[center][h3]Raising an Objection with the Local Representative: Apprehending the Dwemer Administrator [/h3] 

[@Dervish] [@Stormflyx] [@Spoopy Scary] [@Leidenschaft] [@Mortarion] & [@Father Hank][/center]

[I]The Bazaar, Sunset, 31st Second Seed, 4E208CE[/I]

The parade was in full swing, and Nblec Mrazac could not envision a more perfect evening. The streets were populated with increasingly familiar faces, a small bag of chocolates hung from his waist belt, and more and more, he felt like he was making real progress with the locals. He applauded and cheered with as much enthusiasm as any of the Redguards who came to marvel at the acrobats, dancers, magicians and fire breathers that made their way through the winding Gilane streets, celebrating the talent of the city and of life itself. He tried in earnest to make himself visible to the people, to walk the same streets as them, to actually get to know them. At first, distrust seemed to be prevalent, but over time and by listening to people’s concerns and fears, he came to see them as his people, and he was not a faceless and heartless automation of a foreign occupying force to many in the city. Even for those who firmly opposed the Dwemer, he was seen as an exception rather than a rule. It was humbling and a great responsibility all the same, and it was nights like tonight that made him really feel that progress was being achieved. His people would be accepted by the Redguard, and they would find a security that they had not known for centuries. 

A child called out, drawing Mrazac’s attention. A young Redguard girl was looking around frantically, searching for her mother. He approached, pulling some of the chocolate out of the bag and offering it to the young girl, “Hello, little one. Did you misplace your mother?” he asked. The girl nodded, wet eyes darting between the Dwemer’s face and the offered sweets. She took it timidly, and he crouched next to her, bringing  himself eye level with her. 

Offering a hand out, he said, “Please allow me to help you find her. My name is Nblec, you can call me Lecky if you’d prefer.” he said with a warm smile.

Together, hand in hand with the young girl, he began to call out the mother’s name, “Dalia, Dalia! I’ve found your daughter!”

Gregor watched the proceedings, and Nblec Mrazac in particular, from a distance, lurking in the shadows of a small space between two buildings. He had changed back into his old, black clothes for the occasion, hiding his identity beneath the folds of his cloak and the shade of his hood. It was very, [i]very[/i] warm and he stood out like a sore thumb if he mingled with the crowd, but at least people would not recognize him if he walked through the streets in his new clothes later, should this mission did not go according to plan. He hadn’t forgotten the Poncy Man’s words, nor what the objective was, but Gregor had goals of his own to pursue. If the opportunity presented itself, he would not hesitate. 

He narrowed his eyes and straightened up. [i]There.[/i] If Calen and Latro were paying attention, now would be a good moment to strike. The Dwemer was calling out for the child’s mother -- if they pretended to know her or where she was, they could lure the Dwemer and the girl away from the parade. To abduct an elf while he was trying to help a lost child find her mother again… Gregor almost felt bad.

“You know, this ain't all that bad.” A muffled voice commented just behind Gregor’s ear. It was Calen, and it was muffled because his voice had to travel through a mouth full of chewed up flatbread, falafel, and some kind of delicious and creamy sauce. His cheeks were bulging out as he peered around the Imperial’s shoulder. He was in rather stark contrast to Gregor, wearing airy and silky clothes in pastel colors against his friend’s blacks. The bard continued to comment, “I feel kinda bad actually. He seems alright.”

Gregor exhaled sharply and removed his hand from the grip of his shortsword as he recovered from the fright Calen had given him. He’d expected the Nord to be mingling in the crowd, which he thought [i]was[/i] the game plan, but perhaps he was mistaken. He looked behind him, hard eyes staring at Calen from the darkness of his cowl, and said: “Don’t forget he’s part of a ruthless, totalitarian administration. His shit could cure Rockjoint, for all I care. Now go on and get him away from the crowd. You look trustworthy, abuse it. Alright?”

“These things take time, my friend!” Calen nonchalantly said as he casually strolled on ahead. “People are [i]delicate.[/i] Isn't that right, Rae-rae? Let's show him how it's done.”

“Errr, my name is Raelynn. You can call me by my name…” came the overly saccharine voice of the Breton from behind Calen. She too, was adorned in pastel tones. A soft lilac bralette that was beaded and embellished with an elegant gold trim. The chiffon let her skin breathe, and revealed her shapely hips and midriff, the skirt a deeper hue with an equally revealing split up the side, allowing a view of her thigh when it opened with her movement. She let her eyes cast a gaze over the crowds, she was also holding some street food in her hands. It was a festival after all. “I'm going to weave my way through the crowd alongside the women, try and distract his guards,” she said, before taking a bite from the stick, letting a soft moan slip, “this is actually rather amazing…” her eyes widened as she looked at it in awe, not expecting something from the markets to pack such flavour.

Blending into the crowds and moving with them like a fish through the currents had come back to Latro in time. He’d come to the festival bedecked in street garb not unlike the locals, enough garb to confuse people about his gender. A long scarf draped over his shoulders he was planning to use as a mask being the only clothing with hidden motive. Beyond that, he looked like any other troubadour taking a rest from the road life.

After a while of actually going to vendors’ stalls and tasting the local food, he felt as at ease here as he thought he could. When the time came though, he was sitting beside a few others taking a rest from the loud but otherwise cheerful happenings. If only his life could be lived so simply, nothing else to rest from but a good day’s work and too much walking around a festival. He caught sight of Nblec, almost immediately recognizing the Dwemer official. It helped that he was in full uniform and was accompanied by a very official looking attachment of guards.

He wordlessly rose from his seat, trailing behind the Dwemer Magistrate at a reasonable distance. When he stopped to enjoy the goings on, his guards grew a tad more lax, but still dead set to the task of keeping their eyes out for anyone or anything suspicious. He was in the main square now, the others should be here. Soon enough, he caught sight of Gregor in an alleyway, swaddled in shadow and hooded in black. That obviously did nothing to soften the eyes’ initial response to seeing him in an alleyway. He wondered whether to nod or not and then decided against it, only waiting for his moment to set his role of the plan off.

