[Matt Gammond]

http://www.gamesas.com/bgsforums/index.php?showtopic=834818. Please, read it if you want to understand what's going on. Take it from Redsrock: starting in the middle can be really, really confusing.

http://offateluckandambition.wordpress.com/... once I finish editing the old chapters. I'm working on it, slowly but surely!

Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far. Hopefully, this chapter is long enough to please even you guys.

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There was only one guard at the Temple District door. It was odd, but Sam wasn't complaining.

He whistled as he passed under the door, heading out of the Temple District and back down to the Waterfront. In one hand, he held a purloined platter of cooked ham and mutton, eggs, and cheese? all still hot from the All-Saints' oven and hidden under a cloth. The sun was still clinging to the horizon, casting long shadows over the awakening district.

Sam usually wasn't an early riser, but he had to be up early in order to get this fine, freshly-baked breakfast. The All-Saints Inn had been completely empty but for the proprietor, making it all the easier to snatch the food right off the fire when the Redguard wasn't looking.

Sam didn't know why there was only one guard at the Temple District exit, but he didn't think about it too much.

He wound his way down toward the collection of shacks behind the docks, the covered platter cradled in his hands. He waved and exchanged "Mornin'"s with dock workers and Waterfront denizens as he passed, his cheerful mood managing to pull smiles out of some of them.

Then, he reached his destination, stopped in front of the door, and knocked.

Carwen opened the door, smiling brightly. "Good morning Sam. Come on in." She let him inside without hesitation.

The first time Sam had done this, the morning after Methredhel's little accident, the three Bosmer ladies had been shocked to see Sam up at such an early hour, and had been quick to tell him so. Methredhel had not quite been herself at the time, but Carwen and Adanrel had covered for her with teasing of their own.

Now, two days later, they welcomed him inside, apparently expecting him.

Adanrel was up and about when he entered, getting ready to go to work at the Imperial Trading Company. She was the quietest of the three, and if you didn't talk to her every now and then, she faded into her own little world of depression. Sam hated to see people so sad, so he talked to her when he could, and she always seemed happy for the interaction.

Carwen balanced Adanrel out, as she had energy and a cheerful disposition that surpassed Samlir's own. With no warning, she plucked the bundle from Sam's hands and gave a big sniff, her smile cutting her face in two. Carwen tore off the cloth with a flair, showing it around like a waiter at a fancy restaurant, and sending Sam into giggles.

And then, there was Methredhel. She was sitting on the bed, her injured leg stretched in front of her and a wooden crutch leaning against the headboard. She had been quiet and morose for the past couple days, although Sam's visits seemed to cheer her up (good thing too, because that was what he was going for!). Now, she watched the proceedings with a smile ghosting her lips, some of her old fire back in her eyes.

"Today, we have a selection of meats and cheeses," Carwen intoned snootily. "Served with some sort of battered egg whites on the side and topped with a couple pinches of spices." It was obvious that none of them knew a thing about fine dining, but that didn't seem to matter to the gathered Bosmer. Even Adanrel cracked a smile.

Carwen set the platter on the table and turned primly to Sam. "And how would you like your meat cooked today, my fine lord? Rare, medium, or well done?"

"Um? medium!"

"Ooh, try again."

"Well done?"

"Nuh-uh."

Mehredhel decided to contribute. "If it's from the All-Saints Inn, the correct answer is 'raw enough to still have a pulse in the middle, but charred black on one edge.'"

Carwen dimpled her cheeks. "Methredhel got it. That means she gets to eat first!" She flipped a cut of mutton across the room, and the injured mer managed to catch it with an awkward extension of her arm.

Methredhel brought the meat to her mouth and bit into it, giving her nose an exaggerated wrinkle. "I think it just 'baa'ed at me. Yep, it's definitely All-Saints Inn!"

This sent all four into laughter. Sam didn't know about the others, but he was mostly relieved to have Methredhel show signs of recovery. When she'd first woken up after her injury, she hadn't had any clever remarks or anything. It had been scary.

The four of them settled down into a companionable meal together, talking about whatever came to mind. Local gossip, for the most part (The Copious Coinpurse had lowered its prices again, and boy was Jensine mad!), freckled with anecdotes and current events.

The conversation inevitably turned to the Kvatch attack, as most conversation seemed to be doing these days. There were a couple names passed around?Savlian Matius, Vira Redoran, Ormellius Goldwine?but all of it went over Sam's head. Anything related to politics or battle always did? all he could figure out was that there had been Daedra in Kvatch, and now there were not.

But he did like the story about the townsfolk rallying to protect their city. It just went to show what little people could do, when given the chance.

Adanrel headed off to work shortly after that, being the only one of the four to have a real job. A couple minutes after that, once it was obvious that they were done eating, Carwen grabbed what was left of the cheese and excused herself with wink, then glided out the door.

This left Methredhel and Samlir alone. They sat in an oddly awkward silence for a couple moments. Sam hadn't been alone with her since she'd been hurt. He sat at the table, facing the bed; he drummed his fingers nervously against his chair. She watched him, a knowing smirk on her face. Knowing of what, he wasn't entirely sure.

Then, Sam took a breath. "So? how are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, considering I fell off a walkway in the middle of a fight and broke myself."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Sam said bashfully, staring down at his wiggling toes.

"Yeah, I?" Methredhel paused, her tone switching to one more serious. He didn't dare look up. "Sam, why are you apologizing? I'm not mad at you for running away? I'd prefer you did that than get killed."

"No, it's not that."

"Huh? Sam, what's going on? Is something wrong?"

Sam shifted. Yep, he still had all ten toes. "It was my fault you fell so badly."

"How so?" Now, she sounded curious.

"It was my bad luck that made you fall like that. I'm jinxed. Stuff like that always happens to me? I didn't think it would start happening to you too."

Methredhel was silent for a long time. Sam continued to stare at his bare feet, wondering what expression she was wearing. Shock? Betrayal? Disdain?

Then, he heard her make a muffled snorting noise, followed closely by a sudden burst of laughter. Sam glanced up, and saw nothing but mirth on her face. It was both relieving and alarming. "What? What's so funny?"

"Y?you!" He wished she'd stop.

"Huh?"

Methredhel held a finger up, then mastered herself. Three deep breaths, a giggle, and another two breaths later, she said, "You're just so? cute!" Her cocoa-colored eyes danced. "Sam, you can't blame every bad thing that happens on luck. Sometimes, these things just happen. It's not anybody's fault, so don't beat yourself up over it, kay?" She gave him a warm smile, and he returned it uncertainly. Was she right about that? He couldn't really say.

In any case, Sam realized that he had been the one making the silence awkward, because of a guilt he hadn't even realized he'd still been harboring. Now, because of Methredhel's simple words, he shrugged that guilt off, and the silence became companionable.

She smiled up at him, and he felt like whistling a tune. Everything that had been bothering him for the past couple days was forgotten, just like that. Sam settled into a lopsided grin.

"So," Methredhel said, "how goes the investigation?"

It took Sam a moment to figure out what she was talking about. "Oh? um. I talked to Baurus yesterday."

"And??"

"He knows where we're supposed to go."

"So the plan's still on?" Sam nodded, and she sat back thoughtfully. "When are you leaving? Soon, I hope. Things are happening pretty quick, now."

Sam shrugged a shoulder. Methredhel appeared to have accepted that she couldn't come along? why wasn't Sam happy about that? "Not for a while yet. Baurus thinks we'll need back-up, so he sent to his superiors for help."

"Good idea. Watching your butt is no one person job, you know."

Sam matched Methredhel's playful grin with a slow one of his own. "Hey, what are you doing watching my butt?"

Oddly enough, she didn't have a riposte for that. She opened her mouth and shut it. Strange? she was usually much better with comebacks than he was. Finally, she decided to change the subject. "So, how are you going to keep yourself occupied until then?"

Sam peered at her. "Dunno. Take it easy, I guess."

She snorted. "When do you ever not take things easy?" He gave her an impish grin in response.

He lingered at Methredhel's house for a while, then spent the rest of the morning wandering around the City. He would have spent the day practicing his pickpocketing? but he noticed something strange about the guards, and it bothered him.

First of all, there was only one guard stationed at each city gate, as opposed to the two or four that usually stood there. This meant that two thirds of the Watch was missing. It was perfect for thieves like him to get some action in? but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

And the guards seemed to be distracted. Hieronymus Lex himself walked right past Sam, obviously in a hurry to get somewhere, and didn't even give the thief as much as a glare. No hint of malice at all!

Sam had seen enough. He hurried over to the nearest beggar, tossed her ten Septims, and asked, "What's going on with the guards?"

Ragtag Buntara 'hmm'ed for a moment. "They all be outside the city. One of them Gates opened up by Weye, an' they all be out there, guardin' it."

Sam swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. "Gates??"

"Them 'blivion Gates, like what burned down Kvatch."

Sam felt himself pale, and he took off running toward the city exit.

The Gate was about a half hour's walk outside Weye. By the time Sam got there, he was exhausted. There was a throng of citizens on the road, about five hundred paces away from the Gate, all faces fearfully watching the Legion defense around it. Sam had to wriggle his way to the front to be able to see.

The Gate was the first thing anyone noticed. It was big, and roared with an otherworldly fire powerful enough to turn the sky red. Being even near it was eerie? it felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall off. Or like two wagons driving side-by-side, and you were straddled between them, with one foot in each. Sam shivered.

About half the Imperial City Watch was out there, circled around the gate. Someone had set up a makeshift camp, with tents and cooking fires for the guards, but it was a sad little thing. Occasionally, a group of Daedra emerged from the Gate, and the guards always attacked them in disciplined ranks.

Commander Adamus Phillida was heading the operation himself. Phillida was a large, powerfully built Imperial man, with only his white hair and chronically tired eyes giving testament to his age. Sam had been warned early on not to cross the Legion Commander, as he was as hardened as they came. He directed the guards now with a stern, confident manner that could only be admired in this sort of crisis.

There was a guard captain on each side of him, seemingly just for decoration. On one side was a captain named Giovanni something-or-other. Sam had only seen him once or twice, and never had had any issues with him. When other Thieves talked about him, they referred to him as "Phillida's loyal hound" or something like that.

On the other side of the Commander was a captain who Sam had not seen before. He was younger than the other two, but, judging by the stiff way he held himself, didn't want to show it.

The three of them oversaw the defense; they were each armed with multiple weapons, but they were staying out of the fighting at the moment. As another group of Daedra came through the Gate, Phillida started shouting out battle formations and the guards sprang into action. Within ten seconds, there were no Daedra left, with only two injuries on the part of the guards.

"By the Shadow?" Sam whispered under his breath. He didn't like them, but he had to give the Legion one thing: they sure were organized.

"I think this is a little over the Shadow's head," someone whispered in Sam's ear, and the Bosmer turned to see Othrelos behind him. The Dunmer rogue watched the Gate with an uncharacteristically grim expression.

