Part V: A New Blade
S'resh trudged through the night, his clawed hand clasped over the wound on his arm. Blood ran freely from the cut, turning his yellow fur into a sticky red mess. The stumbling Khajiit, fangs bared and eyes wild with rage, got nervous glances from anyone that set eyes on the big cat.
"To Balmora," he growled when finally he had reached the Caldera mages guild.
"Y-yes, right away sir," the guild guide said to the bloody Khajiit.
S'resh hated teleporting. His head spun, stomach turned, and legs nearly buckled. Arriving in the Balmora mages guild with a flash, he stepped off the platform and headed for the door, ignoring the whispers and stares from the patrons. He couldn't blame them, it wasn't every day that a bleeding, hobbling Khajiit meandered through, bumping into tables and knocking over chairs. One brave Imperial offered to help the struggling cat but got only an evil stare and low growl for his troubles.
S'resh limped down the cobblestone streets and climbed the stairs with some difficulty to the silt strider. He dropped a few coins into the open hand of the Dark Elf operator and clambered onto the beetle-like transport. They moved quickly through the Vvardenfell night and reached Seyda Neen just as the sun began its faithful ascent through the sky.
The Khajiit stepped gingerly off the transport and made his way over hills, between boulders, and around trees to Pelagiad. Of all the places to have a base of operations, S'resh muttered to himself as he trudged along. The small settlement of Pelagiad lacked any means of fast travel, whether it be a silt strider port or a mages guild. Unless a traveling merchant took pity on you the only way to the Imperial town was on foot.
Dranas' house was on the outskirts, making it easy to avoid Imperial patrols in the city. Not that he was worried about being caught and questioned; he just didn't feel like killing Imperials today. One image was burned into his mind; one man consumed his every thought.
Neron.
The name made his wound throb as if it were begging for vengeance. The Khajiit felt the deep gash and growled-soon. The ground would drink the blood of this menace and the birds would feast on his flesh. The only beings to mourn the loss of this pathetic assassin would be the animals that arrived at the feast too late.
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Dranas sat behind a short wooden table trying to occupy his mind with a book while waiting anxiously for his Dark Brotherhood assassins to return and deliver good news. A false sense of security permeated his every fiber as the handle on the front door twisted. Arrogant fools, they don't even knock. Don't they know who I am? S'resh stepped through the new opening, Dranas jumped, toppling his chair.
"You... you're..."
Before the Dark Elf could force his thoughts into a coherent statement the cat leapt over the table and wrapped a large clawed hand around his neck. Dranas felt the floor leave his feet as a powerful arm lifted him. S'resh stared with icy cat-eyes before speaking.
"I said no other assassins," The words came out slowly and deliberately with a disturbing calmness.
"Ah, yes, well, you know, just some insurance for me. You're alive and," Dranas glanced at the bleeding arm wound, "fairly well."
S'resh grunted and released his grip, "So is Neron."
Dranas' knees went weak, his mind was racing, and his heart quickened its pace. Nervous sweat beads formed on his brow: he needed a place to sit. The elf shakily righted the toppled chair on the third try and sat heavily, staring into oblivion. He had to get out of this house, out of this town. The safest place would be in the Dark Brotherhood base; Neron wouldn't take on the entire Brotherhood-he couldn't, he was one man. Dranas' attempts to reassure himself failed.
"I have to leave; I have to get out of here immediately." The Dark Elf was talking fast now as he ran in a panic around the house gathering his traveling gear. "Take whatever you need from here. Weapons are downstairs, healing potions are in that cupboard over there, find Neron and kill him." He kicked over a chair as he ran by the table, "I'll pay you double what I was paying you before. He has a house in Seyda Neen, if he's not there then just wait at his sister's house, he'll return eventually."
S'resh nodded. By now he would have hunted and killed Neron for free.
"Where can I find you to collect my money?"
Dranas clasped a black cloak around his neck and strapped a steel longsword to his side, more for looks than for any practical use.
"I'll be in the Dark Brotherhood base, under the city of Mournhold."
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Like most merchants in Vvardenfell, and indeed in all of Tamriel, Andrel had living quarters above his shop. It wasn't much, just a small door-less room with a squat bed. At the foot of the bed was a locked chest full of coins he hadn't taken to the bank yet. Against the wall stood a proud dresser, its drawers held expensive clothes and mildly magical amulets. Next to that was an armor closet, tightly locked and rarely opened.