Along with Latro, Jaraleet had also been mingling with the crowds gathered for the festival. Much like the Breton, the Argonian had decided to go dressed in garb similar to those used by Gilane’s citizens with the only exception being a hooded cloak that the assassin planned to use to hide his features once the moment to strike came. 

Jaraleet was unsure if his comrades had come armed but he for his part had decided to bring his swordbreaker in case it became necessary to defend themselves, the dagger easily concealed behind the traveling cloak he wore. He had not forgotten the words of the Poncy Man about the growing love Gilane's citizens had for the Dwemer official, and as such the assassin was ready for things to turn violent at a moment’s notice. He only hoped that the other members of the group would be ready for that same possibility.

As Calen closed the distance on the administrator, he heard him yelling and calling out for someone. “Dalia,” he was saying, and then his eyes fall on the young girl at his side. Then it began to click. His eyes darted between the alleyways surrounding Gilane’s bazaar; there was no way he was willing to let some innocent girl get caught in the crossfire, and though he trusted that Gregor or Raelynn wouldn’t be so brash to endanger her, he wasn’t sure how the other two would behave. That Latro fella seemed like soft enough folk, but he wasn’t sure about Jaraleet, and it wasn’t because he was an argonian. There was something about him that Calen couldn’t put his finger on; he carried himself differently. Regardless, he had to get the girl out of the way first and foremost.

The bard strolled up by their side and began joining them in their calls for the girl’s mother. “Dalia!” He called out. Nblec looked down at Calen, who greeted him with a smile, and smiled back, before resuming in their search for Dalia. As far as Calen was concerned, this was a double whammy: get the girl to safety and earn the administrator’s trust at the same time.

As the others got to work on the plan, Raelynn kept a safe distance and meandered through the crowds watching carefully for any level of trouble that may arise - keeping herself out of harm’s way in the process. She spotted Calen again, and heard him too. The her eyes found Latro and Jaraleet. It would be time to strike soon…

“It is good to see a do-gooder like yourself!” Nblec enthused before cupping his hands around his mouth to continue calling for the child’s mother. It didn’t take long before a frantic Redguard pushed her way towards them, her eyes wide with dismay. On seeing her mother, the young girl raced into her mother’s arms. Dalia, as she was called, looked up at Nblec.

“Thank you! Thank you so much for finding my daughter. Bless your heart.” She said, holding the girl tight against her bosom before rising up to take her hand in hers. Dalia turned to lead her daughter away from the crowd when the child cried out, “Thank you Lecky!”

The time was now, Nblec was distracted with his glee at reuniting child with mother, Latro was poised and ready, and Calen was there too. The only members of the party whose location she was unaware of were Jaraleet and Gregor. She had to get in there and distract the bodyguards of the Dwemer. She knew the best way, too. Raelynn stepped through the crowd, starting from some way back with fanning off her face and she loosened strands of hair from her braid to make herself look more disheveled. 

As she got even closer to them, she began to stagger in her steps, gasping for breath loudly. Those around her began to watch, trying to stop her, but she continued forward, sliding right in front of the guards. Her eyes were wide in fake shock, she leant over, panting and gasping; “It’s… too hot… I can’t… I can’t!” her voice came out as a dry squawk, and she started rolling her head from side to side, her body tilting left to right slowly, their eyes were on her. The helpless maiden in lilac, a small crowd formed around her - inadvertently pushing Nblec forwards on his path - widening the distance between the Dwemer and his guards, and Raelynn was in the centre, about to complete her act. “...I think I’m going to--” she cleverly cut herself off, and flopped backwards lifelessly, knowing that someone would catch her.

The two Dwemer guards looked at each other for a second before Raelynn fell. One of them quickly moved in to catch her and gently lowered her to the ground. “Madam? Madam? Are you quite alright? Can you hear me?”

The other guard hovered over his comrade's shoulder. “I think she's suffering from heat stroke.”

“Really?” the first guard asked and looked up at his colleague with a slight hint of incredulity. “Was it the 'it’s too hot’ comment that gave it away?” He shook his head and returned his attention to Raelynn. He knew their duty was to guard the magistrate but he also knew that Nblec would not take kindly to them ignoring a woman in need. [I]Public relations,[/I] he called it. “Let's move her into the shade. Make way, please!”

“Egast!” Calen cried out dramatically. “Poorest fair damsel! Look what fate had befallen her!”

Gregor had retreated further into the alleyway in preparation for what was about to happen next, but he was still able to observe Raelynn's little theatre and smiled in wry amusement. His eyes sought Latro in the crowd but could not find him. Hopefully he was already moving to strike.

Latro pursed his lips at Raelynn’s display, appreciating how convincing it was for the guards. He moved ever closer while wordlessly thanking his companion for that. As he got closer, he heard Calen’s voice eek out something even he had to stop and cock an eyebrow at. Were they kidnapping a man or putting on a play for him? He chuckled and shook his head, pushing past a pair of children and quickly slipping his scarf over his mouth, covering up any trace of Latro’s identity. In the chaos Raelynn had caused amongst the guard troupe, Latro slithered past them almost too easily. One had to double-take at him before he yelled something at his back, reaching out a hand to grab Latro by the shoulder.

An almost effortless feint had the guard’s hand grasping up only air and before the guard could call out to Nblec, Latro had gently pushed a confused bystander out of his way and into the guard’s, tripping him up. It was all falling into place. Latro shoved his shoulder into Nblec’s and with a lightning quick movement his knife cut through the twine holding Nblec’s coin purse to his belt. The Dwemer grunted and with a good-natured grin he turned in Latro’s direction to presumably apologize, but the smile fell away when he locked eyes with Latro’s own. He watched him push into the crowds and checked his belt, finding his coin purse missing.

Latro slipped through the crowd just sloppily enough that Nblec could keep him within eyesight. He wanted the Magistrate to follow. “Stop!” He heard from behind him, “Stop! Thief!”

