Chapter 5: Motive for Homicide Well they started it...

There was a dull thud as Slade's small wooden craft bumped against the shore of the largest island in the Sheogorad region, nestling itself snugly in the damp sand. In the quickly fading daylight, Nathan could make out the barren landscape off in the distance, a few interweaving roads barely visible.

"There," Slade commented simply, getting up and out of the craft. "We should be able to walk to Dagon Fel from here." He turned to face Nathan, his face taking on a rather stoic expression. "That's where the first of the Brotherhood Speakers from the Council should be."

"Swell," Nathan grumbled in response, hefting himself out of the boat. Slade had already explained to him, Bruno and Netta that the Speakers they were looking for were part of some kind of leadership council for the Dark Brotherhood, and that a number of them were scattered throughout Vvardenfell. Unfortunately, he'd also explained that he didn't know their names, or where exactly to find them...just the cities they were located in. Nathan turned around to Netta, still in the boat, as she tended to the still passed out Alderin. "How's he doing, Netta?" he asked curiously.

"Lemme check," she replied, before kneeling over Alderin's prone form, laying with his back on the deck of the ship. The young Dunmer took in a deep breath, and positioned her face directly over his. "ALDERIN!!!" she hollered at the top of her lungs, the sound of her voice echoing off the hundreds of rocks in the distance. And yet, Alderin's body didn't stir. Netta looked up at Nathan and shrugged. "Still out, I guess," she explained.

"Unbelievable..." Slade grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. Nathan noted that he found it slightly disturbing, not being able to see the man's eyes beneath those tinted lenses, but decided not to dwell on it. "He's been out for nearly two hours now," the man observed, before looking over to Nathan. "Is he always so-"

"Cowardly? Squeamish? Pathetic?" Nathan asked, anticipating the man's query. His gaze fell to the ground, and he shook his head miserably. "Yeah, I'm afraid so..."

"I've got an idea," Bruno announced to the others, standing up suddenly from the boat. He placed his arms under Alderin's back, hopped out of the beached craft, and headed towards the water.

"What the hell are you doing, Bruno?" Netta asked, genuinely intrigued by the Nord's actions. Standing at the lapping edge of the tides, Bruno rather casually tossed Alderin into the water, the Elf's body creating a large splash as it hit the surface of the water, face down.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence as the group watched Alderin bob gently up and down in the waves. "Bruno, as irritating as he is, I hardly think that letting Alderin drown is the answer here," Nathan intervened, his gaze locked on the Nord.

"This is something my mom always used to do," Bruno explained, turning around. "When I was younger, I had a bad habit of going out and drinking a little too much. So, when I wouldn't wake up the next day, my mom would pick me up, throw me into a pool of freezing cold ice water, and Ysmir's your uncle, I'd be up!" the Nord exclaimed, nodding in approval. "Then, of course, she'd dry me off, I'd cuddle with my blankey, and she'd help me nurse my hangover..."

Nathan gave a slight nod of understanding before something clicked in his mind. "Wait a minute, blankey?" Netta asked, beating the Imperial to the punch. The Elf looked to Bruno as the Nord stared off into space, fondly remembering. "How old were you when this happened?"

The question seemed to bring Bruno back into reality, and he thought for a moment. "It started when I was around eight, I believe," he replied, intently focused. "But everybody always said I was drinking at a fifteen-year-old level!"

The conversation was cut short, however, as Alderin suddenly came back to life, thrashing wildly in the water in a frantic attempt to right himself. He let out a long, desperate gasp for air as his head thrust over the surface of the water, and he looked around in a dazed and confused manner. "What the...how the-" he began to ask, completely discombobulated.

"Hey there, Alderin," Netta greeted the Altmer as she stepped out of the boat, gazing at him with an arched eyebrow. "Sleep well?"

"Sleep!? What the hell are you talking about!?" the Elf screamed back in reply, scanning the group. "What's he doing here?" he asked, pointing to Slade who watched the spectacle with detached interest. "And how the hell did I end up in the water!?"

"Nordic technique," Nathan explained to the Altmer, a smile forming on his face. "Apparently, quite effective, too." Bruno beamed happily in triumph.

Alderin's eyes narrowed, anger flashing across his face. "You drunken bastard! I shoulda known it was you!" he roared, storming up the beach and coming face to face with the massive Nord. Water dripped readily from his hair and clothing as he brought an accusative finger mere inches from the man's face. "I could have drowned! Anything to say about that!?'

Bruno merely patted the enraged Elf on the shoulder, a gentle, genuine smile on his lips. "You're welcome, buddy," he replied, before reaching into his jacket for a well deserved mead. He turned around and headed down one of the narrow roads, popping the top off the bottle. Alderin merely stood in place, eyes bulging, frozen by rage and surprise.

"We should get going, guys," Nathan explained to the others, heading after Bruno. "We'll explain everything on the way to Dagon Fel, Alderin!" And with that he, Slade, Netta and a very disgruntled Alderin quickly set off after Bruno, the last of the sun's beams fading beneath the horizon.

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The stars and moons overhead were out in full force by the time the group neared Dagon Fel, a massive Dwemer tower looming in the distance. Tiny dots of light, torches and lanterns presumably, wandered amongst the buildings as they approached the small village.

Nathan, meanwhile, turned to the newcomer of their group, and decided to indulge his curiosity. "Slade, I don't believe you ever told us why you decided to betray the Dark Brotherhood," the young Imperial pointed out.

Slade paused on the road for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before gazing up at the sky, at the hundreds of stars that blinked elegantly overhead. "Tell me, Nathan," he began, his sight never shifting from the heavens above. "Do you believe...in love?"

"Aw crap..." Alderin grumbled sourly in the background, slapping his palm against his face. "Here we go."

"Um...I guess so," Nathan replied, his tone uncertain. He shot Slade an uncertain look, and cringed slightly as he asked his next question. "Mind if I ask...why?"

"Because I do believe in love," Slade replied, shifting his glance back to Nathan. "I love...killing people," he explained, his tone earnest.

"Well personally, I prefer alcoholic beverages," Bruno interjected, raising his bottle of mead. "But as long as you love something, right?"

Netta furrowed her brow in confusion, and looked directly at the 'love' stricken Imperial. "Uh, this may sound like a stupid question, but if you love killing people so much, then why would you want to quit the Dark Brotherhood?" she asked, perplexed.

"Like any good hobby, killing should be done for personal satisfaction," Slade replied calmly, his voice taking on its usual monotone. "I feel that people should be killed because you've come to hate them for reasons entirely your own...not because some pompous Listener decides that it would make the Night Mother happy." He turned to face Netta. "And of course, the Brotherhood doesn't exactly let its members retire, so-"

"So you figured that we'd be the perfect way for you to get out," Nathan pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "Help us defeat the Brotherhood, and suddenly you're free to go off and kill people when and where you want, right?"

"Exactly," Slade responded, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "That's not going to be a problem, is it?"

"So long as it means you're killing them and not trying to kill us, I don't care!" Alderin exclaimed, clearly quite comfortable with...and possibly used to...the idea of being a tool. "Now let's just get going, shall we?"

"First things first," Bruno replied, heading once again for Dagon Fel. "Before we do anything, I need something to eat."

"Eat?" Nathan asked, as he and the others headed after the Nord. "Why didn't you eat something while we were back at the base?"

"Did you see that crap?" the Nord asked in reply, giving Nathan a sceptical look. "That grey, slimy [censored]? It looked like a goblin's afterbirth." He shook his head in disapproval. "I wasn't gonna eat that!"

"Actually, a goblin's afterbirth is more of a greenish-blue, and it's really more gelatinous than slimy," Netta pointed out cheerfully. "I read it in some book on...inter-species anatomy...one time!" she explained, struggling slightly with the topic name.

"Thank you for that pleasant mental image, Netta," Alderin growled bitterly. "I really needed to know the specifics about goblin childbearing."

"Very well, then," Slade replied to Bruno, before looking to the others of the group. "The four of you go ahead; I'll see if I can find where the Speaker is holed up," he explained. With that, he pulled his hood over his head, and slinked into the shadows behind one of the sheds next to the water.

"Alright, then!" Bruno exclaimed, heading for a nearby restaurant, the Scurvy Slaughterfish. "It's feeding time!"

Nathan and the others found themselves in a large, relatively calm establishment, with only a few people scattered about the eatery. They headed for a nearby vacant table, surprisingly clean and well kept, as a female Khajiit approached them, a small piece of parchment in her furry hand.