The Nord slept lightly, slipping in and out of pleasant dreams always balancing on the edge of consciousness. It was a skill he needed as a high profile merchant. If thieves attempted to break into his shop, which they did on more than one occasion, he would wake as they rattled the lock with their fancy picks. After that it was a simple matter of grabbing his hand axe and meeting the intruder at the front door.
Andrel woke in dead silence.
He listened. No locks rattled, no feet padded through his shop, no potion bottles clinked nosily as they were shoved into bags. You're getting old Andrel, can't even sleep through the night.
The merchant sat up and swung his bare feet over the edge of the small bed. He rubbed his face with both hands before standing and pulling on a pair of brown pants and a white cotton shirt. Stretching and yawning, the Nord sat down to slip on his boots; a short walk and some fresh air would put him back to sleep in no time. Andrel stood and instinctively reached for the hand axe he kept on the dresser. A pause; he withdrew his hand, walked over the creaking floorboards, down the stairs, and out the front door.
The night air was chilly but the Nord was resistant to cold by nature and paid it no mind. Torches could be seen bobbing through the city as Imperial patrols made their rounds. Beetles scraped across the ground in search of food and shelter, wolves howled in the distance. Andrel turned and nodded to a passing guard as he made his way down the cobblestone street. He looked into the sky; the twin moons were bright, full, and marched through the night sky like well disciplined soldiers.
His gaze dropped to the city again, a silhouetted figure emerged from a house a block ahead, not bothering to close the front door. It wasn't menacing or even large, it didn't slip into darkness or dart down an alley. Andrel strained his eyes to see the figure clearly; it was a man, carrying something... a body. Long hair hung from the corpse's head. A woman's body! The Nord's blood turned to ice when he realized the figure had come from Madali's house.
A thousand thoughts all fought for control of his mind but he heard only one-follow him. He pushed away the urge to return home and grab his hand axe; somehow this figure didn't seem like a threat. The man's shoulders were slumped; his head looked only forward, he didn't have the crazed paranoia of a murderer. His steps were slow, filled with great sadness, not guilt. No, Andrel thought, this man didn't do it.
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Neron exited the tomb with a determined gait and glanced briefly at the Nord with cold, calculating eyes before moving on.
Andrel spoke up, "I wonder, what crime could a person have committed that they were laid to rest so hastily without the benefit of a memorial?"
The Dark Elf ignored the question and continued; he didn't have time for the rhetoric of this old man. Andrel stepped in front of Neron expecting an answer. The former assassin glared at the obstructive individual in front of him.
"Do you wish to join her Nord? Have you lived the life you dreamed of as a child and are now ready to join your long forgotten ancestors? If you fear not death and what awaits you beyond the grave then I will wrap my blade with your entrails and think nothing of it, but if you value this cursed life then stand aside and leave me to my wanderings. My business does not concern you."
Neron stepped forward, Andrel moved aside.
"It does concern me," The merchant said as Neron walked into the fleeting night; "if it was Madali you laid in the tomb."
Neron stopped; he stared at the ground. Of course, you are foolish to think you're the only one affected by her death.
"She was my sister," he turned to face the Nord, "she was killed because of me, because I couldn't just walk away. The cowards that did this will feel the swift and deadly wrath of my blade."
Andrel stood silently, staring at Neron like a wise sage appraising a student. "By your leave I would enter the tomb and gaze upon her grave."
"Do what you must. I have made my vows and will not return until I have fulfilled them."
Andrel inclined his head and walked solemnly to the ancestral tomb. He paused at the opening, wishing, begging, pleading that this was all just a dream. The longer you wait the farther away her killer gets. The merchant stepped into the torch lit hallway; he could see the cavernous space with three occupied sarcophagi. With uncertain steps he walked down the cold path to the freshly sealed tomb. He ran his hand along the top as he circled it.
"Madali..." It was all he could get out before his throat tightened and tears began to wet his cheeks. He remembered her addictive smile, her electric personality. Always overflowing with energy and life, never hesitating to spread her limitless supply of happiness.
The strong Nord's hand balled into a tight fist, teeth clenched. "They will pay with their blood, Madali, you will be avenged."
Andrel burst from the tomb with fire in his eyes, "I'm going with you," he said to a waiting Neron.
"Can you fight?" Neron asked pointedly.
