11th of Hearthfire, 4E 209
‘City of Gold.’
That is what the Imperial City is called most of the times. Yes, it is not actually golden, it is more white and grey with the majority of its buildings made out of marble. And yes, maybe if you waited for dusk, and the weather was right, you could see the city changing its colour from a bright white or a dull grey to a warm, almost golden colour. But that still isn’t the truth of it.
No, it is much less poetic than that, much simpler.
There is a saying: ‘Money moves the world.’ If that is the truth, then the Imperial City is the heart of that world, a heart pumping with gold. It is a hub. Money is everything here, and if you look carefully enough you can find anything in this City of Gold. All dreams could come true, all wishes fulfilled, all desires satisfied. If you have enough gold of course.
It does not matter what you are looking for, you can find it in the Imperial City. If it is business, then the Market District has everything you need. Merchants of all kinds, races and faiths selling such a variety of goods you could go crazy trying to name them all. Artisan guilds ranging from smiths and jewelers to masons and carpenters and even alchemists and enchanters. Trading companies, publishing houses, banks, lawyers offices or newspapers such as the Gold Horse Courier.
And if you look more closely, peering into the shadows of the alleys, there would always be those dealing in less honest trades. Loan sharks, drug dealers, thieves and thugs, prostitutes, swindlers and gamblers.
You could find anything in the City of Gold, yes. And this one is still talking only about the Market District, but that will suffice for the time being.
The streets are filled with people, as is usual during the third toll in the afternoon. It is literally head on head in the streets, the shouts of traders vying for customers loudly ring above the steps of thousands of people. The wheels of carriages rattle on the tiles, horses neighing. All that creates the daily cacophony of the busiest district of the Imperial City.
And again, if you look carefully enough you can see that there are two kinds of people in these streets, almost like two streams in a vast sea. The first are those who are merely looking around, shopping or just meeting with friends at the taverns and restaurants. Those are easily recognized because they move slowly, almost lazily. There is no rush for them.
The second are the opposite, they are always in a rush, moving with clear intent and purpose, always heading somewhere.
And among the second kind are two women who keep pushing through the crowds, knowing exactly where they are headed.
First is a tall Nord with wide, strong shoulders, her hair dyed red, dressed in a simple white shirt and black leather pants. Though the clothing is simple, giving her the look of one of the dockworkers or maybe sailors, if you look closely at her boots it quickly becomes clear she is neither. The boots are of the finest leather, reaching up to her knees, and they have seen a lot of travel, yes, but anyone looking closely would recognize them as riding boots, and not cheap ones because these are as good for marching as they are for riding.
Why are the riding boots so important? Ah, well. Boots are like stories, sometimes they can tell you more about the people wearing them than the clothes themselves. Of course, clothes tell you a lot too. You just have to look closely. It is all in the details.
So a Nord woman with red long hair, dressed simply, but with boots of highest quality meant for travel. What else can we see? Ah, yes. Let’s look at her forearms. First thing you would most likely notice are the wristguards. Interesting, no? Simple shirt, but her forearms are tightly clasped by steel vambraces, those normally worn along with plate armor. So that tells us one thing.
Now her waist - and no, do not look that way, even though there is plenty you could feast your eyes on. Look at the belt, look at the way she walks. Her left hand - her thumb precisely - is constantly hooked by the belt. And the way she walks? As if she is used to a weight on her left side, a weight that is not there right now.
Can you guess it then? No? These things mostly tell us the woman lives by the sword. She is a fighter, a warrior. A mercenary if I have to be precise. But why is she not carrying her sword?
Maybe you have not been to our glorious City of Gold yet, or maybe you do not carry weapons. In that case, this one will indulge you, it might prove useful.
There is an iron law in the Imperial City. No weapons longer than daggers are allowed in the city. Only the Watch - and now the Dominion officials - can carry swords and such, but as this one said before, if you have enough money, you can find anything. Such as official documents proving you are licensed to carry a particular weapon in the city walls. You might have seen the nobles parading around with their fancy rapiers, yes? They have the permits.
Swords, axes, bows, crossbows, all are banned. If you try to enter the city with such weapons you are asked to give them to the gate guards. They put a number on them, lock them up and you can pick them up when you leave the city again. Effective, no?
But look at this one, look how Khajiit keeps sidetracking!
Two women. One with red hair, grey eyes. A mercenary.
And the second? Oh, look how she moves, how she flows in between the crowds with the tremendous ease of a pickpocket. Is she a pickpocket? This one can merely shrug to that question. But maybe you have noticed few people in the streets have suddenly stopped, looking for something missing on their belts. It could be a mere coincidence, no?