"Can I get the four of you anything?" the woman asked, her feline ears perked forward. The humanoid cat wore a short sleeved shirt and a simple skirt, which matched the attire of the other servers that casually meandered about the place. In the corner of his eye, Nathan could see the woman's tail flick back and forth periodically.

"Just give us four of the biggest and cheapest meals ya got," Bruno requested, his massive hands resting on the table top. The Khajiit gave a slight shrug of acceptance before heading for the counter to place the order.

"You know, I can't remember the four of us actually eating anything since we left the Tiber Septim Hotel," Netta pointed out, looking between the others at the table.

Alderin looked off to the side for a moment, apparently trying to remember something. "Come to think of it, can you remember any of us eating or sleeping the entire time we've been travelling?" the Altmer asked, furrowing his brow.

There was an awkward silence as the quartet sat for a moment, reflecting on the two observations. That line of thought was interrupted, however, when the Khajiit waitress quickly returned with a large tray, four plates atop it. Nathan noticed that the woman seemed oddly nervous, however.

"C-courtesy of the ch-chef," she stammered, placing the four plates on the table. She was shaking so badly, though, that she nearly dropped them as she did so. "F-free of ch-charge..." As soon as the dishes were laid down on the table, the woman quickly set off again.

"That was weird," Nathan pointed out, looking to the counter. A young man wearing a tall white chef's hat, a Breton, glanced at the foursome nervously, before quickly turning away, attending to some other dish.

"As long as it's free, who cares!" Bruno exclaimed, grabbing at his silverware and sifting through his meal; some kind of souffl?, by the looks of it.

Nathan gave a slight shrug before looking down at his meal, and noticing something...disturbing. "Um, this seems oddly out of place," he grumbled, pulling a nightshade flower out of a rather sloppily prepared salad. He turned the deadly flora in his hand, scowling at it.

"Maybe it's just a garnish," Netta suggested, looking at her own food, covered in a viscous green liquid.

"I don't think poisons are typically used as a garnish, Netta," Nathan replied with an earnest tone.

Bruno, meanwhile, examined the inside of his dish, and discovered a heaping mound of fire salt. He prodded at it in an absent minded fashion, before looking between the others. "Think I should send it back?" he asked curiously.

"That does it!" Alderin roared, exploding from his seat. "I demand to speak with the cook!" The Altmer, followed quickly by the others, filed towards the counter, and the Breton chef behind it.

"Oh [censored]!" the young man wailed frantically, before bolting for the back room. The quartet was quick to follow, however, as they shoved past a large set of white double doors, and into a large storage room in the back.

The large, poorly lit room was filled with all sorts of cooking supplies placed on metal shelves: meats, pastries, cooking gear, and even two massive wooden barrels in the back, labelled 'liquid butter'. More importantly, however, was the eight or so other chefs in the room, as well as the fattest, most obscenely obese Orc Nathan had ever seen in his life.

"What is the meaning of this?" the flabby, green skinned beast roared angrily, holding a partially eaten stick of butter in each hand. He wore a white chef's jacket, and his balding head and uncovered forearms glistened with what looked like sweat, but was in all likelihood actually grease.

"We all got some real slipshod service out there just now!" Alderin hollered in response, gesturing at the dining area behind him. "I mean nightshade in the salad? Fire salt in the souffl?? What the hell?" the Altmer asked in disbelief.

"You imbecile!" the quivering butterball of an Orc yelled at the young Breton chef, rage in his face. "Just because you're trying to kill them doesn't mean you slack off in the preparation! Even your enemy deserves a decent last meal!"

"Guys, I gotta bad feeling about this..." Netta grumbled sourly, retrieving her spear. Nathan, Bruno and Alderin likely retrieved their weapons as the chefs grabbed whatever was available near them: kitchen knives, meat tenderizers, and even iron frying pans.

"Well, you know what they say," the Orc growled, dropping his butter sticks and pulling out a pair of large butcher's cleavers. "Never send an idiot to do a Speaker's job."


Cheque please...

This. Rules.

But I noticed something: ( :drool: )

They did eat something when visiting Olothan or how he's called, Alderin's father anyway!

I suppose that's true. In which case, I have one word...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Retcon

I do that alot...

Loved this one... the Speaker is a fatass orc with grease for sweat... that is perfect! No one would ever expect it!

And why, exactly, was Netta reading Inter-special Anatomy? Nevermind... I don't want to know

Bruno drinking at eight... not surprised... But where is Slade?

This fanfiction is just pure gold... somehow serious yet not serious at all. Somehow like true fiction yet also more like a complete satirical take on the world. The balance is just astoundingly perfect. And better yet.... believable...

Thanks again for all the great comments, everybody. Your continued feedback is continually appreciated.

Anyway, here's the new chapter. Bon app?tit!

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Chapter 6: Hell's Kitchen Come for the murder, stay for the food...

"Go, my underlings!" the lard assed Orc of a Speaker hollered, his massive rolls of fat vibrating as he shot forth a single arm, pointing at Nathan and the others. "Leave not one standing!"

"Actually, sir," one of the comparatively puny chefs piped in, turning to face the Speaker. "We took it to a vote, and we prefer the term associates to your rather degrading underlings." The man pulled out a small piece of parchment, and scanned it briefly. "Other acceptable terms include henchmen, workers, minions-"

"Silence slaves!" the Orc roared, his eyes bulging in anger. "First you ass holes want full dental, and now this!?" He glared between the various members of the group. "First, kill those four! Then we'll talk!"

"Alright, that does it, fatass," Bruno grumbled, hefting his hammer, preparing to strike as the Speaker's minions prepared to do the same. "It's hammer time!" The Nord rushed forward, pulling back his weapon as he neared the Speaker. "Bruno SMASH!"

With uncanny speed for one of his excessive girth, the Brotherhood Speaker reached into one of his pockets, and recovered a small satchel, made of cloth and some kind of netting. "Let's see how you like my onion salt grenade, shall we?" the Orc chuckled happily, before casually tossing the small ball at Bruno's face. The thing exploded into a white cloud of seasoning, and Bruno let out a feral roar as his vision was obscured. He veered off course, swinging his weapon blindly, errantly catching one of the subordinates in the head. The man let out a slight yelp of pain as he careened into one of the large metal shelving units, which promptly collapsed on top of him.

"Well this is going splendidly," Nathan grumbled sourly to himself as Bruno let out a feral roar in the distance, swinging his hammer madly at opponents that weren't there. The group of chefs had moved in on Nathan and the two Elves, now, their makeshift weapons at the ready. "Alright, guys, I'm gonna go for the Speaker," the Imperial explained, hefting his heavy Dwemer blade. "Cover me."

"Fine then, go for it," Alderin urged, aiming the tip of his staff at a balding Breton man, wielding a frying pan. "Ain't my job to talk you outta killin' yerself."

Nathan rolled his eyes, exasperated. "And thank you for that vote of confidence, Alderin," he grumbled, bracing his legs. "Alright, here I go!" Suddenly, Nathan lunged forward, weapon raised high over his head, straight at the centre of the enemy's sloppy formation, causing many of the chefs to recoil in surprise. "EXCELSIOR!"

The centre of the enemy line collapsed, sent tumbling ass first to the floor as Alderin thrust his staff in their direction. Nathan bowled through the ruined formation, past Bruno and headed straight for the Speaker. The chefs still standing, however, angrily growled at the Altmer, raising their own weapons as they charged both him and Netta.

"Alright," Netta began, elegantly bringing her silver spear to bear. "Here they come!"

Alderin mumbled bitter curses under his breath. "Where the hell is that idiot Slade when you need him?"

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"So you're sure you don't know where the Speaker is?" Slade asked from the corner of the small shack, the illumination from the fireplace softly playing against the back of his dark robe. He turned around, and from beneath his frames glared out at his prisoner. "Because I'm getting real tired of asking."

The frantic Redguard man struggled uselessly against his restraints as he dangled upside down from the ceiling, slowly rotating next to the fire. "Listen, man, I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" he screamed, his eyes wide with panic. "I keep the money in a chest underneath the bed! Just take it and get the hell out!"

Slade shook his head disapprovingly as he approached the Redguard. "You don't honestly expect me to believe the whole 'I'm an innocent civilian' bit, do you?" he asked. He glanced into the other room, at an Argonian that had been stripped down to nothing but his undergarments. He lay on a large, wooden table, his arms and legs tied together, with a large, red apple lodged in his mouth, effectively acting as a gag. "Anything to add to the conversation?" the Imperial asked. The lizard merely let out a series of howls and groans as he struggled against his restraints.