"I can hold my own," was the humble reply.
"Weapons and armor?"
"At my house, just inside the city."
"Let's go," Neron turned and walked in silence to Caldera.
"Here it is," Andrel said when finally they had reached his home.
Neron looked up; a green plant was drawn on a weathered sign hanging above the door. Underneath the plant, painted in black letters, was the word 'herbs'.
Great, Neron thought, now I'll have a clumsy merchant getting in the way.
"I'll just be a moment," the Nord said.
Neron waited impatiently for several moments. He was going to give up on the merchant and walk away when the doorknob rattled and turned. Neron's mouth dropped open. Andrel had gone inside a merchant and exited a warrior.
A chainmail shirt covered his barrel chest and wrapped his thick arms in clinking steel. Over the chainmail he wore a hardened leather cuirass. His wrists bore the weight of iron bracers and on his head rested an open faced steel helm. Around his waist was clasped a leather belt that held a hand axe and a sheathed steel longsword. A small loop on the back of the cuirass supported a great battleaxe and in the grip of his large powerful hands was a giant claymore that reflected the torchlight. Steel greaves encased his legs and iron boots sheltered his feet. The Nord's eyes burned with a fierceness that would wither all but the most determined opponents.
Neron gathered up his jaw to speak. "Very impressive, Nord. Unfortunately you'll have to do more than just impress the Dark Brotherhood if you want to live through this."
Andrel found it amusing that he was getting battle tips from a small elf, "I may be an old merchant but I am still a Nord, we live for battle and never sleep more than two strides from instruments of war-lead on," he said with a smile.
The Dark Elf headed towards the mages guild but stopped and looked back. "I didn't catch your name."
"Andrel," the merchant said as he followed Neron.
"I'm..."
"Neron?" Andrel asked. The baffled look spreading over the former assassins face told the story. "Your sister talked about you on occasion."
Neron nodded and pondered silently before moving on.
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The Dark Brotherhood base was buzzing with activity, Dranas had arrived and delivered the news-Neron was coming. New assassins eagerly stocked weapons while more seasoned killers sat emotionlessly waiting for their prey. Guards were doubled or tripled around entrances and patrols went from a single assassin to two. Gravis, the Dark Brotherhood leader, took no chances this time, Neron would be killed and his threat to the organization ended.
Dranas sat nervously in Gravis' chambers.
"More patrols, you need to send out more patrols." Dranas was almost begging the leader.
"Don't try to tell me how to run my organization, elf." The Imperial retorted. "Eight of my assassins are dead because of you. Just sit there and be silent, this is the safest place in all of Tamriel for someone such as you."
Dranas scowled but remained silent. He could run this place better than this fool of an Imperial. The Dark Brotherhood was a Dark Elf group; they needed a Dark Elf leader. He knew it was foolish to try and take control by force; Gravis was as ruthless as he was cunning. A defector of the Imperial Legion, he was trained to kill by the Empire then lured away by an insatiable hunger for power. The Dark Brotherhood was thriving, new assassins joined almost daily, and it was all thanks to one man; one Imperial and his Legion training. Someday Dranas, he told himself, you will be in command of the Brotherhood.
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An hour after Dranas had left, Neron and Andrel smashed through the front door of his Pelagiad house. Neron descended the stairs cautiously, blade drawn, eyes searching every crevice, muscles tense ready to pounce. The elf relaxed, Dranas wasn't here. Neron ascended the stairs as he sheathed his blade.
"He wasn't down there," he said to Andrel, a hint of disappointment weaving through his voice. "Looks like we're going to Mournhold."
High unscalable walls surrounded the city; in the center was the palace of Helseth, king of Morrowind. To the north, through a great arched doorway sat the temple, an impressive structure of curved architecture and impeccable landscaping. The holy structure was also the home of the god Almalexia. Fountains sprayed merrily into pools and intimidating temple guards patrolled marble walkways. East of the palace was Godsreach, the high-priced residential area of the city featuring towering houses and a presence of both palace and temple guards. The great bazaar was situated west of the palace and to the south was Plaza Brindisi Dorom, a park of sorts with a great statue of Almalexia towering in the center.