Now let's look more closely. She is an Imperial, long black hair and dark brown eyes that keep darting all around, calculating and measuring everything they see. She wears wide black pants stuffed into soft moccasins of black leather. She has a white shirt with wide sleeves and over that is a black leather vest, tightly wrapping her waist - or maybe it's not a vest. What do they call it? Corset? Maybe. Or maybe it’s a bit of both. Who knows.
She does look like a dandy, and but one look definitely proves you otherwise. Everything about her only highlights her curves, and her eyes, oh her eyes. You could get lost in them. And is there anything in the details that could tell us more about her? Do we see any kind of belt, any kind of weapon? No, nothing. But this one tells you: That does not mean there are no weapons. And what of her stride? As this one said earlier, she does move in between the people with the experience of a pickpocket, her stride is light and balanced… how else to describe it? Hmm. Nimble? Yes, nimble. This one always liked that word.
And maybe, just maybe, you can see a bit of resemblance between the two women. Yes, one is Nord, one is Imperial, both are maybe twenty five summers old, the Nord is tall and strong, the Imperial is lean and nimble, but look in their eyes. They do share a certain kind of sharpness, no?
This one will help you a bit here. You are looking at sisters. Ballista and Selence. Does the name Merotim ring a bell? It should. Merotim Blades. You will not find a better mercenary company on this side of the Rumare, mark the Khajiit's words.
Now we can properly begin - or continue, depends on your point of view. We covered the most important things we needed to cover. City of Gold, Market District, Merotim sisters.
So where are these sisters heading? To collect their payment, of course.
You see, we - by we I mean the Merotim Blades, because Mazubar-do is a member of this famous mercenary company too, the most important member, this one adds with his famous modesty - have returned from Dragonstar a mere week ago. We have been escorting a merchant there, who has paid us not only for protection but also for our name, as we have good standing and hold prestige with the Dragonstar Caravan Company. Just our presence in a trading caravan can determine if it would be allowed to cross the borders of Hammerfell. So we are not cheap, but we are worth every Septim - again, this one is saying this with his famous modesty. We were hired by a certain Garrintus Quaridicus, representing the Quaridicus & Sons trading company, who wanted to sell spidersilk and buy cashmere in Dragonstar, and then sell it back in the Imperial City. Simple trade, a simple job for us.
We got half up front, did the job and now we only have to collect the other half. Simple as that. So that is why Ballista and Selence are walking towards a four story building in the Market District.
Oh, and this one forgot. The buildings themselves, the Market District. Have you ever seen Riverhold? It is a city down south, built inside a hill and all around it, and there is no road leading through the city, or even streets per say. All the buildings are connected by bridges made of wood hanging above the ground. Can you imagine it? Then maybe you can imagine the so called “Bosmeri path in the trees” of Arenthia. But what is this one trying to say?
Market District is similar. There is the ground level but then there is the upper level. The buildings are tightly wrapped by marble sidewalks around them with bridges connecting them to buildings on the other side of the street. And everywhere is a shop, a trader, an office, a restaurant or a tavern. Everywhere!
So the sisters walk towards this four story building, not any different from all the others, with plates on the door. The plates say which trading company has office in this building and there are at least five offices, but important is that on one of the plates is written: ‘Quaridicus & Sons.’
As soon as they enter they are greeted by the ruckus of a crowd of people standing in the entry hall, waving their hands above their heads in angry motions, their voices trembling with anger as they shout over each other. They are all huddled around a desk clerk right next to the door, shouting at him.
The sisters exchange looks and Selence smirks. “They look like someone owes them money,” she says, her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. Who can blame her, we all enjoy the sight of someone - someone who isn’t us - afflicted by an unfortunate turn of events.
Ballista only murmurs something to herself and then she begins pushing her way through the crowd, towards the clerk. People complain and shoot a few insults her way and she gladly returns them. That is the way it is. Everyone in the City of Gold barks but very few actually bite. Sometimes barking with cleverness is all you need.
Ballista reaches the desk, where an aging Imperial sits in a chair, his gaze absent-minded even though a dozen people keep shouting at him, banging into his desk. So getting his attention is not easy. Ballista tries shouting, snapping her fingers in front of his face, clapping, but he is as responsive as a dead fish.
Gah! Clerks, advocates and bankers. They are worse than Rajhin's Shadows. And people call Khajiit thieves.
