few decades of salt water it leaned sideways at the point of falling, almost as if it was asking for shelter itself. On the front porch a man reclined against the wooden railing in the fading light, chewing a leaf of tobacco.

�Good afternoon, my fine man,� Adamus Phillida said, his foot resting upon the worn, timber decking.

Quickly spitting out his tobacco, the Imperial snapped to attention with a perfect salute. �Commander, I didn�t expect you back so soon.�

The old man smiled sadly, his face cracking like a worn scroll. �I am not in the mood for stalling tactics, lieutenant. You know why I am here.�

Settling himself against the railing of the Coast Guard shack, Decentius Opsius considered his words carefully. The man standing before him may be retired, but he still commanded a lot of respect and had very high contacts at both Leyawiin and the Imperial City.

�I did as instructed, but I have yet to hear back from the spies. Word should be back the day after tomorrow, I hope.�

The old man glanced up at him with glassy eyes. �Well, I certainly hope so. The reason I am not wasting my time going through the official channels here at the castle is because your name was brought to me with the highest recommendation.�

Decentius licked his lips. They had suddenly become dry.

�Commander, I am sure they will not let me down. They have never done so in the past.� He gave a nervous laugh. �But you know how it is with the locals. Sometimes they do things a bit slower than us Imperials.�

Adamus looked around, his eyes glancing over at a group of fishermen bickering amongst themselves. They stood in a small group beside the smelly lake. �Yes, well I suppose you are right. The beast folk here do tend to be good for nothing,� he mused.


**

A dark clad figure rose from the coil of rope that sat on the small, wooden dock. Having seen enough; he slowly straightened to his feet.

�Thanks for your help,� he whispered, a flash of gold showing in the gloom as a septim exchanged hands.

�Anytime, my friend.�

The assassin grinned. �And do give my praise to Torval. It does look like the statue could do with some upkeep.�

�Shall do,� the fisherman replied with a gap-toothed smile.

Aradroth headed back towards the northern gate of Leyawiin. The gentle swish of delicate, black cloth stirred around his ankles as he moved. The assassin�s face was a mask of thought that played softly across his drawn features.

This is a really good chapter. Even better than the first. I really liked how you set up the scene with vivid descriptions.


Having seen a tumble of kittens many a time, I felt this was a very apt description of oncoming storm clouds! It is also somewhat ironic, as the one tends to be cute and innocent in the way of all baby animals, while the other usually portends chaos and darkness typical of summer thunderstorms.

One nit:

I think you meant queue.

And I don't know how you did it, but you managed to take one of the most depressing cities (it always rains when I'm there!) and made it even more so! Wow!

The old man and the little boy at the beginning are a surprise, too. I'm going to wait and see what they have to do with Aradroth's story, because I can't shake the feeling of foreshadowing here.

Oh Wolf, there are so many places I want to quote!!!! Your descriptions are so perfect for imagery - the worn scroll - I pick that as my favorite this time, but I had a very hard time settling on just one! Your attention to detail makes it too. I almost felt like I was waiting in line behind Aradroth and watching his movements! Wonderful Write!!!!!





I'm right with Hauty on these both!


*

Once more your use of metaphor is particularly outstanding. This one really struck me:
A black hulk against the steel of the sky, it stared down on the people with silent eyes of reproach.

I found the queue at the gate, and fate of the Argonian woman, to be particularly moving. I felt the outrage that I suppose most would at seeing someone dragged off and beaten for no apparent reason. One can only hope that what goes around comes around.... That is a good show of writing on your part. Because only good writing can make people feel something.

I liked your choice of Bellerophon as the name of a weapon. It leads one to wonder if there is a crushing fall in store for its wielder?

This was an excellent example of showing rather than telling:
Decentius licked his lips. They had suddenly become dry.

As haute noted, this chapter is definitely improved. Not only in your writing, but in the tone and mood. You cast a dark shroud over the entire piece, not only with examples of physical decay and decrepitude, but also in the form of the iron boot of arrogant imperialism fixed solidly upon the necks of the locals.

The opening paragraph takes the breath away; it is a glowing example of metaphor that sets the tone for the entire chapter. I enjoyed how you introduced Poppa and Winston and, like hautee said, I look forward to discovering how they tie into the story.

My one piece of advice to you is to be mindful of your descriptive imagery. You are so good at it that it could develop into a crutch that you lean on time and again at the expense of the action in a scene. I don�t want this to sound like a rebuke; the description of Leyawiin�s gate as Dragon�s teeth was superb. It is just something to keep in mind while you work.

I thought that through dialogue you gave us an excellent picture of Adamus Phillida in all of his pomposity. I also really enjoyed how you were able to capture Decentius� ambition so subtly.

You have done it now, my friend. After this you simply have to write faster.

haute ecole rider -
Thanks for the support, it means a lot. I was walking through work a few days ago and the thought 'tumble of kittens' just popped in there. I thought it would be cool to use that for the clouds across the sky. Please dont tell the boss that I think TES while I am at work. He would not be happy!!
Thanks for the nit on queue!! Hopeless, I am.
Foreshadowing you say? Damn it! I cannot sneak anything by you!!

mALX -
Thanks mALX. The worn scroll did seem to suit the crusty old face of Adamus. I can almost see that parchment like cracks that would spread across his face when he smiled. Almost like the grimace of a dying man!!

SubRosa -
Wow, thanks for the kind words oh mighty sage. Years of D&D mean that painting a visual picture comes fairly easy to me, but all this other stuff you need to know about writing is a hit and miss affair. Glad that you liked the description. Awesome!!
I knew that you would spot Bellerophon straight away. Ancient mythology is certainly your speciality!!

Destri Melarg -
Thanks for the heads up advice on writing. Looking back I can see that the mistake I made was to focus on a different aspect for each chapter. One to introduce, one to set the scene, one for action, etc. Being new to this writing caper I do not have the skill yet to juggle everything within the same chapter. I shall keep what you have said in mind!
Cool that you noticed the ambition of Decentius under the surface. I was hoping to convey that but as is the case with writing you never quite know how the reader will feel it.

**


CHAPTER 3 �

The door swung open on worn hinges, banging against the wooden stop that was fixed against the inside wall. The air within the crowded room rushed outside into the night, framing a dark clad male standing in the sheltered doorway.

A black travelling cloak was wrapped around his lean shoulders, hugging him as if it were the collective embrace of night. Glancing around, the elf slowly let his eyes adjust to the conditions. The tight clip of leather boots sounded as he finally moved forward.

Across the hazy chamber the proprietor of the establishment cast a discerning eye at the new arrival. She was in the process of wiping the hard, wooden surface of the bar with a soapy rag.

Her voice drifted across to him with the lilted hiss of the Argonian tongue.

�Come, friend, enter. And welcome to the Five Claws lodge. I apologise for the squeaking front door. So careless of me, but you know how it is in these troubled times. I had been meaning to address it earlier and have one of the servant girls fix it.�

Aradroth moved into the tavern and headed past a counter that was decorated with cups that hung from overhead hooks. Beneath them clay plates sat beside a woven basket of corn. He ignored the Argonian who addressed him.

The woman didn�t seem to mind. �Listen to me, harping like a fishwife. Make it clean, they say, and that is what Witseidutsei does, as best she can......� she intoned at the empty darkness.

The room beyond opened up to a much wider seating area. Large round tables with tiny wooden chairs sat in groups under the flickering flame that danced from the ceiling. Ciders of wine and barrels of ale lay stacked against the right hand wall. A few watermelons sat in a cluster nearby.

