User blog:SkyrimsShillelagh/Plight of the Unmourned (Chapter 3)

Part 1
The Nerevarine Cult 

''This Ashlander religious cult follows prophecies of a Nerevar reborn to honor ancient promises to the tribes, to reestablish the traditions of the Prophet Veloth, to cast down the false gods of the Tribunal Temple, and to drive all outlanders from Morrowind. Both Temple and Empire outlaw the cult, but it persists among the Ashlanders, despite Imperial and Temple repression. Because it is persecuted, it remains a secret cult, and it is hard to judge how widespread it is among the Ashlanders, or whether it has any following outside the Ashlander tribes. ''

The Nerevarine 

''The Ashlanders firmly believe that Nerevar will return to restore the glories of ancient Resdayn. [Morrowind was called 'Resdayn' before the Imperial Occupation.] The Ashlanders say the Great Houses and the Temple have abandoned the pure teachings of the Prophet Veloth, forsaking ancestor worship for the false gods of the Tribunal, and embracing the comforts of civilization that corrupted the High Elves. The Temple, on the other hand, venerates Saint Nerevar, but rejects the disgusting notion that the False Incarnate will walk the earth like a ghoul. ''

Nerevar 

''The Temple honors Saint Nerevar as the greatest Dunmer general, First Councilor, and companion of Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil, who united the Dunmer Houses to destroy the evil Dwemer, the treacherous House Dagoth, and their Western allies at Red Mountain. But the Ashlanders say Nerevar promised to honor the Ancient Spirits and the Tribal law, and that he will come again to honor that promise. To the Ashlanders, this means destroying the false Temple and driving the Imperial invaders from the land. ''

Nerevarine Prophecies 

''Dream visions and prophecies are a respected tradition in Ashlander culture. Their wise women and shamans take careful note of dreams and visions, and pass on the tribe's legacies of vision and prophecy to their successors. By contrast, the Temple and the Western faiths are suspicious of mysticism, and they regard interpretation of dreams and visions as primitive superstition. ''

''The most common version of the Nerevarine Prophecy is THE STRANGER. The verses are obscure, as are most prophecies. But two observations are in order. ''

''First, many less-well-informed scholars assume that the phrase "journeyed far 'neath moon and star" is just a cliche to suggest a very long journey, but the Nerevar of legend was known to possess a magical ring named "One-Clan-Under-Moon-and-Star," upon which Nerevar is supposed to have sworn his promise to honor ancient Ashlander traditions and land rights. ''

''Second, the reference to "seven curses" must certainly refer to the lost prophetic verses known to the Ashlanders as the SEVEN CURSES. ''

THE STRANGER 

When earth is sundered, and skies choked black, 

And sleepers serve the seven curses, 

To the hearth there comes a stranger, 

''Journeyed far 'neath moon and star. ''

<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">Though stark-born to sire uncertain 

''<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">His aspect marks his certain fate. ''

''<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">Wicked stalk him, righteous curse him. ''

''<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">Prophets speak, but all deny. ''

<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">Many trials make manifest 

''<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">The stranger's fate, the curses' bane. ''

<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">Many touchstones try the stranger 

''<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">Many fall, but one remains. ''

<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">Lost Prophecies 

''<span style="font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin">Ashlander elders complain of prophecies which have been lost to tribal memory due to the carelessness or ineptitude of earlier generations of wise women and ashkhans. Suspicious scholars wonder whether these prophecies might have been deliberately forgotten or suppressed. Three Nerevarine prophecies in particular are said to have been lost: 1. The Lost Prophecies; 2. The Seven Curses; and 3. Seven Visions of Seven Trials of the Incarnate. Perhaps these lost prophecies will someday be found, either in forgotten accounts written by literate travelers, or in the memories of isolated Ashlanders, or in the secret traditions of the wise women and shamans. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Caius lowered the paper, then lifted his eyes to Scire.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What does any of this mean?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“You expect me to know? You’re the information master here.”   Scire asked.

