Havfyg rolled Enathraes ring into his cell last, so he could watch as the wretch of a Dunmer that was Enathrae struggle to place the ring on his finger with his mouth. He chuckled though the laughter didn't reach his eyes, "So weak. Far from when I last saw you. I don't suppose you'll be making any attempts on my life?"
Enathrae hadn't noticed. Entranced by his current predicament, the Dunmer had been oblivious to some of the more apparent characteristics of his surroundings. Mainly, that it was in fact the Emperor himself that had bestowed upon him such a piece of mundane jewelry. Enathrae had not even taken note of the rings common place appearance. Oddly, despite his fairly well honed talent for the arcane arts the mer had not even taken not on any potential enchantments that may have been placed upon the ring. He gawked down at his hands trapped in these strange manacles contemplating such things as the words rang true in his mind.
"Perhaps I have grown weak..." he thought.
However, he did not feel any sense of betrayal when shared a chuckle with his captor. Lifting his head, Enathrae turned his attention toward the iron bars of the door that caged him into his stone cell. Slowly he stood from the pile of hay that had been provided for his nocturnal slumber. While the confusion of his arrival had been expelled from his mental faculties, his concern was for his physical composure. Perhaps the floor was slick still from the oil or maybe he did not trust his balance given the new addition of his new bracelets but Enathrae knew that even the most unimpressive spark (such as that caused by iron scraping on stone) could potentially set his entire cell ablaze. His heritage would only do so well to protect him from the flames. It was true that he had exploited his innate resistance to his advantage while reigning chaos with a trail of flames but such a conflagration, even a much stronger Dunmer might have been lost for naught.
"You flatter me sire," Enathrae sneered, "An attempt on your life when you yet have so much to offer."
Enathrae found himself farther away from the iron bars than he was comfortable with. Try as he did, the chains that bound him would not budge leaving his body at an oddly contorted angle. Taking a few steps back, his amethyst eyes would bore an imaginary hole through the Emperor's skull. No, the time was not right. The Emperor had not taken his life just yet. While a reputation existed, it was not as renowned as some others such as the Dark Brotherhood or Morag Tong. But Havfyg had sought him out, abducted him even. There was a reason and it could be exploited to his benefit.
"There is something to be said about falling in line when the tables may be in your favor. Your supposition is correct. What would I gain by killing an Emperor when imprisoned within his very walls? Doing his bidding; however, that is quite a lucrative endeavor I'm sure you'll agree."
Havfyg laughed and waved his right hand in a simple gesture. The lock clicked, and the cell slowly swung open. "Lucrative. That's a interesting way of looking at things. We'll get along, just fine I think." He began to walk, adding, "Just, don't make an attempt on my life. That ring you're wearing. It's...nature, will not allow that. I'll explain after we find where they left your equipment."
They passed through dark, barely lit stone corridors where manacles lined some of the walls in notches. Some doors opened not to cells, but for blood stained rooms filled with various pulleys, contraptions, and blades. One had a bruised and battered man on a rack, arms tied and stretched outwards, mumbling and sobbing, "Please...let me go...I didn't do it..." Almost as if by que, a man in red robes paused to look at Havfyg and Enathrae before briefly bowing and going into the room. The door shut with a sepulcheral thump. As they proceeded further down the hall, they could hear the man screaming, "No! Noooooo!"
With a dismissive gesture, Havfyg said, "Don't worry about him. He was a part of The Peoples Blades. They believe that the "true" Emperor, whatever that means, is in hiding. Fools, the lot of them. I killed his entire line on my ascension. I made sure of it. But now they riot in the streets, and I've had to call down martial law, which is, of course, my fault, which riles them up to further acts of bloodshed."
They ascended a flight of stairs. At the top, a Imperial man wearing grey robes which had gilded imagery of dragons down the arms, began with "Greetings, my Emperor..." He paused, staring at Enathrae, his eyes bulging.
Havfyg said, "What is wrong Gratyus?"
"He...what is his name?"
"Enathrae"
"Enathrae. Right. Do you, perhaps, have someone waiting for you outside? Someone that was looking for you?"
