(This is a Fan-Fic)

“Addressed to Titus Sintav, employee of the Imperial Legion serving in Skyrim:

With the closing of the vicious civil war that the cow-herders of Skyrim were waging against the Empire close at hand, new developments have come to our knowledge that proves to be worrisome. News travels fast when you know where to look and when to listen. It is in our understanding that with the fall of the majority of Stormcloak strongholds in eastern Skyrim, the Thalmor have since been able to wage all-out war against the worshippers of Talos. In fact, the violence in the west of Skyrim has even befallen some of our own agents, which has now forced our hands. You are aware who we are, so we will not delve deeply into this pool; following the succession of our kingdom, Hammerfell, we employed various agents during the fighting with the Thalmor to defend worshippers of Talos in the rest of the Empire, who were now outlawed from doing so. While in the Empire itself, this proved difficult as the Legion was strictly enforcing the prohibition, we managed to carve out little pockets away from the eyes of both Imperial and Thalmor agents. With the fall of Stormcloak strongholds in Skyrim, there is now nothing preventing the Thalmor from attacking the righteous worshippers of Talos and enforcing the Empires brash prohibition of it. The politics behind the act make sense, after all the Empire was on the verge of defeat. The Legion was a skeleton army when they signed that damnable White-Gold Concordat, and needed to be rebuilt. The fact that the Empire followed through with the Thalmor demands though is proof they only have the interest of Imperials in mind. It is in that regard, that we are contacting you, Titus.

You see, we in Hammerfell have various agents employed in Skyrim, operating to undermine the Thalmor in their crusade against Talos. We fought a war against them for the same reasons and brought them to a stand-still. While our land is devastated, we have reinforced pride and hope in our kingdom and in Talos, and know this is a cause worth defending. Your exploits in this dreaded civil war are well known to us. While we had been hindering the motives of the Legion over the past few months, it now appears that the war is in closing. Preparations and actions must be made in order to prevent the Thalmor from damaging our representation in the province of Skyrim now, before it is too late. We are aware that while you work for the Imperial Legion, you are not a soldier. Instead, you serve as an agent yourself. You and the other men you worked with were employed to track down Stormcloak sympathizers in business; men and woman that were funding the rebellion. While most of the men you work with are now dead because of a traitor, you yourself stayed in the province of Skyrim because you have nothing anywhere else. We acknowledge your unique set of skills for subterfuge and wish to pay your for those skills. We target you specifically for these jobs because the Thalmor likely do not acknowledge your existence, which puts you in a better position than our other agents in the Province who are actively searched for by the Thalmor. We also acknowledge that your mother, Carmen Sintav, was a redguard. You have roots, and history in the land of Hammerfell, and we feel based on observation that you are our best possible employable agent against those who would undermine Talos. Your ideals lie in Family, that’s why you joined the Legion in the first place, to please your father. Said family has since relocated to Hammerfell on the behest of your mother, and should you agree to our offers of employment, you will receive payment for your efforts, and we will do everything within our power to ensure your parents also see special benefits. We have followed you very closely over the past few months, and had the war taken a different direction would likely have attempted to employ you as an embedded agent within the Legion. We’ve studied your life and your family and are clear in our decision to employ you as a weapon against the Thalmor. As both a redguard by decent and an imperial by blood, we expect that your hatred for the Thalmor runs as deeply as ours.

It is in this regard that we, an organization who is best not named for now, give you this mission to prove whether or not you wish to seek our employment. There is a Thalmor Justiciar en route to Whiterun as we speak. He is leaving Solitude as I myself, the head of our operations within Skyrim, write this very letter to you. Our friend the Thalmor will be staying in the castle of Whiterun, Dragonsreach, home to Jarl Balgruff. Balgruff himself owes his allegiance to the people of Skyrim, and should not be considered an enemy, as he only serves their best interest. However, having a mysterious imperial skulking around the castle will likely be met with poor disposition. We’re not aware what our Thalmors activities in Whiterun are, but we believe he is leading the initial Thalmor charge into the lands of eastern Skyrim, creating a cell of Thalmor agents from which to persecute believers of Talos. There does not appear to be a heavy presence of Thalmor activity in Whiterun itself, and we believe that to be a result of Stormcloak efforts in the region. However, now that the Stormcloaks are all but vanquished, nothing is preventing the Thalmor from enforcing the demands of the White-Gold Concordat on the people of Skyrim. It is in this regard that we employ you, Titus Sintav of the Imperial Legion, son of Silus and Carmen Sintav, to be an agent of our organization (which must still remain unnamed for now) that will hunt down this lone Thalmor agent to prove your loyalty to our cause. With this message you will have received 500 septims as an attempt to ensure the validity of our claims and plans. All you must do now is decide whether or not to accept our offers. We will know if the Thalmor agent is killed, and if that happens, will contact you again in the future.

Best Regards,

X”

Through a haze of mead-induced drunkenness, Titus set the paper down. He was having trouble comprehending what he had just read. For a while he sat on his bed, pondering. His gaze shifted from that of the letter, to that of the coin purse. He didn’t need to count the coins in the purse to know whether or not the letters claim was true. It was heavy, and big. With the acquisition of this letter, he had received more money in a single payment than the Legion had paid him and his late partners in an entire month of service. He layed back on his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

His life had been a sordid one. He was born the son of an imperial soldier. His father, Silus, had been stationed in Hammerfell just before the Great War had ended. He had met, and fell in love with his mother, Carmen while stationed there. Upon the separation of Hammerfell from the Empire, and the Legions subsequent departure from the province, Carmen wished to journey back to Cyrodiil with the young Legionnaire who had stolen her heart. In the year 4E 178, Titus was born on a little farm outside of Bravil. His life is mostly uneventful. For a long time growing up, violence had flared up around the city of Bravil, whilst Titus was in his teens. His father, still serving in the Legion, was tasked with helping maintain peace on the streets between two factions of skooma-traffickers. Injured one day following an incident, his father gained a bad limp in his right leg. He was forced to retire early from the Legion. Farm life was tough, and provided little for the family of 3, for they could afford only a little plot of land. Titus, now 15 in the year 4E 193, sought an end to his life of poverty, and ended up joining, with his friends, one of these skooma-running factions. Though he lived at home, when he made trips into the city to run errands for his parents, he would pick up skooma, and deliver it to another carrier who would be waiting just a ways from his farm. The money was good, but young Titus had poor self-control, and began to sample the products that he was moving. In no time at all, he found himself in trouble with his employers. Out of fear for his family, he sought an escape. With the Legion presence heavy in the area, and his family’s history in the Legion, he figured that joining would have been a good escape from his previous job. Doing so did not provide his family with security though, as shortly afterwards the farmstead was burnt to the ground. Titus was 18 at this time. Following the event, his parents decided life here was too dangerous, and chose to return to Hammerfell. Because of his Legion obligations, he could not follow them.

Angry, Titus revealed to the Legion the secrets of his past employers, and as a result brought about a series of severe attacks on one of the major traffickers. The fighting in Bravil eventually came to become less dangerous for the people there, and life returned to normal for the most part. Despite this, Titus and a series of other former traffickers were employed by the Legion to divulge the tricks-of-the-trade the traffickers used to further impede illegal activities in the region. Such were the roots of Titus’ life in cloak-and-dagger warfare.

A few years later, when the Stormcloak’s launched a rebellion in Skyrim, Titus had been sent north along with agents from elsewhere in the empire to begin operations against people who were supporting the Stormcloak rebellion. Whether they were supplying money, weapons, or information, if they were an enemy to the Empire, they were imprisoned or killed. Using a handy network of spies and assassins, the group Titus was a part of waged a quiet war beneath the civil war that tore Skyrim apart. All was going well for the Empire with the recent acquisition of Rift, when one night the farmstead that the agents had used as their headquarters was raided by a group of Stormcloak’s. Titus managed to escape to Ivarstead, though in the days that followed he had learned his comrades had all been cut apart, and that the pieces of their bodies had been sent to various Imperial bases and offices in Skyrim. Knowing that a grim fate awaited him should he be caught, he chose to make his way back to Fort Greymoor, which served as a staging area for imperials in Whiterun. Upon finding his way back to safety, he learned that the majority of his partners had been killed, while a few had fled or disappeared, which led the Legion to assume either one, or more than one of the agents had accepted money from the Stormcloak’s in return for information.