<p class="MsoNormal">Caius leaned back in his chair, looking over at Scire, who sat on the lone cot in Caius’ household. “Did you read it?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Of course I read it.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire was spinning his newly acquired weapon in his hands, the Dagger of Judgement, which he’d found when acquiring an… object for Sharn gra-Muzgob. Sharn gra-Muzgo, had turned out to be a woman, not a man as Caius had thought and Hasphat had forgotten to mention. That would’ve been nice to know before Scire had gone poking around the Mage’s Guild asking for a ‘sir gra-Muzgob’. He’d just ended up looking like an ass. He almost thought it as punishment that Sharn had sent him into a tomb, forced him to barely fight off a bunch of undead that were immune to his regular weapons, just for a dusty old skull.

<p class="MsoNormal">At least he had gotten a cool weapon out of it.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Then you know what it says. The Nerevarine cult deliberately believes that the ‘Nerevar’ will return.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire suddenly sat upright, freezing. “I’ve heard it before.”   He realized, looking up at Caius. “The last line of ‘The Stranger.’”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire quoted it:   “’Many fall, but one remains.’”

<p class="MsoNormal">Caius cocked his head at him. “Where?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire was silent for a moment, before answering. “In a dream.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Caius frowned, but didn’t balk at Scire’s statement. “What do you think that means?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire shook his head. “I don’t know. But I think we’re on the right track, at least with this. We know more about the Cult than we did before, than I did before.”   Scire looked to Caius. “What’s all this about, anyway?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s about the Temple.”   Caius said outright. “They’re hiding something. Something big.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“You don’t need to convince me the Temple is bad news, Caius.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“No, I guess I don’t. What I mean is this: for years now, something has been happening inside the Temple. Secrets they’ve kept hidden for a long time, perhaps centuries. Dangerous secrets.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“And you think these secrets are a danger?”   Scire asked.

<p class="MsoNormal">“They could be. But these secrets relate back to the Sixth House cultists somehow. There’s a connection, I just don’t know what it is.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire wasn’t really listening anymore. He was hearing that line over and over again in his head. Many fall but one remains.   He had thought it was about a person. Hell, he was arrogant enough to think that it was about him. But it was about ‘touchstones’ falling before the stranger—many, perhaps all, of these touchstones would fall to the stranger, but one would remain standing. Perhaps all the ‘touchstones’ had fallen and only one was still standing. It didn’t make much sense to Scire, he always ended up just hurting his brain when he thought too much about things like this.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Did you get that?”   Caius asked.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Huh?”   Scire lifted his head.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Mehra Milo in the Hall of Wisdom, at the Library of Vivec. She’s a priestess. She’s your last informant.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Nice. And what happens after that?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Caius smiled smugly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire nodded, then came to a realization. “I’m going to have to go to Vivec.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Essentially.”   Caius replied, unsure what he was getting at.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Again. For the third time.”   Scire gave him a sardonic look. “Why didn’t you have me just do all of this in one go?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I enjoy making life difficult for you.”   Caius said, before leaning back in his seat and chuckling, very amused with himself. He reached over and pulled a handful of moon sugar out of a bowl near him, and shoveled it into his mouth. “You going to go or what?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire sighed, stood up, and headed out the door.

Part 2
Caius had only just sent off his new Blades agent a few minutes before, when another knock came at his door. How many people actually knew where he was?

He opened the door, cautiously, preparing himself for a fight. Instead, he found a short, young woman.

“Caius Cosades?” The woman asked, politely, her hands folded in front of her, to show she was unarmed. He voice revealed she was ager, perhaps thirty or forty years old, yet there was an energy of youth about her, so that couldn’t’ve been right. Regardless, Caius eased, slightly.

“Yeah?” He asked, slurring his words. He noticed a flash of anger in her eyes, for some reason. Why would some little woman get angry that he was allegedly drunk? Who was this woman, who had somehow found him?

“I heard that you’ve seen Scire of the Kagesh.” The woman said, calmly, and the anger faded. “I’m trying to find him.”

“Never ‘eard of ‘im…” Caius replied, pretending to drunkenly struggle to grab the door and close. He paused, however, when the woman whistled, and a massive, black dog appeared out of the gloom beside her.

The Hound growled, loudly, and the ‘drunk’ man instinctively took a step back, away from the beast.