The voice of Nblec was her cue for the second part of the act of distraction. She opened her eyes slowly, once again a look of shock on her face, pretending to be roused to consciousness by the guard who had caught her, in the scuffle, she hoped he hadn’t heard Nblec call out - but she was about to make sure he didn’t move from his spot with a sudden exclamation. She yelped out convincingly; “ahh! Get your hands off me, don’t touch me [i]there![/i] You heathen!” Raelynn slapped his hand away and jumped to her feet, there was a clear look of confusion on the guards face that turned to embarrassment quickly enough. “He touched me! Did you see it! He grabbed at my rear, I’m simply astonished!”. The witnesses who were scattered around began to shake their heads and tut at him, taking the words of the pretty Breton woman as gospel in that moment. The crowd grew larger and louder - drowning out Nblec’s calls.

Calen turned to face Nblec, looking as simply astonished as Raelynn and indignant at the whole chain of events. He incredulous face darted between the administrator at Latro’s retreating back, “I can’t believe it! That rascal -- that [i]scoundrel![/i] I don’t think he knows who you are! We should give him chase before we lose him for good! Why, we’ll work the apology of a lifetime out of that man!”

Nblec rubbed his hands together and found himself nodding in agreement with Calen as he spoke and, looking back toward his bodyguards who were becoming increasingly useless as the crowd swarmed around them, he finally said, “I think you’re quite right! I’ll see to his justice myself!”

“This way!” Calen proclaimed, taking chase after Latro with Nblec close behind.

Jaraleet, much like Latro, had used the commotion caused by Raelynn’s act as a means with which to move closer to their target without being noticed. Like they had planned beforehand, the Argonian assassin had stayed slightly behind the Breton man as the latter approached the Dwemer administrator and grabbed his attention.

As soon as Nblec was chasing after Latro personally, something that was made easier thanks to Calen’s urges, Jaraleet pulled the hood from his traveling cloak over his head, hiding most of his features with the exception of the tip of his snout, and began following the administrator at a brisk pace, sticking to the shadows cast by Gilane’s buildings under the sunset to ensure that his presence wouldn’t be detected.    

Everything appeared to be unfolding according to plan. Gregor had hidden himself even deeper into the alleyways, his shrouded form lurking in the shadows around one of the corners, listening intently to the ruckus in the street. He thought he heard the word ‘thief’ being called and prepared himself, drawing his silver shortsword from its scabbard -- it was easier to maneuver than his claymore in the small spaces between the buildings and he wasn’t trying to kill Nblec, just capture him. Latro ran past him and their eyes met briefly before Latro found a place to conceal himself in the few seconds that remained before Calen and Nblec himself appeared. Gregor could hear their running footsteps approach before they rounded the corner and he felt his heartbeat quicken as they came closer and closer, until-- 

Nblec barely had time to register what happened when Gregor burst forth from the darkness like a bat out of hell and forced him to the ground, the red-hot edge of Gregor’s enchanted blade pressed against the bare skin of his throat and the Imperial’s weight pressing on him. He opened his mouth to cry out but Gregor silenced him with his free hand, leaving no recourse for Nblec but to gaze at him accusingly. Gregor’s eyes were hard as ice, however, and he could feel the Dwemer deflate as the reality of the situation set in. “Cooperate with us and you will live,” Gregor hissed, his face mere inches away from Nblec’s. “We want information, not your life, but we won’t hesitate to kill you if you resist. Come, on your feet.” He stood up and dragged Nblec to his feet in a single motion, the battlemage far stronger than the magistrate, and pushed him face-forward against the wall. “Tie his hands,” Gregor said to Calen and Latro, while he himself made sure that the Dwemer could not move. His guards could not remain very far behind, he knew, as Raelynn’s distraction would only work for so long. He hoped Jaraleet was ready -- it was his job to dispose of them when they followed into the alleyways. 

With their target secured, Jaraleet retraced his steps until he was back at the entrance of the alleyway through which Latro had run after stealing Nblec’s coin purse. The commotion caused by Raelynn’s theatrics had already quieted down, with the Breton healer being nowhere in sight, and the two Dwemer guards were busy asking some of the remaining citizens if they had seen the direction in which the administrator had went.

Instincts honed by years of training had prepared Jaraleet for such a situation and he retreated to a side-alleyway as he waited for the guards to orient themselves. It didn’t took too long for the pair of Dwemer to find where the administrator had gone, but Jaraleet had made good use of that time. As soon as he had joined the group charged with capturing Nblec, the Haj-Eix had begun preparations to ensure that the capture of the administrator, and the disposal of his guards, went smoothly as possible. Preparations which had seen him brewing several poisons of paralysis, something that was possible thanks to the fact that the Poncy Man had both alchemical apparatuses and a few of the ingredients necessary. 

He had carried a few bottles of the poison on his satchel, also conveniently hidden behind his cloak, and in the time that the guards had spent questioning Gilane’s citizens he had made sure to coat the edge of his swordbreaker with the poison. When the guards passed by the side-alleyway without noticing him, Jaraleet struck in a second. His free hand covered the mouth of the first Dwemer while his dagger sunk on his victim’s throat, the poison ensuring that the guard could do nothing as the Argonian assassin let him drop to the ground before advancing on his comrade. 

To the surviving guard’s credit, he quickly realized that something was amiss when he heard the thud made by the body of his paralyzed comrade as it hit the ground. Unfortunately for him, Jaraleet was quicker and the Argonian easily managed to hit him with a shoulder charge directly on his chest. The second that the surviving Dwemer needed to regain his air was all that Jaraleet needed to bury his dagger on the guard’s throat. With the poison spent on the previous Dwemer, Jaraleet knew that the second one wouldn’t go as quietly and as such, to avoid drawing undue attention, the assassin grabbed the body of the dying mer with the arm that held his dagger while he used his free hand to cover his mouth. 

“There’s no use struggling now.” He said quietly as the Deep Elf thrashed in his grip, trying to free himself. “Shhhh, shhhh, it’ll be over soon.” The assassin said softly as the dying mer tried to speak, the only result being an inarticulable gurgle that was easily muffled by Jaraleet’s hand. “[i]Before you, nothing. Behind you, the Void.[/i]” The Haj-Eix intoned quietly in Jel as the light left the mer’s eyes and his body went still. Gently depositing the cadaver, he checked that the other Dwemer was also dead. 