Such knowledge had sent Titus spiraling into his old ways of poor self-control. For the past month he had neither accepted an assignment from the Legion, nor had he left his room much. Instead, he drank his days away, festering on the idea that a comrade had betrayed him. His behavior had reached the point where the Legion no longer saw him fit for duty, and set his contract with them void until further notice. That was a week ago. By tomorrow, he was expected to leave the fort. When he had awoken that morning, he had little hope for his future. He assumed one day he would slither home to Hammerfell and live a life of poverty there once more, just like in Cyrodiil. Such thoughts only fueled his mead-drinking further. However, he had been forced to answer a knock on his door shortly after lunch time, and found a Legionnaire standing there with a coin purse and note. The soldier had told him a non-descript Nord had come to the Fort earlier that day with this stuff, addressed to Titus. The Nord had said that it was from his parents.

The falsity in the Nords explanation to the other troops was very apparent to Titus. Clearly whoever the Nord was, he was also an agent of whoever had written the letter. Titus’ chances of catching him were probably poor, as he had no idea where the man could have gone. Instead, Titus was left with a decision. Either he could play bounty-hunter for the mysterious letter writer, and ensure riches for both himself and his family, or he could slither off into the country side and live in a fashion akin to his younger days. The choice seemed rather obvious. He was an angry person, and he hated the Thalmor. Although serving the Legions interest in the region during his couple months here, he himself had asked for the blessings of Talos from time to time. Whether or not he received them is questionable, but in his heart he knew the Thalmor, not the people of Skyrim, to be the true enemy.

He sighed. Picking up the note, he looked through it one more time, again stopping on the prospect of his parents receiving benefits for his efforts. Though they themselves did not know it, it was entirely Titus’ fault that they were forced out of their home in Bravil. He felt guilty for his previous actions and knew that through this mysterious note, the chance at a better life was possible for his parents. He looked around the room at other papers scattered along the floor. They were all other missions which the Legion had been asking him to carry out. One was an investigation of the thieves’ guild, one was the targeting a member of the assassins’ guild, and the last was probing into any knowledge of a threat on Titus Mede II’s life. Given Titus’ experience in cloak-and-dagger warfare over the last few months, he was an obvious candidate for such missions, given their high importance. However, given his poor disposition as of late, the Legion had moved on. Titus was tired of fighting and instead chose to live a life of drowning in his own self-pity over the past month. As of a week ago, since his contract with the Legion was now declared void, he needed new employment. While he grew tired of playing the errand boy for politicians in Cyrodiil, or in this case, Hammerfell, he could not shake the prospect of helping both his parents, and the general good of the people in his actions. The Thalmor were pigs. Brutal in the execution of their ideals, they were an enemy to the people of the Empire, despite the fact that a pact said otherwise. The Legion did not try to hide their dislike of the Thalmor, and Titus himself had witnessed first-hand the punishment Talos worshippers had faced when he was in Solitude.

The more Titus recounted his time in Skyrim, the more he came to truly understand his dislike of the Thalmor. He had even in his time inadvertently led the Thalmor to success in their own missions through rooting out Stormcloak sympathizers. In seeing how they dealt with the Stormcloak’s, and general population of Skyrim, Titus had known them to be the true enemy. About a month prior to the incident that resulted in the butchering of his comrades, Titus and his partners had actually specifically requested the Legion to not make them work with the Thalmor anymore. Yes, it was common-knowledge that the Thalmor were despised by all, even if a pact between empires said otherwise.

Whether it was because he was drunk, or angry, Titus felt the motivation to follow the letters appeal. He wanted to kill this Thalmor. For his parents, for himself, and for some sort of repayment to the people that had suffered as a result of his previous work, he wanted this Thalmor to suffer. With dark ideas of what he could do to the unnamed agent in his mind, Titus began to pack up his room. He didn’t have Legion armor, as he was an agent as wasn’t intended to be noticeable, though he did have a dagger with the Legions insignia on it. He left that on the bed. Having the clothes of a common man on, with a steel broadsword sheathed around his waist, and a backpack full of stale bread, cheese, and mead, Titus chose to set out. The sack of money and letter he had were also within his back pack. Leaving his room, he looked into it one last time, gazing at the Legionnaire dagger left on his bed, before closing the door and moving on. Staggering his way through the halls of Greymoor, he emerged finally into the light of a glorious summer day. Despite the fact that the chill of Skyrim never seems to leave, the sun beat down upon Titus in warm rays as a crisp breeze blew in from the north. Having let his eyes adjust for a moment, he made his way across the forts courtyard to the gate. Soldiers watched him as he did so, laughing as he went. Titus likely appeared to be rather disheveled, having grown out both his brown beard and dirty blonde hair over the past month he spent in his skeever-pit of a room. Upon reaching Whiterun, he would have to clean up a bit at one of the inns. In fact, he would likely have to spend quite a few days in Whiterun just to determine where his target was, and what he was doing. He would have some difficulty reaching him, as he was staying in the Jarl’s keep, so patience on this mission would be a must.

And it was with those thoughts in mind that the young imperial Titus Sintav staggered drunkenly out of Fort Greymoor onto the road to Whiterun, commoners’ clothes and greasy beard dancing in the wind of a summer day. The civil war was all but over, with the last of the Stormcloak’s hold up in Winterhold or hiding in the hills. The winds of change crept down from the mountains and slid through the trees of Skyrim. The war may be at an end, but bloodshed was still on the horizon.

OOC: Hiya. Names Fubbles, I’m new to the Forums. Rather than finding an RP, I am instead attempting to refine my writing and storytelling skills. Creation of stories within the rich world of Tamriel has always been an interesting prospect to me simply because of the shear amount of information Bethesda has created for people to build from. The Lore of TES is simply astounding to me, and playing through Skyrim (I’ve also played Daggerfall and Morrowind as a kid, and Oblivion as a teen) has made me want to write about cloak-and-dagger style warfare following the end to the Civil War. This story assumes the civil war ends in a fashion favorable to the Empire, but in the interest of various parties, the efforts of the Aldmeri Dominion must be undermined. As a result, violence in Skyrim will continue for a long time. In playing games I often like to RP and create stories in my head as I play them, and this is one I’ve long considered.

So, while the writing may be poor and the grammar a bit off at times, I aim to write a story for you wonderful people! I have no idea how long it will be, but future posts will likely not be as long as this one was. I have trouble setting things up in introductory fashions, which is why it was so long. Sorry for the length of the read! Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it! I will be adding more in the future!

Note from the author: I’m going to bring this up right now; I’m somewhat bending the world of TES to my whim, in order to create a deeper story. In all the TES games since Morrowind, I’ve found cities and towns to be far too small to even really be considered towns. Even though they were randomly generated in Daggerfall, I appreciated the size of cities in the game. In that respect, I’m making all the towns and cities in this story “bigger” than how they appeared in games. The landmarks of cities will still appear, of course, but for the most part I want you to envision cities as having far more buildings and streets, and people than they did in the game, as an actual medieval city would!

Chapter 2: The Plot.

The world of war is chaotic. It is not evil, it is not good. It is confusing, fast, and unforgiving. War is spouts of dry, anxious waiting, broken by occasional quick and brutal exchanges of steel, screams, and bloods. Honor and pride are said to drive the day, but the real victors are fear and sheer disregard for the lives of others. War is uncalculating and un-expectable. Plans are as feeble as a blade of grass and can fall apart like the bones that bear their testament to war. War is nothing more than the simple exchange of political ideals and feelings between various parties on the field, followed by the entrenchment of those ideals following the exchange.

The real world of power lies in the motives and safeguards that drive wars. Philosophers and charismatic leaders spout ideals, merchants supply the money and blacksmiths make the weapons; liars, cheats, and opportunists sweep in to reap the benefits of suffering from the dying hands of one who was too slow to grasp the change in the wind. War is not driven by soldiers and generals, merely acted out. The source of war lies within the trickle of a small stream. A single man can be that source, capturing the hearts and minds of those around him. The rich and powerful seek gains, greed for land and titles drive the streams to form tributaries, and such tributaries culminate in the massive river of war, one the so easily spills over its banks and saturates the fields and woodlands surrounding it, choking out the weak of heart that stand in its way.