The Dunmer paid little attention to the blatantly obvious torture of the unknown man. While he did not partake in torture as a means to gather anything for it would go against his personal code, he would not protect the weak man who was unable to protect himself from such pain. It was a strange thing, the code Enathrae lived by. It allowed for certain things to be committed for his sake; crimes, murders, or other like atrocities. But even as a criminal breaking the law was only permitted when it was done so to advance his own interests. Random acts of violence were looked down upon by himself and those he would consider allies. Most importantly, his code would allow for his obedience with the High Emperor as it would promote his own interests in doing so. Above all else, his desires mattered most and quite frankly that currently meant living and the potential to gain unspeakable power.
Enathrae was greatful that the Emperor had kept his garb safe while he was imprisoned. While the lack of weapons may have been odd for those that brought him forth, the Emperor may have been much the wiser. The arcane arts were good for many things. Offensive weapons being one of them. Defense on the other hand, was a different story. He found a wash basin in the same room as the chest containing his cloths and accoutrements. But his eyes were immediately drawn to the full bucket beside it. After disrobing without concern for those looking on, he swiftly upturned the bucket over his head rinsing what remnants of the oil off of his skin that he could. He did not bother to dry his skin but quickly found solace in the feeling of his clothes covering his lithe frame. Before he left, the Dunmet snatched a damp cloth from the basin to clense his visible skin to ensure he was not plagued by later folly.
"And so you will be called, Deathstopper!" Enathrae mused in thought, thoroughly wiping down his visible skin with a damp cloth.
Bold the Emperor was, ascending the staircase before the mer and turning his back. Bold or stupid. Perhaps the man was firm in his belief that he had total control simply by a reputation that preceded him. Or maybe the man was more greatly informed about Enathrae's personality than he had let on. Subsequently, he would also enter the room.
"A queer question," Enathrae thought before providing a calculated response. "I suppose I may have many seeking whatever bounty may have been placed upon my head throughout my years of travel. Specifics of which I could not possibly have." He stopped in the archway that had been built at the top of the staircase, running a hand through his hair still wet from the subpar cleansing. "But perhaps you know better than I?"
Gratyus stammered, "Th-that's fine! Yes!" Sweat was beading on his forehead. "That's fine! I'm sure it's nothing. It can't possibly be anything!" He startled to cackle, somewhat madly, "Yes! Nine blades for the nine! That could be anything!" Even if those blades were curved around Enathraes neck and dripped with blood. Enathrae could barely make out the creature that crouched in the darkness, its inhumanly long arms stretching from the shadows and holding each blade, fevered red eyes glaring at him. The fact no one else could see it made him want to scream.
Enathrae had been responsible for the death of many individuals. Fighters, thieves, -assassins-; many of which were encountered as a result of the completion of various tasks for people with deeper pockets than those he had killed. It was a game of power. A chase that never seemed to end. Those who sought that power were rarely able to obtain it by their own hands. So they enlisted people like Enathrae and exploited his own desires. His own desires for power, riches, reputation. All the while they entrusted him to keep his forked tongue behind his teeth, granting him greater power than they could ever imagine. All the while, it left the mer open to threats of his own as they would be aware of who he killed and had the position to convince the powers that be that they were not involved in the slightest. The only difference was that Enathrae would be able to defend himself or escape if need be, something those people who hired him often could not do for themselves.
"This bland piece of jewelry may prevent a threat on your life, Havfyg, which is all fine and dandy. I can mind my p's and q's, leave this place and carry out a life based on my own accord all the while ignoring this ugly thing. So perhaps we should get down to business? I'm sure you can afford whatever price I might require, just tell me who is the target?"
Havfyg guided Gratyus towards a bench, while the man stuttered, "You rat bastard...Havfyg you..." and started to gag. Repeatedly.
Havfyg turned back to Gratyus, holding a small parchment he took from Gratyus's trembling hands, "Read this. As you might expect, I do have a target for you. Well, for all of you really, though I think in this particular case your talents may prove particularly useful. Ignore the part about the Synnod, that's just how the College of Whispers communicates."
The document, written in a frantic black ink, was a letter. It read,
"Emperor Havfyg I
Events at the College of Whispers have gotten out of hand. As you are well aware, students have been disappearing. Some have come back dead. The latest death was the worst, both because one of our own guild officials is dead, but also for the magical oddity of their death.