Coming closer to the tables, a few of the patrons looked up from their evening meals, the clanging of cutlery pausing for an instant with forks mid-air. Dark, shaded faces glanced at him from hoods, weighing up his approach.

Ignoring their suspicious stares the assassin placed a worn, gloved hand onto the shoulder of a male Argonian. Faced with his back to the bar the inhabitant never even noticed his direct approach.

�G�day, my friend,� Aradroth said, sliding around to the empty seat on the other side. His frame eased down into it with a heartfelt sigh. Removing his own dark hood, a ball of scruffy brown hair spilled down onto his shoulders. Wiry and uncombed, it looked like the nesting home to a pair of finches. On each side pointed ears poked up beside a lean face.

Dar Jee smiled broadly in recognition. �Aradroth!� he cried, �Long time no see. I cannot believe you are here!�

The assassin smiled back through tired and worn features. �I feel the same Dar. However you should know me. It was inevitable that I came back to you. Leyawiin has a certain smell that I cannot seem to resist.�

Reaching across the dark shirted Argonian took him by the hand. His embrace felt as slippery as a snake. �Good. Good. I have been wondering about you recently. It is great to see you safe.�

�What do you mean, my friend?�

The Argonian placed his tankard back onto the table. Leaning back in the chair he then wiped a scaly hand across his mouth. �Well, that little adventure you had here last time was the talk of the town. The watch was all in an uproar, they said somebody had stolen the family ring from the Countess. I thought for sure that they might have caught you. But my contacts luckily said otherwise.�

Aradroth grinned, his face looking impish in the glowing light.

He nodded. �Yes, that was indeed fun times to be had there. Although I am not sure you want to know the extent of the horror in the chambers of the Countess.�

�And you think I don�t know already?� he exclaimed indignantly, �Dar Jee knows everything!�

The Bosmer chuckled. �Perhaps so, but it is still best that you do not decide to investigate things for yourself. Things down here are very nasty down at the moment.�

�Well, in that case, I promise to stay away.�

�Good.�

Dar Jee grinned. �Well, unless I find something valuable to steal of course!�


**

The smoky haze twirled around the table. From out of the dark a woman appeared. A faded leather apron was tied around her narrow waist.

�And what shall you boys be having?� Witseidutsei asked.

Aradroth glanced upwards. His mind thought briefly of Buffy. �One glass of Tamika, please.�

The woman then turned to her fellow Argonian. �The usual, I suppose?�

Reaching across Dar Jee tapped her friend on the rear. �Of course, my dear.�

Turning around swiftly, the Argonian woman made a hasty retreat. Her speckled tail swished rapidly back and forth in agitation.

Dar Jee glanced across at the small assassin. �And what is the purpose for your visit to Leyawiin this time, my trouble-making friend?�

The Bosmer�s face became very serious. �I have another contract. But I would prefer to only discuss it in private.�

Dar Jee clapped his scales together. �Now that is what I love about you Aradroth. I can always count on you being overly dramatic!�

Aradroth�s face relaxed into a grin. �And I definitely know I can always count on you putting me back in my place.�


**

The two friends headed outside into the darkness, the taller Argonian supported by the much small Bosmer. Like a drunken sailor, the reptilian thief leaned sideways at the point of falling. Only the strong forearms of the assassin-archer managed to hold him up.

�Same place as before?� Aradroth grunted, half pulling and half carrying his friend down the street.

�Yes, yes, of course,� the Argonian slurred, a scaly hand gesturing onwards into the dark.

�Come on then.�


**


�Wait!� the Argonian cried, staggering against the wooden wall.�I know it is here somewhere.�

The Bosmer rocked backwards on his heels. Glancing sideways down the street, his keen eyes searched for any sign of a guard patrol. The action was habitual and quite unnecessary.

Reaching into his very tight leather pants, Dar Jee grunted and groaned as his broad hands refused to fit inside his front pocket. �The key must be here!� he exclaimed in frustration, turning around several times on the spot as he tried to use the momentum to enter his own pants.

Aradroth put his hands on his hips and sighed in annoyance. �Great. And I thought you were a master thief.....�

The dark shadow stopped to consider him.

�Thanks,� Dar Jee fired back. �I would like to see you try to find the key while you were drunk and wearing skin tight lizard pants.�

The Bosmer laugh cut knife edge across the night air. �I bet you say that to all the sailors.�

Dar Jee spluttered out loud. Damn the Nine for cursing the world with irritating Bosmers. It was not so bad that you got them, but why did you get so many of them? His friend was really starting to annoy him. Was he always like this? He couldn�t quite remember with the alcohol and all. �One of these days I shall remember to pass your name onto the watch,� he muttered.

The assassin patted him teasingly on the shoulder. �Do you still have to open the front when you sit down in those?� Aradroth asked with an air of innocence.

�Cute,� lisped the voice from the darkness.


**

The Argonian slumped backwards onto the firm mattress of his bed. Two clawed hands covered his tired eyes. They felt red and burning.

�Are you sure you want to try this?� he asked with a hiss.

Seated across the room the Bosmer�s dry voice reached across to him. �I�ve told you before Dar Jee. I have no choice. When the Black Hand asks for you personally, the job must be accepted.�

Dar Jee spread his hands apart. �But Adamus Phillida is a formidable opponent.�

�I know that. The Dark Brotherhood has tried to kill him on three separate occasions. Each was horribly unsuccessful.�

�Yes. And where are those assassins now?�

Aradroth�s voice remained level. �They were executed.�

�Precisely. That is exactly my argument.�

�Sorry, Dar. To die while in service of the Black Hand is the dream of every member of the Dark Brotherhood. The Dread Father would be most pleased.�

The Argonian sighed. �It still sounds crazy to me. But I should know better than try to convince you of that.�

�Thanks mate.�

�Well, I hope that magical arrow they gave you does its job. Otherwise this could be the shortest mission ever.�

Rising from the bed the Argonian pointed to the bundle of bedding in the far corner of his small shack.

�You had better get some rest. Tomorrow shall be a big day. If you need anything to eat; however, I have some bread and corn here somewhere. �

Turning around Dar Jee looked back across the room.

His friend was already snoring softly.

Good piece, I like this. The characterisation of Dar Jee is excellent, in just a chapter he is already a strong character who I rather like in spite of his flaws. I'm rather interested to see how major he becomes in the piece.

�I bet you say that to all the sailors.� - You had the ribbing nailed, excellent stuff.

One thing I saw:
Ciders of wine - something went wrong here.

Oh Wolf, I love this chapter! Your detail on the woman griping, Dar Jee (you got his personality exactly!) - I love this!!!!!! Great Write!!!

Ahhh another piece of great writing! oh my have these forums developed since you "treydog-guys" arrived!



This created a nice picture in my imagination....awww

More strong metaphors, as we have come to expect from the Wolf of Winter. And even a reference to a certain Knight of Leyawiin as well. Dar Jee was a well done, and shows us more of Aradroth through their relationship. He is one I would definitely like to see more of.

This was priceless:
�Now that is what I love about you Aradroth. I can always count on you being overly dramatic!�




nits:
Glancing around the elf slowly let his eyes adjust to the conditions.
this could use a comma:
Glancing around, the elf slowly let his eyes adjust to the conditions.

Coming closer to the tables a few of the patrons looked up from their evening meals,
this could use a comma as well:
Coming closer to the tables, a few of the patrons looked up from their evening meals,

here too:
Wiry and uncombed, it looked like the nesting home to a pair of finches.