"Listen, we ain't gonna tell you [censored]," the Redguard explained, his upside down expression angry now. "So you may as well let us go, and we'll forget any of this ever happened. Deal?"

Slade let out a slight chuckle. "Please. I know you're both part of the Brotherhood, and that you know where the Speaker is. And I'm getting that information, one way, or another." The Imperial knelt down slightly next to the Redguard, bringing their faces level with each other. "Last chance to do this the easy way."

The Redguard scowled as he thrashed back and forth like a fish in the throes of death. "Scum! The Night Mother will see you dead for your treachery!" He angrily spat in Slade's face, a glob of saliva striking the man's cheek. "We'll tell you nothing!"

Slade straightened himself to his full height, and irritably wiped the spit from his face. "Not ? smart," he growled, a hint of anger in his voice. He reached into his robe and put on a pair of black leather gloves, before walking towards the fireplace, and bringing out a red hot poker. He examined the instrument carefully as he slowly approached the Redguard again.

"You think I'm scared of you?" the Redguard taunted in a prideful tone. "Do your worst!"

"Thank you, I believe I will," Slade replied, lifting up the poker. He headed around behind the Redguard, and the prisoner's eyes widened slightly, fear entering his face.

"W-wait, what are you doing?"

"My worst."

"No...not the ass!"

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There was a metallic clink as Netta's spear shaft made contact with a rather large kitchen knife, aimed for her right briast. "You miserable piece-a-crap!" the Dunmer growled, delivering a kick to the attacking chef's chest, forcing him back. "What's the big idea!?"

The chef grinned sadistically, eyeing the young Elf up and down. "You're the perfect specimen, my dear," he replied, his eyes hungry. "Lean, fit, but still plenty of meat on your bones." He licked his lips. "Served with a nice cream sauce, you'll-"

"Hold it!" Alderin screeched, sidestepping a clumsy lunge by a cook wielding a meat tenderizer. "You're telling me you idiots aren't just assassins, but you're cannibals too!?"

The hostile with the tenderizer adjusted his chef's hat, and steadied his stance. "Of course!" he proclaimed in reply, as if the concept was obvious. "We're going around killing people all the time, and a man's gotta eat! It's only natural to combine the two!"

"No, it's not!" Alderin roared, the end of his staff roiling with pent up flame. He directed the weapon at his attacker, and a savage stream of fire released from its tip, engulfing the man. He let out a hysterical scream as he ran about the combat area, his screams blending with those of the lackeys running from a now perfect sighted Bruno.

Meanwhile, Nathan grumbled sourly to himself as another of the blows from his blade was deflected by the Orcish Speaker's dual cleavers, accompanied by a dull grunt of laughter from the enormous beast. "Dammit, you slimy sack-a-[censored]!" Nathan roared, glaring at the Speaker. "You're turning this into a real inconvenience for me! Just die already!" With his blade still locked with the Orc's weapons, he brought up his leg and slammed it into the Speaker's side.

Or at least he tried to.

The red headed Imperial let out a cry of disgust as his leg became hopelessly lodged between two colossal layers of fat jutting out from the Orc's side. He strained to free his trapped appendage from its calorie ridden prison, but found it was to no avail.

"You fool!" the Orc roared, a delighted smile forming on his oversized face. "I am ninety-eight percent body fat!" The Orc took on an expression that conveyed he was concentrating on something for a moment, and Nathan quickly realized that his leg was being svcked further into the Speaker's rolls.

In a last ditch effort, Nathan lifted his other leg off the ground, finding somewhat to his horror that the Orc's girth was capable of supporting his full weight. With his blade still locked with his opponent's cleavers, he leaned back and forcefully kicked the beast in the face with his boot, sending the quivering mass of an assassin reeling backwards, towards one of the massive barrels of liquid butter.

There was a stark oomph from the Orc as he toppled over backwards, his massive rolls quivering. At this point, Nathan found he was able to free his leg, and quickly made his way towards the small metal tap on the large barrel, that was positioned more or less over the Speaker's head. Without hesitation, Nathan opened the thing to its fullest, and a stream of creamy yellow butter streamed forth.

For a moment, the massive Orc was frozen in surprise, simply staring up at the flowing stream of dairy. This hesitation was short lived, however, as he forced his head up off the ground, and wrapped his lips around the tap, literally guzzling the creamy ooze.

"Sir, no!" one of the chefs currently fighting Netta screamed frantically. "Your heart, remember!?"

But the Orc seemed to ignore the man's warning, continuing to gorge himself on the butter. Soon, his eyes and torso were bulging from the strain of it all, but the overindulgent Speaker was unable to help himself. There was a sudden pop from the beast's body, and the Orc was suddenly limp. A slow stream of blood and butter flowed from the body, mixing on the floor to create a revolting orange. Nathan backed a good distance away.

"Boss is dead!" one of the remaining chefs hollered to his fellows desperately. "Let's get the hell outta here!" The surviving Brotherhood lackeys rushed away from their opponents and towards the door that led out into the restaurant, brushing past Slade as he worked his way in.

The quartet's conveniently absent ally simply watched as the gaggle of chefs bolted out the door, before turning to the others. He noted each of them in turn before looking at the corpse of the Speaker, the river of fluids from his corpse reaching into the middle of the room now. "Mind if I ask what the hell happened?" he asked, his voice notably unsurprised.

Nathan nudged the corpse tentatively with his boot, the action accompanied by a slight, fluidic squish. "He served me some bad salad, so I killed him," he replied, before looking up at Slade.

There was a short pause before Slade gave a slight shrug in response. "And they say I'm a tough sell," he grumbled, before calmly walking up to the others. "I managed to get this location from a Brotherhood lackey in town...not that you four had much trouble finding it yourselves."

"It's a calling," Netta replied simply, replacing her weapon. "So what do we do now?"

"I managed to round up an Argonian with a boat," Slade explained as the group began out of the storage room, into the dining area and towards the nearby docks. "He should be able to get us to Sadrith Mora, and then from there we should be able to hit the other cities in rapid succession."

"Well that's good and all," Nathan began, a slightly confused expression on his face. "But how are we gonna pay this guy? We don't really have any money."

Slade let out a slight chuckle. "After what happened to his buddy, he was more than willing to accommodate us," he replied.

Netta gave the Imperial a sceptical look in response to his cryptic comment, before shrugging slightly. "Alright, then," she sighed, shrugging slightly. "I guess we're off!"


Master of Disaster...

Love the title!


Something far worse comes to mind, though that still must hurt like HELL


Perhaps you failed to realize the innuendo, but when putting Netta into the scene everything becomes an innuendo anyways so never mind


Classic.

Wonderful chapter. We even got to see Aldrin do something for a change that was useful! And one question... Did Illusionary Nothing inspire you for the character of the Orc chef from her fat-nobleman Count of Chorrol, whom Jericho had been so keen to kill?

Thanks. I was actually inspired by the Sea Captain from the Simpsons: "Come see Bottomless Pete, nature's cruelest mistake! Come for the freak, stay for the food!"

Yeah, I will admit that obese son-of-a-[censored] did play a role in this Orc's creation. Every time he was described, I wanted to see that evil slob killed so bad. So, the evil, fat piece of crap Speaker was born!

As always, thanks for the feedback, FC4. Any other thoughts?

Are you going to give us more of this or are we going to be forced to beat it out of you?
:poke:

Didn't something similar to this happen with the last story, too? Except there I think there was crossbows involved.

Anyway, I've just been a little tied up with school and the like lately. But don't worry, I've already got an idea for chapter 7, and I'll start working on it right away. With any luck, I should be able to get it up this week.

Well, yes. But that wasn't me...

*loads old crossbow from last time we threatened to beat it out of you*

Ah yes, threats of violence...good times!

Anyways, I just wrote chapter 7 yesterday, so let me know what you guys think.

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Chapter 7: Trouble in Tel Mora Girl power...

Overhead, the two moons of Nirn, Masser and Secunda, slowly peaked in the night sky, casting a subtle white glow on everything below. Around them, the stars that made up the constellations blinked brilliantly, in stark contrast to the inky void that surrounded them in all directions. Nathan's attention was drawn from this spectacle, however, as the transport vessel made another abrupt and twitchy course adjustment, sending him and the others on the ship's deck grabbing for the railing for support.

"Oi!" Alderin roared, turning angrily to the frightened and wide-eyed Argonian. "What the hell's going on over there!?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with," Slade pointed out, standing a short distance away from the frantic lizard. The Imperial crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze fixed on the captain. "Just a little turbulence, right?" The Argonian gave a frightened whimper in response, his eyes darting around desperately.