It was Neron's first visit to the impressive city but he walked through it quickly, paying little attention to the beauty as if he'd lived there his whole life and grown accustomed to its charms. The Dark Elf and his Nord companion picked their way through the busy sidewalks of the Great Bazaar. A play was being performed on a small brick stage. Lines were spoken with a dramatic flair and what few spectators were there sat mesmerized by the actors. Some citizens bartered for overpriced goods while others simply walked around in a wide-eyed stupor-the city was too much for them to take in.
Neron reached the outskirts of the city; the high wall cast a long shadow over the elf as he bent down to heave open an iron gate built into the sidewalk. Andrel climbed down first into a torch-lit passage followed by the former assassin. They both let their eyes adjust to the lack of light and scanned their surroundings. Neron had never seen anything like it, Old Mournhold, as it was called, was a city that had been long forgotten and built over. The remnants of buildings and houses were scattered over what used to be wide roads and long sidewalks.
"There could be all manner of bandits, thieves, murderers, and ruffians down here." Neron commented.
"Aye, I've heard many stories of this place. Tread lightly," the Nord warned.
Neron led the way through twisting tunnels, past decrepit buildings, decaying houses, and crumbling brick. The duo reached a bend in the tunnel; Neron motioned for Andrel to stay quietly where he was. The Dark Elf, wrapped in black cloth, eased forward and shot a glance around the corner. They had come the right way; two assassins stood guard near an iron door leading into another part of the 'city'.
Two fingers were held up to let Andrel know how many guards were around the bend. One guard would occupy the intruder while the other ran for help. Neron would have to move fast. The Dark Elf tore around the corner with gleaming blade drawn.
Both guards jumped at the sight of a shadow barreling around the bend but quickly settled themselves and followed procedure. One stepped forward, unsheathing a short blade with an arrogant smile creeping over his lips under the black cloth helm. The other spun on his heel and made for the door.
Neron engaged the first assassin in half a second, dodging the initial swing while bringing his elbow to the guards face. The Dark Brotherhood operative reeled; Neron sprinted past. One step through the door was all the second assassin managed before being grabbed from behind. As Neron pulled the assassin to him, he pushed his blade into the operatives back, through his heart, and out the front of his chest. The body crumbled to the ground as Neron spun, his blade parallel to the ground, and cleaved the head from the first assassin's shoulders. The Dark Elf stepped aside as the momentum of the body carried it through the open doorway, landing awkwardly on a pile of loose bricks.
Too loud, Neron thought. He was right. Another assassin poked his black-clothed head around the corner to investigate the noise. The head retreated when it spotted the Dark Elf and shouted down a long corridor. Three seconds later the fluttering of cloth boots could be heard moving swiftly down the buried street. Neron took a battle stance, sword ready, muscles tense. Six assassins skidded around the corner and came to a halt when they saw Neron, the assassin hunter. Grins formed beneath black helms and mutterings could be heard escaping through the fabric. The cluster of assassins proceeded slowly, ready for anything the legend might try and growing more confident with each step.
Andrel stepped through the opening-the assassins hesitated. Covered eyes moved from Neron to the Nord then back again. Who was this newcomer? Another assassin? Neron's apprentice? A grin cracked on Andrel's face, he yelled and ran to the group with the enthusiasm of a child running to a river on a hot summer day. The first powerful overhead stroke from his giant claymore split one operative neatly in two. The Nord burst through the ensuing spray of blood to cleave two more assassins. One of the remaining three stabbed at the big target, Andrel sidestepped to the right and separated the arm from its owner's body at the shoulder. The operative dropped to the ground, screaming. An iron boot to the face returned a sickening crunch-then silence. The Nord gripped the claymore in his powerful right hand and swung with an equally powerful left. He connected, his fist almost going through the assassin's head. The body flew backwards as if it had been struck by a war hammer. Andrel wrapped a large hand around the neck of the last operative and pulled off the black mask. The assassin dropped his weapon.
Neron stood in slack-jawed amazement, never had he seen such fierceness, such precision, such an absolute perfection of the art of killing.
Andrel's stare bored into the assassin's eyes, "Where is your leader?" His voice was even, unwavering.
The assassin pointed then with a shaky voice said, "A-around this c-corner, down the hallway. T-take a left at the end, l-last door."
Andrel released his grip and promptly removed the assassin's head from his shoulders. The duo had given up on stealth and sprinted down the hall. Three more assassins charged, three more corpses were added to the depths of Mournhold. Swiftly navigating a corner, they slashed, dodged, and stabbed their way through four more assassins before finally reaching the rusted iron door leading to Gravis' chambers.