Satisfied that he had managed to take out both of his targets without drawing attention, Jaraleet sheathed his dagger and disappeared into the shadows once more as he made his way towards the rendezvous spot that they had agreed on previously. 

[hr]

“There you are, come in, come in,” the Redguard keeper of the safehouse said as he opened the door after he and Gregor had exchanged passwords. The party and their captured bounty -- which was still trying to protest as loudly as possible despite the gag they shoved in his mouth -- swiftly shuffled inside. They found themselves in the front room of another luxuriously decorated house, not dissimilar from the interior of the Three Crowns, and a plate with wine and refreshments was ready for them on an elegant salon table. Gregor, who was still holding Nblec, looked to the Redguard for instructions, and was subsequently directed to a smaller, spartan, windowless room that contained only a table and two chairs. Nblec was unceremoniously dumped on one of them and his arms tied to the table with the same rope that kept them bound already. Gregor and the Redguard stepped outside after that task was complete and the Imperial shook hands with their host. 

“Casimir, pleased to meet you,” the young Redguard said as he introduced himself while walking back to the front room. “You are the leader of your unit, I presume?” 

Gregor paused. They hadn’t discussed who was the leader, or if they even had one. “We’re all equals. My name is Gregor.” 

“Very well,” Casimir replied quickly and cleared his throat. “I have very bad news, I’m afraid. Reports have come in that the Dwemer are sweeping the city in search of our friend inside, going door-to-door and searching through everything. It is only a matter of time before they come here. We--” He stopped to breathe and swallowed hard, and Gregor could see that he was afraid. “Nblec cannot stay here but we cannot move him either.” 

They had joined the others by the time that Casimir was finished speaking and Gregor averted his gaze from the nervous Redguard to look at his allies. This was troublesome news, but Gregor wasn’t about to lose his cool now. “You heard the man,” he said to the rest. “If anyone has any clever ideas, now would be a good time.” 

“The solution to our current predicament seems quite simple to me.” Jaraleet replied calmly, taking a step forward. “We interrogate Nblec, obtain as much information as we can from him.” The Argonian spoke in a cold, matter-of-fact, tone to the gathered individuals. “Much like Casimir said, it is only a matter of time before the Dwemer find us and Mrazac has already seen our faces. If he is rescued, it could very well endanger the entirety of the Samara cell.” He said, crossing his arms behind his back. “It is not an ideal solution, but it seems the best one given our present situation. Any objections?” Jaraleet asked calmly, turning to look at the faces of the various members of the group as he waited for their answers. 

Calen could only bring himself to stare incredulously at the argonian as though he had just sprouted a second head, utterly speechless. He slowly swiveled his head around to look at in direction of the bound and gagged Nblec in the adjacent chamber, then looked to everyone else in the room before his eyes landed back on Jaraleet before responding with the most indignant declaration of disbelief he could muster, [i]“No![/i] Shor’s bones, I think our ship has sailed off course enough as it is.”

Calen gestured in the direction Nblec in the next chamber. He didn’t exactly know what Jaraleet meant by interrogation, but Calen was nothing if not imaginative. The bard continued, “You know, I was hoping we could just slip Lecky outta there nice and easy, maybe have a pleasant cup of tea, talk about our feelings -- and he’d be all like, [i]‘gee, you rebels don’t seem all that bad, you must be really convinced you’re doing the right thing.’[/i] The next thing I know, we start gagging him and you come back with blood on your clothes.”

Raelynn paced softly around the room as she listened - the faint jingle of her jewellery suddenly the only sound. She made her way to the table and helped herself to a glass of the wine. She was going to need it. She let the men speak amongst themselves, her ears pricked at Calen’s voice of concern - they way he rejected the plan of interrogation. She smirked, hiding it behind the goblet as she took a sip.


There was a few moments of pregnant silence before a soft, high voice came from a corner of the room, “Do it.”

Latro rose, taking a few steps closer to Jaraleet, “What other choice do we have? Let everything we’ve done thus far go to shit?” 

Latro frowned, “These are Dwemer. I saw them slaughter the Imperial City without any notion of pleasant cups of tea. If any of you weren’t there that day in the White-Gold city,” he cast an eye over the room that was uncharacteristically angry and jaded, “Mothers were killed with babies in their arms without a notion of talking out feelings. I’m no murderer, but I am convinced that whatever we do to [i]Lecky[/i],” He spat, “is the right thing. Violence deserves violence.”

The other Breton surprised her, he harboured such an anger within him towards the Dwemer - she hadn’t seen much of him so far but this side was a pleasant surprise. She let his words of emotion ruminate for a few seconds before she knew that it would be the voice of a woman that should anchor everyone back to reality. “I say we interrogate him,” she began, as she moved from the outskirts of the room to the centre, her voice bore a subtle tone of confidence to it, “I am here, I can stay with Nblec to ensure no harm comes to him, and that he leaves in one piece.” Her eyes met everyone in the group as she spoke. “There are many ways in which we can get him to divulge what he knows… I have the necessary skills to safeguard him from anything fatal.”

Taking another small sip from the glass, she approached Calen and placed her hand gently against his arm, “he will leave as he arrived Calen, I will make sure of that.”

Gregor raised his eyebrows when Latro voiced his approval with such conviction, but the outburst of emotion made sense after he explained what he had seen in the Imperial City. Gregor had only heard of the atrocities committed while he was among the refugees in Skingrad; this was the first time anyone in their party had talked about it in his presence. “I agree,” the Imperial said and nodded in Latro's direction. “They are invaders. We are not here to make friends with them. I admire your gentle disposition, Calen, but the time for compassion has come and gone.” 

With that, Gregor looked at Jaraleet and Raelynn and motioned for them to follow him. 