Titus saw Ulfric Stormcloak as just that. Not some great man who should one day lead the people of Skyrim. Instead, he saw an opportunist, passionate about his land, yes, but greedy and dangerously ignorant to the traits of a good ruler. Through forceful coercion he sought to usurp the throne of Skyrim, and instead plunged it into chaos. While his motives may have originally appeared just, Ulfric now only aimed to place himself at the throne. If he cared at all for the people of Skyrim, he would have been actively trying to mitigate the effects this war was having on them.

Take Whiterun hold, for instance. A few months ago, a great battle was fought here in which the Legion managed to beat back the army of Stormcloak’s besieging the city. The battle proved to be the turning point in the war. Following the attack, the Legion led a campaign into the Pale and the Rift, and now stands ready to crush the remnants of the rebellion. The hold itself suffered greatly from the battle though. Following the retreat of Stormcloak’s reports rushed in of looting all over the country side. The righteous rebels freely took what they could from the good people, regardless of their allegiance. Daughters were kidnapped, livestock butchered, and farms were burnt down. For the army fighting for the people of Skyrim, they sure had a unique way of showing it. The ideals for the war originally made sense, but when you give an angry person a sword, the stigma attached to that sword goes to their head. Both the city and the hold of Whiterun lie in dilapidated squalor. Funds and efforts are being directed to the war effort, and as a result, fields are empty and untilled, buildings are in a state of disrepair, and banditry is the only law outside of the villages. Ulfric Stormcloak had caused all of this simply because he wanted a throne. The worship of the Gods is in the heart and mind, places the Thalmor cannot touch, but Ulfric could not stand the idea regardless. He waged his bloody civil war and proved nothing, wasting countless lives in the process. As the tide began to turn, his supporters either withdrew from the conflict, or switched sides; such is the crowd war attracts. The efforts of Ulfrics rebellion were undermined by the likes of Titus, and now such efforts were paying off. The war was at a close, and would probably be over in a month or two.

However, despite the swift end to the war that was no doubt coming, the violence would not end there. The enemies of Skyrim were everywhere, whether they were bandits, rebels, or forsworn. Fighting would continue for a long time yet, and complete control and rebuilding of the land would take some time. Things would probably start to get better in a couple of years. However, the true positive effects of a province recovering from war would not be seen in their fullest until those committing atrocities against the people of Skyrim were brought to justice.

This was the new mission of Titus. A mysterious letter sent by someone, or some people who seemed to know an awful lot about his life had driven Titus to accept a contract to kill a Thalmor Justiciar who was making his way (or was already there) to Whiterun to begin spying on the people. The Thalmor liked to embed people in the population to root out Talos worshippers, though now that most of the land was cleansed of rebels, they could simply freely enter towns and arrest people. Since Whiterun had until recently been the focal point of the war, they had made no efforts. Now, Thalmor were moving east in earnest, eager to capture as many Talos worshippers as possible. Titus saw the Thalmor as the real enemy of the people, and aimed to finally do his part to combat them. He was disenchanted with the ideals of the war, and instead aimed to bring the war to a new enemy, even if this war was only going to be fought in the dark.

Titus paused his thoughts for a moment. You’re getting ahead of yourself, boy. Just kill this skeever first, and then maybe you can continue butchering Thalmor later. We’ll see. Indeed. Titus had no way of knowing what was to come after he slew his target. He was venturing the guess that whoever was setting him up to do this would follow through with it. He gets money, his parents get a better life, and there is one less Thalmor in the world. The idea sounds lovely, but he had no way of knowing for sure that if he followed through with this, the results of his work would be seen. Still, the idea of killing justiciar’s pleased him.

The sun was tucking itself behind the western mountains by the time Titus reached the city of Whiterun. He was crushingly sober by now, and had taken on quite the head ache. Stopping briefly along the road, he produced another bottle of mead from his pack, as well as a chunk of cheese, and began to eat it as he walked. He realized in his haste exit of Fort Greymoor that he had failed to pack water, given his recent decent into the life of a sad drunk. It was too late for that though. When he reach the gate of the city, he had already drank all the mead. His belly content and his fingers numb once more, he brushed his way through the gate and into the city.

The aroma of cooking meat and various herbs met his nose as he walked down the main street of Whiterun. Various carts lined the road for quite a ways, all the way to the marketplace which served as a center of commerce in the city. All the major businesses could be found there. Likewise, the good inns of the city could also be found along this route. The city sat atop a great hill, with residences for the more well off portion of the population being uphill, and the shacks of the poorer portions found all over the bottom portion of the city. Little paths darted off this road and wound their way between the mass of shelters that the poor called home. If one did not stick to the main roads of the city, they would likely quickly find themselves lost among the houses of the poor. Still, the city did not give the overall impression of being home to a massive swathe of poor folks if one stuck to the main centers. The market served as a meeting place for people from all walks of life, with street performers giving passer-byers entertainment, and merchants yelling above the droll trying to sell their wares. While it was relatively quiet right now since the day was almost at an end, the streets were still somewhat populated. It would be much more difficult to make ones way around in the middle of the day.

Had he been trying to save money, Titus would have chosen to stay at the Drunken Huntsmen, an inn that was close to the gates of the city. Instead though, since he had the money now, he decided he would get a room at the Bannered Mare for a couple of days, whilst he investigated the city in an attempt to find the agent. As he did so, he formulated a plot in his head for the disguise he would give himself during his time here. The old name he used to use while on missions like this, Jesan Vunnis, would probably work. However, given the compromising nature the name could entail now, since he and his comrades were betrayed, he figured it best to find a new name. He liked to use relatively common surnames as they tended to not draw much attention. Sintav itself was a common name. He recalled his knowledge of names, and settled on the name of clan Odiil. He had met Odiil’s in his lifetime and knew them to be from the regions of Chorral, should someone ask him. He settled on the name Stentus Odiil, and decided that he would tell folks, should they ask, that he is in town attempting to open a business. All the shops are now closed, which comes to his dismay, though tomorrow morning he figured it best to go out and buy clothes in order to best look the part of a savvy merchant. From there, he could visit the castle and inquire with the Jarls servants about property costs in the city, hopefully catching knowledge of the Thalmor agent in the process.

With his alias decided, he entered the Bannered Mare. The air in here was warm and inviting, and smelt of roast pork. Someone was cooking stew over the open fire pit, and various groups of people seemed to be enjoying themselves at their tables. Titus checked around the inn to see if anyone was watching him. Save for a few nonchalant glances that the inns patrons gave, no one appeared to give him any interest. Good. He made his way to the bar, where the inn keeper was found.

“How can I help you?” asked the innkeeper, an older Nord woman. Her skin seemed leather and weathered, and her face looked tired. She appeared almost to old to be working this job.

“Yes, hello. I was wondering, what are your rooms costs? I’ll likely be in the city for a few days and would like to rent one.” Titus replied, attempting to appear refined and respectable, despite the obvious smell of mead emerging from his mouth.

“We charge 10 septims a night, it’s fairly cheap.” She replied stoutly, “can I book you for…?”

“I’m not sure how long my business in the city will be, perhaps book me for three nights now, I can pay you up front.”

“Alright, then, let me show you too you room then, Mr…”

“Odiil, Stentus Odiil, ma’am.”

The inn keeper was busy collecting the money from Titus, counting it to make sure he paid the full amount, “And what brings you too the city, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My brother and I hail from the south, we’re looking for business up here in the north, though he could not make the trip with me on account of an illness.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the illness, sir. I hope he makes a quick recovery.” She was leading Titus through a crowd of people and up the stairs to where the rooms were, “what is it you two sell, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Various wares,” Titus replied, thinking quickly, “we did have a small time selling wine in and around Chorrol, but it never amounted to much. We’re now attempted to sell quality craft wares.”

She led Titus to the door of the room he would be staying in, and opened it with a key before handing it to him, “well, here you are. It’s nothing much, quaint and homely though. Feel free to come downstairs and eat with the rest of the patrons.” She was turning around to leave, “that’s an interesting venture as well, though places like this could always use the handy work of artisans. I wish all the best for you and your brother.”

