Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20191014000602/@comment-5543592-20191015222623

''On the 10th of Last Seed, a brutal attack was launched on the Elinhir's Hall of the Assembly. The legislative body from which Elinhir is run, akin to our own Elder Council, the Hall of the Assembly is a gathering place for the nobility of Elinhir to settle legal disputes and elect the king's successors. However, on the 10th, unexpected tragedy struck when an unknown number of assailants assaulted the hall and murdered all within. The recent attack has sparked sudden political turmoil within Elinhir, as remaining officials rush to determine the cause of the attack. The lack of clear leadership has instigated a succession crisis, as not only is there no longer a king reigning in Elinhir, but there is no one to succeed him or even govern the nation. As of the recent tally, sixty-eight of Elinhir's seventy-one aristocratic houses have been rendered extinct.''

''Elinhir faces a constitutional crisis, as it was founded on the basis of their being twenty-one filled seats in the Hall of the Assembly. As such, an emergency council has been called, with nobility from all over Hammerfell flocking to the kingdom to act as special delegates in deciding Elinhir’s feature.''

The cause and motive behind the attack is unknown.

Kismet set aside the newspaper, smiling. It was a good day, the best of days. The coffee shop he was at was quaint. The canal bubbled on the other side of the porch fence. The air was cool, misty as it always was in Elinhir.

He sat sideways in his seat, leaning over towards the woman sitting at the table next to him.

“You know what I like about this city?” He asked her. He held his coffee in his hand and took a sip from it.

She didn’t seem to realize he was taking to her, and looked over with a confused expression, setting aside her tableware. “I’m sorry?”

“They haven’t figured out who they want to be yet.” Kismet continued. “So many places, they have their identities all figured out. But not Elinhir. You’re not a kingdom, not a republic. You’re both, and then you’re not. It’s like you don’t know what you want, and I like it. It’s a lie, to pretend otherwise. So many liars out there.”

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” The woman asked him.

“No, I’m thinking aloud and you happen to be here. It makes my thoughts come easier. I hope you don’t mind?”

The woman did look like she minded, but the man’s unkempt appearance and strange demeanor made her think twice about saying so. One of his swords swung about his belt and she decided to stay quiet.

“Now you see, that’s what’s important for a nation.” Kismet said, a candid, self-important note to how he spoke. “There always needs to be a battle for its’ soul. If everything was the same all the time, there’d be no progress. Progress requires change. And people fear change, yadda yadda. Sometimes, you have to nudge that progress along, you understand?”

The woman was staring at him now, wide-eyed, and realized she was supposed to respond. She nodded, quickly.

“Great.” Kismet smiled. “Now I don’t have a personal stake in any of this. It always just business to me, but I do like watching how these sorts of things turn out. It’s like an experiment, in a way. You change one thing, and then let the chips fall where they may.” He stood up, drained his coffee, and set it down.

“The bystander’s got the easiest job. He only has to watch what happens. No responsibility to document, no responsibility to act. He can just experience it.”

He let the porch behind, passing back through the shop proper. He continued to speak as if he still had a partner in the conversation, drawing eyes.

“And what’s great about being a bystander is you don’t have to stay that way. If you feel you need to act, you can step in. Alter the situation to how you think it needs to be.”

The door to the coffee shop swung shut behind him with a bang, and he breathed in deep, admiring the bustling traffic of Elinhir.

People passed him on the sidewalk, although they made extra sure to not get too close to Kismet. He wondered if it was the swords or the hair. He sniffed his arm pit and knew it wasn’t the smell, he was certain of that. Fresh as a rose.

He turned, starting down the street, when two men surged out of the nearby alleyway and seized him by the arms. Kismet didn’t resist, allowing him to be dragged down into the hall, and slammed up against the wall, barely visible from the street.

Two men held him, dressed in dark clothes with masks pulled up over their faces. One pressed the point of a dagger into his stomach, the other a forearm into his throat.

“Hands off your swords, blademaster.” The one restraining Kismet’s left arm growled. He had his full body weight thrown against it, as if worried Kismet would shrug off any less. “I won’t ask twice.” Kismet turned his hands over as much as he was capable of, a harmless gesture, and smiled warmly. “They’re not going anywhere.” He croaked out around the arm in his throat.

“He wants a word.” The one with the dagger said.

Kismet tsked. “Don’t say another thing. I won’t speak with you, only him.”