Sam was surprised to see someone like Othrelos out here. The Dunmer was an operating Thief; wouldn't this be a perfect opportunity to take advantage of the depleted Watch? After a moment's hesitation, Sam drew him out of the crowd and asked him that very question.

Othrelos smiled wanly, his eyes darting around make sure no one was listening before he responded. "My reason's probably a lot like yours, Skiv. It's hard to take advantage of a weakened Watch when it's because they're out saving our asses, you know?" Sam nodded; he did know.

The two Thieves stood in silence for a couple minutes, watching grimly as the Legion faced down another wave of Daedra. This one was bigger, shoving the circle of guards back into the trees, spreading them apart. One of the guards got crushed by a giant lizard thing. Fortunately, Hieronymus Lex arrived with reinforcements from the city, and the Daedra were beaten. Once the battle was over, a handful of guards turned toward the camp, allowing the reinforcements to take their spots. The captain that Sam didn't know turned and marched back toward the city, and Lex took his place beside the Commander.

At that point, Lex did send a stern glance back at Sam and Othrelos, as if telling them "I know you're there; don't try anything." Sam waved back innocently, actually relieved to have that little bit of normalcy back.

The Commander said something, and Lex turned away. Sam asked Othrelos, "Why is that captain leaving? Isn't he needed here?" He pointed at the one who was now heading back to the city alone.

Othrelos cast a glance over his shoulder at the departing Imperial, then shrugged. "Who knows? The Legion works strangely sometimes."

Sam wasn't really satisfied with that answer, but neither of them had a better one. He turned his attention back to the Gate. "Has anyone gone in there to try to close it?"

Othrelos frowned and shook his head. "That's what I've been waiting for, but no. No one's gone in." The Dunmer paused, scratching his chin. "Can't really blame them, after what happened to the guards at Kvatch. Phillida's probably waiting for some more information on how to do it before he makes the attempt."

"That could take a while."

"Yeah, it could." Othrelos waved a hand toward the makeshift camp. "As you can see, they're settling in for a long battle."

Sam dug his feet into the dirt nervously. He'd heard the stories about what had happened to Kvatch. Could something like that happen here, in the Imperial City? What if more of those things opened up; how could the Watch defend against two of them? Or more?

It struck Sam just how important what he was doing was. He was one of the few people who knew most of what was going on, and he was a part of the defense. He'd never done anything so very? significant in his entire life.

He felt like a weight had landed on him, and was slowly squeezing the breath out of his lungs. It felt like all the civilians watching the Gate had suddenly turned and were now watching him expectantly?even though they weren't. None of them knew what he was doing, he reminded himself, but that didn't ease the pressure any. What if he messed up? What if he got Baurus killed?

"Hey, you okay, Skiv?" Othrelos' voice sounded concerned, and Sam realized that he was dangerously close to hyperventilating. He forced himself to take some deep breaths. His breathing settled, but that did nothing for the jittery nervousness that had settled over him.

Sam forced himself to nod and flash Othrelos a reassuring smile. The other Thief didn't look convinced. "Yep, I'm okay. Think I'm gonna head back to the city now, though."

Othrelos nodded uncertainly. "Good luck."

Sam turned and left. He sighed in relief as he left the immediate area?the sky cleared, and that funny feeling faded. He made his way back across the bridge and into the city, looking for a way to calm his nerves.

He picked a few pockets, just for practice. There was something reassuring in the familiar activity; it reminded him that he was just a petty thief. Even when the world was in danger, he was just a thief, and no one expected more out of him. That helped.

In the early afternoon, Sam wandered the Market District, thinking to stop somewhere to pilfer some lunch. However, he passed the Market District central square and realized that there was a new beggar standing next to Simplicia the Slow? and this guy didn't look like one of the Guild's.

The guy was an Orc, and that in itself was strange. Instead of coarse rags, he wore tan linens of decent quality, a quilted vest, and shoes. He had a young, smooth face, and a green-colored topknot tied with a length of leather. In short, he seemed to be an average citizen.

However, he was asking passersby if they could spare a coin. Sam figured he should check it out; it would probably take his mind off things anyway.

As Sam approached, he overheard the Orc's story about how a watchman had shaken him down that morning. It immediately sparked empathy within the Bosmer; he knew the feeling, probably better than anyone else.

The Orc didn't ask Sam for anything as he joined them?probably figuring that Sam was another beggar. And so, the Orc's eyes widened when Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins--he had made it while pickpocketing, but the Orc didn't need to know that.

"Gee, thanks. Blessings of Akatosh upon you!" The Orc stuffed the coins into his pockets. He started to leave, but Samlir grabbed his sleeve. The Orc seemed dismayed, and hesitated.

"I just want to talk," Sam said shortly.

The other nodded reluctantly. He cried out in surprise when Sam tugged him into a nearby alley. "Thanks for the coins, an' all," the Orc babbled, apparently trying to diffuse whatever he'd gotten himself into. "I never knew how hard it was to be a beggar. Thought I'd have to go without dinner, for a while there."

Sam sniggered at that. Going without dinner was hardly the worst part of a beggar's life. The Bosmer stopped at a relatively secluded spot, and turned to look up at the Orc. "Was that story true? You got shaken down by a guard?"

"Yeah, but I never did anything," the Orc said defensively. Then, he grew darker, and he launched into a rant. "The bastard took every coin I had with me. I don't know his name, but I know his face." He paused, and Sam motioned for him to go on. "Ruslan and I were shopping at Jensine's when he accused us of stealing. We turned out our pockets to prove we were innocent, but he didn't care. We had to pay the 'fine' or he was going to march us off to jail."

Sam nodded to himself. He'd heard of stuff like that happening before?the Imperial Legion was notoriously corrupt?but, this time, it felt a little different, because he had a victim right in front of him. Why did the people in authority have to pick on the little guys so much?

"It happened the morning, huh? What did the watchman look like?"

"Big and Imperial, with mean eyes. He was wearing that shiny white armor that some of them wear."

Sam perked up at that. He had been shaken down by a captain, huh? The thief ran through a mental list of Imperial City Watch Captains, and realized that all of them had been out at the Oblivion Gate that morning? all except one.

"Was he dark-skinned? And kinda balding on top?"

"Yeah. That's the one."

Audens Avidius, then. Really, it wasn't a surprise; Avidius was a bastard in just about every way. "That's not fair at all. We should do something about him."

The Orc shook his head vigorously. "Oh no, count me out. I don't want any trouble with the Watch. Think I'll just lay low for a while."

Sam glanced over at the Orc, surprised. Then again, the Bosmer would probably do the same thing in that situation. But Sam was on the outside, and he found that he wanted to help the little guy (well, metaphorically little? in real life, the Orc was about twice Sam's size). It was stuff like this that had made him sign up for the Thieves' Guild in the first place, and it'd give him something to do for a little while.

"Well? um. Okay." Sam jumped from foot to foot, thinking. "I'm Samlir. If you change your mind, just ask around the Waterfront for me."

"I'm Luronk," the Orc replied. "I won't change my mind, though? thanks for the money." Luronk nodded to Sam, then left the alley.

Sam considered what to do. He wished Methredhel were there; she was so much better at coming up with plans. But she was all the way back in the Waterfront.

Sam figured that he should go to the next nearest witness, Jensine, and so her headed across the District to her shop.

This proved to be a mistake. As soon as he stepped through the door, the busty Nord behind the counter grabbed a broom and started batting him with it, as if he were some rodent that had gotten into the grain. "Out! I won't tolerate pickpockets in here! OUT!" He covered his head with his arms and slowly backed out the door under her onslaught. As his foot hit the cobbles outside, she shouted, "If you want somewhere to sell your stolen goods, go to Thoronir. I'm sure he'll buy!" Then, she slammed the door in his face.

Wow. Jensine was mad.

Sam scratched his head for a moment. Then, he headed over to Simplicia. The beggar seemed to be expecting him.

"Fifteen gold, an' I'll tell ya where Ruslan is. Thirty, an' I'll throw in a lil somethin' about 'Vidius, too."

Sam would never know how the beggars did that.

He had only twenty-seven coins on him, but that seemed to be close enough for the old woman. "Ruslan is livin' in the Temple District, east from the temple on the main road? but ya can usually find him at his friend's, just 'round the corner." Sam nodded, and the beggar went on. "An' here's a little somethin' else? 'Vidius takes money from the shops 'round here once a month, an' he never passes on a penny. No one's talkin', 'cus they're scared o' him. But I'm bettin' 'Vidius has enough dirt 'round here to bury him alive."

Simplicia gave him a gap-toothed grin at the end, and Sam couldn't help but return it. It felt good to be doing something. He thanked the beggar, tossed her the last of his pocket change, and walked away. Then, he did exactly what Jensine had suggested: he went to Thoronir.

Thoronir was the only merchant in the district who dealt with Thieves. At first, Sam had thought that he was working for them. But then Sam had realized that, no, Thoronir was just gullible. Really, really gullible.

The trader looked up as Sam entered the Copious Coinpurse, a slightly vacant smile stretched across his face. "Thoronir welcomes you to The Copious Coinpurse. Such a pleasure. How can I serve you?"

"Hi? erm? I'm here to pick up Captain Avidius' take." And, thus, he launched into it with no plan whatsoever.

Thoronir blinked. "Is it that time already? Oh my, well, one moment to gather it together." The merchant disappeared below the counter, and Sam heard the clank of coins being moved around. "He never sends a runner. What's going on?"

"He's? um? he's busy with the Gate outside the city."

"Ah? yes. These are hard times we live in." Thoronir reappeared, dropping a pouch on the counter. "Take this; it should be enough."

Sam took the pouch and opened it, doing a quick count. About two hundred Septims, in small coins rather than large ones. It wasn't a lot, but it would be enough to put a strain most businesses if they had to give it out every month. If every shop gave him this much, then Avidius would get in a lot of trouble.

Sam didn't feel right actually taking the pouch. He tossed it around in his hands, stalling. "Have you ever thought of testifying against Avidius?"

Whoops, he'd forgotten that he was supposed to work for the Captain. Thoronir paled and shook his head. "No, of course not. I don't want any trouble. Please, take the money and go."

Sam really, really didn't want to take the money, but he didn't see any other way to go around it, so he left.

He headed over to Ruslan's, only to find the house that Simplicia had indicated locked up tight. He could break in if he wanted to? but he doubted Ruslan would want to talk to him if he did that.

By then, it was dinner time. Sam stopped at the All-Saints' Inn for the second time that day, enjoying the warm meal despite himself. The proprietor seemed to be keeping an eye on him from behind the bar. Gee, it was almost as if someone had stolen something from the Inn recently.

When Sam was done with his meal, he headed back to the Waterfront. So far, he didn't have anything even resembling a plan? his only plan was to talk to Methredhel about it. She'd no doubt be able to come up with something.

As he was walking across the docks, something latched onto his shirt collar and yanked him off. He yelped as he was pulled under the docks and slammed up against a wooden pole. A gauntleted hand was shoved over his mouth roughly enough to bruise.