“I’m keeping watch.” Latro’s eyes remained angry as he put them on the door to Nblec’s room, in which his enemy was bound and helpless. A supreme hatred of these mer that shattered his peace and threw the lives of so many to the gutter, bleeding and dead. It was the best reason to hate, in his eyes, even as gentle and peaceful as he tried to make himself be. The anger was still there when his gaze was on Calen, as if by his words he’d thrown his lot in with the Dwemer and betrayed the rest of the group. Before he reached in his bag stashed in the corner and changed his shirt and discarded his scarf and leaving, he said to no one in particular, “Good people detest violence. But good people doing nothing when it’s visited upon others is the only thing [i]worse.[/i]” the only sound after that was the door slamming shut.

The only thing that broke the silence after was Casimir, “I, eh, I guess I will join him. Good luck, my friends.” And he too closed the door behind him. Calen was too distracted by Raelynn’s agreement to the plan and her touch paired with Gregor’s disapproval. It threw him into a deep melancholy thought, thinking about what they were saying and trying to assess why it still didn’t sit well with him even after he understood where they were coming from. It was something he disagreed with on a fundamental level

“Ever heard of Barab Okama?” Calen asked idly after a few moments of awkward silence. His arms were crossed, his back was pressed firmly against a wall, and he was looking away from Latro. When he got no response from the Breton lad, he suppressed a sigh and decided to keep on going. “He was a Redguard leader a few generations back who authored a book or two. I read some of his work back at the Bard’s College. One of them, [i]‘Hope’,[/i] was about his belief of pacifism within an Alik’r warrior culture. [i]‘Violence for violence is the rule of beasts.’”[/i]

Calen paused for a second, reflecting on the irony of the story as he added nonchalantly, “Then he perished. Killed by his own people, so maybe I missed the deeper meaning in that story. I don’t know, but I liked the message it sent: [i]‘an expert swordsman can rout an entire army with only his blade, but a master could rout the entire world without ever drawing it.’[/i] I’m no soldier or warrior, so maybe my beliefs mean nothing to you or even to anyone for that matter… but I [i]do[/i] believe in victories.”

Still, there was only silence. Calen raised a curious eyebrow and turned around to look to where he thought the Breton was, only to find the corner he thought him to be sitting in to be empty. He looked around the room -- there was nobody to be seen. Then he heard the front door creak open, revealing Latro’s pretty, if still sour face. Oh yeah. He had just left not long ago.

“Are you talking to yourself in there? Why don’t you help us by keeping watch out here instead.”

“Uh… r-right.” Calen stammered with an embarrassed smile on his face, rubbing his hand against his neck. “Sorry about that.”

“Mm.” Latro grunted tersely before closing the door again. He took his seat next to Casimir once more, the pair sharing a rug with a teapot and two cups between the two. The balcony they were on offered a decent enough vantage point with only two blind spots that could be used to assault the safehouse.

That was something that did not sit well with Latro, his eyes imagining movement there every so often. He sighed, rubbing his face at the energy he’d exerted earlier. Casimir spoke up, “Your friend. He seems weak in this task. I would not toler-“

“I will not have this conversation.” Latro frowned at the man beside him. Despite everything said before, Casimir speaking on someone he traveled with gripped him with anger, “You know nothing of any of us, Redguard.” The two sat quietly, waiting for Calen.

[hr]

Raelynn followed Gregor into the room, Jaraleet behind her. Despite his position of complete vulnerability, Raelynn would not look Nblec in the eye. Still she had a fear of them, it wasn't an anger like Latro, it was an uncomfortable knot in her stomach that only fueled her conviction that they were doing the right thing. She said nothing, and stood in a corner, far enough away from the bound Dwemer that made her feel more at ease. This was no place for a womans tongue, and so she held it. Waiting for either her Argonian companion, or lover, to break the tense silence. 

Jaraleet had remained silent as the rest of the group had spoken in support (or against in the case of Calen) of his idea. He had expected someone to protest, but the way that Latro had agreed with him, the conviction in his voice, had surprised the Argonian slightly. Still, despite Calen’s protest, this situation had helped Jaraleet to know who he could call upon for help to do what needed to be done to ensure that the group would continue to survive the Dwemer’s invasion. 

Closing his eyes, the Argonian willed his mind into a blank state. Right now he couldn’t afford distractions of any sort, his sole focus must lay on Nblez Mrazac and in obtaining the information that the Dwemer held. “Raelynn.” Jaraleet spoke, tone of voice cold and detached already, as he turned to look at the Breton. “I have need of a needle, or a similar object, would you happen to have any at hand?” The Argonian asked before turning to face Gregor. “Gregor, I need you to make sure that our captive here hasn’t loosened his restraints while we were discussing what to do with him. If he has managed to do this, please make sure to tighten his restraints again.” He said before turning his attention towards Raelynn once more as he waited for a reply from the woman. 

The sudden change in demeanor did not go unnoticed by Raelynn, and his request prompted her to raise an eyebrow. She unfolded her arms, saying nothing but she did look Jaraleet in the eye as she ran her hands through her hair, fingers pulling against the bun atop her head. After a few seconds she pulled two sharp pins from inside, which caused the bun loosen and unfurl around her face. “They're not needles, but they have a point and they'll do the job,” her suddenly cold gaze then met Nblec’s as an audacious smirk played across her full lips, “you may have to use more force, my friend.” Her voice was soft and innocent, a stark contrast to the sadistic words that rolled off her tongue. The increased look of terror on his face delighted her, the very thought of his pain was melting away her fears. 

“My thanks, I'll repay you once things have calmed down.” Jaraleet said, accepting Raelynn’s hair pins before he turned to face the bound Dwemer. The Argonian crossed the short distance separating him from the captured mer in silence, not even bothering to address Nblec as he knelt in front of the Dwemer and began sliding one of the pins under one of his nails. It was clear at a quick glance that Jaraleet's actions were performed with a degree of familiarity and ease that wasn't found in just about anyone, as he methodically and mechanically burrowed the pin before pulling a nail. “Where do you keep your prisoners Mrazac?” The assassin asked calmly, the needle burrowing ever so slightly under the flesh hidden behind another nail to give Nblec a hint as to what would happen if he didn’t answer. 

