Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20170307215353/@comment-5543592-20170307223417

"Oh fuck off..." Zakariah grumbled, somewhat frustrated with the fact that everyone opted for 'let's keep going' less than ten minutes ago.

"You sound like you could use your beauty sleep yourself, Zak." Illena smirked.

"Count Jermire is on his way." A guardsman called, he sounded quite official

"Stand to attention, please."

"Fuck you to!" Zak called back, folding his arms impatiently. "I have half a mind to reduce this shit hole to ashes..."

"Yeah I wouldn't say that in front of the guards..." Illena said, grimacing.

Somewhere in northern Cyrodiil...

The prisoner door creaked open, letting light pour onto its occupant. The man in question was huddled in the cell’s corner, hands and feet cuffed and connected by links of chain to the back wall of the cell. He was filthy, covered in grease, and grim, with matted dirty, dark hair, and a slim build that hadn’t lasted well under captivity. His cell was small, lacked any windows, and most days he was living in complete darkness except for thin beams of light shining out from under his door.

The captive curled up more as the light shown on him, and he shielded himself from it.

“Just kill me.”   He rasped through chapped lips, his throat hoarse and parched.

“Your lucky day, scum.”   The Imperial Captain standing in the doorway told him, his black cape and silver armour gleaming in the piercing light. “Your sentence has been commuted.”

“What?”   The prisoner murmured, lowering his hands and squinting his eyes at the captain.

“Get that piece of filth out of there.”   The captain stepped to the side, as two Imperial guards came marching into the cell, and began to uncuff the prisoner.

“Is this a joke?” The captive asked.

One of the guard’s paused in uncuffing him to punch the prisoner across the face. The captive collapsed, coughing and groaning.

“Shut up.”

“Only curious.”   The prisoner muttered.

Once the man was released, he tried to stand up, but one of the guards immediately kneed him in the back, causing the captive to fall flat on his stomach.

“Wait.”   The guard instructed. They produced two pairs of shackles, and cuffed his ankles and wrists. Thirdly, a collar was snapped around his neck, and added a leather belt with a ring on the front of it to his waist. Then, the collar, wrists shackles, and ankles shackles were connected by a chains that ran through the ring on the belt. If he tried to raise his head too far, move his arms, or shuffle his feet, he would fall flat on his face as the chain was pulled taunt.

“Not really into bondage.”   The prisoner remarked, and then let out a grunt of pain as he got a kick in the stomach for speaking.

“I said shut up.”   The guard told him firmly.

They seized him by the shoulders, and carried him out of the cell between the two of them, legs dragging on the floor behind him. They were in the dungeon hallway now, and the captain fell into step behind the guards as the prison was hauled through the dungeon, past other cells that had no opening in them and saw no daylight other than a slot sliding open in the bottom of the door for meals to be tossed in twice a day. They passed through the first security door, where more guards stood at attention, then a second, finally through a third. Then they were in the cellar, the dungeon behind them. Windows brought in light from up high, freeing the soldiers and prisoner from the harsh yellow torchlight of the dungeon.

“Pleasant.”   The prisoner noted.

“One more word and we kick your fucking teeth in.”   A guard hissed in his ear.

<p class="MsoNormal">Through the cellar they took him, up into the main hall of the keep. A wide open room, used for balls, dinner parties, duels, and other festivities. It was now mostly empty, only decorated with a few tables pushed up against the walls and a piano. He was taken then to a winding stairwell where they went up and up, the captive’s knees painfully bumping each step.

<p class="MsoNormal">The exited through a pair of broad wooden doors on what the captive determined was the sixth floor of the keep. It must’ve been a massive structure. The captain pushed the doors open, and they entered a sitting room. It was elegantly decorated, with leather furnishings, smooth wooden dressers and tables. Empty now, and across from the doors they’d entered through were two identical doors. The captain lead the guards to there, and pushed the doors open in a grand gesture.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Lord Brevil.”   The Captain said. “We’ve brought the prisoner up at twelve PM sharp, as requested.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Thank you, captain.”   A refined but deep voice replied. “Bring him in.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The captain stepped out of the way as the two guards dragged their captive through the pair of double doors.