"Someone's been a nosey Wood Elf," a voice drawled, and Sam opened his eyes--he hadn't even realized he'd closed them. He opened them, and saw only the cruel brown eyes of Audens Avidius, mere inches from his own. The guard captain's breath smelled of cheap alcohol, but his eyes weren't the least glazed for it.

"You've been asking questions about me, haven't you, you little snitch?" Apparently, it was a rhetorical question, because Avidius gave Sam no chance to answer it? even if he'd wanted to. "You should know better, you Waterfront rat. You can't touch me." To strike the point home, Avidius removed his hand from over Sam's mouth, drew it back, clenched it, and drove it into Sam's stomach.

Avidius was wearing steel gauntlets, and had twice Sam's weight to throw around. It hurt just a little bit.

"You must be real stupid to stick you nose in my business. I think you need to be taught a lesson." Again, the metal fist went into Sam's stomach. "Take this as a warning, Tree-Hugger."

And, with that, Avidius set about the task trying to pound Sam into the wooden post. Sam tried to wiggle out of the guard's constricting grip, until a particularly sharp pound in the forehead left him slightly stunned, his head ringing. Just to be certain, Avidius switched his grip from Sam's collar to his throat, and Sam found that he didn't have the breath to cry out.

After a long, long time, Avidius threw the Bosmer to the ground, and started using his feet, too. Steel met flesh over and over again, and Sam curled into as small a ball as he could. He hadn't received such a nasty pounding since his youth in High Rock. He could feel his consciousness slipping away?being kicked in the head multiple times tended to do that?and he welcomed the painlessness of oblivion.

?that was "oblivion," not Oblivion. Oblivion didn't sound very painless at all.

He faded out, taking Avidius' warning deeply to heart.

[Luis Longoria]

:celebration: Yay, another chapter.

It's length makes up for your long absence.

I liked it, especially the beginning in the house and how there is a Gate outside of the Imperial City.

And the Watch is doing something about it. oo: That never happened in the game.

Keep up the good work. :thumbsup:

Also, on the blog, are those pictures your characters in the story?

[Micah Judaeah]

Yet another chapter I shouldn't read. (Not because it's bad, but because I haven't played Oblivion yet, and I'm afraid I'll be very disappointed when I do, I doubt it'll be as good as this...)

And yet another incredibly good chapter. I never liked bosmer much, but you display of them makes them extremely likeable. And even a snotty Altmer can be loads of fun, if he wavers enough in his choice of daedric princes. Still, before this chapter, Vira was my favourite. Now, I'm not so sure any more.
"I think Sam's a thief, because he's stolen my heart."

Thus, I am obviously worried sick about him, given his terrible encounter with the law corrupt guard in the end. oo:

[Jah Allen]

WOW!!! poor sam... he really has had it rough... I hope he might be able to do something about avidius...

I love your writing, you are a really good writer...
and about the legion doing something... well, that might happen after all if no one stops the daedra, they would do the same that happened in kvatch...

please tell us that we are going to have another chapter soon ... please?

[Rhysa Hughes]

Another amazing chapter! Well, I already know what happens in that quest but if you could make it a little different than that would be great. I love how you tie in miscellaneous quests wherever they show up. Keep up the good work!

[Daniel Brown]

Well, I figured that since you were reading my fanfic, the least I could do was read yours, and... well, I'm afraid to give you compliments, 'cuz It would look like I'm just kissing [censored].

But, yeah, very good at the least. I spent the last couple days reading through it, and I am definietly guite impressed. I'm sorry, I have to do this.

:bowdown: :bowdown: :bowdown: :bowdown: :bowdown:

[djimi]

*Ahem* When will we be expecting more amazingness? The suspense is gripping my throat tighter every day!

[carley moss]

GAH! I had a dream that I was reading this and it was revealed that Damendrel had to kill Methredhel! PLEASE, the suspense is KILLING me! Jeez, I hope I'm not psychic!

Update, PLEASE!

[Charles Mckinna]

Very good, like how you brought the side-quest into the story and progressed through it in relevant smoothness. Very skilled, very well done. Poor Sam though...

[Taylah Haines]

Ahaha. I don't think I've ever had someone dream about my characters before. It rather flattering. Unfortunately, Moroni, you'll have to wait a while to see what happens with that particular hook.

And, yeah, Blademaster, those are them. I think I just like showing them off, even though none of them are particularly unique in appearance. Meh.

Love you all. :hugs:

Sometimes, chapters want to write themselves. Other times, chapters don't want to be written at all. This is one of the latter group. I don't know... Vira is just hard to write, sometimes. Probably because she's so seeeeeerious.

Ah well. Here ya go, hot off the presses.

--------------------------------------------

Vira did not have much experience with horses. However, after several hours of wrestling with it, the vampire could only conclude that Prior Maborel's Paint was a very stupid horse.

She meant no disrespect to the late priest, but his mount was a dull, slow beast. And it was just plump enough to make straddling it uncomfortable; she felt as if she were trying to sit around it rather than on it. The animal seemed to occasionally forget that Vira was riding it and start wandering off, much to her companions' amusemant. Only a couple vicious tugs on the reigns got the dumb beast facing forward again.

The Bay that Martin was riding was hardly in better shape, but it was much better behaved. Perhaps Vira was riding hers wrong? if she was, she could not tell the difference between the way she was handling the Paint and the way Martin was handling the Bay. It was utterly infuriating.

When they had started this journey, Jauffre had for some reason insisted that Vira lead. Probably so Jauffre could keep an eye on her, and protect the heir if need be. Pah. In any case, she had tried to lead the group, but it had been made painstakingly obvious in a matter of minutes that the vampire could not steer a horse (well, not this horse, anyway!). Thus, Martin had taken the lead, with Vira and the Paint struggling along behind him.

Jauffre took up the rear on a well-tended Chestnut. The old man obviously did not want to let Vira out of her sight. She could feel his hot gaze against the back of her neck as the hours went by, daring her to so much as twitch in a direction not sanctioned by his precious Empire.

To be fair, she was probably just being overly irritable about the whole thing. She had forgotten what it was like to travel in the day without a cloak. Even though she was well-fed, her skin prickled constantly, as if caught in a thorny bramble, and tiny wisps of smoke occasionally leapt off into the air. She had to squint most of the time--when she could keep her eyes open at all?or the light bouncing off the road blinded her. It was all very uncomfortable, so Vira thought herself justified in being in such a foul temper.

The two men spent most of the day talking while she simmered unhappily between them. Jauffre outlined the basics of the crisis at hand and explained the priest's part in it, and Martin described what he knew about the attack on Kvatch. Neither of them asked Vira to contribute to the conversation; she thanked them by refraining from biting their faces off, and thought herself quite charitable.

And so, Vira did not really pay much attention to the ride until the sun began to sink behind the mountains in the west. She came out of it slowly as her skin cooled. Eventually, she had the capacity to open her eyes all the way and look at her surroundings.

They had been making good time?better than they might have without the horses. They had been climbing upward along the winding path through the mountains. Now, their pace was slowing as the light faded, as they looked for a spot to camp. Conversation seemed to have died off some time ago; Vira had not noticed.

Finally, Jauffre stopped them with a short bark of "Here," and the three of them pulled off the road, to a clearing on the side. They dismounted with varying degrees of tiredness.

Vira struggled to get her horse's gear off; the dumb thing resisted her even now. Martin noticed her struggle and took the reigns from Vira's hands. The Paint calmed as the priest led it over to where his own Bay was tied, and stood still as he uncinched the saddle. Vira made a growling noise in the back of her throat.

While he unsaddled the Paint, Martin said conversationally, "Are you feeling any better?"

It took a moment for the vampire to realize that he was talking to her. She didn't recall ever complaining out loud to her companions? but her discomfort that day had probably been fairly obvious. "I? yes. Much better, thank you."

Martin threw a warm smile back at her, and Vira felt some on her own tension ease. He got the reins off, tossed a rope around the Paint's neck, and tied it beside the Bay.

As Martin started brushing down both horses, Vira watched on with not a little irritation. "Why does it behave so well with you? I've been wrestling with that thing all day."

Martin shrugged. "It's probably just nervous around you. You smell like smoke when you're in the sun, and most animals get spooked by that."

There was only one thing to say to that: "Oh."

"Or you may simply be bad with horses," Martin continued conversationally. Vira stiffened, but a look at his eyes revealed that it was merely good-hearted teasing.

"And I suppose you would be an expert horseman, then."

"I don't like to boast, but I've handled a stallion or two in my day."

Vira felt a smile twitching at the corner of her lips. She had to admit: it was quite hard to remain cross around Martin. There was something in his manner that was altogether soothing, and his warm, expressive face made him easy to approach. It was easy to see the priest in him.

The emperor was not so apparent. He had a long way to go for that.

They set up camp for the night. Once that was done, the three huddled around the campfire against the autumn chill, the men eating from the food Jauffre had packed early that morning. Conversation went between Martin and Vira, or Martin and Jauffre. The old Blade seemed set on ignoring Vira, and she was entirely happy with that arrangement.

Then, the trio prepared to go to sleep. Vira offered to keep watch, since she didn't really need the rest. Martin nodded and curled up in his bedroll. He was asleep immediately; he'd been up for over twenty-four hours straight, so he was probably exhausted.

Unsurprisingly, Jauffre wasn't so quick to trust her. Even as Martin went to bed, Jauffre sat by the fire, watching Vira intently. She did her best to ignore him, but it grew increasingly difficult as time went on. She spent some time facing away from the fire, watching the road and surrounding wilderness for any signs of a threat. Occasionally, however, she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, to see Jauffre still staring at her.

Eventually, Vira lost her patience and snapped, "Should you not be going to bed some time soon?"

He didn't even hesitate. "You expect me to leave you unsupervised in the presence of the only heir to the Septim throne?"

"Yes."

He remained silent, unmoved.

The vampire made a growling noise. "I was alone with him for three days," she hissed. "What makes you think I'd hurt him now?"

"Statistics."

Vira opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't find the words. It was such a strange reply, and Jauffre was so matter-of-fact? calmly on guard, coolly ready for action even as he sat across the fire.

Finally, she found some words. "What do you mean, 'statistics?'"

A scoff. "It's obvious, isn't it? You're a vampire. Statistically, you're doomed to go mad with bloodlust and end up a feral husk of humanity, to eventually to be killed in a cave somewhere by a wandering adventurer? and I don't fancy you doing that anywhere near Martin Septim."

Vira bristled and shot to her feet, snarling. "I? I beg your pardon?! I'll have you know that I have no intention of becoming some bloodthirsty monster, and I am? I am insulted at the very implication!"

Jauffre shook his head calmly. "You don't understand. I'm sure you think you're in control now, but the fact remains that you are still a vampire, and you will eventually succumb to it."

"Never again!"

He met her eyes sternly. "It's not something you have the power to change. There is only one vampire in existence who has ever been able to deny his instincts for an extended amount of time, and he is a master wizard. Do you have powerful magic to fend off your bloodlust? I think not."