“Honeshtly, I d’know where dis… Scire guy is…” Caius began, trying to play up his supposed drunkenness a bit more so that his lies would appear to be more believable. “But… I know someone who… who might…”

The woman was obviously a warrior, judging by the way a shortsword had leapt into her hand so quickly, it had almost escaped Caius’ notice. Also, she held herself with an air of confidence, even when faced with a man who was so much bigger than her.

Maybe he could use her…

“There’sh a man, in… uh… Vivec City… that may know where he ish…” Caius told her, carefully, before looking around furtively, as if he was nervous. It was all an act, of course.

“And his name is?” The woman asked, her mouth set in a grim line.

“Huleeya.” Caius answered, honestly. “In Vivec’s Foreign Quarter.” “Thank you, Cosades.” Hawke turned around, letting her dog growl and snap at the Blades’ Agent, before whistling and having the dog follow.

Caius shut the door and leaned against it sighed.

“Feew, that was close.”

Woman and Dog headed for the gates of Balmora, earning a few odd looks from the citizens.

Caius watched her make her journey out of the gates, beginning her run to the Temple City that was Vivec. He hastily wrote down some instructions for Huleeya, to help him throw the woman off of Scire’s trail. He sent it by Silt Strider to Vivec, making sure it got there before the hood and her dog.

The Argonian, Huleeya, had just put down those same instructions when a woman barged into the Black Shalk Cornerblub. She was in a hurry, obviously, and Huleeya knew exactly what for. His friend, Hylf the Harrier, tried to stop her from making a scene by deciding to attempt diplomacy.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” The Fighter’s Guild member began, politely, which appeared odd for Huleeya, knowing the barbarian. “I’d appreciate it if you would calm down, many of the patrons here are-”

The hooded woman ‘politely’ excused herself from the conversation by tossing the massive Barbarian, one-handed, over the bar, smashing some bottles of Sujamma. Huleeya laughed slightly at that.

“She’s got balls, that one.” He remarked to the barman, who just looked at him in disgust. Hylf the Harrier quickly got up and drew his warhammer, bringing it down towards where the woman was standing.

Or, at least, where she had been standing. She wasn’t there anymore. She had darted to the side, and brought her fist up into Hylf’s throat. The warrior went down, coughing and hacking, and the young woman started to make her way towards Huleeya.

Huleeya recoiled, but the woman didn’t knife him, at all. Instead, she said. “Good evening, Huleeya, my name is Hawke Herron.”

Huleeya gulped, realizing that this must’ve been the woman that accosted Caius Cosades a few nights ago. “Um… hi?”

“I’ve heard that you can tell me what happened to my… friend, Scire of the Kagesh.” The woman, Hawke, replied, politely, keeping her hands folded in front of her to show she had no weapon on her. Of course, that didn’t exactly calm Huleeya, as he had just seen what she was able to do with her fists.

“Your friend… Scire?” Huleeya’s mind race, trying to figure out what he could tell the woman so that she would leave him alone. “He’s been taken to, uh…”

Hawke listened, intently, desperately wanting to rescue her husband from the Imperials who had kidnapped him, and then maybe go and topple the Emperor that had ordered this, even though she had risked her life to rescue Uriel all that time ago.

“North!” Huleeya exclaimed, finally having figured out a way to get this woman out of the affairs of the Empire, at least for a few weeks.

“North?” Hawke frowned. “Where in the North?”

“He got taken to, uh… Khuul, a fishing town up North, in the West Gash region. Has this big arch thing. You can’t miss it.”

“Why would they send him up there?” Hawke asked, curiously.

“They, uh, need him to, uh… defeat a Daedric Cult?” Huleeya suggested, remembering that the Daedric Shrine of Ashalmawia was very close to the little fishing village.

Hawke looked satisfied with the answer, and Huleeya gave a small sigh of relief. That had gone well. Or, at least, it had been going well, until Hawke’s sharp eyes noticed the open letter on the table beside Huleeya.

She snatched it and read through it, quickly, before Huleeya could stop her. “Caius did fucking know where my husband is!” She growled, furiously.

“W-wait, hold on now-” Huleeya began, not wanting to be shanked by a little woman, before he was thrown right into the stone wall beside him. He collapsed, unconscious, the fact that he was a Thrall of the Morag Tong not really helping him in that situation.