<p class="MsoNormal">The room was large, and mostly empty. It consisted of three walls painted white, and the fourth that face outside was a massive paneless window. A massive steel door on tracts sat at the edge where the wall met the glass, and could be drawn across the glass in the event of an attack.

<p class="MsoNormal">The room had only three pieces of furniture. Two chairs, slightly facing each other, as if set up for an interview, a little tea table between them, upon which a full tea set sat. The chair facing the window had someone sitting in it. It’s occupant, with his back to the guards and captive, didn’t turn. His eyes were too fixed on the fantastic view the tower of his keep offered him.

<p class="MsoNormal">The guards dragged the captive across the floor, spun him around, and unceremoniously dumped him in the chair across from Lord Brevil. The guards immediately stepped back, standing at attention.

<p class="MsoNormal">“That is all.”   Brevil said, eyes still on the window. The guards saluted him, and then marched out, closing the doors behind them. With the guards gone, the captive sat up as best he could, having difficulty with the chains and shackles, trying to get comfortable.

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive stared at the Lord, brow furrowed, unsure what to make about this encounter. Brevil was an Imperial man in his late thirties, a well-kept black beard on his face, and slicked back black hair. He was dressed regally, like a king, in a double-breasted navy blue jacket, with a fine silk shirt underneath. His trousers were whatever material the jacket was, and matched it. He, curiously, wore no shoes or socks, completely barefoot. He was a handsome man, with a square jaw and a warrior’s build that made his outfit tight against the hard lines of his body.

<p class="MsoNormal">Neither of them spoke. Brevil sipped quietly from the tea cup he was holding, still admiring the view.

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive held up his cuffed hands, causing the chain to jerk his neck forwards with a metallic clank as it gave slack through the buckle at his waist and then went taunt. “Do we really need these?”   He smiled disarmingly at Brevil.

<p class="MsoNormal">The noble spared the captive’s shackles a glance. He sipped once more from the tea cup. “Are you aware of how many of my men you killed?”

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive said nothing. Brevil raised a brow at him.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m waiting for you to tell me.”   The captive explained. “I lost count.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Twenty-three.”   Brevil indulged him, even though he knew very well the captive hadn’t. The captive mouthed the number back to Brevil, as if the amount killed surprised him. Brevil continued, “Twenty-three fully armored, battle-tested, veteran Imperial Legionnaires. An impressive feat. Even more so when done by one man, unarmed and wearing the uniform of a courier.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m flattered.”   The captive smirked.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You will remain shackled.”   Brevil informed him. “At least until you accept my proposition.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Proposition?”   The prisoner repeated, his turn to raise a brow. “Do you know what I was here to do?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Assassinate me, I imagine.”   Brevil said, indifferent to it. “I don’t care who hired you—I already know. They’re no longer available to pay you.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive frowned. “That wasn’t nice of you, killing a guy’s employer before he’s paid. Could’ve at least waited to kill him after I’d killed you.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Do you still plan on that?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Maybe.”   The captive shrugged. “Depends on what this proposition is.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Brevil nodded, falling silent. “I spend three hours a day mediating up here.”   The lord began after a moment, rising from his chair and pacing towards the window. “Once in the morning, at five. A second time in the evening, at eleven. And four fifteen minute periods throughout the day. It… relaxes me.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive said nothing, merely turning around in his chair as best he could to follow Brevil with his eyes. He had to deal with egotistic dickheads like Brevil all the time, and he’d learned early on it was easier to let them blow wind and eventually get to the point than try to talk over them.

<p class="MsoNormal">“But it does more than that. It allows me to reflect on my purpose here, what I hope to accomplish.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The noble held up a hand to stop himself, and shook his head. “But you don’t care about that.”   Brevil said, turning to the captive.

<p class="MsoNormal">The prisoner pursed his lips and shrugged apologetically.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You just care who I can pay you to kill.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“It keeps the lights on.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I will get to that.”   Brevil said, returning to his seat. “But first I will impress the importance of this on you.”   He refilled his cup from the pot, then leaned back in his chair. “My vision sees Tamriel a different place. Something greater than it is now. Something more.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I can almost picture it.”   The captive quipped.