"Slade, what the hell did you do to that poor bastard?" Netta asked, dusting herself off and standing up off the deck. "Damn guy looks like he's about to up and have a heart attack on us."

"Frankly, what I did or didn't do isn't really important," Slade replied, taking a couple of steps towards the Argonian. "What is important is that we remember that asking too many questions can be a bad thing, and what happens to certain lizards who seek out the proper authorities." He casually patted the already anxious captain on the back.

And that was what did it. The Argonian's eyes bulged wider than anything Nathan had ever seen before, and his claws quickly went from the wheel to his chest as he gasped for air. He fell over backwards, clutching at his chest before ceasing all movement, his body unnaturally stiff.

"Holy [censored], dude..." Nathan mumbled to himself in disbelief, narrowing his eyes. It only took a moment for him to remember that the ship was now without a captain, however, and he quickly turned to Bruno. "Hey, Bruno! Yer up!"

"I'm on it, boss!" the Nord replied, quickly darting for the vessel's controls. Meanwhile, Netta and Alderin quickly headed for the downed Argonian, checking his body.

"So? How is he?" Nathan asked, walking towards the others as Bruno stabilized the boat's trajectory.

Netta checked for a pulse, and shook her head in disapproval. "He's dead," she replied simply, a slight tone of sympathy in her voice as she looked up at Nathan.

"Well that's just great," Alderin groaned miserably, rolling his eyes. "That means we're stuck with captain lunkhead over there, and every ship that he's ever commanded has exploded...or sank...or exploded, and then sank." The Altmer crossed his arms irritably over his chest, furrowing his brow. "This should go well..."

"I believe the town of Tel Mora is not far from here," Slade pointed out, looking ahead of the ship's bow. "Perhaps it would be prudent to stop there momentarily?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Nathan replied, looking to Bruno. "Think you can get us there?"

"No problem, boss!" the Nord cried out happily, grabbing the controls with both hands. "You're all in good hands!"

Alderin turned to Nathan, a sour expression on his face. "Well this is all fine and good, but what are we gonna do with the dead lizard?" the Altmer asked quizzically. "Just toss him overboard?"

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Nathan stood on the oddly shaped docks of Tel Mora and watched carefully as a small group of female Telvanni guards stepped carefully off the ship, carrying the recently deceased Argonian captain off the vessel. Just next to the vessel, another guard, a female Dunmer in bonemold armour, save the helm, addressed Netta, holding a small piece of parchment.

"And what did you say he died of, again?" the guard asked, scratching the back of her jet black hair with her free hand.

"Auto-erotic asphyxiation," Netta replied, calmly and confidently, without the slightest hint of her deception.

The Telvanni guard shrugged slightly, apparently convinced. "We've been seeing alot of that lately," she explained. "Don't really know why." She glanced over at Nathan, Bruno, Alderin and Slade, and gave them a slightly angry look. "Those men with you?" she asked Netta.

"Um...yeah," Netta replied, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Is that gonna be a problem?"

The guard placed a single hand on Netta's shoulder. "I don't know if you noticed, but there are no men in Tel Mora," she explained casually. "We get the odd traveller here and there, but their kind isn't exactly welcome here." She glanced back at Nathan and the others. "Especially not four at once."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure they're on their best behaviour," Netta replied with a slight nod, and received one in return before running up to Nathan and the others. "Okay, guys, they're gonna let us stay here for a bit, but you guys have gotta follow my lead. They aren't too fond of men here." She arched a single eyebrow as her gaze shifted between each of them. "That means no saying anything stupid."

"I'd say that goes double for the Altmer," Slade pointed out simply, which quickly received a nod of approval from Bruno.

"What!? Why the hell are you singling me out!?" Alderin whined irritably. A group of Telvanni guards in the distance turned to the group and spoke amongst themselves.

"Don't be stupid, Alderin," Nathan grumbled in response, his voice low. "Everybody knows the Telvanni are already cranky enough. You let off one poorly timed laundry joke here, and we're all dead."

The others seemed to agree with Nathan's assessment, and they quickly took to the local bar, or at least the town's equivalent, The Covenant. As the group walked through the building's rounded doorway, however, the bustling conversation of the place was quickly stifled, replaced instead with a heavy, awkward silence, as dozens of women glared at the men encroaching on their territory.

"Don't mind us, ladies," Nathan stated, holding up his hands defensively. "We're just passing through, honest." And yet the Imperial's assurances didn't cease the ire filled glares of the women as he and his comrades approached the counter of the bar, a petite young Bosmer glaring at them as they approached.

"Hey there," Bruno greeted the Elf timidly, taking a seat at the counter. "Any chance I could get a mead from you?" The Bosmer narrowed her eyes slightly, before turning to face Netta. The young Dunmer gave a slight apologetic shrug, and the Bosmer went back to retrieve the drink.

"I don't like it here," Bruno commented, his shoulders slumping. "I wanna go back to the Tiber Septim, where everybody knows my name." Nathan patted the Nord sympathetically on the back.

"I'll admit, I knew this place was not exactly male-friendly," Slade began, observing the angry glares around the room. "But I never expected it to be this bad."

"Well can you blame them?" Netta shot back, her tone slightly agitated. "After all, you men are fairly disgusting."

Nathan shot the young Dunmer a surprised and confused look, his eyes wide with surprise. "Now where the hell did that come from?" he asked, unsure of the cause of the Dunmer's demeanour.

There was a sharp clink from the counter as the Bosmer returned, and angrily slammed the bottle of mead down in front of Bruno. "Your mead," she growled, acid in her voice.

Bruno stared at the bottle and the Elf for a moment, before quickly turning to Nathan. "Screw the booze. Boss, I gotta bad feelin' about all this. Can we please just leave?" the Nord asked, pleading.

"This is probably the only time I'll ever say this, but I'm with the lummox on this one," Alderin added in, glancing around nervously. "I say [censored] the whole town and let's get the hell outta here."

That was all the encouragement Nathan needed; he quickly shot up from his seat and made a beeline straight for the structure's large, bronze door, with Bruno and the other men close in tow. He turned around as he neared the door, and gave Netta a sceptical look, as the Dunmer still stood near the bar. "C'mon Netta, let's go!" he cried out. After a moment of hesitation, the Elf reluctantly followed.

As Nathan and the others quickly made their way to the docks, they noticed that women started to come out of many of the town's buildings, and in rather large groups, the same disdainful looks in their eyes. "I don't like this..." Alderin grumbled bitterly as the massive group started following them to the docks.

When they finally arrived at their vessel, there was a contingent of five Telvanni guards already on board, several of them with their arms crossed. "Thinking of going somewhere?" one of them asked, her tone sarcastic and condescending.

Nathan took a few steps back, and grit his teeth slightly. "Netta, will you please talk to them?" the Imperial requested nervously. But to his dismay, there was no reply from the Dunmer. "Netta?" he asked again, turning around to face his comrade. The last thing he remembered was Netta's angry face, and the shaft of her silver spear colliding with his face.

________________________________________

"Boss man?" a voice asked him, although it seemed distant and far away. "Yo, boss? You there?"

Nathan grunted slightly as he opened his eyes, and tried to rub his face. He soon realized, however, that his arms were shackled, chained to the wall. He and the others were restrained in a standing position, their legs likewise chained to the wall, each one of them standing next to another. Nathan recognized the internal architecture of the structure as that of the odd Telvanni towers he'd seen earlier, with its organic looking walls and oddly shaped chambers. The room he and the others were in was relatively empty, a single bed at the other side of the chamber, and a hallway to the right of their position.

Nathan looked at Bruno to his left, a concerned look on the Nord's face. "Yeah, I'm alright," he replied, shaking it off. He looked to his right to see Alderin, and Slade to the right of him. "Everybody else alright?" he asked them.

"I knew it," Alderin growled angrily, shaking his head in disbelief. "I knew that Dunmer [censored] would betray us sooner or later." The Altmer glared angrily at Nathan, rage teeming on his face. "Those damned Dark Elves have no place in civilized society!"

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for all this, Alderin," Nathan replied calmly, testing his restraints. Damn; solid. "I just can't think of one off the top of my head..."

"For years, I've had a spotless record of employment," Slade grumbled to Alderin's right, his voice sour. "And after less than two days with you people, I've been captured, bringing an end to my otherwise flawless career."

"Didn't your career effectively end when you decided to betray and murder your own men to join us?" Bruno asked, jutting his head out to spot the Imperial's reaction.

"Well, I suppose that's true," Slade replied, before letting out a slight sigh of relief. "I was worried there for a second..."