I think you have improved greatly since the first chapter. I really liked - no, enjoyed the interaction between Aradroth and Dar Jee in the Five Claws and afterwards.

I really couldn't find any nit to pick this time. Good job!

The others have already commented on how well you have rendered Dar Jee. You have also given us a very interesting set-up to Permanent Retirement.

It is just a throw-away line, but I thought that this:

"Although I am not sure you want to know the extent of the horror in the chamber of the Countess."

Was just the sort of thing that one would say to a friend (if that friend happened to be Argonian), and it really made their conversation come to life.

You really do a wonderful job of moving the story forward through dialogue- there is a lot of "showing, not telling" here. And we get a sense of the characters through their interactions without the need for mood-breaking description or background. In addition, this approach maintains a bit of mystery, which will certainly keep me reading.

Wolf, you have done a wonderful job of bringing Aradroth to life! This is wonderful to read! Oh yes, Tamika's is good - Buffy says thanks for thinking of her!

Olen -
Thanks for stopping in. The hard part about Dar Jee is that I love him so much as a NPC. The desire to make him the protaganist instead of Aradroth is very strong, lol. The nit on cider is spot on. I was thinking of barrel or tun but for some reason put cider.

mALX -
I am glad that you like Dar Jee. He is so cool, isn't he? My favourite NPC are Dar and City Swimmer, it must be something about Argonians that I love. It was inevitable that I wrote my story about Bravil and Leyawiin, I guess. Strange though that I have never played an Argonian character. Weird huh??!!

Minque -
Aradroth says Welcome. Or should that be G'Day? So nice of you to drop in, wow, a Global Moderator. Does that mean that every forum moderator on the planet bows to your supremacy?? Cool.

SubRosa -
Thanks for you comments. They have truly made me smile. Cheers on spotting the nits. At the last moment I removed all the commas that were already there for some stupid reason. I guess that I feel my writing is overdependent on them. I guess I should have left it!!

Haute ecole rider -
Cheers Haute. Wow, high praise from somebody with your amazing talent. Dar Jee is so much fun.

Destri Melarg -
I had been wanting to write an Oblivion story for so long but I never had the entrance for Aradroth. I had the character, I had the description, but I never had the plot line. One day as I was playing through the DB questline I then said to myself, "Yes, that will do perfect." I am glad that you are enjoying my 'simple' writing style. Thanks.

Treydog -
Thanks for the kind words Trey. I have spent alot of time studying how you write the Athlain story so well, and I still am no closer to understanding the mystery of it. Both you are Rumple are the kings and queens of the castle in my eyes. Cheers.

Acadian -
G' Day my Aussie mate, lol. Please send my love to Buffy, I, like everybody from Beth miss her tremendously. I would love to know which quests you two are doing now?? Is she listening to your guidance?? Or still running amok??

**


CHAPTER 4 �


From the trees on leathered wings like a unfurling cape, the great bat lizard was large as the ship, but good pilot Topal merely rose his bow, and struck it in its head.
- Father of the Niben.



The man stood at the glass door. Looking out through the bevelled panes, the patio beyond swam in a murky, deep sea of cloud. How ironic, he thought, that the world around him should choose to mirror his own thoughts.

Pushing the door open Adamus Phillida stepped out onto the hard surface. The night air beyond the marble railing was as hushed as a thief, crouching at the pre-dawn rim of the world. Moving across to it he greeted it like a friend, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

He stared outwards into the dark. A thin veil of thoughts floated up alongside the steam that rose from the cup of herbal tea that rested within his gnarled hands. A furrowed brow caught the heavy feeling of tiredness within the ridge lines of his face, weighing him down. His dark eyes were wide and vacant.

Sounds rose from beyond the black canopy of night, the usual din that heralded the start of each day. He could hear the staccato rat-tat of frogs nearby, the willowy song of the Rufous Whistler and the brief cry of the Honeyeater. From the same direction the smell of Black marsh invaded his nostrils.

It was all cloying and strangely sweet.

Yet he couldn�t shake the feeling that there was something else in the dark as well. It was a voice perhaps, with human cunning and logic. It spoke softly, gently, a malevolent lullaby that threatened to shatter the existence of his world.

The voice whispered to him, �We know where you are and we are coming.�



**


The morning sun was out. Claudius Avellan moved down the road at a solid pace, his steel mail boots clashing out against the bumpy surface. Tiny flakes of grass, growing up with determination between the cobblestones were crushed flat with each pounding step.

�Move citizen,� he shouted, pushing a startled merchant out of the way.

Tripping against a small crate the overweight man crashed through a stacked barrel of flour.

�Adamus Phillida is coming through,� he exclaimed, holding out a gloved hand to stall off any form of argument.

Like a sea that was parting before him, the citizens of Leyawiin quickly headed to the outside of the road. Bunched together like a sprig of grapes, they all stared up at him in surprise.

Holding his head high and proud Claudius brushed aside any thoughts that he was stepping outside the standard rules of conduct. His mandate had already been made absolutely clear: Protect the Commander at any cost.

He knew that the days of doing everything by the book were long gone anyway. First there was talk of the Mythic Dawn and the death of Uriel Septim, then the extinguishing of the Dragon�s Fire and the whispered tones mentioning the coming of the daedra to the mortal world, and finally rumours saying that the Dark Brotherhood had contracts out on Adamus Phillida.

Desperate times require desperate measures and a few courageous men would have to take up the sword and operate right on the limit of honour.

It made perfect sense to him anyway. Nobody did love a soldier until the enemy was at the gate.

His thoughts also strayed back to his lovely Maria. How she had cried with joy when he told her that this pay rise and promotion had come through. He could still remember the little- girl loveliness in her expression when she said that he was the luckiest man in the whole realm to have this job. Hugging her small frame he certainly felt that her words contained that core of truth.

For several years he had struggled to rise through the ranks of the Leyawiin watch. It wasn�t his fault that he was painstaking and outspoken. What a lovely moment of revenge it was that Adamus Phillida had noticed him when he first arrived at Leyawiin. Although he liked to think that his commitment to duty struck a chord with grizzled Commander also.

Either way Maria was right. Perhaps his luck was just starting to change.


**


Turning the corner in the narrow lane Claudius headed underneath the curved, stone archway and took up a position beside the small gate. On the other side of the low fence, a smooth pond sat in quiet tranquillity. The surface was undisturbed by even the barest ripple. A series of tiny steps through the gate led down to the green water.

Adamus Phillida stopped next to the gate and proceeded to disrobe. The process took a few minutes and resulted in the ceremonial dumping of all his majestic pieces of armor and weaponry. Pushing open the gate he headed down the steps to his personal bathing pool. Following his usual habit he ducked his face under the cool water and rubbed his wet hands across his eyes.

Glancing across at his boss Claudius Avellan couldn�t help but admire the Commander�s broad shoulders and back. Clad in only a pair of sack cloth pants, the strength and power that his imposing physique generated was still a sight to behold.

He felt a pang of regret that he didn�t have the opportunity to have worked under Commander Phillida when he wielded real power. Now that must have been some experience!

The bodyguard suddenly felt his shoulders and neck pulled backward. Crashing flat onto his back the impact drove the air sharply from his lungs.

It took a few seconds for his mind to catch up to the strange sensation of falling. What had happened?