Vira wanted to hit him more than she'd ever wanted to hit anyone. Her muscles twitched, urging her to lunge at him and throttle those terrible words away.

The truth was, she could think of no way to deny it. The beast inside her was a constant companion, always keening for blood. Now that she was aware of it, she could hear it now? urging her to pounce upon Jauffre and tear his throat out. Lap up the blood of an imperial guard dog? and then turn on its master.

But she had it under control ?didn't she?

With some surprise, she realized that she was shaking. She thought at first that it was from rage? but that proved wrong as the anger faded to make way for fear. In fact, she was shaking from the effort of suppressing her own instincts? and, as she realized this, the shaking only grew, this time from fear.

Abruptly, she sat down on her bedroll, as if to deny herself an easy way to attack the old man. By the Tribunal, or the Daedra, or the Nine---or whatever gods were listening!?when had she become so violent?

That was the question, wasn't it? In her youth, she had been composed? reserved. A perfect Redoran noble. She had occasionally sparred in well-monitored situations, and had even issued a challenge or two when her peers had somehow insulted her. But she never would have considered simply attacking them without a challenge, or even a warning. Not all that long ago, she'd walked up and punched Velwyn Benirus right in the face? and she'd enjoyed doing it! Where had that come from?

Somehow, she could guess, and the implications frightened her. Could it be that her little condition was slowly warping her own personality, the very thing that made her herself? What if it didn't stop at simply giving her a temper? what if it continued, the vampire eventually taking over and wiping out everything that had once been Vira Llethri, daughter of the Great House Redoran of Morrowind? What would she eventually become? Would she revert back to that nightmarish state she had been in before the prisons? but with no chance of ever waking up again?

Jauffre was watching her internal struggle with a knowing expression on his face, as if he'd been in this very situation before. Or perhaps he was just that good at reading her. Either way, she didn't want to know.

Vira kept her troubled silence for the rest of the night. Occasionally, she distracted herself, but her thoughts always came back to these new worries.

Worse, the old man showed no intention of going to sleep. He watched her unwaveringly the entire night, like a Cliff Racer hovering over its prey, waiting for the moment to strike.

Vira eventually had to feed in front of him. The Blade made no comment as she did so? despite how uncomfortable it must have made him. Perhaps he understood the import of keeping her well-fed. Afterward, as she applied her special healing salve, she snuck a peek at him. The Breton's face was carefully blank. He was feeling something about it, all right, and was taking care not to show it. Vira was not sure how she felt about that.

The next day, they did the same as they had the day before. Martin led the way up to Bruma, Jauffre stared around with a serious expression, and Vira sat in a miserable lump between them.

They did not stop at sunset, but lit a couple torches and continued on, Jauffre assuring them that they would reach the safe place by sunrise. Vira hoped so, for she did not fancy riding in the sun without having had a chance to feed the night before.

By some stroke of luck, they ran into very little trouble on the road. Wolves were occasionally spotted prowling the ridges above them, but a couple frost spells from Martin sent them running into the night.

Once they passed Bruma, Jauffre took the lead. They headed right up a mountain, taking a winding road toward the top. It was a dangerous, tricky path to try in the dark, but Jauffre's demeanor thrummed with focused determination, so neither Martin nor Vira thought it wise to question him.

The trio reached their destination just as the sky was beginning to lighten in the east.

They weren't precisely at the mountain's summit? but the top was now much closer than the bottom. The air was thin, and Vira would have been surprised if her companions could breathe properly without getting dizzy. There was also a frosty bite in the air. Martin was shivering: the robes that had been well-suited for Kvatch were not much good in the Jerall Mountains, it seemed.

The destination itself was a fortress. Gray stone walls stretched up three or four stories above them, capped by a pair of guard turrets. A helmeted head peered down at them from one of the turrets as they stopped in front of the tall, heavy gate.

Jauffre dismounted, and Martin and Vira followed suit. Then, the citadel's entrance gate gave a mighty creak, and a Redguard in full plate armor stepped out. Vira recognized the armor as of the style the Blades in the Imperial Prison sewers had been wearing. It brought back memories of the night of the emperor's death, and she shuddered.

The Redguard ran a cursory glance over the party of three, then spoke to Jauffre. "Grandmaster, we weren't expecting you!"

Jauffre nodded. "I hadn't expected to be coming. Cyrus, this is the Emperor's son, Martin Septim." The old Blade certainly got straight to the point.

The Redguard, Cyrus, turned and openly stared at Martin for a couple seconds, his eyes widening considerably. The priest shifted uncomfortably, then seemed to recall himself, and stood up just a bit straighter.

Without warning, Cyrus turned and shouted up at the guard turret: "It's the heir! Assemble the Blades!" The face that had been peeking down at them disappeared.

Then, Cyrus turned back to Martin, seeming caught between kneeling before him and prostrating himself. The Redguard settled on sketching a bow, his demeanor full of, of all things, relief. "My lord! Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple! We have not had the honor of an Emperor's visit in many years!"

"Ah? well, thank you," Martin managed, obviously unsure how to take such a greeting. However, he was polite, as always. "The honor is mine."

Jauffre's expression showed a great amount of relief as well, and the beginnings of exhaustion (he hadn't rested in two days? it was probably catching up to him now). "Come," the old man said encouragingly to the emperor-to-be. "Your Blades are waiting to greet you."

Cyrus turned and threw the entrance gates wide, revealing a long stone staircase ahead of them. Jauffre took Martin's horse, urging the Imperial to follow Cyrus up the steps. After a moment's hesitation, the priest did so.

Before following, Jauffre paused beside Vira and met her gaze meaningfully. She did not like that look, but she waited for him to say whatever he wanted to say. "You? I want you to think very hard about whether you want to go inside or not. Once you do, you'll have passed the point of no return, with no chance of backing out later." Vira paused, glancing up the staircase ahead of them. She hadn't actually considered what it would mean to be allowed into the Blades' stronghold.

"Or," Jauffre continued, "you can declare your part in this over, and turn around now. You'll be leaving him in good hands, and if you leave, you'll no longer be a risk to His Majesty. It's your decision, of course, but I suggest you don't take it lightly."

It was painfully obvious which way Jauffre wanted her to go. Two days before, she might have been insulted by his mistrust. But now? she could actually understand his reasoning, and she even worried about just how safe Martin was around her. After all, it would only take one slip of her control, and then all of Nirn would be doomed.

She closed her eyes.

She cleared her head and spent a couple moments simply breathing in the mountain air. She could feel the uncomfortable warmth on one side of her body; the sun was about to rise. On the other side, a biting breeze swept across her skin. The weight of the Kvatch guard cuirass had become increasingly familiar as she had traveled, and now felt like an oddly-fitted extension of her own skin.

From the top of the staircase, she could hear voices. Cheering. The Blades welcoming their Emperor home. Behind that, there was no sound but the breeze.

She found a place of tranquility within herself and sought the answer to Jauffre's question. Was she done here, her purpose served? She delved into herself and tried to feel for an answer, and maybe she even prayed. Nothing seemed to be forthcoming.

She opened her eyes with a sigh, and found that she was facing outward, staring over Bruma and the land beyond. It was a breathtaking scene: the snow-topped pines dotting the nearby mountainsides, and morning mists rising off Lake Rumare in the distance. Just for a moment, Vira forgot what she was worried about.

Then, the decision was made for her. The sun crested the mountains in the east, and the rays of the sun hit her skin. She hissed in pain, hid behind the Paint horse, and made for the nearest cover: the stairwell of Cloud Ruler Temple.

Jauffre had been waiting at the gate for her to decide. His expression was wan as Vira passed him and headed up toward the temple. The massive doors closed behind them, and the two of them led the three horses slowly up the stone steps.

Someone took the horses as they got to the top, and Jauffre continued up to address the small assembly. Vira remained hunkered in the stairwell, hiding from the sun, but peeked out to watch

A handful of Blades had gathered into two lines, some wearing hastily-donned armor and looking like they had just awakened. Nonetheless, all wore expressions displaying various degrees of happiness, and they raised new cheers as Jauffre emerged from the staircase. The old man smiled back at them tightly.

Martin himself was standing uncomfortably at the head of the ranks, facing the staircase in hopes of reinforcements. Jauffre moved to join him. Martin met Vira's eyes briefly across the stone square, and the priest nodded acknowledgement to her.

Then, Jauffre took a breath, and, with a booming voice, transformed into the leader of an elite organization. "Blades! Dark times are upon us. The Emperor and his sons were slain on our watch. The Empire is in chaos. But there is yet hope! Here is Martin Septim, true son of Uriel Septim!"

Cheers went up, cries of "Hail!" echoing faintly off the nearby mountains.

As the cheers faded, Jauffre said something more quietly to Martin. Vira only caught the last bit: "?will be safe here until you can take up your throne."

The Blades fell silent, waiting for the emperor-to-be to say something. Martin fumbled for words. "Jauffre? All of you? " His piercing gray eyes scanned the crowd before him. "I know you all expect me to be Emperor. I'll do my best." He took on an apologetic tone. "But this is all new to me. I'm not used to giving speeches. But I wanted you to know that I appreciate your welcome here. I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days. That's it. Thank you."

When he finished, Vira was surprised to find herself smiling proudly, and couldn't for the life of her figure out why.

Jauffre smoothly took the reins from there. "Well, then. Thank you, Martin." The old man turned to one of the armored men. "We'd all best get back to our duties, eh, Captain?" At that signal, the Blades began to disperse, Martin still standing in front of them. He got various salutes and slaps on the back as the Blades passed, to which he responded with polite nods and warm smiles. It didn't seem like very regal behavior on his part? but it was very Martin, and that was a much better alternative, in Vira's opinion.

"I thought I'd recognized you!" a voice suddenly cried very close to Vira's ear, making the vampire jump and start falling backwards down the stairs. Fortunately, a pair of deceptively strong arms caught her out of the air.

It seemed she was rather jumpy lately. Well, it was entirely justified, given what she'd been through recently.

She glanced up at the one who had nearly killed her and then had saved her life. It took her a moment to place the round, Breton face. "?Achille, wasn't it?"

The Blade nodded. He looked different from the last time they had met: he wore armor rather than linens and wools, and, as opposed to the serious expressions he had favored in Skingrad, his face now bore the same good humor that all the Blades had been displaying that morning.

His smile faded a bit as he got a good look at her. "Are you all right? You've got some nasty burns?" His eyes widened. "?and you're smoking!"

Martin appeared at that moment, bearing something that looked suspiciously like the blanket of a bedroll. Without preamble, he tossed it over the vampire and put a hand on her back to guide her inside. She was grateful for the consideration, but it still prickled her pride to be ushered across the square under a blanket. Plus, it was downright conspicuous.

Vira's skin immediately began cooling as Martin guided her inside. He pulled the blanket off, and she smiled gratefully up at him. Then, before they could start speaking, they both caught sight of their surroundings, and stared around wide-eyed.