"Glad that worked out for ya, really," Nathan grumbled back, before turning to Alderin. "Any chance you can use magic to get us outta these things?" he asked the Altmer.

"I'm afraid you'll find that's impossible," a hauntingly familiar voice came from the hallway. Netta, now dressed in a sleeveless, long red dress that seemed to organically flow behind her, stepped casually into the room from the hallway, her silver spear at her side. "You see, those restraints were designed to drain the captive's magic, to keep them from using it to escape." She flashed a slight half smile. "Which means you aren't going anywhere."

"Well well, if it isn't the prosttute in the red dress," Alderin growled, narrowing his eyes at the Dunmer. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

Netta mockingly placed a hand over her left briast, feigning a touched expression. "Well isn't that sweet," she replied, her voice sarcastic. "You care."

"Listen Netta," Nathan growled angrily, glaring at the Dunmer. "I don't know what the hell is going on, or what's wrong with you, but please, just get us the hell outta these things, and we'll forget the whole thing, alright?"

Netta hefted up her spear, and with considerable speed and force, struck Nathan in the side of the face with the end of the shaft. "Shut up," she growled back, her face angry. "You're in no position to be giving anybody orders, male."

Nathan spat a glob of blood onto the floor which hit with a fluidic splat. "Well, that was unexpected," he explained, shaking his head. "And also quite unpleasant!"

"You Dunmer [censored]!" Alderin roared, his face filled with rage as he strained against his chains. "If I wasn't in these shackles..."

"But you are, Alderin," the Dunmer replied, as she walked up to the Altmer and brought her face a few inches from his. "You are in the shackles," she explained, patting him mockingly on the cheek.

"Come now, Netta," came another female voice from around the corner of the hallway, still Dunmer but far more elderly. "Don't get the sad creatures too riled up. You know how simple they are..."

Netta obediently stepped back from the four men, and headed for the back of the room as two more women, a Breton in a green dress similar to Netta's, and an Altmer in a blue one, stepped in and took up positions on either side of the young Dunmer. Shortly after, an elderly Dark Elf woman, wearing an old looking amber robe, walked into the room, a staff in hand. She made her way to the centre of the room, where she turned and glared at Nathan and the men.

"Who in the hell are you supposed to be!?" Nathan demanded, his tone furious. "And what have you done to Netta!?"

The elderly woman brought up her staff, and struck the four men at once with a relatively weak, but still painful, lightning attack. "Silence, male," she growled, lowering her staff. "I am Mistress Dratha, Councillor of House Telvanni."

"Dratha?" Alderin asked, furrowing his brow. "Wait a minute, I've heard about your wrinkly old ass from my dad and Fyr!"

"Yes, I'm fully aware of who your father is, High Elf," Dratha spat, unimpressed. "Olothan, and that old fool Divayth, always tinkering with their worthless inventions. Pathetic."

"You mind if I ask what the hell is going on here?" Nathan asked, utterly dumbfounded. "Why the hell did you capture us, and what's the deal with Netta?"

"Your companion has merely been shown the light, Imperial," Dratha muttered in response, glancing over at Netta. The young Dunmer gave an affirmative nod. "She now knows, like the others in Tel Mora, that the four of you are sick. Diseased." She narrowed her eyes. "Infected."

"Oh boy," Alderin sighed, shaking his head. "I don't like where this is headed..."

"Infected with what?" Nathan asked, slightly reserved.

"With the disease of manhood," Dratha explained, as she began to pace back and forth in front of the men. "You see, all men are the carriers of a horrific disease. One that makes you slow minded, violent and unreasonable."

"Says the woman who's just forcibly abducted four people, brainwashed another, and is convinced that males are some new kind of Corprus beast," Slade pointed out grumpily, only to have the group subjected to another jolt of electricity.

"Fortunately for you, however," Dratha continued, glancing at the end of her staff as it flared a dark purple. "I have found the cure to your ailment."

All four men perked up simultaneously, with Slade being the only one who's eyes weren't visible to be seen bulging. "Wait, what?" Nathan asked, pressing his back against the wall.

"Admittedly, the spell is only in its experimental stages," the elderly woman explained, pointing her staff at the men. "But I am confident that it will cure all four of you, and restore you to your pure, natural states."

"Holy [censored], guys..." Alderin began, his expression worried. "This doesn't look good..."

"Now just relax. This won't hurt a bit..." Nathan instinctively clamped his eyes shut as Dratha thrust her staff forward, and launched a large ball of purple light at the foursome.


Drum roll, please...

For once...

I actually agree with Alderin. While I loved the chapter immensely... I don't like where this is headed... not at all... chills down the spine...

*drumroll*
Oh, and 10 bucks says that the magic ball is just a Nerf ball.

*reloads crossbow*
Seriously, how many times do i have to load this thing and point it at you?I think i want a change of pace!
*goes and gets his crossbow upgraded*
Im baaaaaack! And now...
*Points heat seeking rocked ammo'd crossbow at darknova*
I belive my old friend wants to say hi, and tell you to update!

*Readies strategic missile launcher*

This'll learn em' to bust my tomaters.

Anyway, I'm working on the next chapter. But I've had school and the like to contend with recently. Hopefully, I'll have the new chapter done and up within a few days. But don't hold me to that!

*blasts strategic missle launcher out of darknova50's hand*
NOTSOFAST!

Well, would you look at that...an update! That's nice, isn't it? So many different ways I could have done this chapter, but I think that this one is the best, especially considering my new plans for later in the story.

Anyways, here it is. Hope you guys enjoy it, and please feel free to leave some feedback.

______________________________________
______________________________________

 
Chapter 8: Covert Ops The Humanity...

Hey, you. Wake up already.

"Huh? Who are you talking to? Me?"

No, I'm talking to the other guy in here. Stop listening to our conversation, you [censored].

"Alright, I get the point. Yeesh...guess I should see if the others are okay, huh?"

If you mean Bruno and Alderin, they're already gone. Dratha took them.

"What? How do you know that?"

Just trust me.

"Great. So, now what?"

Isn't it obvious? Wake up.

Nathan's eyes slowly cracked open, and he grit his teeth as his head throbbed with pain. Though his vision was blurry, he recognized the unique architecture of the Telvanni tower they had been in earlier, with its organic looking walls and floor. And, also to his disappointment, he could feel the cold metal of his restraints against his wrists; they must have kept him chained up after Dratha launched her spell.

Wait a sec...the spell!

Nathan frantically looked down at his body, examining it carefully, and gave a sigh of relief as he realized that he was indeed still himself. "Glad to see you're awake," a distinctly male voice came from his right. Nathan quickly glanced over to see Slade, still in the position he had been in prior to his blackout. Bruno and Alderin, however, were nowhere to be seen.

Nathan gave a slight nod to the ex-Speaker. "Yeah, you too," he replied, before glancing at the two empty spots. "Alderin and Bruno?" he asked curiously.

"Already gone when I came to, I'm afraid," the blonde-haired man replied with a slight shrug. "If I had to guess, I'd say that they decided to move them after the spell hit them."

"I guess so," Nathan replied, cringing slightly at the thought of a female version of both Alderin and Bruno. "So, Dratha's spell doesn't like Imperials too much, eh?"

Slade gave a slight nod in reply. "Today is indeed a glorious day to be proud of our shared heritage, my friend," he pointed out. "Of course, now it's up to us to get the hell out of here, and figure out just what is going on."

"Swell," Nathan grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I guess it beats getting stuck in a dress, though," he observed casually. "So, any good ideas?"

Slade's features furrowed noticeably as he considered the request, before tightly pursing his lips. "Well, I suppose there is one thing I could try," he pointed out, his tone hesitant. "But, I'm kind of reluctant to use it, frankly."

"I don't think we have much choice at this point!" Nathan exclaimed in response, pulling angrily at his restraints. "If you've got an idea, I say you go for it."

Slade gave a slight, unenthused sigh. "Very well, then," he replied, before giving Nathan an unsettlingly serious glare. "But, if you ever tell anybody about what I'm about to do, I'm going to rip out your intestines, use them to tie you up, and drown you in a bucket of your own excrement." He tilted his face down slightly. "Do we understand each other?"

"Uh, sure," Nathan replied, arching a single eyebrow in both scepticism and curiosity, unsure of what exactly Slade was planning to do.

"Alright...here goes," Slade grumbled, taking in a deep breath. The Imperial was still for a brief moment, as if collecting his thoughts, before he utterly broke down: the man let out a series of pitiful cries and sobs, his face one of complete grief and misery. Nathan forced himself as far away as his restraints would allow.