A dark shadow loomed upwards beside him. The quietness of the spectre made him suspect the Nine Divines had perhaps answered his unspoken question. Turning his head to face the visitation Claudius was hit by the shock of confusion for the second time when he noticed the spectre was clad in the dark robes of a necromancer.

Now that was strange. What would a necromancer be doing here in Leyawiin?

A moment later the incapacitated bodyguard felt a light finger drawn across his neck. It reminded him of the caressing touch of a small piece of ice, and the sensation was not unpleasant.

Memories of delightful times with his betrothal suddenly crashed over him. The images came perforce and he let them play.

Sunlight warm and soft, washed upon his skin, and the air around him spoke in a dozen familiar voices, each one calling his name with quiet expectation. The tang of the air carried with it a hint of a clear sea breeze and he could feel the presence of solid figures just beyond the light.

Maria appeared beside him.

Laced across her skin her dark hair fell like a spill of midnight. A thin, diaphanous shift teased the edge of his vision, hinting at the promise of succulent delights beneath.

She reached out for him with a slim and elegant hand.

His breath caught and bubbled within his throat.

Accepting her warm touch he reached downwards to kiss the bones of her hand.

How strange that Claudius felt his head slowly slip to the side and kiss the grass instead.

The stone wall of Leyawiin washed back over his vision, and he noticed that the man beside him had risen to his feet. Dropped within arm�s reach a purple nightshade flower rested on the ground like a spent vessel of hate.

An explosion of fire suddenly coursed through his heart as he realized that the Dark Brotherhood had struck. Blood red and as harsh as the landscape of Oblivion it pounded into him like a viscous spike.

Horror broke over him in a flood. He had failed!

Bloody fingers twitched spasmodically on the grass as he tried to futilely grasp the leather shoe of the assassin. The vivid color that splashed upon him matched the sea of boiling claret that bubbled up from his opened throat as his pumping heart pushed him closer and closer to death.

Turning to the side the dark clad spectre glanced down at him. He was surprised to see that the assassin was diminutive and had the almond shaped eyes of an elf. They were fierce, not in the fiery other-side-of Oblivion fierce, but cold, unrelenting, unforgiving, like the frozen wind that roared out of the northern reaches of Skyrim. They seemed to mock him before turning away.

The assassin lifted his glowing red bow and aimed an arrow at Adamus Phillida.

No! Claudius cried lamentably. Unfortunately the severed arteries on both sides of his neck prevented him from shouting out.

The arrow plunged into the naked back of Adamus.

He watched paralysed as the Commander pitched forward into the water.

Spinning in a lost haze of shattered beliefs Claudius had one last thought that overrode them all.

His last thought was about luck.

It had not changed at all.

This is the absolute best depiction I have ever read on that quest! You ROCKED it Wolf !!!!!

I find a good way to tell if you need a comma or not is to read the sentence outloud. Whenever you want to pause for breath, you usually want to put in a comma there.

This was quite good, especially since it was all done from the pov of the bodyguard, rather than Aradroth or Phillida. His memories of his wedding day were an especially good touch.

I liked this:
Tiny flakes of grass, growing up with determination between the cobblestones were crushed flat with each pounding step.
A very subtle use of crushing of the grass underfoot as a parallel of the callous tyranny of the Imperials. It is these kinds of things that cast Aradroth in a positive light, as we see him arrayed against an oppressor.


nits:
This seemed a little odd:
It wasn�t his fault that he was haughty and outspoken.
People usually do not think of themselves as being haughty. Outspoken yes, but not arrogant. Instead you might try having him think of himself as being exacting, or painstaking


Claudius had one last thought that over road them all.
You are looking for overrode there.

This is great! I loved that you wrote this from the POV of the bodyguard. The knowledge of failure is a horrible thing to experience (poor Secret Service the day JFK was assassinated), and a terrible thing to have to live through. You have done well capturing the horror of this scene.

Kudos!

1. Thank you for your kind words regarding Buffy. Her life is as busy and rich as ever - and as complex. After reuniting Corvus and Milona Umbranox, she gave the gray cowl to her friend Methredil who is now the new Gray Fox and so much more qualified than Buffy. Her loyalty remains to her guild of mages. It seems the Oblivion crisis is spreading and Buffy has accepted a task from the Arch Mage himself of ferreting out and eliminating hidden agents of the Mythic Dawn, leaving the 'heavier' lifting of saving the Empire to sturdier heroes. The Priest of Dibella in LA (Lower Anvil) gave her a makeover, so her appearance has changed slightly (see screenie in sig). Things go slowly however since she is still so easily distracted by waterfalls and pretty sunsets and shopping. . . Yes life in Cyrodiil is as rich as ever! But enough babbling about my elf; let's talk about your's. . . .

2. Oh my, this chapter of Aradroth's was as fine a story as I think I have ever read! Everything about it was just brilliant. How subtle and brilliant. I quite simply adore your style here. I agree with above comments commending you for choosing an interesting and more or less unkown character for your POV anchor. All in all, just magnificent! Wow!

Nice description

I am stunned at how well put together this chapter is. There are so many great sentences to quote that I fear if I start I won�t be able to stop. That said, I will point out two sentences that caught my eye for different reasons:



This is strictly a matter of personal preference, but having established the swimming/drowning motif the word �cloud� is a bit jarring. Almost as if I have been lifted above the surface by the last word in the sentence, or was that your intention? If it wasn�t then I would submit that �fog� is perfectly adequate to carry the mood of the sentence.



This sentence is remarkably effective as a subtle use of allegory. It raises so many questions; Is this a comment on the oppressive regime of the Empire? Are the �tiny flakes� those rebellious individuals who grow �with determination� through the �cobblestones� of Imperial dogma? Is it the fate of these individuals to be crushed under the weight of a steel mail Imperial boot? Is it three-thirty in the morning in Destri�s world, and is lack of sleep making him read too much into things?

Back on topic, by using the POV of the bodyguard you put a very human face on this quest. Claudius is an extremely well rendered character for so abbreviated a space of time, he will be missed.

I envy your usage of clear, powerful metaphors. And the assassination act was done exceptionally well. You have a new fan

mALX -
I am very glad that you enjoyed my take on the quest. Have you ever made a character specific for the DB or have you just used a general build and taken your character through it?

Sub Rosa -
Thanks for spotting the nits. Your eyes miss nothing! Much appreciated on the suggestion to use 'painstaking' in the sentence. It reads much better now. Cheers.

Haute ecole rider -
I am spinning in circles here thinking that the POV in the last chapter might have worked. I knew that I didn't want to just have my character commit the murder and have the POV just follow it. Thanks!

Acadian -
Thanks for your kind words, oh paladin. I will always see myself as a novice writer who just loves to tinker around in my spare time with wordplay. The great thing about coming both here and at Beth is that there is so much talent that is does help you see the light at the end of the tunnel. I have spent some time at other fan fics (for games like dead space and red faction) but the writers here really do leave the rest for dead.

Zalphon -
Thanks for stopping by Zalphon. Painting pictures in the mind is half the fun with writing.

Destri Melarg -
Thanks for pointing out the cloud/fog part. I do agree with your suggestion and must go back to change it.

Cheers to both you and Sage Rosa for mentioning the grass pounded under the shoes part. The assassin story is hard to write properly and it does help to set the character against the tyranny that is arrayed against Leyawiin. There is something about Bravil and Leyawiin that will always be Aradroth. It is his home.

Remko -
Thanks for your vote of confidence! The weird thing about my writing is that the strong metaphors only come out in my fantasy writing. If I wrote a modern day fiction story it would flow with a much better balance than what I show here. Reading back over Aradroth I cannot help but think it is metaphors and nothing else!!