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Gravis sat casually behind a wooden desk nursing a half empty bottle of wine and listening to the slaughter of his assassins. There was nothing more he could do; he faced the bottomless rage of a brother with the skills of a master assassin. The combination made Neron neigh invincible.
The Imperial rubbed his face with rough hands; he should have known it would end this way. Standing, he palmed a short sword; he wasn't one to take life sitting down-or without a fight. The locked iron door trembled from the pounding of a powerful foot-it wouldn't be long now.
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Another kick and the door yielded to Andrel's insistent knocking. The door swung wide open and the duo darted in, Andrel to the right, Neron to the left. Gravis was surprised at first to see two figures enter his chambers instead of the one he was expecting. It didn't matter really, he would fight the entire Imperial Legion if it meant being slain in battle instead of wasting away from old age.
The Dark Brotherhood leader crouched slightly, lowering his center of gravity to better dodge the inevitable strikes that would come from the assailants moving effortlessly through his chambers.
Andrel reached him first and swung powerfully form the opposite side of the table. His strike split the table in two, spilling the wine and staining the carpeted floor. Gravis jumped back to avoid the blade then countered with a slash of his own. The steel sword glanced off the Nord's armor and slammed onto the floor. Too fast, Gravis. Less power, more precision. Andrel blocked the second strike aimed at his exposed throat by grabbing the Imperial's wrist. Instead of a dead Nord the only thing Gravis received was a powerful blow to the face from a clenched Nordic fist. Stars exploded and danced in his vision, the room tilted and darkened, something warm flowed from above his right eye and down his cheek. Reaching his hand to his forehead, the Imperial staggered, took two steps forward, and then crashed to the floor.
Neron's blade was drawn, eyes focused, ready to help his companion take down the leader. It was a wasted effort. Neron blinked once, then broke the awkward silence.
"Make sure he doesn't get up."
A nod.
Seems like Dranas would be around... there! A non-descript wooden door was open leading into a small study. Lamps burned on a book-infested table, he had to be in there somewhere.
Neron sprinted at the opening and dove through, parallel to the floor. He tucked his feet, landed, and rolled coming up in a crouch with blade drawn. A flash of steel, a clang of metal hitting metal, a short scuffle. Dranas had tried to get the drop on the former assassin but wound up with a powerful arm pining his head to the table and a short blade hovering dangerously close to his eye.
"Where is he, Dranas?" Neron asked without a hint of emotion.
"I don't know who you're talking about," was the typical response.
Neron lifted Dranas' head and slammed it to the table again. "The Khajiit, the assassin you sent to kill Madali, where is he?" The last three words were accompanied by a tightening of the hand around the Dark Elf's neck.
"I don't think I want to tell you."
"Don't try to be a hero Dranas, it doesn't suit you."
Dranas grunted, "Do your worst, Neron. You've gone soft, the assassin I knew wouldn't hunt people for vengeance."
Neron glanced quickly around the room. Perfect. He led Dranas by the hair to a mirror. Hefting his former employer, the enraged brother smashed the Dark Elf's face into the smooth glass surface. It shattered, lacerating Dranas' face. Neron dragged the bleeding elf back to the table and slammed him onto it again. Shards of glass were pushed deeper into already deep wounds. Dranas screamed.
"That's only the beginning, you don't want to know what comes next. Tell me where he is."
"These wounds will heal, fool. Do you really think you can beat an answer out of me?"
Neron didn't have time for the inane babblings of his former employer. He tossed the short blade aside and palmed Madali's dagger. The former assassin held Dranas' head down with one hand and plunged the dagger an inch deep into his eye with the other. The Dark Elf's eyelid snapped shut around the blade, instinctively trying to blink the steel out of the collapsed eyeball. His arms flailed wildly and a scream that would wake the dead erupted from his lips. Neron held the blade steady despite the writhing and flailing of his victim. When finally the blade was removed a clear jelly-like liquid mixed with a trace of blood oozed from the eye. Each blink sent a nauseating wave of pain through Dranas' body as salty, burning tears washed over the wound.
"That's one eye, Dranas. If you value the other you will tell me what I want to know." Neron's voice was cold, calculating, and unsympathetic.
"H-he's at your house, or your sisters house by now. I sent him there to finish the job." Dranas said with rising panic in his voice.