It didn't take long before the Breton in the green dress from earlier stepped into the room, looking curiously at Slade. She glanced over at Nathan, her glare harsh and inquisitive. "What the hell is going on in here?" she asked sternly.

"Beats the hell outta me!" Nathan yelled over Slade's incessant wailing, agitated.

"I...I don't know w-what's wrong! I-I've got all these f-f-feelings and stuff!" Slade exclaimed miserably between sobs, barely able to keep his head level. "And I think I j-just need somebody to talk t-to!" He bit at his lower lip for a moment, managing to hold back the sobs, before breaking down again. "I'm just so lonely!"

"Oh brother..." Nathan muttered, shaking his head. "Would you look at yourself, man? Think of your dignity!"

"Shut up!" the Breton barked at Nathan, her expression angry. "You could learn a thing or two from your friend here!" Her expression softened as she turned to Slade, and slowly approached him. "It's alright," she explained sympathetically to the wailing Imperial, placing a single hand on his shoulder. "You're going to be just f-"

The woman's words were cut short as Slade abruptly ended his wailing, and forcefully rammed his forehead into the Breton's. The guard was immediately knocked cold, and fell to the floor in front of him, the keys to their restraints visible on a large loop on the woman's hip.

"Feelings..." Slade grumbled, managing to extend his foot far enough out to put the tip through the ring, before kicking it upwards, catching the keys in his mouth. "Right." He quickly began to work on his restraints.

"Holy crap, man," Nathan replied, his tone a mixture of awe and uncertainty. "That was...unexpected. And surprisingly convincing," he observed.

"Well, my cover was once that of a member of a troupe, travelling Vvardenfell," the man pointed out, finishing with his restraints and beginning the work on Nathan's. "I don't think I need to tell you what happened to people who gave me a bad review."

"No, you misunderstand," Nathan replied as he was set loose, rubbing his wrists. "I meant that was really convincing, you know?"

"What are you getting at?"

"Something you want to talk about?"

"No," Slade growled, heading for the doorway to the chamber. Nathan quickly followed, and they peered into the adjoining hallway. There was another empty chamber opposite theirs, as well as a third unoccupied room to their right. In the centre of the corridor, there was a single hole, directed downwards; the Telvanni equivalent of a staircase.

The Imperial duo quickly moved into the room opposite theirs, and found a large wooden cabinet against the far wall. Nathan moved forward and opened it, finding the container unlocked, and found both his Dwemer claymore, and Slade's steel crossbow inside. Alderin's staff and Bruno's hammer were both absent, however.

"Wow...they didn't even bother locking the stupid thing?" Slade asked as he hefted his crossbow, and attached his satchel of bolts to his belt. "Not only is that sloppy, but it's downright retarded." With expert precision, he loaded a bolt into his weapon.

"Well you heard Dratha, didn't you? She isn't too fond of men," Nathan countered, wrapping his hands around the hilt of his blade. "She probably figures that the two of us are too damn stupid to open a cabinet by ourselves, or even manage to get ourselves loose, for that matter."

Slade gave a slight shrug in reply, before the two of them headed for the hole leading down through the tower, and looked through its length. The drop was a long one, and presumably would take them to the ground level of the structure.

"Alright," Nathan began, pursing his lips. "All we need to do is figure out a way to get down there, and-" He stopped abruptly midsentence when Slade casually jumped down, through the hole, landing gracefully on the floor. He looked up at Nathan with an unemotional gaze. "What the...how the hell did you do that!?" Nathan barked in disbelief.

"As far as jumps go, this isn't that long," the man replied simply. "We need to get moving, Nathan. Just bend your knees, and jump."

Nathan grumbled slightly under his breath, but bent his knees nevertheless. He figured that he didn't really have much choice anyway; it was either this, or end up one of Dratha's brainwashed lackeys. He took one deep breath, leapt down the length of the vertical passage, and-

Gave a pained grunt as he landed, and a distinct crunch came from one, or possibly more, of his joints. His eyes rolled back slightly, and his arms shook with pain and frustration.

"You alright?" Slade asked, looking curiously at him.

"Nothing a crate full of healing potions can't fix," Nathan growled in reply, placing a hand on his aching back. "Let's just get moving, alright?"

The two of them silently crept through the passages of the tower, noting that every room seemed to be empty; Nathan couldn't help but wonder where the women had all fled to. The two Imperials made their way to the only actual door on the floor, and slowly pushed it open. As they did so, the first thing Nathan noticed was the inky blackness of the night sky overhead, the door having taken them outside. This was followed closely by his noticing a massive gathering of women, in some kind of twisted town meeting, near the docks.

"Uh oh," Nathan mumbled, as he and Slade looked at each other. "Now what? If we start trying to snoop around and fix whatever the hell Dratha broke, they're gonna notice us."

Slade furrowed his brow for a moment, thinking. "Perhaps," he replied, before readying his crossbow. "But not if they're only after one of us. I can keep them distracted out here, while you find whatever it is that's making them all crazy," he suggested.

Nathan hesitated anxiously for a moment, before he gave a reluctant nod of approval; he didn't much like the idea of their already divided group splitting up, but he didn't have any better ideas at the moment. "Alright, I'll do what I can," Nathan offered.

"Alright, good. I'd try looking in the basemant of one of the towers around here; mages love that kind of crap," Slade pointed out, before beginning to sneak off.

"Slade!" Nathan said in a loud whisper, before the Imperial was out of earshot. "Try not to kill any of them, okay? They're the victims of mind control...so try to keep them alive."

"You've got to be kidding," Slade grumbled back, his face bordering on slight shock. "They've got to outnumber us at least five dozen to one, and you're telling me not to kill any of them?"

"That's right."

Slade shook his head in disbelief, his gaze drifting upwards. "You say don't kill any of them..." he began, before bringing his gaze back down. "But what about a non-lethal dismembering?"

"Dammit, Slade!" Nathan growled angrily in response.

"Alright, alright," the assassin replied, before heading off again. "But you know, you're really stifling my creativity, here..."

As Nathan watched Slade sneak off to distract the horde of women, an unsettling realization came over him. For the first time since he'd left the Imperial City with the others...he was actually alone.

Well, I wouldn't say you're completely alone. But for now, you should try searching that bar, The Covenant. Wouldn't you agree?

Nathan grumbled slightly as he placed a single hand against his head, feeling slightly disoriented for a moment. He looked up and scanned the various buildings in Tel Mora, and remembered the bar that he and the others had gone to when they first got there, The Covenant. It seemed as good a place as any to start his search, he supposed, and he slowly snuck his way down the steps and towards the building, hoping that Slade would soon begin his work.

Nathan noticed that the bar was empty when he entered, the tables and counters still littered with half full drinks and partly eaten food. Confident that he wasn't about to be found out, he got to his feet and headed behind the counter, searching for anything that might be seen as suspicious. He noticed that there was a slight bulge in the carpet where the bartender would normally stand, and so removed it to reveal a small wooden trap door.

"Hackdirt," he whispered quietly to himself with a grin, before creaking open the small door and heading down.

________________________________________

The underground passageways beneath Tel Mora were little more that massive tunnels moving through the earth, with odd, organic looking supports keeping the compacted dirt from caving in. Long torches had been planted into the ground, and provided some degree of illumination as Nathan crept through the passages.

The Imperial kept his grip tight on his weapon, although he hadn't run into any signs that there was anybody down here but him as of yet. The eerie stillness of the place bothered him; although he hated to admit it, he would've even welcomed one of Alderin's irritating complaints right now.

After several minutes of walking, Nathan came to a fork in the road, with the passage splitting left and right. He looked between the two paths, which looked very much similar to one another, before deciding to take the left passage.

I wouldn't do that, if I were you. You should try the right path instead.

Nathan paused a moment, re-evaluating his choice, before glancing to his right. On second thought, he figured that right seemed the better choice after all, and headed that way instead. After heading down the passage a bit further, he considered himself fortunate he did; he could hear the faint murmur of guards speaking to one another on the other side of the compacted dirt wall.

He continued down the passage for another few minutes or so, before entering a large, dark chamber, with large purple crystals lining the walls in messy, uneven rows. There was a small fountain in the middle of the room, with an outcropping of crystals glimmering elegantly in the centre of the water. Nathan gave a slight whistle at the beauty of the room, before noticing a small, circular door on the other side of the chamber.

He carefully made his way around the fountain in the room, and headed for the door, letting the tip of his sword glide through the packed dirt floor. He placed his hand on the single handle for the copper door and tried opening it, but it was no good. "Dammit," Nathan growled bitterly. "Locked."

Look out behind you!