So to get the clerk's attention Ballista throws a gold Septim on the desk, and behold, the clerk finally condescends to lift his head and he looks Ballista straight in the eyes even while his hand makes a quick motion over the desk and the coin disappears. People around them keep shouting and raging, but there is suddenly a certain kind of calm around the clerk and the mercenary as their eyes meet.
“We have an appointment-” Ballista starts and the clerk opens a book with a loud bang, interrupting her. This one is inclined to believe that even if Dro-m'Athra started a Bent Dance on the clerk's desk he would still be unfazed.
“Name?” he asks.
“Ballista-”
Clerk snorts. Well, alright. Maybe when he pays attention he can be more easily swayed. “Sure.” His finger goes through the column of the names on the page and then it stops. He throws Ballista a self-satisfied smile, as if he has just achieved some amazing feat. “Here you are. Right under Biggus Dickus.”
Now you understand what this one was trying to say about clerks and such? Smug bastards.
It takes Ballista only a second to realize he is mocking her and she narrows her eyes. “Listen, you little shit. We're here to meet with Quaridicus himself-”
“My condolences,” the clerk interrupts her again, with an uninterested expression on his face.
Ballista looks as if she is about to grab the clerk by his brocade doublet and smash his face against the desk, but this is where Selence enters the conversation, flashing one of her smiles, so beautiful and full of promises it would thaw all the snow from Jeralls' peaks. “Why don't we start over, sugar? Where is Quaridicus? He owes us a payment.”
But clerks thaw only at the sight of gold, not smiles. “Step in the line,” he points at all the people around them and the sisters exchange looks - maybe because there was no actual line? “Quaridicus & Sons declared bankruptcy just yesterday. Quaridicus himself showed up here to let his partners know and then took off. You're not the only ones who want their money. As I have told everyone here before,” he glares at the people, “I am just a clerk that works for those who are renting these offices. I don't work for Quaridicus. If you want the debts repaid in assets you have to petition the adjudicator of the Imperial Insolvency Office and-”
And so the advice keeps going on a for a while. A whole waterfall of words that do not make any sense to mortals like us, and if we wanted to make sense out of them we would have to hire an advocate, but advocates, you see, are like the Daedra, they never do anything for free, and before you know it, you are poorer than you were before you prayed to these well spoken princes. So there is that. Does this one even make sense? How can Mazubar-do make sense when even he does not understand this ridiculous bureaucracy?!
Unless Mazubar-do could be like Selence Merotim of course. This one does not understand how she does it, but she just understands all this nonsense. Guess you could say she has a knack for it and a head for numbers. Though you might notice the wrinkle of a frown appearing on her forehead and it does not take long before she stops the clerk with a raised hand. “I get it. So where can we find Quaridicus?”
The clerk shrugs.
“Or his sons?” Ballista asks and the clerk raises his eyebrows, looking at her as if she fell from a tree right on her head. “'Quaridicus & Sons?'” she offers as an explanation.
“Never seen a single son here,” the clerk sneers and Ballista starts fuming with silent anger, but Selence steps in just in time and grabs her by her arm, dragging her away.
“We've heard enough,” she tells both her and the clerk on the way to the door and just when they step outside, into the crowded streets, she turns around to Ballista, rolling her eyes. “Gods!”
Ballista narrows her eyes. “That bad? I didn't understand half of the things the asshole said, but I do recognize bullshit even when someone offers it on silver plate. Bankruptcy? Come on! Quaridicus sold more spidersilk than we’ve ever seen together and then bought so much cashmere he could supply the entire Imperial fucking City. And nothing happened to it, because we made bloody sure, we escorted him right to the warehouse and watched as they unloaded the goods. Bankruptcy?” she snorts. “What a load of bullshit.”
“It could be a fraud, sis,” Selence shrugs, but it is not really a careless shrug, more of a resigned one. A resignation in the face of how the world works, of human nature. Yes, Selence always makes sure to let everyone know what she really thinks about the workings of the world. “Our Quaridicus probably just grabbed all the money and he's halfway to Hammerfell by now or wherever people run these days.”
Ballista narrows her eyes, watching her older sister with a suspicious interest. Let's make one thing clear here. Yes, maybe it is Selence who takes care of all the accounting, regulations, taxes and such, but that does not mean Ballista is not clever. She would not be running a mercenary company if she was stupid, no?
“If I didn't know you I'd say you're ready to let the money go. 'Count our losses,' that's what you're saying?” the Nord smirks.