With a lack of remorse Neron slammed the dagger through the elf's temple, cracking his skull. The body went limp and lifeless. He removed the blade from the collapsed skull and wiped it clean on Dranas' shirt. Sheathing it, Neron took his short sword from the floor and walked out to join Andrel.
"The assassin is waiting for me at Madali's house, lets go." Neron headed for the door.
"What about him?" Andrel asked motioning to the unconscious Imperial with his sword.
"Leave him, he's no longer a threat to us."
Andrel nodded and followed Neron back through the iron door. A group of Dark Brotherhood assassins, having heard the screams of Dranas, met the duo in the hall. Neron assumed a battle stance, Andrel tightened his grip on the giant claymore-nobody moved.
Neron broke the silence, "Our battle is not with you, throw down your weapons and we will be merciful."
The assassins eyed the Nord, then the Dark Elf, and finally dropped their collective gaze on the bodies of their comrades that littered the short hall. Vengeance for their fallen brothers gave way to reason. Reason wrapped its soothing fingers around their minds, they wouldn't have to die today. Blades and bows fell to the floor with metallic clangs and wooden thuds, the assassins stood aside to let Death and Destruction pass.
Neron and Andrel picked their way through the ruins back to the ladder. They climbed out of Old Mournhold just as the sun dipped below the great walls of the city. The Great Bazaar showed no signs of slowing for the night as the duo made their way through crowded streets to the palace. After conversing with an Argonian they were teleported to Ebonhart in Vvardenfell, from there they made their way by boat, silt strider, and mages guild to Caldera.
Neron had been awake for more than twenty-four hours by the time he set emotionless eyes on Madali's house. Fueled now only by vengeance, Neron closed his eyes as the battle of the previous night played in his mind. He remembered weaknesses, and recalled the mistakes of the Khajiit. His eyelids rose to reveal a determined set of red eyes-it was time. Neron threw the short sword down and procured Madali's dagger. Nine inches was plenty of steel to kill any living thing in the hands of an assassin hunter, but tonight Neron wasn't an assassin hunter, tonight he was something much more deadly-a vengeful brother.
"Stay here Andrel, this is my fight." Madali's brother said as he headed for the front door.
Andrel understood and nodded his approval.
Neron casually turned the doorknob and stepped in as if he were returning home from a hard days work. He shut the door behind him but kept his unwavering eyes on the Khajiit sitting in the brown reading chair. The cat rose, short blade in clawed hand, and grinned.
"Neron. I was beginning to think you weren't going to show, how's the family?" His grin widened.
"They are in a better place than you will be when the sun rises to view your corpse," the former assassin said almost in a growl.
The cat lunged, hissing and clawing at Neron's face with his empty hand. Neron ducked the swipe and countered with a punch to the Khajiit's muscular abdomen. S'resh didn't even blink, the momentum from the initial lunge carried him into Neron, tackling him, then springing back onto his feet in one fluid, acrobatic movement.
The assassin brought the short blade down on Neron using his entire body to carry the thrust. Neron rolled, the strike smashed into floorboards. The Dark Elf spun on his back planting his foot on the Khajiit's face. Blood sprayed, S'resh growled. The combatants rose quickly, each trying to gain an advantage by pressing the attack. The Khajiit swung first, low and horizontal. Neron flipped backwards over the blade, bringing his foot to the Khajiit's jaw in the process.
The cat's head snapped back, his vision blurred. Before he had a chance to focus two strikes from iron fists sent him reeling, he had to regroup, recover. Instinctively S'resh fell backwards into a roll, distancing himself from the relentless Dark Elf. It wasn't going well, the Khajiit whispered a spell for strength.
Outside, Andrel couldn't just sit by and wait, he wanted to at least see Madali's killer die. The Nord crept up to the window and peered inside just as S'resh whispered his spell. Andrel saw the slight glow of the Khajiit then glanced at the charging Neron, the former assassin was oblivious to his opponents increased strength.
Neron was thinking three moves ahead, another kick to the face will make him more defensive which will open up an attack with the blade, it will be over soon... is he glowing?
The Dark Elf was halfway into his kick when he realized what happened, he quickly brought his foot down to brace for the blow.
S'resh smiled to himself, he had used Neron's rage to his advantage. He stepped forward and brought both fists to the former assassin's midsection. Neron's body flew across the large living room and slammed into the opposite wall. Madali's brother landed face first on the hard floorboards, a groan escaping his lips. He stood slowly, shakily. Don't get hit again, Neron, one more and you're done.