Nathan had a sudden sensation that something was behind him, and jerked his head quickly to the left. A split second later, the tip of a silver spear raced past his face, through where his head had just been. He quickly sidestepped to the left and spun around to face his attacker, his blade at the ready.

A few feet from where he now stood was Netta, still adorned in the red dress from earlier, an angry snarl on her face as she withdrew her spear and held it ready. And Nathan also noticed that she wasn't alone; a blonde-haired female Nord, with a black dress and an Orcish warhammer, along with an Altmer female with a white dress and a staff stood on either side of the fountain in the middle of the room, their gazes confrontational.

"Oh, [censored]," Nathan growled miserably, cringing slightly as he made the mental connection. His missing comrades, their misplaced weapons... "Bruno? Alderin?" he asked the Nord and Altmer respectively, almost fearing the response.

"Shut up!" Netta barked, narrowing her eyes angrily. "Those names are unclean, used before they were cured," she explained, before glancing back at her associates. "Now, they have new names...Bridgette and Aldera." The two women behind the Dunmer nodded in approval.

Nathan's head drooped, and he miserably clenched shut his eyes. "Dammit...this is bumming me out so hard," he complained. He looked up to the threesome, his former comrades, and his face took on a pleading expression. "Guys, listen to me. You two have been magically transformed into women, and now all three of you are being brainwashed, making you impulsive and unreasonable!"

"You bastard," the Nord woman growled, stepping forward with her hammer at the ready. "You know, Mistress Dratha only wanted to help you...cure you of a disease."

"But now," piped in the Altmer, readying her staff. "It seems you're intent on being a nuisance...leaving us little choice but to kill you..."

"You see!? Completely unreasonable!" Nathan exclaimed, before looking hopefully at Netta. "C'mon, Netta...you've gotta remember all we've been through together! The jokes, the fighting...the completely misplaced optimism!?"

"Sorry, Nathan," the Dunmer replied, although her tone indicated she was anything other than sorry. "But you're becoming quite the pain in the Mistress' side. And that means we have no choice...but to remove you."

Talking isn't going to work with them. Not now. The spell's hold on them is too strong. You've got no choice but to fight.

Nathan came to the realization that he had no choice but to fight; the spell that was affecting them was too strong, and they weren't going to listen to talking. He reluctantly readied his claymore, and glared at the triad as they readied for their attack.

"Alright, then...let's do this."

Not so friendly fire...

Be faster with the next chapter to compensate the time it took to make this one


*readies the cage with the mutant cliffracer*

Interesting... who is the voice, though... What is this voice in his head, telling him what to do?

Told you, nerf ball.
WHY HAS NOONE REPLYED TO ME?
Hurry up....Im about to shoot you for reals this time...

Chapter 9: The Art of Coercion Don't try this at home...

Nathan barely managed to dodge beneath one of Bridgette's attacks, as the female Nord angrily swung her Orcish warhammer in a massive arc. He managed to manoeuvre to the side of his attacker, and realized that while she recovered from the effort, he was in an ideal spot to attack.

Just do it, now, while you have the chance. Just cut the Nord's head clean off. You know she'd do the same to you...

Nathan had to fight off the urge to simply kill the Nord, right then and there. Instead, he merely shoved her to the side as both Netta and Aldera readied their own weapons nearby. "Dammit, people!" Nathan barked, turning to face the two Elves. "This whole situation is stressing me out something fierce! How about we sit down, have a nice, calm discussion about this..." He gestured at the locked door at the edge of the chamber. "And trash whatever's in that room over there? It'll be great!"

"We could do that," Netta replied, poising her spear in front of her. "Or, we could hand you over to the Mabrigash as a sign of good faith." She chuckled slightly at the prospect. "I hear that they remove them, and use them in their magic."

Nathan pursed his lips slightly, not speaking. "I like my plan better," Nathan countered, taking a timid step backwards. "It involves less...unpleasantness."

The two Elves growled angrily as they attacked, Netta lashing forward with her spear while Aldera let out a quick trio of fireballs from the end of her staff. Nathan barely managed to dive away from the magical projectiles, as Netta's weapon cut through the air just inches away from his chest.

Are you sure you wouldn't rather just kill them? It would certainly be much easier than trying to keep them alive...not to mention much more enjoyable...

Nathan landed face first in the dirt, his hand still wrapped tightly around the hilt of his claymore. He managed to quickly roll to the side before Bridgette slammed her hammer where his head had just been, and forced himself up onto his feet. All three women now stood before him, their weapons ready.

Nathan cursed bitterly to himself. Maybe if he'd been fighting them one on one, then he could match them. But with all three of them fighting together? He didn't have a prayer.

You should have listened. You should have killed them off one by one when you had the chance. Now, you're finger licked.

"Wait!" Nathan shouted to the women as they slowly began closing in, his face lighting up with an idea. He turned specifically to Netta. "Dratha thinks that men are all diseased, right? That they're no good!"

"That's right," Netta replied, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "What the hell's your point?"

"Well, do you think that she's gonna let you interact with someone who's diseased?" Nathan asked, arching a single eyebrow. "Think about it, Netta. All the things you've, well, bragged about in the past. You'll never be able to do any of them. Again. Ever."

Netta's eyes widened slightly, and her expression showed genuine fear. "I never thought about...I mean, I just assumed that..." The Dunmer brought a single hand up to her head as her glare softened, and her face began to take on its usual appearance. She looked up and gazed at the Imperial with terrified eyes. "Nathan?" she asked, confused.

"Yeah! It's me, Netta!" Nathan replied excitedly, his tone hopeful. "C'mon, you've gotta snap out of it!"

"Don't listen to him!" Aldera growled to Netta's side, angrily narrowing her eyes at the Dunmer. "He's the enemy!"

"Nathan? The enemy?" Netta asked, as if trying to resolve the situation in her mind. "No, that's..."

"You bastard," Bridgette growled in Nathan's direction, hefting her warhammer. "We're gonna get you for this..."

"Netta, please, I need your help!" Nathan cried out to the Dunmer in a last ditch effort to bring her back.

The young Elf looked up at Nathan, and her face lost the rage that had been present just moments before, replaced by the compassionate Dunmer that Nathan was accustomed to seeing. "What the hell am I doing!?" she asked, shaking her head with a horrified expression. "Nathan, I'm so sorry!"

"Alright, Netta!" Nathan exclaimed happily, his spirits lifting in his chest. "I knew you could do it!"

"Damn, she's turned on us!" Aldera barked to Bridgette, turning her staff on the Dunmer. "Take her out!"

Nathan let out a feral roar as he lunged towards the female Altmer, knocking them both to the ground with a resounding oomph. Meanwhile, Netta ducked beneath one of Bridgette's hammer swipes, but as opposed to attacking the Nord, the plucky young Dunmer ran to Nathan and helped him off the ground, while a still dazed Aldera shook off her disorientation.

"You okay?" Netta asked him, her expression concerned. "You're not hurt, right?"

"Nah, I'm alright," Nathan replied, before looking up at their Nord and Altmer attackers, readying their weapons. "But I have a feeling that might change pretty damn soon," he grumbled, as he and Netta readied their own implements of doom.

"Netta, it's not too late! You can still come back from this!" Bridgette exclaimed, narrowing her eyes. "Just help us kill the male, and I'm sure that Mistress Dratha will-"

"Dratha's a tired old hag!" Netta barked in reply, narrowing her eyes. "Sorry, girls, but this here's the line!" she explained, dragging her foot through the dirt in front of her and Nathan. "And I'm staying on this side!"

"A pity..." Aldera mumbled, levelling her staff. "I suppose we'll just have to kill you as well, won't we?" The Altmer thrust her staff forward, and the Imperial/Dunmer duo managed to sidestep just in time to have the burst of magic impact the wall behind them, sending dirt and debris flying in multiple directions.

"So, any brilliant plans?" Netta asked pleadingly as their Nordic opponent readied for another assault.

"Maybe..." Nathan grumbled back, his fingers thrumming the grip of his claymore. "Don't suppose you have the key to that door back there on you, do ya?"

Netta gave the Imperial a surprised look, before quickly rummaging through the folds of her dress. "I got it!" she exclaimed excitedly, producing a small, golden key. She was forced to jump back, however, as Bridgette swung her warhammer in a massive arc. "But, how are we supposed to use it? There's no way you can keep them both occupied by yourself!"

Nathan looked up, past the ceiling, imagining the stars that had to be overhead. "C'mon, you damn piles of crap," he muttered. "We keep saving people and fighting evil, and we haven't gotten jack [censored] in return," he growled, before narrowing his eyes. "You owe us, and you damn well know it!"