They had entered some sort of hall, with a high ceiling and carved wooden arches on either side. On the opposite end of the chamber was a stone hearth larger than any the Dunmer had ever seen. The floor was stone with some wooden planking, and the white walls were covered in tapestries of gold and burgundy. Simple wooden tables set with tan cups belied the true function of the hall as a commons area. The entire chamber bore a large, warm, and vaguely foreign feel, but never forwent functionality. The hearth managed to heat the entire room, high ceiling and all.

Martin and Vira exchanged startled glances.

Achille followed them inside, his expression curious. Jauffre was right behind him.

Jauffre took the blanket. "If you will come with me, Your Highness, I can show you around." He flicked his eyes toward Vira, begrudgingly including her in the invitation. Interacting with Jauffre was like farming in the Ashlands, but at least he seemed to have accepted her presence. She could understand his concern, so she wasn't really mad at him. Not really.

Vira declined the invitation with a simple shake of her head. Martin cast her a glance, then smiled and nodded. "I'd like to speak with you later, Vira, if you get the chance."

"Of course," she responded easily, setting her pack on the table and digging through it in search of healing salve for her skin. "Stay safe until then."

"You too." He sounded like he really meant it. Knowing him, he probably did.

With that, Jauffre and Martin headed off, leaving Vira alone with Achille. The Blade settled down on a nearby bench while she got to work spreading the salve on her new burns. His eyes regarded her with sharp intelligence, and there was now a guarded expression in them that had not been there before.

At this rate, the entire temple would know about her little health condition before long. At least--if Jauffre was any indication--they would accept her presence, vampire or not, as long as Martin Septim approved of it. Now, he was her protection much more than she was his. An interesting turn of events? yet, for some reason, she was not particularly upset by it.

It felt somehow? right? to be so blatantly at Martin's ample mercy. Who better to trust than one who seemed so very trustworthy? Perhaps there was something in him that was capable of ruling after all.

[Damian Parsons]

A master piece, a true master piece.

I'm thinking of calling bethesda and telling i've found a new stroy writer better then any they've had before ^_^

[Chris BEvan]

Reading this is kind of like reading a book that you know you're going to love. Keep up the good work!

[Rachyroo]

yes I know That I always say the same... I cannot stop admiring your writing and your stories... very good chapter!!!!
please give us more soon

[Catherine N]

As always. Excellent. So nice to come back from holidays to those chapters!

Not that I need to say this but, keep it up!

[Josephine Gowing]

Damendrel left the Arcane University a great deal later than he had intended to. He and Tar-Meena had lost themselves in their world of Daedric study, discussing their theories behind the compositions of the different Planes, the psychology behind Spirit of the Daedra, and the particulars of the different Daedric cults. It proved to be a fascinating diversion, and the Altmer resolved to do it again sometime. That was, once this little issue with Mehrunes Dagon was settled.

He didn't get out of the city until late in the evening, and he forced himself to travel much of the night to make up for the lost time. He finally settled down for the night at a camp that had been kindly lent to him by a gang of bandits. The bandits seemed more keen to sleep face-down in the middle of the road, as it was no doubt easier on the many massive burns?both internal and external--they had all somehow sustained.

Damendrel arrived back at Lake Arrius Caverns at seven in the evening of Frostfall 16th, six days after the fall of Kvatch.

He took a moment to put on his red Mythic Dawn robes. The scent of smoke still clung to them, but the Altmer didn't mind. Then, he cast a simple light spell and headed down into the cavern.

It felt different, this time. Something in himself had changed since last he'd been here, but he couldn't say just what. He felt somehow? more dangerous. As if his surviving Kvatch had somehow raised him a step above the other cultists.

He showed it now, disregarding the cult's love for dark corridors and dramatic lighting by keeping a Starlight spell activated as he walked. Subscribing to ceremonial niceties simply seemed pointless, now.

He had a plan, and it did not involve any more following along at the Master's heels. He was done with that. Now, he was just going to retrieve the one interesting thing in the entire shrine?the Mysterium Xarxes?and get out. He wasn't entirely certain how he was going to do it, but that was a minor detail that could be worked out at his leisure.

He tossed the passphrase at the stoic gate guard, and headed toward the antechamber without slowing his gait. Harrow was apparently not expecting him: the Dunmer was seated in the middle of the stone platform, reading a book. The Altmer waited patiently for the Warden of the Shrine to set his book aside and stand.

The Dunmer looked him up and down suspiciously before recognition finally dawned. For just a moment, the mask slipped, and shock crossed Harrow's features. "It's you! You are alive!"

Damendrel smirked, amused. "So it would seem."

Harrow motioned for the Altmer's pack; Damendrel hesitated for only a moment before handing it over. Harrow hefted it without even giving it a glance. "In the unlikely event of your return here, I've orders to send you to the Master at once."

"Didn't know I was his type." My, where had his reverence gone? Oh, right? he'd never had any. And Eldamil was no longer around to nanny-goat him, more's the pity. "Where might I find the Master?"

Harrow looked mildly offended (Dagon forbid someone imply that Mankar Camoran had a scrap of mortality!), but said, "The main shrine," pointed toward the door on Damendrel's right.

The Altmer gave the Dunmer a salute and strolled off in the direction of the main shrine. He called over his shoulder, "Oh, and Ruma wanted one of the books in that bag; make sure to get it to her. You'll identify it by looking for the one with the ridiculously long title."

He passed through a wooden doorway and shut the door behind him, closing off any response Harrow might have had. Smirking to himself, Damendrel continued on.

With its giant statue, bloody altar, and dramatic lighting shining right on the podium, the chamber hadn't changed much. However, the lone Altmer perched on the podium, poring over his Daedra-written tome, had.

Mankar Camoran seemed somehow more human, less serene. While he still exuded power and conviction, he was not the unmoveable force that he had seemed when Damendrel had first met him. Something was bothering him, and it showed in the slight furrow of his brow, and the fervor with which he stared down at the Mysterium Xarxes.

Somehow, this made him seem much more human, and that made him much less frightening. Strange, how important the illusion of perfection was in creating a powerful image of oneself.

Nonetheless, Damendrel recognized that Mankar was still much older, and much more powerful, than himself. Damendrel suspected he had brains on Camoran, but that didn't mean he could afford to anger the cult leader. He'd still have to tread carefully? but he felt more in control of the situation that he had before. Any bowing and scraping he did now was a matter of practicality, not of any actual reverence.

As Damendrel headed down the stairs onto the floor in front of the dais, Mankar looked up, immediately transforming back into the picture of divine serenity.

Oho, well that was interesting.

Damendrel tried to look properly intimidated, keeping his eyes down and his posture unthreatening, just like he'd used to do in his youth when his grandfather had chastised him over something.

Mankar Camoran gazed down at him like a charitable father welcoming a wayward son home, and Damendrel did his best to look the part. "The Dawn is breaking."

"Greet the new day."

"And a glorious day it will be. Due to your actions and those of your brothers, the Cleansing has at last commenced. Time alone stands before Lord Dagon, awaited the age when he shall tread upon the ground that is rightfully his."

He's awfully smug about the victory, considering he didn't do anything. Damendrel was very careful to let none of his thoughts show on his face.

"Your brothers now dwell in Paradise, fallen gloriously in the name of Lord Dagon? but you stand before the shrine, yet to fall. It would appear that your task has been completed??"

"That's right. The Septim heir is dead." He lied straight to a man who could have incinerated him with a thought and didn't even bat an eye? this really said something about him. Then, the Altmer decided to embellish it, just because that was the sort of thing he did, lying or not. "He was a common priest holed up in the chapel. Once I got inside, I just popped out a couple spells and, plop, no more Septims." He allowed himself a smirk, but wiped it clean a moment later.

It actually worked. Mankar Camoran smiled a mad, benevolent smile. "Then our victory is assured. The empire will fall, making way for the new order."

Not exactly the "all-knowing" type, are you?

"And you, faithful servant, will be rewarded with a special place in Paradise." Yippee. "You shall also be raised from the position of Acolyte to Adept in a ceremony to come." Hurray? more rituals. Just what the Mythic Dawn needed. "And then you shall take a spot as a junior lieutenant, so that you may lead other brothers and sisters to glory." ... well, that one could actually be useful.

Damendrel gave Mankar a bow. "I am humbled by the honor." He wasn't, but that was his problem, not Camoran's.

"If you would care to go with my daughter now, she will describe your new duties to you."

Damendrel glanced around, and was startled to find Ruma Camoran at the top of the stairs, watching the proceedings with a sour expression.

" Until next we meet, Adept, walk the path of the Dawn."

"Praise be," Damendrel mumbled, and figured that was the sign to excuse himself. He walked over to Ruma. She regarded him with distaste, and motioned for him to follow her. He did so, after casting one last glance back at the Master. He was back to poring over his book, as serene and untouchable as ever.

As soon as Ruma and Damendrel ducked into the office area, she spat, "So you're alive, after all."

Damendrel looked at her askance, surprised by the venom in her voice. "Why do people keep saying that? I'm beginning to doubt whether it's true."

Ruma sneered. "Everyone sent on that mission arrived in Paradise but you and Jearl. Jearl later sent us a letter detailing her efforts elsewhere. You? I'd simply figured you'd died with the rest of them, but that you didn't end up in Paradise because you're an impertinent, unfaithful, traitorous bastard with no care for the Mythic Dawn at all."

"Now, I'll have you know that the circumstances of my birth were entirely legitimate," Damendrel drawled, smirking.

Granted, he hadn't made a good impression on her when last they'd met, what with him being caught hiding a Black Soul Gem on his person? but there was more to this than that. Someone, apparently, had warned Ruma about him. Damendrel would have bet his tongue that it was Jearl.

Ruma glared at him. "I'll have you know that I see right through you. One day, you will kneel before Lord Dagon, and he will rend your flesh from your body for daring to defy him so."

"Rest assured, I am quite scared." His expression belied the lie. Then, thoughtfully, he added, "Although, I suppose the other option?being eaten and [censored] remade by my own father like some sort of Dwemer construct, just to quell my rebellious spirit?is not an option. My father's dead, after all, and, were he still alive, I doubt he'd approve of cannibalism."

Ruma's face turned increasingly red as he spoke, her expression darkening with each word. When he was done, she shrieked, "INSOLENT FILTH!" Her voice cracked quite satisfyingly on the last syllable. She whirled and stormed off.

Damendrel felt quite pleased with himself. That had been a rather interesting encounter. He felt he'd learned something, although he wasn't quite sure what, at the moment.

His posture was relaxed and his smile was smug as he strolled through the caverns, making for the kitchen. He felt untouchable. It was as if, by finally making a decision to act, he'd relieved himself of some burden. Who cared what Ruma Camoran thought of him? He was almost done with her. All he needed was a little more time to plan, then he could grab the Mysterium Xarxes and leave.

As far as he could tell, there was only one obstacle left to contend with: a charismatic madman by the name of Mankar Camoran.

[Prue]

B-E-A-Utiful!

[TIhIsmc L Griot]

Before I read the new chapter, I just got to read the Vira chapter...