<p class="MsoNormal">“And to achieve that, advances must be made, advances in what we can do as a people. Are you familiar with the tale of Feyfolken?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Let’s say I am.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“As demonstrated in the novel, the power of imbuing an object with a fraction of Clavicus Vile’s power through the use of a Sole Gem is possible. The sword Umbra is an example of this. A weapon so great that the power and soul used to create it took on a life of its own. It broke its physical bond as a weapon and created the floating city of Umbriel.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Are we certain that’s canon, you know, accurate?”   The captive asked, not really buying a floating city.

<p class="MsoNormal">“It most certainly happened.”   Brevil assured him. “Umbriel is destroyed now, along with the Umbra soul, the secret to how each was forged lost to the ages.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“What a shame.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“So I thought. Weapons of such caliber, especially after what we saw happen to the Imperial City, are needed more than ever. And then, out of the blue, one of my sources received word of a weapon baring similarities to Umbra. A blacksmith from Alinor forges a sword, supposedly, out of the soul of a Daedra and steel, bringing metal to life.”

<p class="MsoNormal">He ran a finger around the rim of his tea cup, and continued conversationally, “Dwemer automatons achieve a false semblance of this, although they are merely pieces of machinery powered by steam. One can bring fire, air, lighting, stone, and ice to life in an Atronach. Flesh can be reanimated, even trees can achieve sentience. But iron, steel?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Brevil set the tea cup aside, leaning forwards, hands clasped before him. “That is something else. Something more. The power behind the creation of such a thing, the power such a creation must have, is something my world needs.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you want me to find this blacksmith and her magic sword.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes. She’s here, in Cyrodiil. I have already attempted several times to collect her and the weapon for myself. Unfortunately, the very item I wish to possess allows her to evade capture.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Tough luck. What’s the details?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Track her down. She’s inexperienced, and not subtle. She leaves a clear trail, despite her best efforts-- easy work for you. That is why I am hiring you—others I have worked with before are not flexible enough to suit my needs, this job requires a special touch. You are not to kill her. I require her alive.”   Brevil saw the captive about to protest and spoke over him. “You will have the privilege of extracting information from her, once she is in my custody. That should be motivation enough to spare her.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive hesitated a moment, before continuing. “The catch?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“If she pulls that sword out of her sheath to use it on you, you’re dead.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Is that a fact.”   The captive remarked dryly. He’d heard the whole ‘this job is different and very dangerous, you need to do your best work’ speech a thousand times. Egoistical dickhead is right.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes.”   Brevil said, his tone an end to all questions.

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive considered for a moment, frowning at Brevil, before shrugging. “I guess I can live with those directions. I don’t have to ask how much I’m being paid for this, do I?   This is different than my normal gig.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re going to be very well compensated. Although most would consider the privilege of living reward enough.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The prisoner smiled. “I’m not most.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Are these terms acceptable?”

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive considered a moment more. “Will I still get a chance to kill you?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re welcome to try whenever you like.”   Brevil said, and he could’ve been inviting the man to have some tea for all the care he gave it. Brevil had learned all about this man before he’d hauled him out into the light of day. The assassin was a dangerous tool. Sometimes a noble who got overconfident or didn’t have a strong enough force of personality to control the prisoner would meet his end at the assassin’s hands. But Brevil knew how to control tools like this, how to make them work to his ends, while at the same time convincing them they were acting in their own self-interest.

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive pursed his lips. “You drive a hard bargain, Auron.”   He said, using Brevil’s first name. “I don’t know if I can refuse. Gold, torture, and murder?”   The captive shivered, causing his chains to clink. “It’s almost too much.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Do you accept my offer then?”

<p class="MsoNormal">The captive nodded eagerly. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Brevil.”   He reached his hand forwards to shake, and nearly pulled himself out of his chair as the chain yanked his collar down hard.

<p class="MsoNormal">Brevil had the composure and stateliness not to react to the captive’s antics. Nobility so suited him, one would never guess he hadn’t been born into it. He simply sipped from his tea, eying the captive.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I understand you take a different name for each job. What shall I call you?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Kismet.”   The assassin grinned. “For ’vision.’”