Hylf the Harrier was up again, waving about his hammer and yelling. He charged towards Hawke, smashing the hammer down at her shoulder. He missed, of course, knocking him off balance and sending him reeling.

Hawke leapt up onto the table, sitting on it, and wrapped her legs around Hylf’s neck. She gripped the side of his face with one hand and rained blows into it with the other: one, two three-

The bard, Felvos Droryn, dashed up behind Hawke and hit her in the back with a his lute, causing the young woman to cry out as the instrument broke across her back, surprised by the sudden pain. She released Hylf, but the damage was done, and the large man crashed to the ground.

She spun around on the table’s surface and scissor-kicked Felvos across the chest, knocking him away as well. Hylf, half-sprawled on the floor, wrapped his big arms around Hawke to keep her in place, but that proved to be his next mistake. Hawke slammed her head back into Hylf’s jaw, once, twice, three times, staining her hood with his blood.

He released her and fell for a final time, and Hawke leaped up, wrapping her legs around his throat. She threw herself down, flipping him over her head before she stood up, finally drawing her blade. She raised it, ready to bring it down, before she felt a cold blade touch the back of her neck, through the hood.

“Stop right there. Scum.” A Dunmer voice said, and Hawke slowly turned around, only to be greeted by ten men in heavy golden armor. They looked a bit ridiculous, their helmets being carved into the shape of their faces with tall plumes on top, but Hawke tried not to judge them. There was probably a law against judging Ordinators anyway, since you’d be judging the judges. Besides, they must’ve been something important, by how the rest of the patrons shied away from them.

“You are under arrest, Hawke Herron, for assault, attempted murder, and property damage.” The nearest one, apparently the leader, said, removing his helmet. Long red hair tumbled out, revealing a handsome Dunmer face with a pointed beard. “Come with us peacefully, Miss Herron.”

Hawke sighed, knowing she’d be able to escape. She didn’t want to have to kill innocent guards, though, and run the risk of being bludgeoned by one of their fancy maces or cut to ribbons by their scimitars. That didn’t stop her from sticking her tongue out at them as they cuffed her, though.

After Hawke had allowed them to put her in chains, and they dragged her through the cantons, which was a tad humiliating in itself, although no one paid it any notice. This must’ve been usual thing.

She was confused when they dragged her past what appeared to be their barracks, thinking she’d be going to jail, and instead was taken up a grand flight of stairs. And then more flights of stairs, leaving her wondering if she was being taken to the roof. They arrived at a massive door, which was pulled opened by two more Ordinators, dressed the same as the others, but they had capes and their plates was a silver sheen. The instant the door was open, Hawke was tossed instead, skidding across the smooth stone. Hawke landed on her hands and knees, but recovered quickly, whipping around and throwing herself at the two Dunmer who had carried her. They slammed the door shut, and she collided with it, palms first feeling the door’s surface, than she pounded it once with her fists. It didn’t budge.

The room was dark, she realized, and she turned around slowly to survey the empty chamber, pitch black chamber.

Suddenly, braziers along the sides of the room burned alit, the ones on her left with blue fire, the ones on the right a dull orange glow.

An elf sat crossed legged on a stone pedestal at the room’s center. Hawke widened her eyes and did a double take, realizing that he was floating a few inches above the pedestal’s surface. The pigment of his skin split directly down the middle, a golden sheen on his right side, a dark grey on his left.

The elf’s eyes sudden shot open and they seemed to glow faintly in the dim chamber. He observed Hawke with a neutral face, perfectly unreadable.

“I expected you.” His voice was unnaturally deep and had an otherworldly quality to it. “We have business, you and I.”

Part 3
<p class="MsoNormal">“Here is fine.”   Scire told the ferryman, stepping up onto the raised platform that made up the base of the city. Balmora was a short journey by boat to Vivec, and a cheap one too. Scire distractedly tossed the ferryman his pay, the process of entering the city already rote to him.