“Thank you, we hope to be more successful here than we were at home.” He replied as she left. He closed the door behind her. Knowing he was now alone, he took the mysterious note from his backpack and glazed over it once more. Besides sharing that the Thalmor will be in Dragonsreach, it provided nothing more. Titus pondered for a moment. He would have to do some good sleuthing.

Upon looking around the room, he noticed a novel on the bedside table. It was The Lusty Argonian Maid, a common book of a cautionary tale. He decided that he would take the novel and find a quiet corner to read in whilst he eavesdropped among the bar goers. Walking out of his room, and down the stairs, he gazed around the bar. He was looking for people of finer clothing, ones who may be civil servants in the Jarls keep. He found a few tables of promising candidates at the far end of the inn, and noticed a free seat at a corner table that he could take. Making his way across the bar, through the smell of mead, sweat, and stew, he took his seat and began to read his book in relative solitude, being interrupted only when the redguard maid of the inn would ask if he needed food or drink. Sitting comfortably and warm in the inn, he sipped mead between chewing bread and a fillet of salmon. Songs erupted at the far end of the inn by a band of drunken Legionnaires. People laughed and drank all around him. Through the noise, he couldn’t hear much, and his sleuthing job thus far was not going well. However, having worked in these environments before, he knew that the best course of business was to remain patient. As the night went on, various patrons entered the bar. Eventually, a group of relatively well dressed Nord woman came and sat at a table not far from them. Before long, they were deep into their mead, and he could over hear them.

One of them, a relatively older Nord with grey hair, was speaking to the two younger Nord women, who had red and blond hair respectively.

“Did you two see the way that new Bosmer lad was looking at you two?” the older woman was saying. Before this, their conversation had largely focused on servant life in the keep, which is what peaked Titus’ interest in them. Now however he was listening intently.

“His eyes were glancing between both of you pretty maids while you worked today, I was watching him!” Grey teased excitedly, “you know what they say about short men…”

“Oh off with you!” replied Red, blushing so much that her face nearly matched her crimson hair, “I have no interest in no man is his not a Nord, you know that!”

“He probably does have a lot of money though, to be staying with the Jarl!” replied Blond, “and besides, who said you’d have to marry him!”

This sent the girls into a tizzy of giggles and ‘what-ifs.’ The conversation soon divulged into information Titus would have rather not known, but from what he had heard he could assume that there was a Bosmer who was staying in the keep, who seemed relatively new there. So much so that his presence was at least unique to the servants who worked in the castle. Bosmer themselves were not unusual sights in Skyrim, though given the Thalmor conquest of Valenwood it seemed unlikely he would want to work with the Thalmor. Though, as it is with all wars, the rich and powerful are often quick to side with whoever wins a war. This man could be potentially rich, given his staying among the Jarl. It was very possible that he could be an agent. Titus would have to keep an eye out for him the following day when he visited the castle.

He stayed a little while longer among the patrons of the bar, but was eventually forced to stagger up to his room in a numb haze, and collapse on his bed. The sounds of the bar grew distant, and his mind went black.

--

Sunlight filtered through a dingy window and set itself upon Titus face. He awoke. He felt groggy and his head was aflame, and he briefly moaned in anguish at the cruel sunlight, before coming to his senses. He had collapsed on the floor of his room. Pulling himself up, he gazed outside. It was late morning. He should probably get to work. Pulling stale bread from his pack, and deciding that it was probably best to skip the mead today, he ate. Making a brief stop down stairs to borrow a knife from an empty table, he returned upstairs with a bowl of water. Using the reflection of his scraggily self as a guide, he cut and trimmed both his beard and his hair. His hair ended up appearing to look quite well by the end of it, curling and looking sandy in the reflection, though the beard was not better off by any degree. However, given that he did “come from Chorrol” over the past little while, the scraggily beard would explain itself. He just needed clothes to match the image he was trying to convey.

Paying little attention to price, Titus spent the better part of the morning acquiring clothes that implied some sort of wealth. Fine fur boots, a thick regal looking coat, and various necklaces and rings adorned himself. He had essentially spent half of what he had received in the letter by the time he actually got to Dragonsreach; but at least he looked the part. He’d have little money to show the Jarls assistant, so instead he would just go to inquire about prices and state his intent to buy.

Entering Dragonsreach is easy. All are welcome, and come under the watchful eyes of the guards. One can bumble around the main court, though loitering is strictly prohibited. When Titus got there, for example, the court was mostly empty, save for a small line of people waiting to address the steward, who appeared to be a middle-aged Imperial. Joining this line, Titus waited. The man addressing him right now appeared to be a middle aged Nord. The two of them were attempting to figure out some sort of land agreement, and Titus assumed that he’d be here for a while. The two of them disappeared up the stairs behind the throne, and the court was mostly empty. Titus heard a giggle echo behind him, and upon looking realized it was Gray and Blond from last night, giggling behind a great wooden column at the girl with Red hair, who was talking to no one other than the Bosmer.

Titus eyed the Bosmer. He appeared short; in fact he was shorter than the woman he was flirting with. He had brown hair and his face looked as if it were perpetually bent into a frown, though he was making an effort to smile for this woman. She was covering a smile with her hand while he talked to her, leaning against the wall like a brash young knight. Titus already hated him.

“Can I help you?” asked the steward.

Titus came to his sense, “Ah, yes!” He bowed his head slightly, “My name is Stentus Odiil, I hail from Cyrodiil and have come here to inquire about purchasing land in the city.” He raised his head, “my brother and I wish to sell wares in your good town, my lord.”

The steward appeared smug, as though he had something better to do, “and where is your brother, Mr. Odiil?”

“He could not make this trip on account of his illness, my lord, though I assure you he would have if he could.”

“Very well. What is it you wish to know then, sir?”

“Well,” Titus wrapped his brain. He knew little about the world of business or real estate, admittedly, “My brother and I are artisans, crafts persons. We make everything from tempered metal goods to wood furniture. Sadly I did not bring any examples here, otherwise I would have given you one as a gift, sir,” Titus attempted to smile, showing genuine kindness, “though we have recently also ran into trouble in our wine sales in Chorrol, which is why we aim to start a new business here,”

“Whiterun is at the center of Skyrim, and is a great hub for business. I can see why you’d choose property here. Tell me, how much are you looking to spend…?”

--

The conversation between Titus and the Steward hovered around for a while. The Steward was a shrewd gentleman, is his job required of him. He was attempting to determine just how much money Titus had in order to broker a deal that was beneficial for both parties. In the end, the two decided that Titus would purchase a building that was just a little ways away from the market, for the price of 4500 septims. To encourage this new business into settling in Whiterun, the Steward agreed to let Titus pay 2500 septims up front and another 2000 over the next two years in addition to the taxes paid on the property. Titus finished the conversation with the Steward saying he’d shortly return to Cyrodiil, collect the finances and make all the necessary arrangements with his brother before returning to the north. Obviously all of the conversation was simply deceitful on the part of Titus, but he felt authenticity was necessary for all of this.

Titus was just finishing up the conversation with the Steward, when he motioned to the Bosmer, who was now chatting with both Red and Blond, attempting to broker a deal of his own.

“Who’s that lad, if you don’t mind my curiosity? It’s not every day that you see a Bosmer in Skyrim, no?” Titus asked.

“That my good sir is Brellin Ivyrun, son of a rich noble family in Valenwood.” The Steward replied.

Figures. It’s always the rich who sell themselves to the politicians.

“He is here on a business trip, much like yourself. His family is considering buying a large swathe of land up here.”

“The rich nobles from Valenwood need land in Skyrim?” Titus replied, somewhat puzzled.

“Apparently they farm sheep’s, goats, and cattle of various kinds. They say the ones in Skyrim offer unique furs that could improve their business, so they seek the land. Surely a merchant such as yourself can understand diversification, no?”

“Of course, that’s why we tried to sell wine back home,” Titus replied, turning to leave, “thank you again for your help sir. I wish you a good day and will get back to you with my plans as soon as I can.”

“I look forward to it, Whiterun can always use the business!”