Good god, you forced yourself to write that? I would have never guessed! It was lovely. However, near the beginning you used 'her' instead of 'him' as a pronoun for Jauffere.

I like what you have done with Vira, and her condition. It is a slow development, and very interesting to read. Better yet... I think Martin got the hots for Vira.

[marina]

Dang. Brief, but somewhat less satisfying than the other chapters.

[Epul Kedah]

I really love Demendrel's sarcasm... he is a silver tongued bastard

very goood chapter

please update soon

[Kathryn Medows]

As Per usual GREAT!!!!

[Maya Maya]

:clap: :thumbsup:

[J.P loves]

I'm dying for something good from you amidst a sea of stories...

[Life long Observer]

Sorry for the long wait. I got lost in a good book. No excuse, but there you go.

Also, the roulette might have a couple holes, but I enjoyed writing it, so nyah.

---------------------------------------------------

"See, I told you it would only take two bottles."

"Maybe we should give him another. He still doesn't look well, does he?"

"We don't have many to spare."

Three voices. All of them were familiar, and all of them were tinged with worry. Behind that, he could hear the muffled sounds of water against the beach, punctuated by the distant shouts of sailors, dock workers, and Vlanarus Kvinchal. It was soothing in its familiarity.

Not quite as soothing was the bitter, tingly aftertaste in the back of his throat, nor were the various throbbing bruises making themselves known. Then again, a dull throbbing was good. That meant that nothing was hurting him currently.

With a final mental push toward consciousness, Sam opened his eyes. A wave of relief set in as he confirmed he was back home, safe in his shack.

"How you feeling?" Isleif asked from where he was sitting at the end of Sam's bed. The Redguard had a collection of bottles on the floor at his feet, two of which were empty. His face reflected gentle concern.

Instead of answering right away, Sam sat up and assessed the damage. He was distracted more by the minor tremors running through him than by the injuries themselves.

Actually, his injuries weren't too bad, considering he'd been walloped by a steel-clad bear. He glanced over himself shortly, noticing that most of his bruises were fading, as if they were several days old. Isleif must have dumped potions down his throat? it would explain the bottles, and the funny taste in Sam's mouth.

Really, the worst thing about the whole thing now was the way being beaten made him react. He'd used to get the shakes back when someone had knocked him around in High Rock, and it seemed that this was still the case. The tremors passed then, and they would pass now.

And so, Sam was somewhat surprised but greatly relieved to mean it when he smiled tremulously up at Isleif?through a somewhat sore jaw--and said, "I'm okay."

Isleif responded with his own smile, nodding. There was just something about Isleif's demeanor that made it easy to relax around him. Feeling entirely secure, Sam looked around.

Judging by how the sun was hitting his window, it was evening, which meant that he'd been out for either a couple hours or over a day.

Armand was standing over Sam's bed, rubbing at his upper lip and looking generally agitated. His exact expression as he looked down at the Bosmer was hard to read: something between wariness and worry.

The last person in the room was Methredhel, seated at the table with her injured leg outstretched. She watched Sam intently. As soon as he locked eyes with her, words started exploding out of her: "Who did this to you? Do you know where he lives? Give me the word and I'll kick his a?"

"Methredhel," Armand said warningly, making her mouth snap shut. His tone reflected impatience, like she'd been bursting with such questions for the last hour. Knowing Methredhel, she probably had been.

Sam peered at her for another moment, trying to sort out her expression? but, it was too complex for him to read, and it kept shifting. More, after Armand snapped at her, she stopped meeting Sam's eyes. Weird.

Armand caught his eye instead. "I, too, would like to know what happened? but only if you're up to it."

"Everyone's worried," Methredhel added, staring at the window.

Sam sat under Armand's expectant look for a moment. Then, he forced a grin. "No problem. It's just a little roughing up? nothing I haven't been through before."
Methredhel's eyes widened, making his smile droop a little bit. He turned to Armand, but watched Methredhel's reaction out of the corner of his eye. "I found out something about Captain Avidius. He didn't like it, so he? um? taught me a lesson."

Sam didn't have to watch Methredhel to get her reaction. Enraged on Sam's behalf, she burst out, "That bastard! I'm going to sneak into his quarters and cover his food with Nightshade!"

"You will do no such thing," Armand warned her sternly. His voice softened as he turned back to Sam. "I thought it was something like that. You sure you're all right?"

Sam nodded absently, staring at Methredhel. Her eyes skittered around the room, avoiding him. He was confused and a little hurt by that.

Strangely, Methredhel seemed more upset by the whole thing than Sam was. Sure, Sam wasn't particularly happy about it? but he didn't seem to have any permanent damage, so he didn't see any point in making a fuss over it. Making a fuss usually only led to more beatings; the best thing to do was to correct the behavior that had led to it in the first place, and move on.

"Methredhel." Sam waited for her to meet his eyes. It took a couple minutes, during which Sam had to repeat the name and Isleif made a comment to Armand about "distractions." Internally, Sam fretted about why she was acting like this?had he done something wrong??but he let none of it show on his face, keeping his expression confident and earnest.

Finally, she flicked her eyes toward his, and they stayed there. With as much weight as he'd ever said anything, Sam said the only words that he could think of. "I'm okay. Really."

They seemed to be the right ones. Her face broke into a shaky grin. "Yeah, of course you are. You're dumb as a rock, but at least you're as durable as one, too."

Sam returned her smile at the familiar banter. "You know, rocks make pretty good weapons, when thrown correctly. Does that mean I'm dangerous, too?"

She laughed. "Yeah, that's the key to taking you into battle. Next time we have to fight someone, I'll pick you up and throw you at them. Your hard head is sure to do massive damage!"

Sam's smile curled into an impish grin. He started to retort, but Armand cleared his throat pointedly. Both Bosmer look up at him bashfully. "It's good to see you recovering well? both of you? but I think it's about time we leave and let Sam get some rest."

Isleif began collecting the potions, but Methredhel didn't seem so inclined. She turned to Armand, shocked accusation in her voice. "You mean we're not going to do anything about this?" Isleif set the potions back down, probably anticipating a long argument like Sam was. Whenever Methredhel got that tone, everyone knew to settle in for a long one.

Armand turned to her somewhat hesitantly, also knowing that tone. "What do you expect us to do? Walk up to the Legion Compound and accuse Avidius of taking a known pickpocket to task?"

"That would be a good start, yes!"

The Redguard shook his head. "You know that no one will listen, Methredhel. The best thing is for Sam to just lay low for a while." Funny, how closely that matched Luronk's words. Fingering his bruises, he understood now why the Orc had been worried.

Methredhel glared up at the Redguard through narrowed eyes. "You know what I think?"

"What?" Armand sounded resigned.

"I think you don't want to go after Avidius." Armand stilled, making Sam peer at him. Was? was Methredhel right? "You're always quick to go after Lex, right? Well, what's the difference with Avidius? What makes him special? He's just as corrupt as Lex!"

"He's more corrupt than Lex," Armand mumbled, rubbing a hand over his eyes as if suddenly tired. He took a breath and then let it out as a sigh as the female Bosmer continued to watch him with accusing eyes. Isleif's face was unreadable.

Armand seemed to be bracing himself. The world seemed to have hushed in wait for his explanation? even the waves of Lake Rumare sounded quieter.

Finally, Armand took another breath and turned his gaze to encompass both Bosmer. "There's something you two need to understand about the Guild. Something I think one of you has had a hard time understanding." Armand glanced pointedly at Sam, making the Bosmer stiffen in shock. "We're thieves. Criminals. The scum of society. And so, we rely on the scum of society to function. People like Lex?" He sighed again, staring at the ceiling. "The problem with Hieronymus Lex is that he's not corrupt. He knows about us, and it bothers him. He sees himself as some sort of crusader for the greater good, and, while his beliefs may be too black-and-white, they're not entirely wrong."

"What are you saying?" Sam asked. He glanced at Methredhel; she looked taken aback, as if she knew what Armand was going to say next, and it was an unpleasant revelation.

"Think about it, Samlir," Armand said. "We need someone in the Legion who can make guards look the other way from time to time, or who can alter a certain record or warrant. The Lexes and Civellos of the Legion sure as Oblivion aren't going to do that."

The realization dawned slowly, horror accompanying it. Swallowing, Sam asked, "So Avidius is a Thieves' Guild contact?"

"Not a contact, no. But someone willing to take bribes. We need people like him in the Legion, Sam. The downside? is that people like him are in the Legion."

The room was quiet while the two Bosmer digested that. Methredhel chewed on her lip, obviously turning something around in her head. Isleif watched the scene impassively. Armand watched Methredhel, as aware as Sam that, if anyone was going to speak right now, it was her.

She didn't disappoint. She released her lip and met Sam's eyes squarely. "Sam, what, exactly, did you do to make Avidius so mad? You said you found out something; what was it?" Armand made a groaning noise.

Sam shrugged, trying his best to relieve the tension hanging around all of them. "He'd shaken down two citizens at Jensine's? accused them of pickpocketing. I met one of them?Luronk?but he was too scared about it to want to do anything." Sam's hand reached up to rub at the bruise at his throat, where Avidius had pinned him against the post. He forced his hand back down again. "I didn't get in to see Ruslan, though. And it looks like Avidius has also been taking money from the Merchant District shopkeepers once a month. Two hundred Septims from each, if what Thoronir gave me is what everyone does?" Sam paused, brows furrowing as he glanced around the shack. "I had it on me? Avidius must have taken it. I? erm? wasn't really sure what to do with it?"

The shack fell to silence for a moment. Then, surprisingly, Isleif spoke, his gentle voice helping to diffuse the tension. "We've suspected his hold on the shopkeepers for quite some time, but he must be getting bold to openly accost regular citizens." Isleif's eyes flicked toward Sam's. "Did you say 'Ruslan?'" The Bosmer nodded. "I know him."

"It's probably that Gate," Methredhel said bitterly. "Only one Captain on duty in the entire city? Yeah, no surprise that would make someone like Avidius bold."

"So the Gate's not closed yet?" Sam asked.

Methredhel shook her head, and Sam couldn't help the worried look that passed over his face. Why were they being so slow to close the thing? A shiver passed through him as he recalled what the rumors had said had happened to Kvatch. Could that happen here? Shivering, Sam shoved that thought out of his mind.

That shifted his mind to other concerns. Talking about the plight of Ruslan and Luronk made Sam feel sad for them all over again. There was just something inside the Bosmer that wanted to help the downtrodden. It felt strange that, even though he might be able to help, Armand didn't want him to. And why not? Because Avidius was such a terrible guard. It made a twisted sort of sense, but not the kind Sam wanted to agree to.

"Can't we? do something?"

All eyes turned to the Bosmer sitting on the bed. "About the Gate?" Armand asked incredulously.

Sam started to shake his head, paused, then finished shaking his head. A fighter or mage needed to handle the Gate? not a bunch of thieves. "No, about Ruslan and Luronk, and about the Merchant District shopkeepers."

"Sam?" Armand said warningly.