Nblec was terrified. From the moment he had a blade to his neck, when he was tied like a pig, and now as he sat in this chair. He swallowed dryly as he watched the happenings, his mind wandering to the darkest depths of his fears when he saw the lizard-man take the woman’s hairpins. He tried to gasp out a pleading ‘no’ as the lizard-man drew closer but only managed a whimper.

When the needle pried in between his nail and finger, his hand involuntarily flinched, only adding to the pain as he let out a terrified shriek, body tremoring at the pain. When he finally caught his breath, he yelled out, “I have no idea! I have no clue! Please!” His head drooped and he let out another whimper, “I-I know nothing about prisoners.”

Jaraleet slightly pushed the needle further in, looking at Nblec directly in the eyes. “What about the location of other officers? Where do they live? Who do they live with?” The Argonian assassin asked, pushing the needle further and further in until it was poised to pull another nail. “Don’t move, otherwise you’ll lose another nail. Same if you lie.” The Haj-Eix asked coldly, his eyes staring dispassionately at Nblec’s terrified face.

Nblec gritted his teeth, he’d gotten no more used to the pain in the last few seconds and it still sent tremors through his body. He sat and flailed as the needle dug in further and finally, another nail gone. Tears were streaming down his cheeks by then, he felt so weak. “Why are you doing this to me?” He asked, “Tell me why!”

He knew they were going to kill him when they found out he knew nothing. His heart sank ever deeper thinking about his little girl at home. She’d be expecting treats brought back from the festival but now all she’d be getting is a folded up flag and news of his fate. “I have a family, please. I won’t tell a soul about this if you just let me go, just let me see my daughter, please.” He sobbed weakly, face screwed up with pain and sorrow.

He threw any notion of being strong to the wind now, he’d be dead soon enough and he let the tears flow freely as he quietly shook with his stifled cries. His fingers were still throbbing with pain, “I don’t know anything of value to you. P-please, my daughter, she’s waiting for me.”

Gregor had done as Jaraleet requested and made sure that the Dwemer's restraints were still fastened tight before taking up position behind Nblec, ready to intervene in case their prisoner had any tricks up his sleeve. That didn't seem to be the case, however. Quite the opposite: either Nblec was a fabulous actor or he had truly broken. It was almost disappointing to see one of the butchers of White-Gold and conquerors of Hammerfell reduced to such a state. It seemed that they were just mortals after all. Nblec’s tearful begging and pleading to be reunited with his daughter sparked a pang of sympathy within Gregor but the Pale Reaper quickly squashed it. It was like he himself had said: now was not the time for compassion.

He knelt down behind the Dwemer and placed both of his hands on Nblec's shoulders, his mouth only a few inches from his ear. “If you cooperate, you will see your family again. You don't have to be brave. The longer you resist, the more my associate here will torment you. Think of your daughter: confess.” Gregor's voice was low and firm, treading the line between comforting and menacing. He looked past Nblec at Jaraleet and then Raelynn. It seemed like the three of them all had a much more sinister side, and he was now sure that Jaraleet had not been entirely forthcoming about his previous life. The Argonian’s cold detachment was remarkable.

“Th-there is nothing to confess!” Nblec cried out and tried in vain to shake the large man away from him, feeling his skin crawl under his touch. “I. Know. Nothing!”

Like a lamb bleating, he sobbed again, choking on his tears and holding his face away from his two nailless fingers, “I’m an administrative officer of the City’s guard. I don’t know anything about prisoners of war or other officers.” He gritted his teeth, “If you carry on with this, they’ll bring [i]them[/i] to hunt you!”

The threat was not empty, and a quick ferocity flashed upon Nblec’s face. He knew who they would send if news the insurgency was getting more brazen and tales of their ruthlessness were aplenty within every rank of the Dwemer government in Hammerfell. “Kill me! High Command will never let it go and you’ll be hunted like dogs!” He thrashed against his restraints now, “I don’t know anything. You can either kill me or let me go. If you let me go, I’ll tell my superiors that it was only thugs, but you go on with this and they find me, it will be the end of you.”

As the Dwemer sobbed and struggled, Raelynn smirked, the more pain he was put under, the less frightening and intimidating he became to her. He became smaller and smaller to her, insignificant. Jaraleet was focused on his task and was working with an intense precision - the normally polite Argonian had gone, for now. She couldn’t help but think of the night before - Gregor’s passion and fury at the Dwemer. His [i]secret[/i], and she looked at him then, kneeling behind Nblec, his voice so serious. Her own stare held a sudden sinister darkness to it and she took a sharp breath in - knowing that it wouldn’t be long until Gregor was thinking the same thing - [i]if he wasn’t already.[/i]

Jaraleet remained silent as Nblec threatened them after his little surge of bravado, pulling yet another nail free once the Dwemer was done talking. “A reminder to not threaten to us again, it can only lead to more pain for you.” The Argonian said coldly, moving the hairpin to the next finger. “And do you truly expect me to believe you know nothing? It is true that you might not know much about the wider machinations of your peoples war efforts.” The assassin continued, slowly sinking the pin under Nblec’s fingernail once more. “But you must surely know other individuals who know more than you, no? Cooperate with us and the pain will lessen.” He said, stopping the pin from sinking further into his flesh, but not removing it, so as to prove his point. 

Nblec strained against the rope that bound him to the chair once more as the Lizard-Man stuck another pin under his nail. He screamed and cursed and hung his head low when the damage was done, breathing heavily. A bead of sweat cascaded from his widow’s peak to his beard as he sat silently for a few moments. “Have you no concept of information being classified?” Nblec took a long breath, wailing and thrashing was tiring work. He had resigned himself to his fate at this point, knowing that no matter if he told the truth or simply lied to end the pain, it would result in his death. May his daughter live well after all was said and done. “By next morn, they’ll know I am gone. They’ll know something is afoot, Lizard-Man.” A look of hatred upon his face as he finally met the Lizard-Man’s eyes, “Then they’ll come for you. And you will not be so cold when they visit these same pains and more onto you.”