<p class="MsoNormal">To the bridge, onto main walkways, through the different cantons, out to the Temple Cantons, and finally coming to a stop outside the Hall of Wisdom. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

<p class="MsoNormal">It was, without a doubt, a hall. He traversed down the long corridor, passing offices of some of the most important officials on the island, until finally coming to the Library. The outside, a simple wooden door, although the wood was indeed of fine grain, was as unimpressive as the inside. It could’ve belonged to some two bit bookseller in the lower cantons. He made his way through the shelves until some caught his attention. A lone priestess, sitting at a table with a few books lain out in front of him. If Scire could describe her, in a word, it would be unattractive. Not that he would’ve said so, and felt a little bad for immediately thinking so, but it was pretty much the sum of it, there was nothing else memorable about the woman. Her hair was pulled back off her forehead, stretching the skin, and she had brows that sat high on her face, like she was always staring wide-eyed. Perhaps since she was a person one would so easily overlook made her good at her job, if she was a Blades agent like Caius was.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you the one I am supposed to meet?”   Mehra asked once Scire had approached her. She had a professional, business-like voice.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, that’s me.”   Scire said tiredly.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Not so loud.”   Mehra abashed him. “In the back.”   She jutted her thumb. “We can talk there.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The priestess rose and Scire followed her, wondering what ever in the world happened to ‘hello’ and ‘pleased to meet you.’

<p class="MsoNormal">“Okay, so what is it?”   Scire asked.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ve found the information Caius wanted.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“On?”   Scire asked.

<p class="MsoNormal">Mehra gave him a tired look. “The Sixth House cult. But more importantly than that, the Dissident Priests, those who believe in the Nerevarine’s coming, but were kicked out of the Temple for it.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Ugh, all this prophecy junk is hurting my head.”   Scire said, rubbing his eye with the base of his palm. “Do you have dirt on the temple or not?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Shut. Up.”   Mehra hissed, grabbing Scire tightly by the frown of jacket, causing the Dunmer look down at her in surprise. As someone who was over six feet and broad across the shoulders, people didn’t try to manhandle him very often. “If anyone heard us, or knew we were meeting, I could be killed. We both could be.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Okay, okay, sheesh.”   Scire relented, beating her hand away. “What do you have?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Here? Nothing. But I know where we can get everything Caius wants.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire canted his head. “Oh?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“The book Progress of Truth is written by and about the Dissident Priests. It’s the best source there is.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Great! Where is it?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“The book is banned. There’s only two copies of it in the city.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“One’s locked away in the Temple’s Secret library, guarded by Ordinators. It’s in the Hall of Justice, so you’d be walking into the Ordinator’s stronghold here in the city. The other is at the Rare Books shop, but costs a fortune.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire stroked his chin, weighing his options. “Secret library or book store...”

<p class="MsoNormal">“The book store is much safer. You’re in no danger of being caught there.”

<p class="MsoNormal">He didn’t appear to have heard her. “Secret library… book store...”   He mumbled.

<p class="MsoNormal">Mehra sighed.

<p class="MsoNormal">-

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire slipped into the Office of the Watch, at the heart of the Hall of Justice, scanning the area with his eyes. He’d had a gift ever since he was child, a piece of Ashlander magic, that allowed him to see things others couldn’t. Either people through walls, or objects that were meant to be hidden. And he could plainly see that the Office held a lower area, since there were people down there, and trapdoor covered by a rug led to it.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What do you want, infidel?”   An Ordinator asked. He was the only one in the room, leaning over a desk on which a ledger lay.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Me?”   Scire said, trying for his best innocent face. “I don’t want anything.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“You lost or something?”   The Ordinator asked, backing away from the desk and moving out from behind it, towards Scire.

<p class="MsoNormal">“No, I’m not lost. In fact I’m looking for something. Like a, you know, secret library.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire couldn’t read the man’s reaction, as it was hidden by his mask. “What are you talking about?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s okay, I’m clear.”   Scire said. “Look, I have my writ of orders right here.”   He pulled out a note for the Ordinator to see.

<p class="MsoNormal">The templar crossed the room to investigate the slip of paper. It read:

<p class="MsoNormal">''Hall of Wisdom at mid-day. You’ll find here''

<p class="MsoNormal">“What is this?”   The Ordinator asked.