**



CHAPTER 5 -


Aradroth charged down the broken steps and landed beside the floating corpse of Adamus Phillida.

Reaching downwards the assassin pulled up the Imperial�s head from the cold, green water and gave him a rudimentary inspection. The �Rose of Sithis� that he used for the strike was embedded at the base of the neck and very little blood flowed from the opening into the water beyond.

Staring down at the body before him Aradroth had always thought that this assassination would be the hardest one of his career, and was very surprised at the ease of it. A pang of guilt touched his features as he realized that his faith in the Dread Father was not what it should be and immediately promised that it would never happen again.

Aradroth knew that he was only a male and was nothing compared to the glorious love that trickled from the cold bosom of the Night Mother. As a member of the Brotherhood he felt ashamed that he had put bosmer emotion ahead of the greater good. The tenets taught that power, vanity, and rage were things that should be avoided, an evil scourge that always threatened to bring noble men like him under. The fools of the world would always be like sheep to the slaughter and it annoyed him to think that he had merged his thinking into that of the herd.

Dropping the heavy head as if it were a piece of trash Aradroth felt immeasurably better when it hit the stone step under the water with a wet thud. Glancing over the body he quickly searched for any sign of treasure but only came up with a decorative ring that was attached to the middle finger.

Pulling it aggressively off the Commander he slipped it into one of the numerous hidden pouches under his dark cloak, noting that the ring had a thin streak of washed blood across the outside rim.

Apparently his adversary was alive long enough at one point to have grasped his death wound.

Aradroth couldn�t help but smile agreeably. It was the little touches that made even the most depressive day feel so much better.




**


Jumping to the side of the pond Aradroth splashed through the ankle deep water and charged around the shallows. The world became a blur as he slipped between the tiny shacks that lined the back of the embankment.

He had only reached the second building when a shout rose up behind.

�Murder!� the voice cried, with panic and fear in its tone. A loud whistle sounded from the same direction.

�Damn it,� Aradroth cursed, his mind dwelling on the distance between himself and the sanctuary of the western gate. It seemed a vast chasm.

Footsteps sounded behind him, a dozen boots pounding on the wooden boardwalk.

Sprinting along a winding alley Aradroth weaved past a priest of Zenithar, his heart pounding like the crash of the ocean in his ears. The man, a pompous fool in a fake fur coat, screamed in a high pitched voice as he jumped out of the way.

Charging around a corner he arrived at the main thoroughfare that led straight towards the beckoning gate. Pulling Cat�s Eye out of its scabbard Aradroth ran straight up to the nearest horse and wagon.

Turning the mystical blade to the flat side he swung the weapon hard.


**

The Argonian aboard the wooden seat screamed in fright as the horse lifted from underneath him.

Grabbing frantically for the reins Dar Jee felt the animal charge down the road, pulling both him and the large wagon load of watermelons along with it. Whipping through his hands the reins of the horse felt like the torture lash of the Leyawiin watch. Yet for some reason the moment was strangely exhilarating. His razor sharp teeth lit up his face in a broad grimace.

Taking a deep breath he lifted himself up and waved a scaly hand around.

�Look out!� he cried, �I am coming through.�

A few people who had noticed him screamed out loud and ran to the side. Others who had been busy loading their food into buckets and drays had no idea until the sun suddenly went dark and a huge shape flashed by.

Several of the guards looked up and their mouths opened in horror. They had the look of impending disaster on their faces. Dar Jee knew exactly how they felt.

Gripping the reins even tighter he gave up any hope of being able to control the next series of events. The world around him seemed to go in slow motion as the wagon closed upon the market stalls. He could see the neat and orderly square that the stalls were set up in and the people who clustered in the middle like frightened rabbits. The sight might have been comical to Dar Jee under any other circumstance. Praying to the Divines he knew it was an extremely long shot to hope that he might make it through the centre unscathed.

Without warning the unruly spoked wheel of the wagon decided to collapse. Dar Jee held his breath as the transport veered to the side.

People scattered in all directions in a screaming mass.

Aboard the low tables the white chickens could tell that they were in trouble. Squawking furiously from within their pent up cages the wings of the small birds beat a desperate cadence.

The last image that Dar Jee had was the feathers going up and down and the chickens saying �Lift! Lift!�

Timber broke apart. Reality slipped down the drain. He felt a pain, faint and far away, in his shoulders and arms as the rest of him followed his head into the morning sky. The wagon fell away beneath him. He was flying.

The air, cool and fresh, laced upon his scales like the teasing hand of a lover, welcoming him into the opened arms of flight. All around him the world was suddenly alive with watermelons and feathers. How strange, he thought, what in Nirn are they doing together?

Unsure of the answer Dar Jee crashed into a wooden post. There was no pain at the collision, although he was marginally aware that his shoulder had connected hard enough to completely destroy the object.


**

Across the area the dust slowly settled on a scene of absolute chaos. The market stalls had been completely destroyed. Kindling and bodies lay everywhere. A dozen watermelons tumbled and bounced around like a haphazard game of skittles.

Standing together in a shocked group the watch at the western gate did not know what to do.

�Look out!� one of the guards shouted as the skidding halt of the horse slid up towards the gate. Jumping backwards he was horrified to see a companion disappear under the heaving mass. Only the steel mail boots poked out from beneath the steaming, dark hide.



**

A large group of people milled outside the western gate. Off to the side a Khajiit stood in a faded robe of linen. A tattered grey hood was pulled low over his face. His light, olive eyes shone vividly as he scanned the crowd around him.

A peddler in trinkets, his suitcase lay open on the muddy ground beside him.

�Come friends,� he said in a raspy voice, �Enter my travelling bazaar and prepare to be amazed. Callipers, jewellery, you name it. M�aiq knows much, tells some, M�aiq knows many things others do not.�

A few of the housewives moved forward to inspect his suitcase.

�Yes, yes,� he cried gleefully, �I have many gemstones that would suit the lovely ladies here. Polished jewellery transported all the way from the land of Vvardenfell. Very high quality, I assure you. Come closer and take a look.�

A shout suddenly sounded from the rear of the crowd.

M�aiq lifted his eyes and a deep furrow creased his forehead. Across the sea of people a dark clad male had suddenly appeared. In his hand a glowing elven short sword was held menacingly. Dazzling bolts of lightning flicked up and down the serrated edge.

�Stop right there, criminal scum,� one of the guards cried.

M�aiq sighed in disappointment. His chance of making a sale were about to go down the drain.

The male in the dark robes charged forward quickly on nimble feet. The sword curved downwards in a vicious arc. Brains and blood flew in ragged streamers.

People screamed and fled in all directions.

The diminutive male charged past the falling corpse and headed straight towards the embankment on the other side of the road. With an assortment of Leyawiin watch hot on his tail he disappeared into the dark, green foliage.

Jostled and shoved by the sea around him M�aiq would only later find out that somebody had accidently stood on his beloved suitcase in the wild stampede.

It broke his heart.

Changing the POV would ordinarily irritate me, but here, it doesn't.

Instead, it is the sequence of events that makes it work. It's like the real POV is that of chaos that starts with Aradroth fleeing the pond and follows the horse and Dar Jee to the gate, picked up by the guards around the gate itself, and ends at M'aiq the Liar outside.

It makes for a very fast paced chapter!

I did see a few nits:
this should be led.

I think you meant frantically.