And with that, Titus left, once again looking at the Bosmer fellow. Yes, this was likely the agent. A man coming from Thalmor controlled territory, seeking to buy land may seem plausible, but in all likelihood he is probably here to also root out enemies of the Aldmeri Dominion. Using circumstantial evidence, Titus concluded that, yes, this man was likely his target. Now he just needed to find a way to kill him.

Note from the author: Since I haven't yet recieved feed back so far for my story (maybe it's to long? Maybe its notoriously awful? Don't know, I'm just trying to learn to write!), I don't quiet know if this matters. However, for some reason I can't seem to indent correctly on this copy-paste from word. If the following chapter is difficult to read, I would like to apologize! Also, sorry if this is getting a little PG in regards to the mentioning of both a Brothel/prostitution. I assure you I have no intention of making this an R-rated fan-fic. I need to utilize the mentioning of such things to ensure people how dark the world of espionage is for young Titus, and the tools at his disposal. I know little about intimacy so It is unlikely that I will ever write about something like that. Also, I'm fairly certain there are forum rules about being sixually explicit, which is also why I would never write about that. Anywho, Enjoy the read!

Chapter 3: Love and Lust in Whiterun

Murder can sometimes be a confusing thing. Certainly in the heat of battle, the killing that happens there is done so in necessity. Because of the politics of the day, you must kill, or you shall be killed. Murder on the other hand is something else entirely. It is premeditated and planned, when done right, accidental and unforgiving when done wrong. Regardless of how one could look at murder, it is the cold execution of a plan at its core. The nature of the murder depends on how fleshed out the plan is. It could be done sloppily, and leave a trail of metaphorical (or, if done sloppily enough, physical) blood right back to the murderer, or it can appear to be something as mysterious as a natural death.

The war Titus has fought so far was on of murder, not pitched battles. The history books will remember the pitched battles, and the number of men who fought and died in them. They will not mention the murders that happened during the war. Titus and his comrades-at-arms had committed many murders, some of them obvious, and some of them not-so-obvious. From the kidnapping of a young Nord boy, to the burning down of a farmstead who had Stormcloak sympathizers in it, Titus had murdered quite a few people for the Legion during his stay in Skyrim. However, such murders, when done, had never left Titus feeling insecure. They had been carried out in the company of his peers. Retribution from your opponent’s party seems like a distant threat when surrounded by numbers. Perhaps this low sense of danger is what cost the men their lives. Regardless, Titus now, in planning the murder of this Bosmer fellow, Brellin Ivyrun, felt a cold insecurity that he had not previously felt before. With the Legion, the murders he had carried out still left in untouchable. Now, if he was caught, he would have to answer to the Legions for his crimes. He had to make sure his plan was perfect.

Taking what little he knew from his suspected enemy, he formulated a plot. Brellin obviously enjoyed the company of women, even when they’re taller than him. The man has money, and obviously wants women. With this in mind, Titus thought it best to seek out the seedier elements in town; a brothel. Surely there was one present in a city such as this, as men will often seek company on cold winter nights. Perhaps he could lure his target to such an establishment and then stab him, or slit his throat as soon as he was alone.

Or maybe not. Blood is dangerous, after all. Titus wanted this to be as quiet as possible. Poison was perhaps the best method of action here. He recalled once that he and his partners used Jarrin root on an owner of a mine, dispatching him quietly and effectively. Likely, Jarrin root would be quite difficult to come by anywhere in Whiterun, given the tight prohibition of the dangerous root. The alchemy shop would have access to weak poison potions, but in too small of a dose, they would just cause sickness. It would also likely look suspicious to buy a large quantity of poison as well. However, it seemed like the most plausible method.

It was just after mid-day when Titus was pondering all of this in his small room at the Bannered Mare. He had plenty of time to continue formulating a plot, but decided that poison was his best route, should he lure Brellin to a brothel, which he was not yet sure existed, and get him to drink something there. He had to prepare though. He could visit both the apothecary in town as well as the general store and buy small samples of what he needed, though if he didn’t have enough he decided upon breaking into the apothecary itself at night and taking what he needed.

With a plan finally sorted out, Titus hit the town with the last of the money he had received in the contract. From a general goods store he bought lock picks, and from the apothecary across the market, he bought a supply of deathbell and river betty, a poisonous plant and fish respectively. The deathbell was rather cheap, though the river betty proved to be rather expensive because it was apparently shipped in the Falkreath Hold. When questioned by the apothecary owner about his intentions, he simply stated that he was being employed by a friend to remove a den of skeevers on his farm near Rorikstead. She seemed to buy the story.

River betty fish alone prove to be potently poisonous, and a potion made out of the three little fish he had purchased would likely be enough to kill his target. He hadn’t expected the apothecary to hold anything more than deathbell, which can be quite weak, so he now decided he likely wouldn’t need to break into the apothecary to steal more supplies. Returning to the Bannered Mare, and borrowing a bowl and a heavy spoon from the inn keeper, he went to his room. Setting all his supplies on the table, and slowly adding samples to the bowl and crushing them with the large spoon, he got to work on his potion. As he did so, he added mead to his poison, which right now appeared to be little more than a thick paste. He frowned. More liquid was needed in this potion. Returning once again to the innkeeper, this time for a large pot, he poured his solution into the metal dish with 3 bottles of mead. Save for a few flaky chunks of fish here and there, the poison appeared to be mixed well with the mead. It was a murky-to-clear greyish drink, but if drunk from the bottle one would be unable to notice the unique qualities held by it. Titus was concerned about what this would likely taste like, but figured in the end that the mead likely over powered the taste of the poison.

Using the pot and bowl, he slowly poured his poison into the three bottles of mead he had used to create it. While he splashed some poison here and there, he got most of it into the bottles. Securing them with a cork, he shuffled them underneath his bed. He presumed the bowl and pot he had used in the creation process were now soiled, and hoped the inn keeper would not come looking for them anytime soon.

Now, Titus needed to learn about the seedy underbelly of the city. He wanted to lure Brellin to a secluded area with the promise of a woman, but to do such a thing he would need to first find a woman in which to lure Brellin with. Obviously one of the servant girls from the keep would work, but Titus had no way of employing them to do his bidding. Rather, he would need to find a different woman. The Bannered Mare was a relatively classy establishment, and women of the sultry variety did not appear to spend their time here. Still, Titus approach some Nord men who themselves appeared to be of a low class standing and assumed they would know. All three of them were heavily drunk when Titus approached them.

“Gents, I’m going to be straight forward with you. Where can a man find some company in this city?” Titus said, approaching them with authority.

All three of them men paused their drinking before turning to him, and burst out in uproarious laughter. “Boy!” one of them managed to spit out beneath bouts of laughter and slurps of mead, “a rich man like you doesn’t need to company of some hussy! Haven’t you got yourself some wife for that?”

Titus realized he was still wearing his fine clothes from before. He grew embarrassed among the laughter of the men and asked his question once more, adding, “as the son of a noble I wish to enjoy many woman before settling for one.” He gave them a toothy grin in finishing. Appearing to have won the respect of these salty gentlemen, they directed him to the Drunken Hunstmen.

“The brothel itself is located among the shantys in the side streets lady, but most of the girls go to the Huntsmen.”

Titus thanked the men and left a couple coins on the table, wishing them a good evening. Cold air greeted him as he left the Mare into the night. The street was empty, save for a wandering pack of drunks here, and a patrol of guards there. Whiterun didn’t appear to have a night life at first, until he reached the Huntsmen. Stepping in, he was greeted by laughter and warmth. Bards songs filled the air amid cheers for the battle melodies being sung. Mead spilt on the floor and friends embraced in the warm environment. Among all this, it was noticeable that an assortment of young Nord maids were either entering or exiting the building, with a man following their lead.

Titus chose to approach one of the young women, leaning against the far wall of the inn. From a distance she appeared to be the same height as Titus, if not shorter by a smidgen. Her hair was dirty blonde, much like his. As he approached her, he noticed that she had deep brown eyes. Her figure was that of a pretty young woman, one whom if led a normal life, would likely be a sought after bride. All in all, she seemed young and fair, full of life. She wore common clothes, though around her neck showed off various pieces of jewelry that were likely gifts from lovers.