"It's not fair to let Avidius just push everyone around like that." Sam leveled his most powerful stare at Armand? which wasn't very powerful, but it got the point across about how serious he was about this. "He has no fear of anyone. He'll seriously hurt someone soon? if he hasn't done it already." Sam paused, seeing something flash across Armand's face. His voice began rising with each word. "He already has, hasn't he? He's hurt someone real bad. How can you let that go?"

"The Guild needs--"

"[censored] the Guild!" His voice cracked on the expletive. Everyone in the room was stunned to silence, Sam most of all. He was shocked to find that he was shaking, and it wasn't from what it had been before. After taking a breath, Sam continued on, his voice quivering. "What the Guild needs shouldn't be more important than doing what's right. If we make the Guild stronger at the cost of the innocent, then we really are the evil organization Lex thinks we are, and he's right to hunt us. We should be focusing on using what we know to help people, not on strengthening some internal structure that can only exist at the cost of the oppressed."

Armand and Sam matched stares. Then, the Redguard broke off and rubbed his face again. "By the Shadow, you're so na?ve." Sam slumped, the fight going out of him at the doyen's tone. Why did he even bother?

Methredhel, however, took up the fight for him. "Is that so bad, Armand? Maybe that's what the Guild needs: direction."

"Methredhel, think practically." The Redguard countered. "We can't function if we don't have people like Avidius."

"We're thieves. If anyone can find a way, it's us." She matched him stare for stare.

The two traded stares for a long moment. Sam couldn't decide which was more intimidating.

Then, Armand's face softened, going far enough as to quirk up around the edges of the mouth. "He's really gotten to you, hasn't he?"

She nodded, looking somber. "It's the right thing. We need people like him, to remind us where we stand in the grand scheme."

Armand turned and regarded Sam with a thoughtful look. The Bosmer shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to make of the way the conversation had turned. Slowly, the Redguard asked, "Sam, if we did chose to take down Avidius, how would you go about it?"

Sam blinked, wondering if this was a trick question. He glanced at the other two Thieves. Isleif smiled encouragingly, and Methredhel beamed victoriously. "Uh? well, I'd try to get him arrested. That thing with the shopkeepers could get him put in prison for? um? well, I don't know how long."

"Ten years, minimum." Armand provided thoughtfully. When the other three gave him questioning looks, he gave them a sly quirk of the lips. "You don't wage war against a by-the-book officer of the Legion without learning a thing or two of what's in that book."

"It would get him off the streets." Methredhel's face was lit with an excited grin. "And we could pull something like what we did Lex after the tax raid, and return the money he took as a token of good faith."

Isleif winked at Methredhel. "I'd have expected you to want to keep at least some of it, Methredhel. You've always taken what you wanted."

"Yeah, well? Things change." For some reason she smiled at Sam as she said it. He felt suddenly? awkward. Her gaze skittered away a moment later.

Armand rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully. "My boss is going to tear me a new one if I pull something like this without consulting him..." Everyone stilled. Sam watched Armand worriedly; it had never occurred to him that the Gray Fox might not approve! However, Armand continued, a smile creasing the corners of his eyes. "Then again, we rarely have two thieves with such initiative." His smile was proud, and Sam's worry eased. "I don't think he'll mind."

Methredhel let out a joyous whoop, and Sam couldn't help but share her elation. Wow, they were actually going to be doing something about this? Sam's smile fell a bit as he reached up a hand and touched the bruise at his throat again. A nasty little voice in the back of his head was telling him that his reasons weren't entirely selfless. That scared him, so he crushed the voice into silence.

Armand cleared his throat and clapped his hands together, slipping into business mode. "All right. Our mission is to get Audens Avidius arrested for corruption. We're aiming for a long sentence, so exposing his Market District racket is our best bet. There are two major requirements for arresting a Legion officer." He held up two fingers, and ticked off one of them. "First, a Legion officer can only be arrested by another officer of equal or greater rank. That means we need a Captain or greater." He ticked off the other finger. "Second, we need two witnesses willing to testify against said officer. Both these requirements could pose a problem."

Methredhel stared at the ceiling. Sam could practically hear the gears turning in her head, like some tireless Dwemer machine. "Are there any merchants that would be willing to testify?"

Sam shook his head. "Probably not. He's got everyone pretty intimidated." Sam's hand almost went to the bruise on his throat again, but he pulled it back down at the last minute. "I don't think any Waterfronter is going to change their minds."

"What about other operatives?" Methredhel turned to Armand. "Could Othrelos or someone like that convince them to testify?"

"Not without inciting questions," Armand responded. "I don't think any of the merchants will be willing to testify, no matter what we do. Squealing to the Legion is bad for business, even for the most honest of merchants."

Methredhel nodded, apparently understanding a logic that Sam didn't. "That leaves only two possible witnesses: Luronk and Ruslan."

"But neither of them know about the Merchant District thing," Sam said, figuring he should contribute. The other Thieves frowned. "Besides, Luronk seemed pretty freaked out. I don't think he'll testify either."

Methredhel was chewing on her lip, lost in thought.

Armand turned his frown to Isleif. "What about this Ruslan character? You said you knew him."

Isleif nodded, his face oddly blank. "He's come around for handouts several times. I've given him a total of three hundred twenty Septims to date."

Sam felt his eyes widen at Isleif. "You keep track?"

Isleif just gave him a warm smile.

Armand nodded. "Yes, that might do. Usually, I'd send Myvryna to lean on him a little? but?" He didn't need to finish the sentence; the unearthing of Lex's mole was still fresh in the Waterfronters' minds. "I'd ask you, Sam, since you're already so deep into this? but I honestly don't think you could do 'intimidating.'" There was no indication that he was joking, but Sam wasn't insulted. The Redguard was probably right.

"What about Isleif?" The Bosmer ventured, turning to the Redguard in question.

Isleif's smile stayed firmly in place. "Are you kidding? I'm Isleif the Open-Handed; I don't believe in extortion." Sam watched, but there was not a single indication on the Redguard's face that told the lie for what it was, even though that was exactly what they were doing.

Sam found his eyes threaten to pop out of his head as this revelation struck him. With all the time he had spent creating his "lowly pickpocket" front, he had never considered the possibility that others were doing the same thing. He found such a thought? uncomfortable. How much of Isleif's warm, generous personality was just an act, put in place for the purpose of the Guild?

Sam glanced uncertainly at the other two. Armand watched him curiously. The Redguard had a front, Sam realized. It was just like the Bosmer's. The Redguard looked and acted like some sort of commoner during the day (Sam was sketchy on the details, to be honest), but was more himself after dark fell, when he could be a Thieves Guild doyen.

Or was that an act, too? How much did Sam know about Armand Christophe, really? What if something darker lurked under what he seemed to be now, like a mask under a mask?

Sam turned his gaze reluctantly to Methredhel, but the other Bosmer was deep in thought, and had been for quite some time. Sam didn't even want to consider that anything about her was a lie? the very thought sent a stab of panic through him. Had she ever seemed secretive, like she was hiding something of herself?

No, he realized. She hadn't. Not ever in the entire time he had known her. Methredhel was open and honest about everything, even when it had a tendency to hurt others' feelings. She didn't even have any sort of cover identity, but instead wore her leathers proudly, letting the entire world know that she was a thief.

Something about that made Sam smile.

Finally, Armand cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. "I'll handle Ruslan myself. Do we have anything on this Luronk character?"

Isleif began shaking his head when Methredhel burst out, "We don't need him." All three turned startled glances at her. Her face was set in a sly grin, her eyes dancing. She had a plan. "Sam, you've never been seen close-up by Captain Itius Hayn, right?"

He blinked. "Um, no? but, how did you know?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "As if the entire Waterfront isn't following your exploits." Sam glanced at the Redguards for confirmation: both nodded.

"I take it you have a plan?" Armand asked with interest.

"I do." Her grin could have lit the shadiest alley as she sat back and started counting points off on her hands, looking completely comfortable in the role of the mastermind. "We're going to need a list of the Captains' current rotations, a sack of two hundred Septims, Jair, something with Fortify Speed, upper-class clothes in Sam's size, and?" She glanced meaningfully at Sam. "?soap. A lot of soap."

----------------------------------------------

Sam had never known how uncomfortable it was to be rich.

His skin had been scrubbed raw in an attempt to get out a couple decades' worth of dust and grime, and it now felt puffy and sensitive to the touch. The red velvet outfit he wore had tight cuffs and a high collar that stuck to the back of the neck?Sam couldn't imagine what it felt like in summer, when the city's sticky heat would have bathed the thing in sweat. Worst of all were the shoes. Sam hated having his feet squished into those confining little devices; he couldn't wait until he could take them off and wiggle his toes freely again.

He was confident that Avidius wouldn't recognize him. By the Shadow, his own mother might not recognize him right now. His clothing was clean and neat, right down to the dyed green leather shoes. His hair was slicked back with some sort of expensive scented oil, and that alone was likely enough to trick the casual observer, just because his hair was usually an unruly mop. But there was more? he had penciled a point into his eyebrows, applied powders to lighten his apparent complexion (and to cover the last of his bruises), and clipped a fake earring onto one earlobe. To top it all off, he had practiced his manner so that it was properly snooty: his nose stuck slightly in the air and his body language full of self-absorbed confidence.

It would have been fun, if it weren't so uncomfortable.

He strolled through the Main Ingredient, an expensive shoulderbag at his side, concealing an unmarked sack full of two hundred Septims in small coins. He pretended to look over the ingredients for sale while the proprietor looked on. Ruslan was nearby, dressed as himself, and looking decidedly uncomfortable with the fact. The Redguard had already served half his purpose?distracting Ogier Georick with questions while Sam slipped around and unlocked the basemant door?but that was the easy part.

They had been lucky. The four Imperial City Captains were working a tight rotation for the duration of the small crisis: twelve hours at the Gate, six hours patrolling the city, and six hours to rest up. It just so happened that Avidius' shift was right before Hayn's. It was perfect for Methredhel's plan.

It was simple, yet somehow complicated, just like all of Methredhel's plans seemed to be. Hayn got off Gate duty at noon, at which time he came back to the City to relieve Avidius of patrol, sending Avidius on a six-hour break.

Jair would wait in the Talos Plaza District, watching for Hayn to come enter the city after his Gate shift. At that point, it was the pickpocket's job to find Avidius before Hayn did and swipe something in front of him?like Sam, Jair made no secret that he was a pickpocket, so he was one of the few Thieves who could risk such an obvious act of thievery. When Avidius took up the chase, Jair was to flee with all his might toward the Main Ingredient, downing a Fortify Speed potion if it was necessary.

In the meantime, Hayn would be looking for Avidius to relieve him. Jair was instructed to try to keep Avidius out of Hayn's vicinity. And so, if no one on the street knew where he was, Fathis Ules would be wandering the Market District, ready to direct Hayn to the Main Ingredient.

Once there, the fun would begin.

There were many things that could go wrong. What if Hayn got to Avidius before Jair did? What if Hayn saw the chase? What if Jair got caught, or hurt, or killed? There were so many things that relied on no one close to the operation having horrendously bad luck. Then again, Methredhel didn't seem to believe in bad luck.