Spoked would read better here.

Don't you think post would work better here? Pillar implies something very solid and sturdy - Dar Jee's shoulder would be completely demolished on impact, not the other way around!

On the other hand:
I loved this word picture! Chickens crying "Lift! Lift!"??? This is priceless! There is something of the Keystone Kops here that makes the whole thing so enjoyable!

Very exciting chase! I loved Dar Jee's crash in the town square. Watermelons and chickens, living together. It is the end of the world I tell you!

Aradroth knew that he was only a male and was nothing compared to the glorious love that trickled from the cold bosom of the Night Mother.
As much as I believe in feminine power, all I can say is ewwwww!

It was the little touches that made even the most depressive day feel so much better.
I love this!

Loads of action here and well-painted. Aradroth is like the ghost of a shadow. Catching his point of view was a delightful tease.

I was surprised at the pov changes, but will agree that they worked. You provide snippets of what is happening and allow the reader to connect what the shadowy assassin is doing.

It is wonderful to see you continuing this! Bravo!

This was gorgeous!


Like Rider, I did note some nits and hope you don't mind if I mention them:
I think you want 'were'.


I would recommend the adverb form here, 'immeasurably'.


I'm not quite sure what you mean with 'swung charged'.

An update, bravo! I like this piece it has a unique blend of cold blooded murder and humour whocjh sometimes borders on slapstick, but like the PoV changes it all slots together into a excellent whole.

Others have said most of what I had to say already.

I will say that putting little extras like a cart of watermelons and person to go with it is great. M'aiq was a nice inclusion too.

The details made this chapter for me. The thump that Phillida�s head makes on the stone stair! The white chickens who �knew they were in trouble�! The air filled with watermelons and feathers! All of it just worked!

I am beginning to feel more than a little disturbed by the fact that I like Aradroth so much. Lines like �the glorious love that trickled from the bosom of the Night Mother�, and �It was the little touches that made even the most depressive day feel so much better� strike me as both endearing and revolting at the same time. Classic!

Haute ecole rider-
Thanks for the support of the POV changes. Reading it back I don't really like the switch to the town gates, and probably should have used Aradroth as he was running towards the gate. Oh well, too late now.
Your suggestion to use 'post' was spot on. Thanks!

Sub Rosa -
Nothing can hold back the rise of feminine power! If USA women are anything like the Aussie women then the battle is already lost. It is time for me to hide under the bedcovers.
Cheers!


Acadian-
Thanks for spotting the nits. In most cases they happen because I use the Shift F7 thesaurus and change a word. Then I forget to go back and SLOWLY read the sentence. It is always the end of the word that traps me. Please shout out any that you see. I highly value your Phantom eyes.

Olen-
Thanks for dropping in. Dar Jee is very important to help break up the story. If it was all assassin and killing then everybody would soon get bored, including me. Slapstick style does go hand in hand with Dar Jee. I love him to death.

Destri Melarg-
Thanks for the comments on Aradroth. You are beginning to like him? Oh dear!! No, seriously that is great. If I wrote him as a evil boy then the readers would not connect, and if I wrote him as totally cold and dispassionate then the readers would quickly grow bored. Hopefully I can find a middle playground for him.


**


CHAPTER 6 �


The light danced in a crazy circle from a distance close by.

It was a small bulb of flickering fire and its looping motion meant that the eye had a hard time trying to fix its exact location. He suspected that it swung from a chain attached to the ceiling. But he wasn�t quite sure. He felt nauseated every time he looked at it.

The problem was compounded by his inability to look elsewhere. The shadows that cloaked the outside perimeter were darker than the void of Sithis. Pressing in from every side they threatened to squash him with their soundless roar.

Who would have thought that the quiet could be so loud?

The thought circled around his head. It felt worse than the light.

The throbbing pressure in his skull indicated that he was lying on his back. Testing his position he moved his arms out to the side and regrettably felt the restricting clinking of solid chain beneath his tired body.

He sighed.

So it wasn�t a dream after all.

Rolling slightly to the left he found that at least he was able to relive the painful ache in his ribs. Licking his lips he tried to seize upon it. Small and insignificant, sometimes it was the small things in life that were able to keep one going.

At least he hoped so.

He sighed deeply and lowered his head back down.

A noise sounded somewhere beyond the dark. At first he thought that it was the wind. It was low and keening, like the anxious draught that flitted up the inside of a fireplace. It set him on edge. Then he realized that there was something more to the sound. It was a scratching noise that seemed to be coming closer.

Rats. He tried to pinpoint the sound. It came from somewhere off to right and sent a chill up his spine. He knew that a pair of glowing, red eyes and vicious sharp claws were crawling over stone as they reached methodically towards him.

He was suddenly scared. All over his shattered body he could now feel his broken bones. Each one seemed to be floating loose within his frame, clashing against each other like dueling sabres.

His mind cried out in horror. What had happened to him? Where was he?

Unable to control anything else except the wandering of his mind he gave in to the pain. The minutes became hours as the world around him fell back through the veil of his consciousness. All of the sounds around him grew fainter within his memory and then completely faded away, becoming just an echo of an echo. Then he was all alone, floating down a gloomy and deserted hall of shadows.

Ghosts flittered to each side, but eventually even they were gone too.

The silence was complete, absolute, a bottomless dark well that threatened to engulf him forever. As strange as it seemed he actually longed for that. Anything was better than the land of nothingness he now resided in. It was as if he had entered a strange limbo, caught between the land of the living and that of the dead. But toward which end was he moving?

Footsteps suddenly sounded from beyond the dark. They came closer, full of the promise of unsolicited and unspeakable death, steps that spoke of the journey to the grave.

Turning his head he peeked open his one eye cautiously. The light from above blazed deeply into his retina, and he quickly shut it again.

A voice sounded. It slipped softly through the dark like a carpet snake.

�I do hope you are feeling better, my little friend. It would be a sad regret if you died before our lovely party concluded,� it said.

He creaked open his eye again. The speaker had blocked out the light. The person before him was broad shouldered and very tall. The distinct outline of the Leyawiin watch uniform blazed around the edge of the light.

Opening his mouth the Argonian prisoner tried to speak. Nothing came out.

The voice leaned closer.

�I am sick of you playing these games. Unless you wish to experience another torture day like yesterday then I suggest you start giving me my answers now.�

Dar Jee rolled his head to the side. Tears of anguish slid down the steps of his scales.

His mouth opened and only a croak came out.

The interrogator slammed a mailed fist into the side of his head.

�I want a name, damn it!� the man screamed.

Putrid breath washed over Dar Jee like the briny tang of a Black Marsh bog.

�I repeat. What is the name of the assassin?�

�I don�t know,� Dar Jee softly croaked.

The fist smashed him again. It rocked him over to the side.

�Stop!� a voice called out. It was unmistakably female. Yet in this time and place it felt alien and unworldly. Dar Jee could imagine it had floated across from the plane of Aetherius.

�Decentius!� the voice said, much closer this time. �I said �Stop�.�

The large figure beside the rack pulled away. �Don�t you dare pull rank on me. I am close to the truth this time.�

�Go, now,� the female voice commanded. �You had your time yesterday.�

Footsteps sounded in rapid succession on the cold stone floor and a string of curses followed the person as they departed. A door slammed somewhere in the dark.

Dar Jee waited. His lizard tongue pushed out through his set of razor sharp teeth. Regrettably he could not pick up the scent of any water close by.

The silence had stretched out to a full minute before the woman spoke.