“He knows. You’re to meet with him.”

“And I’d love to but I’m a little occupied at the moment.”

They hesitated a long, silent moment, but the dagger was pulled away from his stomach, and they let him go, stepping back out of range quickly. They watched Kismet warily as he straightened his sword, as his hands seemed to consider the weapons. He lowered them to his sides and smiled unevenly at them.

“Lead on.”

They passed through backways, through the damp, tall alleys of Elinhir. Water dripped down in places, moss grew on the stone walls. There was a sheer, sharp quality to every building in Elinhir. Red tiled roofs cast intermediate shadows over everything.

They arrived at a door, sunken at the bottom of stairs near the edge of a canal. Most people wouldn’t have been able to trace their way back from here, much less find the place, Kismet thought, admiring the placement of the hideout.

The two henchmen hung back as Kismet descended to the door and pushed it open. The hinges were rusted, and he had to force it open with his shoulder. The door swung open with a screech and Kismet stepped into a small bunker-like room. The windows were high in the ceiling and narrow, letting in thin beams of light. It was barely bright enough to see. It made the features of the room difficult to make out in the pitch dark.

His boots padded softly on the rug, and his eyes slowly adjusted. The room was barren, save for the rug, and two tall arm chairs. One was facing the door, turned for in anticipation for Kismet’s arrival. The other was occupied, back to Kismet. He crossed the room and settled down in the chair, the hilts of his swords scratching the leather.

Kismet smiled wide and cocked one ankle up onto his knee as he faced the man across from him.

“Good morning, Silas. Wasted no time in getting here, did you?”

Silas drummed his fingers on his cane, no doubt parsing in his head, accounting how Kismet would react. Silas always thought five moves ahead.

“I’ve been here for weeks.” The Dunmer revealed. “Before you were told to eliminate the Assembly.”

That made Kismet smile. The stakes in Elinhir were getting more interesting by the minute. “Do you know who hired me?”

“Of course I do, boy, not that I much care. I’m here of my own accord. I want Elinhir.”

“For who? Got an orphan to put on the throne? The old royal bastard routine? Should I check in with the mothers in the area, see if any of their little boys are missing?”

Silas held up a stalling hand. “I won’t tell you more. Not until you’re with me.”

Kismet couldn’t hold back the laugh. “Not until I’m with you?”

Silas tapped the cane on his knee, or maybe slapped it in his hand. It was hard to tell in the dark, which Kismet knew Silas liked. It made him seem more shadow than man.

“I want you with me on this one, boy.” Silas said. “Too many threads for me to sort alone. Aurare’s too young, too inexperienced, she can’t help. I need you with me.”

Kismet felt his mood rapidly souring, swinging in the other direction. It was so like the old elf to come into business that was someone else’s and make it his own. Kismet measured his own response, knowing that whatever he said, Silas would have prepared something to counter it.

“What makes you think I want to work with you?”

Silas paused in tapping the cane at Kismet’s question. “For the opportunity. The game I play is the grand one. The one that matters. Everything else is,” he waved the cane around, searching for a word, “air. Simply put, it’s more exciting, boy. You don’t care for the money or the power, and I know, so I won’t tempt you with those things. An alliance with me is one where the sheet comes off, and you see each hand that is pulling the strings.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Kismet bit off the end of Silas’ words. “You can manipulate me, but I know your lies for what they are. You won’t show me your hand, not even after it’s over. I’ll get snatches, portions of the full picture, but not the real thing. Why are you in Elinhir?”

“I want the kingdom.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

Kismet shot out of his seat, standing over Silas. He could kill Silas. He could. Silas was old, blind, feeble. He didn’t even seem aware Kismet had stood up.

“Staying or leaving, boy?” Silas asked, dead eyes rolling uselessly in their sockets. “Don’t waste my time.”

“Leaving. I’ll find my own fun in Elinhir. I’ve had plenty of what you promise, and I don’t care for much more of it.”

Silas pointed the cane to the door, signalling for Kismet to go, unbothered. Kismet’s refusal wasn’t a loss for him, only a change a plan. Or maybe he’d knew Kismet would refuse, and the plan was to anger Kismet. There was never any telling with Silas, so it was useless to guess.

He exited the bunker, shut the rusty door behind them, quietly seething. Silas made him feel small. Weak. Less than whatever he was. And that feeling infuriated him.

It could ruin even the best of days.