Sam worried about all these things as he browsed the Main Ingredient. However, he did his best to keep up the act, looking the snooty upper-class something-or-other. Probably some rich boy dabbling in magic because he was so unoccupied. Yeah, rich people had it rough all right. Maybe that was why they wore such uncomfortable clothes: so they had something to complain about. Sam had been loitering in the shop for fifteen minutes, and he could see that Ogier Georick was getting restless waiting for him to buy something.

Everyone in the shop jumped as the door slammed open, and a brown-colored blur jetted through. Sam "accidentally" knocked a retort across the room, shattering it (flinching as it did so? that thing could have fed him for a month!). Ogier's eyes instinctively went to the retort, giving Jair time to duck around the outside of the counter and into the alcove that held the basemant door. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the pickpocket toss him a relieved smile. Then, his part over, Jair disappeared into the basemant, down toward a trapdoor that very few people knew about.

By the time three red-faced guards burst in, Sam-the-Snob was apologizing primly to a very confused and upset Breton alchemist, reaching into a bag to pay reparations. The alchemist's eyes darted from the door, to the guards, to the spot where Jair had ducked under the desk, looking very uncomfortable with the entire thing.

"Where did he go?" When Sam heard Avidius' sharp tones behind him, his stomach fluttered, partly from fear, and partly from anticipation. Time to play.

Sam-the-Snob counted to five before he deigned to turn and face the guards, schooling his expression to be the least Skiv-like as possible.

Sure enough, three guards were panting in the doorway, looking around with bows drawn. Avidius stood in the center, looking like his grumpy self. The Captain growled, "Where did he go, Georick? I won't ask a third time."

The alchemist shook his head, glancing uncertainly at Sam. "I'm afraid I'm not sure. Go ahead and search? I don't want thieves hiding out in my shop." Sam suppressed a giggle.

Avidius nodded and signed to his men. They split off, one heading upstairs, and one checking behind counters and tables on the main floor. Avidius started toward the basemant? but Sam had no intention of letting him go down there.

Sam stuck his nose in the air and tapped Avidius on the armored shoulder. "Excuse me officer, but I was wondering if I might get directions to the Tiber Septim Hotel."

"Not now," he growled distractedly.

Sam-the-Snob, however, was used to getting his way. He drew himself up, making sure to jingle the money in his shoulderbag as he did. "I beg your pardon?"

Avidius paused at the sound of the shoulderbag (Sam had known that he would). The Captain turned and cast a considering gaze over Sam.

That nearly ruined everything.

Sam hadn't considered how hard it would be to meet the Imperial's gaze after what had happened to him. He fought not to show the spikes of terror zapping up his spine, nor the odd shock of anger that came from deep inside him. It took everything he knew about disguises and everything Methredhel had taught him about bluffing to meet Avidius' cruel gaze with a cool, arrogant one of his own. Not looking away took even more.

And yet, somehow, he did it. He wasn't entirely certain how. It suddenly felt like he'd slid into a skin that wasn't his own. Sam the Skiv's fear had no place here, when he obviously wasn't the Skiv. The Snob was rich? he felt no need to cower before a Legion Captain, because the Snob had done nothing wrong.

It was a state of mind both welcome and unnerving.

Coolly, Sam said, "I'll overlook such disrespect this time, because I have many questions I wish to be answered." He crossed his arms and shifted his weight, making the money in his bag clank against the counter. Looking up at the Imperial, he wouldn't have been surprised if Avidius had licked his lips.

"If you have very many, I might need some compensation. A Legion Captain's time is not his own."

Sam pretended to consider it. "I suppose that is fair."

At that point, it was a matter of distracting Avidius until Hayn arrived. It took longer than Sam had expected? but that was just as well, because in that time the two other guards apparently turned up nothing and left. Sam kept asking Avidius questions about the city?locations, people, history, and other touristy things, some of which were pretty interesting?and occasionally slipped him a coin or two to keep him interested. He felt like a master manipulator; he wasn't sure where all this was coming from, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

Meanwhile, the alchemist got to work cleaning up the shattered retort, occasionally eying the two with distrust. Ruslan seemed intent on ensconcing himself in one corner, so as not to catch Avidius' attention? not that Sam blamed him.

Finally, Hayn walked through the door and hailed his fellow Captain. Avidius turned in greeting. Hidden by Avidius' broad back, the Bosmer reached into his bag for the sack of gold and used one smooth motion to attach it the Avidius' belt.

Sam glanced around discretely, tensing as he noticed Ogier Georick staring at him with wide eyes. Well, he'd have found out anyway.

Avidius glanced back at Sam, and for a moment he feared he'd been caught. But, no, the Captain simply said, "I'm afraid I'm off duty, now. Feel free to come by tomorrow if you have more questions." He was surprisingly nice to people who gave him money.

Sam nodded solemnly in supposed understanding. Inside, he was fighting back a giggle.

Hayn and Avidius exchanged a salute, and both turned toward the exit. However, when Avidius took a step forward, a very conspicuous jingle sounded against his metal greaves. Both Legion Captains froze. Hayn turned to regard Avidius with a perplexed look. Avidius didn't seem to be able to move at all.

Hayn was reportedly not very bright? but he knew first-hand how much money a Guard Captain's salary was worth. Unfortunately for Avidius, it wasn't that much.

Hayn looked suspicious, but he wasn't asking questions. It took Sam a moment to realize that he might not?accusing a fellow officer was probably not a good idea. They had been expecting Hayn to take some initiative, but it seemed less and less likely as the seconds stretched out. So, Sam improvised.

He stuck his nose in the air and put on an arrogant scowl. "I certainly hope you won't thrash us if he finds out. It's certainly not our fault."

Hayn glanced at him, rising to the bait. "Find out what?" Avidius turned too, much more slowly and with shock written all over his features.

Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed. "I'm not saying anything. He said that if anyone of us testified against him, he'd kill us. I don't have a death wish, and neither does Ogier or that fellow in the corner."

Avidius' eyes bore into the Bosmer, the expression of horror becoming tinged with outrage. The alchemist's face was pale, and he kept mouthing "no" at Sam.

Ruslan reluctantly took his cue. He emerged from the corner, eyes darting longingly toward the exit. "Captain? sir, I don't want any trouble, but this watchman threatened the shopkeeper and took a bag of money."

Hayn blinked at the Redgaurd. "And you're willing to testify to that?"

Avidius turned to glare at Ruslan, making a growling noise. The Redguard flinched, but nodded. By the Shadow, they would have to make this up to Ruslan later.

Hayn's features hardened as he eyed his fellow Captain. "And you other two? Will you testify? I need another witness."

Ogier's eyes were locked on Sam, his mouth clamped firmly shut.

The Bosmer sighed, as if this weren't what they'd been planning all along. It was funny, in its own way. "Well, fine. I will testify as well. I suppose he can't 'teach us a lesson' if he's in prison, right?"

Avidius whirled back on Sam, his face going red and his eyes popping out. For a moment Sam was amused by it. Then, Avidius hissed, "YOU!"

[censored]. He wasn't supposed to be recognized. That might be a problem.

Avidius made a strangled sound and launched himself at the Bosmer. Sam was slammed into the floor by a wall of steel. It was d?j? vu as the Imperial began walloping him with his fists.

Fortunately, Avidius got only three punches in before he was dragged off the Bosmer and slammed up against the wall. Itius Hayn's face was stone as he pinned the other Imperial against the stone. "Audens Avidius, you are under arrest for extortion and assault. Surrender peacefully and keep what little dignity you have left."

Avidius didn't struggle physically, but his blood was still hot from jumping Sam. Even with his face pressed up against the wall, he spat, "I'm surprised Itius. I didn't think even you would stoop to arresting a fellow Captain."

Hayn didn't even blink. Sam was beginning to like the guy, even though he was a guard. "Only those who break the law."

Avidius seemed to give up the fight. He went limp. "I'll take my chances in prison rather than fight you." Hayn nodded and loosened his hold enough to start removing the other's armor. This was the ultimate humiliation, but Avidius didn't fight. As Hayn finished and began dragging Avidius out of the shop, the ex-Captain's glare swept to Sam. "Mark my words, though? someday I'll get out. I'll get out, Itius, and everyone who did this to me in will pay." Avidius' cruel eyes bore into Sam as he said it. The Bosmer shivered on the inside, but his exterior remained cool and unmoved.

Then, the watchmen were gone. Sam glanced around, and wasn't surprised to see that Ruslan had disappeared as well. This left Sam alone in the shop with a wide-eyed Ogier Georick.

The Bosmer picked himself up and dusted himself off with dignity and snootiness. He found it amusing to keep up the act, even though his silent audience obviously knew it was a lie.

He swooped over to the pile of Avidius' things, finding the sack of gold and hefting it. He casually put it on the counter. "I believe this is yours."

Ogier managed to find his voice. "No. No, I won't take this."

"But of course you will. I broke a retort." The Breton swallowed, but didn't push the sack away.

Sam moved to the door. As put his hand on the knob, the alchemist's voice rose again, stronger this time. "Wait, aren't you going to explain this? Who are you? What was all this about?"

An impish grin slipped through the Bosmer's cool exterior, breaking his carefully constructed disguise. He wiggled a pinky at the Breton. "Think of us as concerned citizens, using your shop to take out a mutual annoyance. Thank you for the location!" And with that, he slipped out the door, whistling to himself as he walked down the street.

He had new bruises, someone had just sworn revenge against him, and there was now one less Guard Captain to fight the hordes outside the city? and yet, this was probably one of the best days of Samlir's life. He'd just taken out the most corrupt guard in the city, ending his sadistic rule on the spot. Knowing that gave him a warm fuzzy feeling that was worth all the uncomfortable outfits and squished toes in the world.

[Liv Staff]

Alright, I've decided that I'm going to crack down on your mistakes (however few there are). Well i'ts not so much of a mistake as something that detracts from the story. The word impish was used twice, and in terms of the length of your book, pretty close to each other. Secondly, there is an unnescesary 'the', and a missing 'to' in the following sentence. "Hidden by Avidius' broad back, the Bosmer reached into his bag for the sack of gold and used one smooth motion to attach it to(missing before) the Avidius' belt. " Lastly, it may just be my incompetence, but I only fully understood Methrendel's plot until it happened. Judging by your harsh critiques of people, I wager you won't mind about this one. Excellent work as always. B)

[Vicki Blondie]

I loved it, though yes as Chaestro said there were errors here and there. I didn't mind not really knowing about Methendrel's plan until it occurred. I didn't even bother to fathom what she was planning and eagerly kept reading instead. Jolly good chapter.

I especially love this quality about Sam. No matter how pathetic he feels he is, no matter how much he doubts and critiques himself, he still succeeds in doing that with he doubted he could do. I find that to be a little weird, though, since usually when you think you will fail, you will. But you compensate by making little things fail, like the holding up of his disguise near the end, that make it all the more believable.