�I hope you realize that I am fully within my powers to have you executed?�

�Then why don�t you?� Dar Jee croaked.

The woman laughed. The sound grated on his sore ears. Her voice was magnanimous and proud.

�Because my lizard friend, if I did that, there would be a riot on the streets. Forty-five witnesses have come forward to testify that they saw the assassin strike your horse and send it into a panic. By all reports you had nothing to do with it.�

A faint smile played upon the features of the Argonian.

�Of course, I don�t believe a word of it,� she commented.

A moment later he heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the stone floor. The woman sat down.

Dar Jee peeked open his one good eye. The familiar face of Caelia Draconis, captain of the Leyawiin guard, appeared within the light. Her hands were resting behind her head.

�Witnesses have also said that the crime was committed by a black cloaked necromancer. That of course is a smoke screen to throw off our trail. So, as you can see, we are both in a pickle jar. I have no assassin and you have no future. Personally I prefer my side, because it is only a matter of time before the elf is caught. You; however, will never have any freedom ever again unless you start co-operating.�

Time stretched out like a ribbon as Dar Jee considered his alternatives.

�What do you want to know?� he asked.

�Simple. What is the name of the assassin?�

�I don�t know.�

�Then where did he come from?�

A pause.

�North,� he answered.

�Good Dar Jee! Now we are getting somewhere. And what is the name of this north place?�

The Argonian licked his lips. �It is a place called Nayon Camp. He has a site there.�

Getting to her steel mailed feet Caelia Draconis patted him on the edge of his broken arm.

�Thank you Dar Jee. See, that wasn�t so bad, was it?�

Footsteps sounded as the woman departed. She paused at the door.

�I do intend to send my head hunters out to this site you indicated. Oh, and if they find nothing there, let it be known that I do promise to let Decentius have his full way with you.�

The woman laughed. �And please do not try to run away while I am gone.�

Funny. You have almost the same perception of Caelia Draconis that I do. Funny. Not ha ha funny, but weird funny. She's not very likable in my version, either. Hmm.

Anyway, graphic description of the way Dar Jee feels. Poor guy, being so far away from water, too. Ugh.

Again, a great chapter. For Dar Jee's sake, I almost wish they find Aradroth at Nayon Camp!

Poor Dar Jee! They have a secret torture room in Leyawiin just for Argonians. Nice guy that Count. Back to the story though. A good description of Dar Jee's plight. Plus strong characterizations of Caelia and Decentius. I wonder what Caeilia's thugs will find at Nayon?


nits:
That of course is a smoke screen to through off our trail
You want throw there.

Very neat! Captivatingly immersive, in fact.

I assumed the prisoner was Aradroth until you revealed it was an Argonian. As always, you keep us off guard.

Your creative use of metaphor provides too many examples to cite! Clearly we would both be in a pickle jar if I were to attempt it.

We do feel for Dar Jee and hope for a happy resolution to his captivity.

That Caelia Draconis means business!


Per your request, let me mention a few nits:

Testing his position he moved his arms out to the side and regrettable felt the restricting clinking of solid chain beneath his tired body. - I would use the adverb, regrettably here as it modifies the verb feel.

Unable to control anything else except the wandering of his mind he gave into the pain. - I would use in to here instead of into. Into infers movement to enter something. In to infers more what I think you want, such as turn your homework in to the teacher. Google into vs in to and see if you agree.

Each one seemed to be floating loose within his frame, clashing against each other like duelling sabres. - dueling (spelling)

Turing his head he peeked open his one eye cautiously. The light from above blazed deep into his retina, and he quickly shut it again. - Turning (spelling). I would recommend the adverb, deeply here as it modifies the verb blaze.

Aaargh, you make me want to play Oblivion and start a DB character just to whack that Draconis wench again.
If I ever get around writing about Rales and Zerina in Cyrodiil, I will make sure something is done about those awful practices.

Nicely written part. It worked well keeping the reader in the dark about who the prisoner was, kept me guessing and confused and helped the atmosphere you built.

Makes me want to know what will happen at Nayon (and if they do find Aradroth what that might mean for Dar-Jee...). Good stuff, I want more.

Positively chilling! I don�t know what�s worse, Decentius� bad cop, or Caelia�s �good� cop. I bet Dar Jee wishes he had stayed in bed that morning (which is where I always find him anytime I am in Leyawiin).

I�m not sure if I like this sentence or not, and I mean that as a compliment. Usually an oxymoron like this would bury the needle, but here it works simply because it is unsettling.

This one is wonderfully evocative!

Like haute, �Rosa, and Olen I can�t wait to see what they find at Nayon Camp.

Haute Ecole Rider-
Thanks for your comment. Caelia is a very strange NPC in the game, I am never quite sure if she is as bad as the hierarchy around her at Leyawiin. I decided to use her as lesser of the two evils in the dungeon scene. I can relate to how you feel about Dar Jee, my heart is breaking too!

SubRosa-
Thanks for the support on the characterization of the two 'cops' in my story. Your own writing is heavily built on bringing the NPC's alive, and I am just happy to trail along in your wake. Thanks for spotting the nit!

Acadian-
Oh no! I ask the paladin for help and he spots 127 spelling errors in my writing. That is the last time I shall open my big mouth! Seriously, though, thanks! I was hoping to have the reader unsure about who was the prisoner for the first half and I am glad that it worked. My thanks for commenting on that.

Remko-
Please feel free to come across to Cyrodiil any time that you want. Drop in at Bravil, where we shall form an army of playing characters and then charge down to Leyawiin and lay siege to the place!

Olen-
Thanks for your comments! Nayon Camp, yes, my mind is already ticking over about that. I promise that it should be fun! The life of Dar Jee is riding upon it.

Destri Melarg-
Thanks oh King of Hammerfell. I was hoping to contrast the two NPC's in the dungeon scene, good cop and bad cop did seem to be the best way to do it. Thanks! The darkness and sensory deprivation does lend itself to a few cool metaphors in this part of the story, I was hoping that some of them worked.

**


CHAPTER 7-

The man sat quietly in the corner of the tavern, his hands cupped around a goblet of mulled wine, his features hidden by a black hood. The room around him was dark and smoky, full of the odour of sweating bodies of men, cooked food and sour ale.

Lifting the goblet to his lips the middle-aged Redguard glanced at the motley assortment around him. His cold eyes scanned the crowd for any sign of trouble that might breach his self imposed solitude. Not that any would try to disturb him. The snake tattoo that crawled out of his uniform and across his hand gave him a compulsory circle of fear and respect.

The mark signified him as a member of perhaps the most dangerous faction in the whole of southern Cyrodiil: the Head-hunter League of Leyawiin. Sixty men strong, they were the real backbone of the Leyawiin standing army, the vanguard that always did the job that others were too scared to do. They were the dark-cloaked spies that infiltrated Black Marsh and Elsweyr, solving each border dispute by using a subtle method of kidnap and torture. In fact, he was very proud of his track record and spoke lovingly of it to his family.

Not that there was a family, of course.

Well, there was one, but not one that he could see anymore. The cold, marble headstones had put paid to that. Like the mountains that towered above, pain was impartial to friend and foe alike. Shame really, but such was the nature of torture.

A shadow passed across the table as somebody moved into the light.

Pashan glanced upwards in surprise, his beady eyes shining with the meanness of a cornered alley-cat.

The figure above him wore the grey uniform of the watch. He could almost smell the newly pressed clothes. Numerous beads of perspiration lined the young man�s acne scarred face. Pashan couldn�t believe what he was looking at. They had sent a rookie to him....