Then, as if in answer to his...prayer...another figure, a male figure, rushed into the room. "Nathan, they're right behind me!" Slade hollered, rushing into the room with his crossbow at the ready. Both Bridgette and Aldera quickly spun around at the sound of the new threat. "If you're gonna do something, do it now!"

Nathan quickly lunged at Bridgette, pinning the dazed and surprised Nord to the ground. "Slade! Take care of the Altmer!" the red-headed Imperial roared to his comrade while he struggled to keep the female Nord under control. "Keep Netta covered!"

"Netta!?" Slade hollered, surprised, but headed for the Altmer nonetheless. He managed to grab the end of her staff, and kept it pointed away from himself and the others. "But I thought she was with them!"

"It's a real fun story, Slade!" Netta hollered as she headed for the door, key in hand, but she was cutting it close; the massive army of Tel Mora's citizens were quickly approaching the small chamber. "I'll even tell it to you some time!"

"Assuming we live through this!" Nathan hollered, trying to keep Bridgette's arms pinned. She wrestled one free, however, and punched him angrily in the face, sending him sprawling back. He quickly shook it off, and lunged himself at the woman yet again as she tried to reach and stop Netta. "Just hurry the hell up!"

The Dunmer opened the small circular door, and quickly rushed inside. A bright, pale green light burst forth from the room, and lit up the adjacent chamber in a predictable pattern. "There's a big glowy...thing in here!" the Dunmer exclaimed from within the room.

"So smash it already!" Nathan roared, as the Nord woman he fought wrapped an angry fist around his neck. He grasped at the woman's arm, trying to force her to release her grip, but to no avail.

"But...it's so glowy!" the Dunmer's disembodied voice cried out pleadingly.

"There they are! Get em'!" one of the Tel Mora women cried out as they entered the chamber, weapons drawn.

"NETTA!!!" Nathan hollered angrily, his voice carrying through the room as he was slowly strangled.

"Alright...here goes!" the Dunmer cried out. There was a sharp, distinct sound, like the breaking of glass, and soon everything was bathed in a bright, blinding light.

__________________________________

I still say you should have killed them. Less mess. More fun.

"Do I get extra credit if I pretend that I care what you think?"

Not really. One way or another, it will all end up the same by the time this is all over. I just thought it would be amusing to watch you and your friends kill each other.

"What!?"

That Nord and the Altmer were easy enough to provoke. But that Dunmer...I didn't anticipate how much sway you have over her, and how strong her feelings for you are.

"What? Netta?"

And as for you...you might prove to be quite the annoyance after all.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Well, frankly, when you wake up, you won't remember any of it.

Nathan slowly opened his eyes, and was greeted by the sight of one of the Telvanni's distinct looking organic ceilings. He could tell he was laying on something soft, and comfortable...it felt like a bed.

"Sure beats the hell out of those restraints..." he mumbled quietly to himself, before letting out a heavy sigh and relaxing on the furniture.

Nathan felt something beside him move, and he looked to his left to see a sleeping Netta snuggled closely beside him. She was once again adorned in her usual attire, and had an arm wrapped securely around his chest, and an innocent, contented smile on her dark-skinned face. The Imperial gave a warm chuckle, and closed his eyes as he listened to Netta breathe.

"What the hell do you mean, they're sleeping!?" came a familiar, angry yet whiny voice from outside the room. "Step aside, you damned moron!" Nathan felt Netta stir next to him, obviously awoken by the hollering outside. "I don't care if they need rest! Get yer damn hands off me, fascist!"

"What's going on?" Netta asked, bewildered and confused as she propped herself up on the bed, looking around the room. "What in the ? Nathan!?" she cried out, noticing the Imperial laying next to her. "What's happening?"

Nathan looked off to the side as the door to the room opened, and Alderin, along with Bruno and Slade, and a host of the women from Tel Mora entered the small, unadorned room. "Looks like we got visitors," he replied to the Dunmer as they both sat up to face the newcomers.

"It's good to see you two are alright," Slade pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest with a sense of satisfaction. "You two were asleep longer than anybody after that crystal was destroyed."

Nathan gave a slight shrug. "Yeah, well," he simply mumbled, unsure of how else to respond. He glanced at Bruno and Alderin, and grinned mischievously. "I see you two are no longer of the fairer-"

"That's right," Alderin growled, cutting the Imperial off before he could finish. "And if it's all the same to the rest of you, I think I'd just as soon forget the whole thing ever happened!"

"I dunno, Alderin. You looked pretty good in that dress," Netta teased, getting up off the bed. The Altmer rolled his eyes bitterly as a number of the women in the group behind him laughed at the comment.

"I was able to reverse Dratha's spell, once you managed to stop her brainwashing," pointed out a young Breton, the same one from their room earlier. She'd since exchanged her green dress for an unassuming cotton robe. "She had that damn thing running for months before you managed to come along and help us out."

"And without a single casualty, I might add," piped in another woman, a young Bosmer girl. She and the others in the group gave a slight bow of gratitude. "We really can't thank you enough for helping us out, Nathan."

Nathan held up a single hand defensively in front of him. "I can't take all the credit, of course," he replied, shaking his head slightly. "Slade helped too, what with busting us both out, and keeping all of you distracted."

"It's what I do," Slade explained simply, with a slight shrug.

"And I can't forget Netta here," Nathan added, looking at the Dunmer. "If she hadn't come outta that brainwashing when she did, we wouldn't be having this pleasant little conversation right now."

Even with her dark, ashen skin, it was obvious that Netta was blushing madly as she looked timidly to the ground, a bashful smile on her face. "Thanks, Nathan," she replied back quietly, her tone one of gratitude.

Alderin rolled his eyes in a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"So what will you do with Dratha now?" Slade asked the Breton, curious.

"Well, technically we can't really kill her," the woman replied, disappointed. "And the Telvanni council probably won't take any action, either. So I figure we'll just lock her in her room, without any materials to pull anything like this again, and keep her in there."

"That'll teach her to mess with us!" cried out another woman excitedly from the crowd.

Nathan gave a brief nod of approval, before looking between the now restored group with a look of satisfaction. "Well, I suppose it's time for us to go now," the Imperial pointed out. The women of the group agreed with a series of nods, before leading the group outside, and to the docks where their boat sat waiting for them. By this time, the inky blackness of the sky had been replaced by a subtle melange of amber and crimson.

Nathan and the others calmly boarded their vessel at the docks, and Bruno quickly set about getting them back on their way to Sadrith Mora. "Goodbye!" cried the Breton woman from the dock as they departed, she and the other women seeing them off. "And thanks again, Nathan!"

"Yeah, he gets all the credit," Alderin grumbled miserably under his breath, shaking his head.

"Well what did you do, exactly?" Slade asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides try to kill him, that is."

"Oh, so now you have to do something helpful to get credit for things?" Alderin growled. "Sure didn't work that way when Bruno was tagging along on the way to this dirt hole of a landmass, I'll tell ya..."

Nathan gave a slight chuckle as Slade and Alderin headed for the stern of the ship, where Bruno was steering them southward. "Yeah, I sure am glad that your urges proved to be stronger than Dratha's brainwashing, Netta," Nathan pointed out happily to the Dunmer.

"Huh?" Netta asked, as if not understanding, as she turned to face Nathan with a puzzled look on her face. "What do you mean?"

"You know," Nathan continued with a slight shrug. "Your desire to do all that crazy stuff with random men again." He gave a slight chuckle as he followed Slade and the others to the back of the ship. "It turned out well, don't you think?"

Netta gave a weak smile as she watched Nathan walk away. "Yeah," she whispered quietly as she kept her gaze intently focused on the red-headed Imperial. "Random men..."

Imperial heartthrob...

I cannot believe you used WHATEVER it is Netta had done to get her from the brainwashing. I would have NEVER thought of that. I laughed when I read it, completely unbelieving.

And I notice now... more so than ever before. And I ask again: When will there be a first kiss?

I have noticed, though, over the course of the story it has gone from less random hilarity to a more cultured, situational humor. Basically, you have created a regular Monty Python from this story in my opinion. Classy humor, with many ironic and hilarious twists and turns in the story that lend that humor, and as it has gone on the story has become more and more serious in reflection of that humor. But humorous just the same.

PURE.... GOLD...

NOONE CAN RESIST THE GLOWINESS OF THE GLOWY!
Great chapter, im not really a fan of mushy stuff, but strangly found it funny.
Also the slade running in was pure comedic gold.

- ohhhh... pretty glowing stuff...