It's hard to describe what was found at the incident. In fact, I'd advise that you send someone to look themselves. It seems the less you know, the less likely you are to turn up dead. I believe The Synnod are the culprits. Perhaps you can take them to the question. It would be faster than trying to find which one of their agents have been killing our students.
Sincerely,
Faria Arius, Grandmaster of the College of Whispers"
"You can begin your journey, into the city if you wish." Havfyg said. "I'd wait myself. What Gratyus said earlier would alarm me, if I were you."
Enathrae took the parchment. Dingy and stand with something other than black ink. It had wisps of arcane ichor wafting about its very make-up. Perhaps ingrained into the very fabric of the material, something deep within it on a level that went beyond mundane. It was a trait that would have gone unnoticed even by the most articulate colporteur would have missed. It was arcane in nature, perhaps even daedric as if to suggest that some awfully powerful magical being had corrupted the reality that made up the letters existence.
His head turned finding solace in the nearby window, open to allow the mood breaking sun light of the wonderfully bright day. The mer positioned the page into the light before reading it. Perhaps it was only his eyes playing tricks, thought it seemed that the very letters reverberated with some sort of arcane resonance that sent a shiver down his spine.
Enathrae placed his foot on a bench seat that was positioned around beneath the sill, resting his arms as he gazed out over the city. "A mad man no doubt..."
The Dunmer had let the parchment fall to the bench before turning around to face the Emperor, "A relative of Pelagius that mad, with the inbreeding that plagues the high-horsed life that is mortal man."
Approaching the man in grey robes, he observed him from head to toe focusing especially on the grey robes. It was not some magical enhanced true sight or some daedric gift. But commonsense obtained by those who spent their lives traveling across borders from one city to the next. "Perhaps you've taken it upon yourself to keep a priest of the Ancestral Moth at your beck and call? What mayhaps has he seen through the hallucinations of the remnants of an Elder Scroll?
Havfyg watched Enathrae as he approached Gratyus, saying, "His impressions are more...indistinct, than an Elder Scroll. I would know. I read one. But, I'm impressed you caught the connection. He was a Moth Priest, once, though was banished when caught trying to spend what little they had in their coffers on wine and women. Khajiit were his favorite." He smiled, but it quickly turned back to a frown. "What he sees are possible, dooms. They are less than visions of the future, but more than mere fancy. The nine blades part was likely not literal. I couldn't tell you how he gained his power."
Gratyus shot to his feet and scowled at Havyfg, "You lying bas-" and started gagging. He gagged until it seemed he would nearly vomit, his face turning red and arms trembling. Clutching his chest, he heaved, and heaved. Then he went silent, faintly wheezing, and slumped back down on the bench, holding his stomach.
Havfyg looked over his shoulder, then turned back to Enathrae, his face stoic, "Don't worry about him. He has an illness."
Gratyus gave a pained laugh.
As Gratyus wheezed upon his seat, Enathrae was little more than intrigued. He moved closer. Placing the toe of his boot on the corner of the seat to support his weight the Dunmer leaned in for a closer look. His took particular note of his oddly pale skin, the trails of sweat that ran down his face, the damp edges of his thinning hair. Then he gazed into his eyes. Holding up an open palm he produced a brilliant light. Blinding it was not, but warmth it provided - a sense of calm might have briefly graced Gratyus frail mind if the light had not disappeared so quickly when Enathrae clenched his fist. But what did he see? Blood shot eyes that burned with a craving well beyond that of normal men.
"I suppose you have your own healers to deal with this mess of a man..." Enathrae said turning around to face Havfyg. "Of course, with as much terror as you reign down in Elswyre I'm sure you have plenty of moon sugar to deal with his habitual use."
Havfyg said, "Yes and no. I burnt down their farms some years ago. The habit is contemptible, though I do have a stock. You never know."