�Yes?� he asked with a note of boredom.

�Sorry, Captain, but the Count and his lady have asked for your attendance at your earliest possible convenience,� the messenger replied.

�Why?�

�They didn�t say so, sir. But they did say it was important.�

Pashan touched the wine to his lips and let it roll around his mouth. Why did it seem that every spare night he had was always ruined by the demands of others? Couldn�t the fools just fix the world on their own for once?

He waved a dismissive hand. �Alright, tell them I�ll be there soon.�

The boy gave a curt nod. His boots made a tight, clipped sound as he departed.

Pashan went back to his drink and his solitude.


**


The land around the assassin was a bleak and swampy marsh. From the thin branches overhead the sound of strange birds could be heard.

Aradroth propped himself up on a moss covered log and dug into a quick meal of bland rations. Strangely enough he found himself playing with his food more than eating it. Beneath his shadowed cowl his hawk-like features lined a mask of concern. His heart felt satisfied that the mission was a success at Leyawiin, but disappointment sat deeply upon him.

The flight from Leyawiin had been, like everything else so far, an easy enough affair. A couple of invisibility potions and the quick scampering into a hollowed out tree trunk meant that the watch had no idea where he was. The hiding spot was one that he had used on numerous occasions and he had simply waited out the confused guards. The color and fall of the land played into the hands of the Wood Elf. Lucky for him the escape had happened so quickly that they did not have a chance to organize the search with hunting dogs.

The card of fate may have fallen down in his favour. But what had happen to Dar Jee? The sight of the flying Argonian kept playing over in his mind. Was he crushed or injured, or perhaps captured by the guards? Or did he escape unscathed?

The assassin closed his eyes for a moment and pushed his hands to his temples, as if the posture would shut out the barrage of questions. Disassociation with others had always worked well for the Bosmer and he had no idea how to sort and file his conflicting emotions. He knew that he had left the bad, uncontrollable part of his former life behind. Yet the feelings he now experienced felt more akin to the covetous longing of his youth than the cold detachment of the profession he chose to pursue in recent times. He understood longing more than he cared to admit and it didn�t sit well with him.

He shook away the sensation and rose stiffly to his feet.

For some people friendship and laughter were an easy thing, an embracement and acceptance of others that some acquired straight away. For people like him; however, it was a relaxing of the guard that one simply could not afford to do in his line of work. Satisfaction instead came from knowing and seeing things that others would never experience, like holding a person�s fate in one's hands, watching the life in the eyes slip away to the void of Sithis, the play of blood upon faded lips.

It was a life that had worked out great for him in the past.

Yet he couldn�t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. The thought circled around his head like a moth. It wouldn�t leave him alone.

Moving over to his bedroll he positioned everything on the ground. He angrily shoved the remains of his meal inside his pack and lay down to catch some badly needed sleep.


**


�You may enter now.�

�Thanks,� Pashan replied in a soft whisper, and slipped through the concealed door and into the plush study. The person who had addressed him stood with his back to him, and was clad in a full-length velvet robe and slippers. There was something in the posture of the man that Pashan spotted straight away, a slumping of the shoulders that could easily become a bargaining chip if need be.

�I appreciate you coming at short notice, Pashan. Please, take a seat.�

Moving to his right the Captain of the head-hunters flopped down into the newly upholstered chair, his hands resting casually upon his lap.

Turning around the older man leaned upon the back of a chair and stared down at him.

�I need your help,� the Count of Leyawiin said with a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

�I thought as much,� Pashan replied, �The watch seemed highly agitated when I saw them this afternoon.�

The man nodded. �Yes, it has been a disaster. First, we have had to deal with the uprising of the Argonian insurgence, and now this, the murder of Adamus.�

�Is this what this meeting is about?�

Sweat glistened across the bald head of Marius Caro. �Yes, and this has to be done quickly and efficiently.�

�As always, my liege.�

�Yes, as always.�

�What are the particulars?�

�As you know we captured an Argonian who was connected to the murder. The assassin as yet has not been caught. I need you to find him. And I need this resolved before the Elder Council becomes involved.�

The eyebrow of the Redguard raised a little. �I thought the Elder Council was concerned with the extinguishing of the Dragonfire and the opening of the Oblivion Gates?�

Sitting down behind the broad, wooden desk Marius Caro pushed aside the numerous papers that littered it. �Yes, my friend, but how long will that last? The death of Adamus has created a scandal that my spies are telling me is running like a wild-fire across the Imperial City. As soon as the Council has sorted out its current dilemma they are bound to put their scrutiny straight onto me. I cannot allow that to happen. Who knows what effect the power vacuum of Uriel and his sons will have on the realm of Cyrodiil? This must not look bad for me.�

Pashan nodded. �Yes, I see the problem. This Argonian you have, would you like me to pay him a visit?�

Horror breached the vivid, blue eyes of Marius Caro.

�God�s breath no! I cannot afford to have him die at this point. He is all I have.�

Pashan smiled a devious grin. �You offend me, my friend. Well, what then?�

�Decentius and Caelia have already interrogated him. The assassin is staying at a camp site in the Upper Nibenay. I want you to go there and see if he is still there. Bring him back alive and transport him back here. We must have the opportunity to find out who ordered the contract.�

�And if he refuses to come quietly?�

�Do what you need to,� the Count replied and raised a warning finger. �But he must still have his tongue in his throat. A mute elf is no good to me.�

Rising to his feet the head-hunter slipped quietly back into the dark alcove. By the time the concealed door slid back into place his mind had already planned the man-power and provisions that he would need for the journey ahead.

ooh, a manhunt!

This Pashan sounds like a formidable foe, indeed.

And is Aradroth suffering a crisis of conscience? Or should I say a resurrection of conscience?

I wait with bated breath to see what happens next.

I agree with haute, this Pashan seems like an interesting character. I am looking forward to seeing Aradroth killing him!

The world you write is a dark, foreboding place. It has to be with an assassin as your main character. So far you have done an excellent job of portraying Aradroth as being someone we can root for by placing very dark characters like Pashan, the Count, Phillida, etc... against him.


nits:
The cold, marble headstones had put pay to that.
That ought to be paid.

like holding a person�s fate in ones hands
one's ought to have an apostrophe in it, as it is used in a possessive way.


It was a life that? had worked out great for him in the past.
I think you missed a that where I inserted it.

Wolf, I really liked everything about this! You really developed the head of the hunter of heads. Wonderfully immersive barscene. Acne to indicate youth on the soldier - brilliant!

It was neat to pop out into the woods to check on our lethal little mate. Cold chow in the swamp- yep, life on the lamb, well-portrayed.

I liked the scene with the Count. You have managed to give both he and Pashan some depth. Neither appear to be one dimensional at all. Rather, both have a past and concerns.

I think one of my favorite parts was where you mentioned the ongoing Oblvion Crisis. That lets us know many things:
The timeframe of your story.
The relationship you see between the Court of Leyawiin and the Elder Council.
How irrelevant the crisis is to the world in which Aradroth and his employers operate. In fact you almost seem to brilliantly imply the diversion of the crisis assists the DB as they go about their grim business.

Your descriptions are efficient and vivid - and as always laced with interesting metaphors that seem to be your delightful trademark.

Story, characters, ambiance, immersiveness. . . . What a joy to read!


*
He waved a dismissal hand. �Alright, tell them I�ll be there soon.�
I would use dismissive here.