Neron glanced around the room looking for an advantage, his mind wouldn't focus, Madali's dagger felt heavy in his hand. Then he saw it, something moving outside. Andrel! His hands were weaving through the air, eyes closed and lips moving with the words of an incantation. The Nord's eyes snapped open and he threw his hands forward like a mage throwing a fireball. Strength ripped through every last fiber of Neron's body, the dagger felt light and powerful, his eyes focused.
Neron charged, dagger up, feet pounding over wooden floorboards, it would end now. The Dark Elf stepped left just in front of the Khajiit, S'resh stabbed. Neron moved back to the right with blinding speed and pushed the dagger at the Khajiit with newfound strength.
The blade parted flesh slightly to the right of the assassins breastbone, slipping between ribs and nicking the lung. The dagger continued deeper into the chest cavity, slicing arteries and spraying blood. The hilt of the dagger met the ribs, shattering them as it followed the blade into the Khajiit. Because of the strength spell, the hilt continued through, tearing and collapsing the lung, ripping and pulling already severed arteries, finally stopping only after getting caught on S'resh's spine but not before pulling it an inch from his body.
Neron felt the last beat of the Khajiit's heart on his hand-it was over. The Dark Elf pulled the blade from deep within the killer's chest, the body collapsed. He grabbed a handful of fur on the Khajiits head and dragged him from his sister's house. Andrel followed quietly as Neron took the body to the foot of the mountains that surrounded Caldera. With the last of the strength spell still lingering, Neron flung the body into a shallow ravine, it landed awkwardly face-up forever staring with unblinking eyes.
"Feast well my friends." He said to any animal lucky enough to stumble upon the body. Neron took one last look at the body then turned and walked with the merchant back to Caldera, he had a new life waiting for him.
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Neron stepped into his favorite tavern six months later, scanned the room and spotted his friend sitting at their usual table.
The Redguard bartender spotted the Dark Elf, "The usual today, Neron?"
A nod.
Neron slid into a chair opposite Andrel and waited for his drink.
"So, hows merchant life treating you these days?" Andrel asked over a mug of ale.
"Honestly, " Neron replied "I didn't think there would be this much demand for exotic weapons here. People are buying them faster than I can get them."
Andrel smiled, "That's not a bad problem to have."
The bell above the door rang as another patron entered, she glanced at the bartender, sizing him up, then scanned the room. There, at the table with the Nord. She walked to the table and sat beside Neron.
Neron looked at the visitor, his hand went instinctively to the dagger he always kept strapped to his side.
"Valyas? What are you...?"
She put her hand to his mouth to silence him.
"I heard what happened, Neron. I'm sorry."
Neron nodded, his mouth still covered.
"The Emperor also heard that you dismantled the Dark Brotherhood, he's very impressed. We could use someone with your skill in The Blades, we want to start hunting and eliminating assassin's all over Tamriel. I'll be waiting in the mages guild, if you show up within ten minutes then I'll take you to the Emperor, if not, then you won't see me again." Neron thought he heard a hint of sadness in her voice as she concluded.
Valyas took her hand from Neron's mouth, stood, and exited the tavern. Neron watched her go. The ale arrived a minute later, the former assassin sipped it in silence.
Andrel stared. "Well?"
Neron looked up, "Well."
"Aren't you going to go?" Andrel asked.
"I have a shop to take care of, I can't just leave it. Plus I wanted to get out of fighting."
"Get out of fighting, huh? Is that why you keep that dagger with you? Neron, you're looking at the best merchant in all of Tamriel, I can take care of your little weapons shop. Plus, I saw the way that elf looked at you, she's looking for something more than a new Blade." Andrel winked. "It's time you had a job doing what you were obviously born to do, and an honest job at that. Go now, when you come to visit I will have turned your shop into a marvel of the business world."
"Well then, I guess I'll see you around. Friend." Neron shook the powerful Nord's hand, turned and walked toward the door.
"Neron, " Andrel called from across the room, Neron turned. "Good hunting." The Nord said, raising his mug into the air.
Neron nodded, and smiled, really smiled, for the first time in years. Stepping out into the bright Vvardenfell sun, the elf took a deep breath of fresh air and headed to the mages guild. He would make his family proud.
(c)2005 Sir Radont