He frowned deeply, “Nor you,” he said to the big man with an even bigger sword before turning to the woman, “They’ll make you cry out first, to soften the men’s hearts while they imagine what’s being done. Wench.” And he let go a gob of phlegm that stuck to her cheek before roaring out with a cracked and thirsty voice, “End me!”

“I know full well the pain that you speak of Nblec, I’ve lived through it more than once and have gone through worse myself. Any fear that I might have had for such a fate, or towards such pain, is long gone from my mind.” The Argonian said nonchalantly, unperturbed by Nblec’s words or by what he had said. “And you will not die, it is not up to me to decide whether you return to the Void just yet Nblec.” He said quietly upon the Dwemer’s request to end his life, taking hold of one of his fingers and breaking it painfully. “Cooperate, or only more pain awaits you.” He said, settling the broken finger back into its original position. “Tell us what information you might have, and this will be over.”  

So the magistrate had some fight left in him after all. Gregor had seen that type of defiance before. As it did so often, the last moments of Hannibal the Vigilant replayed in his mind’s eye. He could feel the latent anger that simmered like hot embers inside of him at all times rise to the surface as Nblec threatened painful deaths on them all and actually [i]spat[/i] in Raelynn’s face. Gregor drew in a sharp breath of air and had to stop himself from reaching out and breaking something important in the Dwemer’s neck. Any sympathy he might have felt for Nblec was gone now, replaced by irrational wrath, and he wondered how Jaraleet could stay so calm. How often had the Argonian carried out such interrogations? Gregor was reminded of the stories he had heard about the Thalmor Justiciars. 

This was taking too long. Gregor reached a hand around Nblec’s face and firmly grabbed his jaw, preventing him from shirking away, and leaned in closer to whisper in Nblec’s ear, his voice so breathless that none but the Dwemer could hear him now. “The [i]lizard-man[/i] is being kind to you. You don’t fear death, I see that now… but there are fates worse than that. Confess, or your soul will never see the light again.”

Wiping the back of her hand over her cheek, Raelynn removed the Dwemer’s [i]present[/i]. She restrained herself from diving towards him, tearing at his eyes with her fingers, or from raising a hand to him. She couldn't stand to be near the revolting creature, but she would not give Nblec the satisfaction of her looking scared and shaken by his threatening words. She remained as stoic as possible for as long as she could before once again, a devilish smirk grew, she could see Gregor’s face pressed to his ear. She didn't need to know what he said, she knew it was something truly wicked. 

Nblec managed a haggard, but rueful laugh, “Just end me. I don’t know anything you want, only merchant ship schedules and civilian supply caravan routes, you [i]fucking fools![/i]” He heaved in trenoring breaths and he didn’t know if he was shaking from the pain or the anger he felt. “I’m an administrator. I know nothing of high-level information because that [i]isn’t my job![/i]”

Nblec’s head whipped around as he heard a sharp crack, then a few moments later, a full staccato of the same. “They’ve come.” He grinned.

As soon as Jaraleet heard the distinct crack of a Dwemer rifle being shot a curse in Jel left his throat before the assassin regained control of his emotions. He looked at the bound figure of Nblec and then at both Gregor and Raelynn, “Gregor, stay over to guard him. Make sure that Nblec is ready to move at a moments notice.” He said as he stood up and made his way to the door. “Raelynn, I need you to come with me. We are not sure who might be wounded or how badly, so we’ll have need of your talents.” The Argonian said to the Breton woman before he turned to look back at Gregor. “We’ll return once we’ve managed to secure an escape route for us.” He said before leaving the room for good, leaving Gregor alone with Nblec.

[hr]

Latro and Casimir had sat alone and in silence until Calen arrived, after which the silence still continued with some awkwardness. It was eerily quiet within the safehouse and Latro had to wonder if they were torturing him at all in there. “These walls are thick?”

“Enchanted. We’ve had seals placed in the corners to muffle the sounds that could’ve made it out.” Casimir said, “Useful for interrogations.”

Latro nodded and sighed, watching the view they had from the balcony. “A lot of interrogations then?”

“I was not always employed by the Poncy Man.” Casimir frowned. Suddenly, he squinted, leaning forward as he sat, “Did you see that?”

“What?” Latro asked, before he saw a light like sparks in the distance. Then a second later, he heard the crack and turned to Casimir to ask what it was, but Casimir was laying back against the wall.

Both Latro and Calen stumbled away from Casimir dumbfounded, who was leaking from a hole in his brow and a ruined eye socket. Latro immediately prepared a hasty mage-armor spell while Calen held his breath in preparation of a muffling spell of his own, before a roaring thunder of cracks followed and left sandstone raining down on them. Latro caught sight of a large group of Dwemer ascending the stairs to the balcony and readied himself, strengthening the mage armor while Calen sneaked around the side of the balcony. He stood as they came at him, counting six, fists at the ready. By the time the first one got to him, his sword-swipe cleaved only air as he snaked away from its path.

Latro’s arm lanced out, quick as a viper, and a fist dented the front of the Dwemer’s helmet in. The Dwemer stumbled back and Latro shoved him into his comrade to trip him up. Without thinking, he dodged away from a mace coming down on his head and kicked out with all his strength, shattering the Dwemer’s knee and bending his leg the wrong direction. Another foot stomped down and dented the back of the Dwemer’s helm. He sidestepped another sword swipe and grabbed the Dwemer’s arms, muscles straining in wrenching it over and blocking another blade with the Dwemer’s own. He pried the sword from the first Dwemer’s grip and sent the hilt swinging into the other Dwemer’s helm, metal panging off metal hard enough to almost shake it from Latro’s grip. Only more were coming up the stairs.

Calen was quick at work, silenced by magic, making not a sound as he undid the fastenings of a tapestry draping the side of the building and praying that none of the Dwemer soldiers would see him. When he finished, he bundled the tapestry up in his arms, hurried over the side of the balcony overhead of the encroaching soldiers, and unfurled it and draped the tapestry over their heads. Hopefully that would buy them enough time to retreat.


Wasting no more time, Latro kicked the other Dwemer he’d disarmed square in the head as he turned and followed after Calen into the safehouse, bellowing, “They’re here!”