As Titus reached her, she, in practiced routine, greeted him with a smile. “Can I help you sir?” she asked, seeming to take note of his well-dressed attire.

“Yes lass,” Titus replied, attempting to convey authority despite the fact he was likely the same age of this woman, “I was wondering if I might be able to hire your efforts for one of my friends, in the near future.” He was going out on a limb here. He only assumed this woman worked in the illustrious business of prostitution based on his surroundings. If he were wrong, he expected to be slapped rather swiftly.

She responded positively, as her job entailed. “Well that depends what your ‘friend’ wants, dear.” She put one of her hands on his shoulder, and with the other hand playfully teased Titus’ fingers. Titus was not used to the presence of women; in fact, he was downright terrified at expressing intimacy for anyone. It wasn’t that he was ugly. He was a fine, handsome young Imperial. He just found it difficult to grow close to people, as he had spent a large majority of his life instead loathing those around him. Women were no exception. He stammered.

“N.. Not me miss! My friend” he blushed hard, escaping the warm caress of her hands, “If it were me I assure you I would have told you!”

She laughed at his response to her invitation, “well then, whose this friend?”

“A refined gentleman, miss,” Titus replied, who wished to keep this affair a secret. He has sent me to ask about prices, as well as the potential for privacy. He wishes for this to remain a secret, lest he sully his families good name.”

This answer did not appear to faze her, “very well, this is not unusual for me. What was he thinking?”

Clearly this plan could work out nicely for Titus, “well, is there anywhere you two may meet in absolute secrecy?”

“We could use my house itself, it’s not far from the brothel, though for this I will need to receive more gold from you.”

“We have the gold to spend, it is hardly an issue here, I assure you. Can I ask where this house is specifically…?

“Well, I could show you…”

“I cannot stress enough how I myself am not in the market for this, dear.” Even had Titus been seeking the company of this woman, his coin purse would likely be unable to afford it. He had spent nearly all of his money, “I just need to know where to direct our good sir.”

She seemed to deflate with his responses. “All right,” she sighed, “let me show you.”

She led him out into the main street of the city, through various other inn-goers until they reached a relatively quiet side street. While they walked, they passed a relatively non-descript building that as far larger and much better kept than the shanties that surrounded it. A single door led to the building, above it a metal caricature of what Titus recognized to be the Daedric prince Sanguine.

“This is the brothel,” his escort informed him. “It’s not hard to miss, during the day its very busy. We call this road the ‘winding path’ because it winds its way through the poor district. My house is at the very end, by the pine tree over there,” she pointed, “just tell him to follow the winding path to the pine tree, and enter the house there. I’ll be waiting. What time is this for, might I ask?”

“This will likely be tomorrow, or the following day. We’ll aim for mid-afternoon, shall we?” Titus replied, “and your rates, again miss?”

“For your friend I will charge 200 septims upfront, though we can discuss payment later when we learn what he wants, yes?” she gave Titus a devilish smile. He blushed once more.

“Er, yes. Now, may I ask you, I never got your name? I’d like to know who I am directing him too.”

“Call me Mara, the Goddess of Love,” she chuckled, “I don’t have a name.”

In any other situation, Titus would have dug deeper than this. The only thing he enjoyed more than his own dark pit of despair was learning about others. For a young woman such as this to wish to not divulge her name because of her trade was interesting, and intrigued Titus. For now though, she would have to remain just that. An intriguing woman, and nothing more.

“All right, Mara. I’ll contact you tomorrow then.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile, though he could tell she seemed either disappointed, or tired. He left her there, and walked back out to the main street. One more thing had to be done yet to ensure his letter reached Brellin. Returning to the Mare, Titus searched among the crowd, who now consisted only of those staying in the inn itself, for one who appeared to be a messenger. Imperial messengers frequented the inns of the city, as they were usually moving somewhere. It would likely not be difficult to find one. Indeed, he spotted what appeared to be a messenger sitting among one of the tables. He was along and had a Legionnaire dagger sheathed on his side. His leather cap lay at the table beside him. Titus watched the young imperial for a short time, before the imperial got up and went to his room. Evidently, it appeared as Titus followed him, that the man was staying in the room across from himself. Peeking into the room as the door opened revealed what appeared to be a messenger’s satchel slung over the chair. Yes, this man had to be a messenger.

Titus entered his own room, finding the copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid that was present in the room; he desperately searched the drawers and cupboards for anything to write with. Shortly, he found both an inkwell and a quill. The ink well was almost empty, it appeared, but he only needed to write a short message so it didn’t matter much. Ripping a blank page as neatly as possible from the book, he wrote ‘Winding path, house by the pine, mid-afternoon,’ dotting off the cryptic message with a heart. He assumed the intrigue would work on the lustful Bosmer nobleman. Signing it with ‘Mara,’ on the bottom, he folded his page. On the outside, he wrote, ‘Brellin Ivyrun, Dragonsreach’, and sealed the note over with hot wax from a candle that was burning in the room. His letter was complete. Now he just needed to plant it among the notes of the messenger.

It was very late into the night now, and all the patrons of the bar had gone to sleep. Titus himself was very tired, but knew the task at hand needed to be done with some urgency. Sneaking quietly into the hall, he pressed his ear to the door of the messenger’s room. He could here soft snoring coming from within. With lock picks in hand, Titus began working on the door before him. His line of work required him to be skillful with locks, and in no time he had successfully picked the lock, and slid the door open slowly. He had made no noise in doing. Leaving the door open just a crack, he crept through the darkness to the chair, and grasped the leather satchel that hung on it. Unhooking the flap and reaching in, he could feel a mass of other notes. Yes, this was a messenger. Thinking little of it, he slid his own note into the satchel. As he turned to leave, the floor gave out a long, audible creak. The messenger stopped snoring.

Standing still for what seemed like an eternity, Titus waited in silence. The black night encroached around him, choking out his quite breath and emanating his loud hard beat. All he could hear was the thump of his heart, as blood coursed through his body. Was he caught? Is he dead? The silence strung itself out like a limp carcass on a line, as though one could cut it with a knife. After what seemed like an era, the messenger continued to snore, however. Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, Titus exited the room, and closed the door.

Returning to the security of his own room, Titus sat down. Below his bed lied three bottles of poisoned mead. Tomorrow when he went to visit Mara, he would give her strict instructions to open them to start things off with Brellin. From there, everything was in the hands of fate. As soon as he learnt of his death, he would likely need to leave the city. Riverrun seemed like a close and viable option for him to lay low in for a while, and he would likely take that route. For now though, he needed rest, as the following day was going to be big.

Nonsense!

It was nicely written.You definitely have talent, and I like your writing style. Something I'd call mature. Though, if you could space out your paragraphs like the last few you did just below (with when the characters interact too), it'll be easier on the eyes. I understand that on a word document, using indents are perfectly fine. But with the forum, people tend to go, 'woah', and not want to read it. Sorry if I sounded a little condensing there.

Apart from that, however, I really enjoyed your fanfic. There are some RPs out there, like Of Princes and Power that could use people like you. (Though, I saw in your Author's Note that you weren't looking to RPs at the moment. But if, in future you're considering joining an RP, we'd be more than happy to have you over).

Keep updating, otherwise I'd have to hurt you.

Oh yes. As for copy-and-paste, there's this little icon on the bar above the reply box (yeah, my technical language is crap) that says 'copy from word'. Unless you meant that that (haha, that that) wasn't the one that was working properly, you could try to others alongside it?

Oh, and how could I forget?

WELCOME TO THE FORUMS, FUBBLES

Here, have a http://images.uesp.net/c/c4/Fishystick.jpg.

A note from the author: Thanks Schmuty Buncis You're Awesome, thank you for the fishy stick. I shall cherish it always. For the ease of readers, I shall now separate paragraphs and speech and all that by big spaces to make reading the large blocks of text much easier, less intimidating. Hope you fine folks enjoy!

Chapter 4: A Sour Taste.

Again, the sun greeted Titus’ eyes. This morning, however, was much different than the previous one. Instead of waking up in a drunken fog, Titus woke up, resolute. Today was the day, assuming the messenger reached the castle.