He approached the Emperor, with what few steps he could take in the confined space of the narrow corridor that was most definitely an off shoot of the much grander rooms beyond. He clenched his fist. It was not so much as a reminder of the ring that prevented him from killing the Emperor, he would not be foolhardy enough that he could currently stand toe to toe with the Dragonborn. If there happened to be someway to silence his shout perhaps, but not unhindered as he was. No, in reality it was done as a reminder of what had been bestowed upon him beyond the Emperor's meaning of the ring. It was a reminder of what was at stake and what Enathrae could possibly obtain from zealous servitude.
It was readily apparent that the motives the Emperor held over Tamriel were pure. How will the world speak his name in years to come? Will he be known as the philosopher? The warrior? The tyrant...? What would he prefer? Enathrae knew that he would not prefer to be known as the Emperor who ruled over the ruins of a land that had existed before he was even a twinkle in his father's eye. Fate had spoken at his near death. He was not the Emperor when Akatosh chose him to surpass the decisions of mere mortal men upon the chopping block. He would not die at the hands of a would be usurper. He would not die at the hands of great vampires or faded memories. Nor would he be consumed by the eater of worlds.
"Why," Enathrae thought, "why have you gone so far out of your way Havfyg, to gather so few street urchins to investigate something so trivial as the College of Whispers?"
The Dunmer turned back towards the window and the bench where lay the parchment he had previously obtained from his liege. He took a few steps away from Havfyg to ensure that his consideration was not mistaken for a threatening advance. His eyes looked out over the city bathed in the light of the Aedra. It was apparent even from such great heights that the people were uneasy. But they were pleased with their lives under the fragile protection the Emperor had offered them for so many years.
"What is it you are not telling me?" Enathrae inquired, "what is the larger picture this puzzle pieces completes in your mind m'lord?"
Havfyg took a moment, somewhat taken aback. He hadn't expected too many questions and it was hard enough maintain a facade of perfect knowledge without being interrogated by a Dunmer assassin. "I've heard...reports. Of magic suddenly cropping up in places where it normally isn't taught. Nords suddenly able to cast balls of fire, having had no proclivity towards magic and in fact having been simple woodcutters before. Of the dead, rising and dancing about fires in the forests just outside of The Imperial City. Bodies found torn to shreds. I don't know why, yet, but I have theories. Perhaps it's the Dominion, doing...something, I don't know what, to create mages instantaneously. They are allied with the Psyjic Order. My other theory is black books are somehow getting in the hands of men and Mer all across Tamriel, but that would be madness. Hermaeus Mora is jealous of his knowledge."
He made a gesture towards the stairs leading back down to the cells, "Shall you meet your companions? Or, are you going to test your luck in the Imperial City?"
"The black books..." Enathrae said somewhat under his breath but audibly intrigued.
He had heard of the black books but had yet been lucky enough to come across a single one. By the time rumor had spread from Solsthiem that these mysterious black books had appeared Enathrae was already waist deep in the blood of those nords who had found it prudent to abuse his brethren in the Gray Quarter at Windhelm. He was not so interested at that point. But as rumor had it, the books disappeared as soon as they were unveiled. Did Hermaeus Mora rectify his mistake deeming mortal man not quite worthy to lay fingers upon his most sanctified texts? No... that did not sound like the deity he never had the pleasure to meet. No, the Daedra he recalled from other texts reflected the Prince of Knowledge in a very different light.
Enathrae dared not linger for too long. Perhaps Havfyg would prefer his subjects dim witted and slow to question, quick to obey orders and quite frankly expendable. Enathrae could play those things very well. He had survived playing the meek shadow dweller, preying on those who had let their guard down in his presence. It was much simpler given his access to weaponry on a whim, or a variety of spells that could cast an entire tavern into chaos or hide his very being. He had even been responsible for stoking the flames of war while Skyrim was thrown into civil unrest, burning supply caravans and igniting war machines that would lay sieges to cities. No, Enathrae would be obedient but he would not be anyone's fool.
"I suppose we shall meet the other wretches you so kindly displaced. At the very least, there will be fodder for the arrows aimed at my back." Enathrae chuckled, with a nonchalant gesture of annoyance.
As they moved down the stairs, Gratyus's eyes buldged. The long armed creature pulled itself out of the darkness, its blades digging into the earth. It had dark, black skin, and pointed ears. It followed after Enathrae.
BangoSkank