“Yes, we heard your warnings. I left Gregor to guard Nblec.” Jaraleet said as Calen and Latro entered back into the safehouse, having grabbed his sword and dagger once again. “Do we have an approximate number of how many troops the Dwemer have sent? How many riflemen?” The Argonian asked, briefly pausing when he noticed that Casimir wasn’t with them. “I assume Casimir is dead, no?” He asked as he readied himself for the Dwemer’s inevitable breach of the inner space of the safehouse.  

Raelynn hurried too, following Jaraleet out of the interrogation room. She had no idea what would happen next - how many there would be. Nblec’s words did cross her mind; [i]They’ll make you cry out first, to soften the men’s hearts while they imagine what’s being done.[/i] She’d had some kind of power in that room, and now she didn’t. Her heart began to race in her chest as she readied herself for whatever was about to happen. There could be any number of Dwemer arriving - and only Jaraleet, Latro, Calen, Gregor, and herself. She prayed internally that they would not be overly outnumbered. “I’ll be back here, I can’t fight but if you are in too much trouble I’ll patch you up. Be careful out there…” This was the first time since the Imperial City that she was in such immediate danger - Alim appeared in her mind and she momentarily found herself hoping that he was safe, that his groups’ mission hadn’t gotten quite so off track...

Back in the interrogation room, Gregor was left alone with Nblec and began unfastening his restraints. They had to get him out of here. An idea had come to him, however, born from the darkest recesses of his mind; the Imperial stopped what he was doing and turned his head slowly to look Nblec in the eye. The sounds of combat outside intensified and Gregor knew that he had only the briefest of moments to act. Nblec’s eyes widened at the sight of the unnatural hunger that fell over Gregor’s features and before he could open his mouth and alert the others about what was going on, Gregor got to his feet and slammed the door to the interrogation room shut. 

“What are you doing?” Nblec asked, but Gregor did not reply. He knelt down in front of the Dwemer, clamped his left hand over the magistrate’s mouth and gathered his magicka in his right hand. A ghastly, pale blue light illuminated the room and cast long, stark shadows on the walls for a second before it disappeared into Nblec’s chest. Gregor looked up at him and saw in his eyes that the Dwemer felt the deathly chill squeezing his heart -- the soultrap of Oblivion. He began to struggle now, desperate cries muffled by Gregor’s unyielding grip, and the Imperial shushed him while he prepared another spell. This time the room was lit up by a blood-red glow and Nblec looked down his nose, terrified, as Gregor placed his palm over the Dwemer’s heart. 

“Rejoice,” the Pale Reaper said, his voice high and cold, his face a mask of iron, and drained the life out of him. Nblec’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body went slack as his heart gave out, all of his life-force stolen in seconds, before his soul swiftly followed suit. The room was filled with a bright flash and a rushing sound, like a waterfall or a hurricane’s winds, and ethereal streams of light poured out of the Dwemer’s corpse and into one of the pouches that lined Gregor’s belt. He exhaled a shuddering breath, only now aware that he had been holding it in, and loosened the pouch’s strings with trembling fingers. He pulled out a black soul gem, warm to the touch, and gazed at the dim light that shone within: the soul of Nblec Mrazac. 

He laughed, a mirthless sound that echoed unpleasantly off the walls, and put the gem back where it belonged. He’d done it. He’d [i]actually[/i] done it. The Ideal Masters would be thrilled, he reckoned. But he wasn’t in the clear yet. Gregor drew his silver shortsword, took a deep breath, wiped the satisfied smirk off his face and opened the door to the rest of the safehouse. 

From the Dwemer’s belt, a pouch fell to the floor. Across the dusty tiles several pieces of chocolate rolled, coming to rest alongside their owner’s final resting place. 

Like Jaraleet had expected, it didn’t take long for the Dwemer to finally breach into the interior of the safehouse. A quick glance told the Argonian that there were about a dozen or so soldiers along with the fact that some of the soldiers had decided to forego the use of their rifles in the interior of the house in exchange for melee weapons. Any further thoughts on his part were cut short as he saw the few Dwemer that hadn’t switched weapons lining up their shots towards him and the other members of the group. 

“Everyone, down!” The Argonian shouted as he kicked a table over, using it as an impromptu cover to protect themselves from the rifle shots. 

It all happened so fast after that, things happening all at once. The booming cracks of thunder reverberating on the walls of the safehouse disoriented him and the others. He felt someone wrap themselves around him and he began his fall. The table next to him had splintered in half and he had no idea if Jaraleet was alive behind it. 

By the time he hit the ground, he heard Raelynn’s scream. He looked down to see Calen on top of him. The two rolled over and there was crimson blossoming from a hole in his shirt. Latro let go a shuddering breath as Raelynn dropped to her hands and knees beside them. Calen looked between him and Raelynn with wide eyes, tremoring hands going to his chest and touching hot blood.

Like the bleating of a lamb that gripped his heart near-still, Latro heard Calen’s wordless yelps as the pain finally found him. He looked to Gregor, then to Jaraleet, who was wiping a hand over a weeping arm wound with the same face someone would look at a splinter. Gregor was the first into the fray, carving out a Dwemer’s neck with his short sword. Latro and Jaraleet fell in step beside him while Raelynn trudged along behind them with Calen limp in her arms.

The fight seemed to have lasted hours, but in truth only minutes, with Latro’s limbs feeling like jelly and his entire body a host of aches and stinging. They hid in alleyways and even houses, Raelynn taking the small moments of rest to keep Calen stable before they moved in earnest. They finally made it close enough to the Five Crowns Hotel to be intercepted by some of the Poncy Man’s men, no doubt catching sight of them from a vantage point over the streets. They hurried Raelynn and Calen to the nearest master healer they had at the Five Crowns while the rest trudged defeated back to their dorms.

Latro sat on his bed, seemingly unable to move from it since they’d gotten back. He looked at his hands and his shirt, both covered in Calen’s blood. He swallowed, lips uttering a single curse under his breath as he sat. How did it all go so wrong?