Titus stood up and walked to the window, peaking out of it. It was early in the morning, and the sun was just peaking over the mountains in the east. He likely had plenty of time, but wanted to make sure. Standing up, and getting dressed in his ‘commoner’ clothes, this time leaving his fancier stuff laid out on his bed, he emptied his backpack of it’s contents. A set of lock picks, a chunk of stale bread, a butter knife he’d taken from the inn, and a half-gone bottle of mead. He pulled the note and coin bag from the back pack to. Bending down, he reached under his bed and pulled his three mead bottles of poison out from it, placing them in the leather backpack. Closing it, he got up and went to leave the room. Just as he was preparing to close the door, something in his mind prevented him from doing so. He looked over his room once more, are the contents scattered on his bed. He decided that it was likely best not to leave the mysterious letter on his bed, should someone stumble upon it. His work required oneself to be extremely careful with the incriminating evidence they left behind. Obviously, the purchase of poisonous substances from the apothecary in itself is incriminating, but by the time the poisoned Brellin is discovered, Titus hoped to be gone from the city, losing any attention in doing so.

Taking the note, and sliding it into his pocket in a folder fashion, Titus left his room, locking it as he did so. His pack was slung over his shoulder by one strap, and he galloped down the stairs into the inn in a seemingly fresh fashion. The inn keeper took note of his bright demeanor, and wished him a good day as he left the building. Again, just as he walked out of the room, something in Titus’ mind was telling him do turn back. Entering the inn, he gave the inn keeper an expression that suggested he had forgotten something, and was in a hurry. Bounding up the stairs, he unlocked his door once more, and looked around. Nothing in particular caught his eye. Brushing his feeling off as just nerves, he closed his door. As he did so, the messenger from across the hall was doing the same.

“Good day to you, sir.” Titus said to him, giving him a respectable nod, “leaving town?”

“Yes sir, just have a few more errands to run between Dragonsreach and Fort Greymoor, then it’s likely back down south. I’m almost out of this God-forsaken province!” The messenger was young, and he looked tired and warn out, weathered by a mix of great distances crossed, and likely fear. He had probably seen his fair share of disaster running errands for the Legion.

“Well, if I had any money on me I’d tell you to get some fine Colovian wine when you got home. I know what it’s like to be close to the end of a tour!” Titus replied with a smile. He himself had seen his fair share of disaster, though unlike the messenger, Titus was risking diving head first into one. Unfortunate that such a bright young imperial, this innocent messenger, was playing a pawn in that game. “I started my life with the Legion in Bravil. Just gets you tired after a while, being on edge all the time.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” the messenger smiled, “but thanks. I’ll be enjoying a life of leisure at home compared to running around in this country.” He turned to leave, and Titus followed him down the stairs. The messenger however did not leave the inn upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, and instead turned towards the fire. He was likely getting something to eat before the days journey.

Taking advantage of the time allotted to him, Titus left the inn. Walking down the street all the way to the Drunken Huntsmen, and turning onto the winding path, Titus attempted to melt into the crowds walking to and fro from the brothel. The bronze metal-plate of Sanguine seemed to shimmer in the dew that clung to it, accenting the demented Daedric smile plastered across the prince’s face. Such a curious world surrounded that of the Daedra, Titus thought as he walked by the brothel. Even nature, needs governance to some degree though, which explains the curious cases of divine intervention that one hears about in bards songs throughout the land. That a being of such chaotic power would choose to inhabited the realm of the feeble creatures that inhabited the earth was beyond Titus though; it he were a Daedric Prince, the last thing he would want to be associated with was prosttutes.

The path got rather quite after one walked past the brother, and was instead only inhabited by a young maiden here and there, as well as the occasional children running about. Titus reached the house of Mara soon, by the pine tree, and gave the door a knock. After a brief moment, Mara appeared. For one who was living in a house such as hers, she looked much more ‘well-kept’ than her living space. Her hair was in a bun, and looked to be recently brushed. Likewise, her face, recently washed.

“Good morning Mara” Titus smiled at her, “I’m just checking in to make sure that yourself and my friend are still on for today?”

She gave Titus a smile back, “Yes, unless you need to cancel. I’d just like to know when I can be expecting him.”

“Expect him around mid-afternoon.” Titus explained, “as I stated earlier, he likes for things such as this to remain anonymous, quiet. When he arrives, just invite him in and do whatever it is you do. I can take care of payments after the whole affair.”

“You’re paying?” Mara seemed puzzled, “I thought yesterday you had said that your friend would be making the payments?”

Titus wracked his brain for a moment. He did somewhat recall something like that, but now he needed to improvise, “Yes, I was thinking that as well, but I decided that it would be better if I payed for the whole affair, after everything is said and done.”

“You could just pay now, sir.” Mara smiled at him. Every sentence she said seemed to be a flirtatious tease. Had things gone differently, a woman of her skills would have made a valuable asset for the Legion, using pillow-talk as a means of acquiring information.

“As this is an exchange of services, I like to know such service was actually exchanged first before showing any coin,” Titus smiled back, “as a fellow business woman, I hope you can respect that. As an act of good will, I’ve taken the liberty of buying some fine meads for my friend and yourself to enjoy for the occasion.”

“I’d never turn down free mead” Mara smiled again as Titus unslung his pack from his shoulder, opening it to reveal the bottles.

“I cannot stress enough though that these meads must only be opened when you and my friend are enjoying one another’s company though. He himself is from Valenwood, and the mead is made with herbs from there, herbs that I hope he should recognize when he tastes it. However, my friend can be a rather…dodgy fellow; he likely won’t want conversation of such things beforehand. Offer him his drinks and ask him questions after your…exchange, if you would do that for me?” Titus was in the process of removing the bottles of mead and handing them to Mara.

“You’re friend likes specifics, huh?” Mara said, taking all three bottles in her arms. Using her foot, she propped the door open, inviting Titus to come in. “Hold the door while I set these on the table, would you?”

Titus obliged, gazing into her house. The wood structure itself was worn out, from wind and water damage. The furniture in the house all appeared to be in very good condition, from a makeshift stone-laden fire pit in one corner, to the table and chairs that stood near it. The bed was covered in furs and appeared as though it would be comfy. Shelves adorned the walls, each with a variety of plants and vegetables from the local market stalls on them. Over the fire pit, two fillets of fish and a dead rabbit hung, and above them, another shelf with a bowl of salt on it. For living in a rather dilapidated home, Mara seemed to be doing exceptionally well for herself. She returned from the table, where she had set the bottles of mead.

“All right, everything’s in place, anything else?” Mara asked, returning to the door.

“That should be all for now. Just don’t touch the mead until an appointed time, and seduce this man at the door; though, I doubt that should be a problem for you.” Titus eyed her body up and down. She wore a relatively plain dress, not unlike the one she had worn the night prior, only she didn’t yet have any jewelry on. She was a plain girl, one who did not need fancy trinkets to feel good. She was pretty on her own.

“Very well, I’ll see you later, then?” she asked with a smile. She seemed to take note of Titus gazing over her body, and he blushed, caught.

“Yes, later.”

The pair said their good byes, and Titus left. Making his way back to the bannered mare, he went to his room. Unlocking it, he gathered his supplies. Feeling a pang in his belly, he searched from his chunk of bread that he knew he still had. Looking all over the room, he eventually found it on the floor, near the bed post. He must have knocked it off when he grabbed the letter. As he ate his steal chunk of bread, he switched his clothes, putting on the ‘fancier’ ones on in place of the commoner cloths. The day was still young, but he needed to be in place to ensure Brellin was falling for his trap. He sought to wait in the area around the stairs that led to Dragonsreach, taking in the warm summer air of the season.

Leaving the Mare once more, and making his way through the city to the appointed spot, he sat finishing off that last of his bread and mead. A group of beggars went to and fro. He was sitting in a circular park, adorned on the edges by an elaborate wooden structure that accented the skill of Nordic architecture and art. The structure ran its way in a circle around this park, and though appearing to be damaged in some parts, was in good condition. From what he gather by the conversation of passer-byers, the structure had been damaged during the battle for Whiterun, and was now in the process of being repaired. Small flowers adorned the edges of this little park, and in the center of it stood a great white tree, though it appeared to be dead. Opposite of Titus, on the outside of the park, stood a great statue of Talos. The thing was massive, and beautiful. Obviously, such a shrine was one of the cities great cultural marks. Such a thing would likely need to be destroyed someday as a result of Whiterun inviting the Legion into it’s lands.