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire’s response was to seize the back of the Dunmer’s head and yank it forwards while simultaneously bashing the palm of his hand into the Ordinator’s forehead. The attack sent him reeling, and Scire followed it up by ramming his shoulder into the elf’s chest.

<p class="MsoNormal">The Ordinator toppled over, landing hard on his back.

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire raised his boot over the Ordinator’s face and stomped down. “Sleep well- ugh!”

<p class="MsoNormal">The Ordinator had stopped the boot an inch from his mask and then shoved upwards, forcing Scire backwards. The Ashlander stumbled away as the Ordinator leapt back to his feet and came at Scire, his posture reading all offense.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Damnit.”   Scire muttered, bringing up his hands to defend himself. The Ordinator threw a quick jab for Scire’s head, which he dodge, but moved right into a low punch aimed for his stomach.

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire dropped his guard and the Ordinator leapt forward, lifting an impressive distance off the ground to knee Scire in the face. Scire’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow and he was still disoriented when the Ordinator grabbed him by the throat, and shoved him to the ground.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re the dumbest bit of Ashland filth I’ve ever killed.”   The Ordinator noted. Scire threw a lame punch at the side of the Dunmer’s head, but the Ordinator caught it at the wrist, and pinned Scire’s arm to the ground.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You just attacked an agent of the temple. Do you realize how unbelievably stupid you are?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Smart enough to fool you.”   Scire rasped, reaching down and drawing the Ordinator’s own sword. The Dunmer tried to disengage, by Scire freed his trapped arm and snagged the arm the Ordinator was choking him with. Then, he raised the sword up, and smashed the pommel into the side of the Ordinator’s head. The Dunmerfell to the side, the sheer power of the blow enough to daze him even through his helmet

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire lay there, gasping for air, the sword falling from his hand. He rose unsteadily and stumbled out, picking up the speed gradually as he did so.

<p class="MsoNormal">-

<p class="MsoNormal">“You say you were looking for Progress of Truth?”   The man behind the counter asked. His name was Jobasha, and the plant on the counter’s name was Charles. At least, Jobash referred to the plant as such, and claimed the plant was magic.

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire hadn’t really asked.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah.”   The Dunmer answered, rubbing at the cut on his face where the Ordinator’s plated knee had torn his skin.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Well I’ve got it right here.”   Jobasha said, setting the book on the counter. It was a plain thing, bound in black leather, and lacking a title.

<p class="MsoNormal">“How much?”   Scire asked.

<p class="MsoNormal">“150 gold.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire sighed, reaching into his coin purse and fishing out the large sum.

<p class="MsoNormal">“At least they didn’t get your gold.”   Jobasha said.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What?”   Scire asked, looking up.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You look like you got mugged. Don’t worry, that happens to me all the time, at least once a day. Charles knows.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire slapped the coins down on the counter. “Here’s your money. And I didn’t get mugged.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Beaten up then?”   Jobasha asked, examining Scire’s scarred face. “That looks like that happens a lot to you.”

<p class="MsoNormal">If looks could kill, Jobasha would’ve been dead and buried.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I think I’m going to put this in the back.”   The store clerk declared, turning around and disappearing behind a curtain in the rear of the shop.

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire sighed, glancing down, his eyes falling on Charles. He glanced at the curtain, then back to the plant. Thinking impulsively, he snatched both plant and book up, then dashed from the shop. It was only fair, since a hundred and fifty good was far too much for a dusty old book.

<p class="MsoNormal">-

<p class="MsoNormal">Scire returned to Caius in Balmora not long after, and had relayed to him the tale of the day.

<p class="MsoNormal">“So you stole his plant?”   Was Caius’ reply, incredulous.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Yep.”   Scire said, setting Charles down in a place where natural light easily came in through the window. “He’s apparently magic.”   Scire wrinkled his nose, wiping a finger off on the table. “And a bit slimy.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“That’s so messed up.”   Caius said, shaking his head.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey, I got you your book.”   Scire said, dropping Progress of Truth down onto Caius’ desk, in front of the Blade. “Now you can see what it has to say.”   He gestured across the room to the plant. “And maybe Charles can give his input.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“This is so not what I had in mind….”   Caius muttered, as he opened the book.