Much of the day passed without anything of note, however just after noon a group of clothed men came to the great shrine of Talo’s located opposite of him. Three in total, adorned in religious attire, began to preach the words and legend of Talos, working into their sermon the threat of the Thalmor, and the failure of the Legion. They attracted a crowd of beggars and noticeably damaged veterans, and nothing more. Titus was watching the sermon quite intensely and only by chance happened to notice a young Bosmer, Brellin, making his way down the stairs from Dragonsreach. Brellin wore around him a robe himself, likely taking to heart the mysteriousness of the note and wishing to maintain an air of anonymity. As he walked by the small crowd, his face twisted to that of disgust.

One can tell quite a bit about what a person thinks simply from their reaction to their surroundings. For Brellin, he was obviously disgusted by either the Nord people, worshipping Talos right now, or he was disgusted by Talos himself, and thought the Nords stupid for their devotion to him. Regardless, Brellin himself clearly did not like the 8 divines, and his face showed it. Titus did not need to sleuth around this man’s room to presume he was a Thalmor agent. His body language said it all.

Titus got up. Keeping a safe distance, he followed Brellin through the crowded streets, though he almost lost site of him on account of his height in the marketplace. Nords simply towered about him. Eventually, Brellin turned down the winding path. He was looking at a piece of parchment in his hands that Titus assumed to be his letter. Brellin paused briefly at the brothel, looking puzzled as he did so. Gazing around briefly, likely trying to figure out where his destination is, he continued to walk down the winding path. Eventually, as Titus slinked behind him, Brellin found the door of Mara’s house. Pausing briefly for a moment once more, he appeared to be working up the courage to knock. While he waited, the door opened in front of him, and Mara greeted him. She was wearing a different dress than she had been wearing earlier, one that appeared to be made of finer cloth, and of a tighter weave that accented her bust and hips quite well. From a distance, Titus obviously could not here what was being said, but it appeared to be a pleasant conversation. Both were smiling and giving little chuckles at the others remarks, and eventually Mara invited Brellin inside, closing the door behind them.

Not Titus simple had to wait. He was not sure what he would have to wait for though. How long the poison would take to kick in would be difficult to determine. He didn’t presume Brellin would die in the house, unless he drank an excessive amount. Being that he was a Bosmer, Titus found that to be unlikely. Perhaps all three bottles of mead might have been a bit much. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, Titus instead took his place in a rather dark space between two huts, choosing to wait.

In waiting for a kill, time seems to move much slower. One’s anticipation, and nervousness, heightens their senses quite a bit. Every eye that glances your way looks suspicious, every noise one hears makes their heart beat increase. For what seemed like hours, Titus stood between the huts, sweating in the heat of the day even though he was in the shadows between them. A group of guards came by and gave him friendly nods as they walked past. Two children eyed him suspiciously, pinning him as a scary stranger from a story their parents had told them. Somewhere far a way laughter erupted from a small building. A decrepit wretch of a man, a beggar in tattered clothing, slinked across the street, looking for mead, or skooma, or who-knows-what. Time seemed to leisurely lope on while Titus stood, waiting.

Eventually, he heard a door open. Peeking from his hiding spot, Titus noticed an extremely drunk Brellin making his way slowly down the path, waving at the closing door of Mara as he did so. Titus was unsure how long the poison would take, but given that Brellin drank quite a bit, he chose to follow him through the city. Should Brellin die while he walked through the city, it could potentially mean a hasty escape of the city by Titus was necessary.

The man staggered past the brothel, shouting a vulgar remark at a Nord woman with brown hair as he did so. Laughing to himself, he began to cough. Moving into the crowded main street of the city, Brellin attempted to navigate his way among the people, however his balance was getting worse. Tumbling to and fro as he made his way into the market place, his coughs got worse. Whatever the poison was doing to his innards, it was not good. Finally, in the middle of the market place, he pitched forward, falling flat on his face. A group of Nords around him laughed, passing him off to have passed out from his drunkenness. A woman attempted to revive him. For about a minute Titus stood back, watching the commotion that was slowly gathering. Eventually a woman let out a scream, and the men came to investigate. Among the talk, Titus picked up, “he’s dead” in a high pitched squeal.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he made his way out of the marketplace. While his target was dead now, he had over looked one thing. The bottles were still in Mara’s possession, and a similar fate awaited her should she drink them. He had to be quick. Walked quickly, he passed the Huntsmen, and turned down the winding path once more. Reaching Mara’s house, he knocked. Nothing.

“Mara!” Titus yelled into the door, “open this door, Mara!” He gave the knob a shake, but it was looked. The whole door frame appeared to shake as his did so. Still yelling Mara’s name, he concluded that he was not going to get an answer. Standing back, he booted the door as hard as he could. The door gave way, as he broke the door frame around the lock. Pushing the door open, he gazed around the room. He found Mara frothing on her bed. Still wearing how nice dress, she lay as still as rock, and as Titus approached her, her skin appeared cold. She was still alive though, but barely. Her eyes locked onto his. They told him she was scared, and confused. Her pupils were dilated.

Titus didn’t much know what to do, other than comfort the poor girl. He had nothing in his possession that could cure her of the ailment he brought onto her. Sitting on the bed and grasping her cold, soft hand, he placed another on her forehead. Holding back the guilt in his voice, he simply said to her, “I’m sorry.”

As he was brushing her forehead, she croaked out, “it…tasted…sour…it…tastes…sour.” Her eyes were wide, and she was terrified. Both Titus and she knew she was dying, and she saw it coming. Staring down the tunnel of a bleak, grey cave, she made her way to the other side. Her body became limp, and the color seemed to fade from her eyes.

A sour taste. That’s what was in Titus’ mouth. Fear mixed with anguish, frustration. Blinking his eyes and holding back some tears, he stood up. He checked the tables. The pair appeared to have drank two whole bottles and half of a third one. Scooping up the cork, he took the third bottle and raced out of the house, attempting to close the broken door behind him. The street outside was empty. Shaking his head, he walked down the path, onto the road. The marketplace was busy, with people watching from the distance as guards tended to the dead body of Brellin, turned onto his back. His face was twisted in a mantle of pain, and his fingers were curled. As the guards stood around speculating his cause of death, the priests of Talos from earlier that day gave a prayer for his soul, wishing him safe passage on his voyage to the other side. Titus made his way through the crowd, and into the Mare.

The Mare was unusually quiet, as patrons gazed out the window and talked about the death as well. Titus went straight for his room. Reaching it, he gather his commoner clothes, he shoved them, his coin purse, and his lock pick into his pack, and sling it over his shoulder. His sheathed sword was propped up in the corner of the room. Grasping it, he tied it around his waist. Ensuring he had everything he needed, he gazed outside his window. It faced east, and nothing of importance was being the Mare; the street was empty. Opening the window, which was fastened shut by metal bolts one could simply unhook, he tossed both the metal pot and bowl that he had made his poison with, out onto the grass below. They landed with satisfying thuds. Finding the spoon he had used as well, he flung it outside. Closing the door, and taking note that he had all his possessions, he left his room.

A large crowd of people were around the door of the Mare, watching intently. Not wanting to draw attention, he chose to take the back door out of the Mare, into the alley he had just tossed his tools into. All was quiet, and empty here. Walking around the mare and the crowd in the market place, he made his way out of the city. The guards were by the huntsmen, preparing patrols into the poor section of the city to find whatever low life could have done this to a visiting nobleman; the constricted body of Brellin was clear evidence that he was poisoned, as natural death does not do such a thing. Titus politely let the guards go by. Gazing once more down the busy street of Whiterun, and at the commotion he had caused, he left out the gate. His job was complete, and he had ensured his parents a better future, for now, in Hammerfell. He was sorry that poor, pretty Mara had lost her life in the process, but for a man like Titus, who worked out of necessity, her loss was just an error in the overall accomplishment of his task. With a sour taste in his mouth, he turned for Riverwood

Note: If this sounds like the end, it's not, there is much more that I want to do with this, More is coming, this was simply the introductory intrigue that sets into motion so much more!