“Oh, absolutely not. I want to find the fat merchant, string him by his balls and make him squirm until all the money start pouring from his pockets,” Selence flashes a dangerous smile and then she notices Ballista's rising eyebrows. “What can I say? I like simple things. You won't let this go either. What's your excuse?”
“We simply need the money,” Ballista replies, her eyes darting over the crowds and then she grabs Selence by her shoulder and starts pushing her forward. “Let's head back, think this through. Any contacts of yours that could help?”
Selence pushes her hand away from her shoulder and straightens. “I can walk on my own,” she narrows her eyes. “I could ask around. But why do we need the money? I'm doing all the accounting, remember? I know more about the stuff than you do. The tavern provides nice and steady income, we have plenty of reserves. Why do you think we need the money so much?”
Ballista is silent for a moment, looking for the right answer, but then she sighs. Her way of admitting Selence is right. “Alright, maybe we don't, even though those two Orcs eat for ten, and Jahad along with the Khajiit cause more trouble than a hurricane-”
This one is sure Ballista does not really mean this. Mazubar-do is the most useful member of Merotim Blades after all, surely the most important one. What is having a little fun with fancy ladies or writing a few provocative pieces compared to that?
“- but I simply hate when someone robs me. Can't let it slide,” Ballista continues. “Is that good enough of a reason for you?”
Maybe precisely this redeems her previous words in this one's eyes.
But why? You have to understand one thing about being a mercenary. It is all about reputation. Reputation determines what kind of clientele will hire you or even who can afford you. But have you ever heard about a mercenary company who lets other people steal from it? This one doubts it. If someone does not pay us we have to make sure that they reconsider that and that sends strong enough message, telling others not to try to screw us over.
It’s all about the reputation.
Selence smiles at that. “Good enough for me.”
“Still seems strange,” Ballista murmurs, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Quaridicus didn’t seem like that type. Shady I mean. I think we should check the warehouse too, if the cashmere has been sold or not. If it’s still there then he declared bankruptcy with a warehouse full of fortune.”
“And if he declared bankruptcy with an empty warehouse…” Selence’s eyes glisten with malicious glee. “I sincerely doubt anyone could steal it all.”
“Yeah,” Ballista frowns and nods. But she looks as if she still is not satisfied with the possibilities. “What if he’s in debt though? Or all his money is in the cashmere and nobody wants to buy it?”
“That sounds stupid. Every tailor in Imperial City would give their right hand for the fabric,” Selence snorts. But Mazubar-do has to wonder why would tailors give their right hands for the fabric when they need those hands for work?
“I’ll check the warehouse,” Ballista shakes her head, as if she is trying to chase away foolish thoughts like flies. “You check your contacts. We’ll meet at the Blade.”
So the Merotim sisters separate and go snoop around, eventually meeting in the Golden Blade. But before we go there with them, let’s go back to the topic of reputation.
Why is it so important? And how is it so important?
Imagine a newly formed mercenary company gets hired by a fancy lord to get rid off the bandits that plague the lord’s roads and kill his tax collectors. This mercenary company tracks the bandits down, only to realize the bandits are actually starved villagers who’ve lost everything because the lord collected all the money they had. But this company was hired to kill the bandits, they took half money up front as usual. So they kill the bandits who are really villagers.
Grim, is it not? But what does that tell you about the company?
They do not break a contract. Good thing, no? But they do not break the contract even if it is morally grey. Yes, Mazubar-do says morally grey, because this one is not prepared to start a debate about right and wrong, good and bad.
So from now on, the company will have the reputation of keeping their word even if their actions are morally disputable. Now what kind of clientele will that attract? Maybe another lord will hire them to crush a justified rebellion, no? Their pockets will be swelling with gold no doubt.
Now what if that company decides to spare the bandits who are villagers? They return back to the lord, call him a liar and return the money they received up front. Now they broke a contract, but for good reasons. Who will hire them? Not the wealthy ones, for sure. No, they will most likely get hired by the common folk, to help them with their common problems. Certainly nobody will think about hiring this particular company when they will want to burn down a village or something similar.
Yes, maybe it wasn’t the best example Mazubar-do could offer, because it does imply that one kind of mercenaries gets paid better for disputable actions while the other gets paid very little for doing the… gah, this one does not want to use the words ‘right thing’ but it cannot be helped. But it is true, but also think about the reputation. One kind would be unwelcome while the other would be welcomed.
Reputation is like one of those double-edged swords these Imperials like to use so much. This is why Khajiit use single-edged swords. They strike true and always forward. Maybe that is why Khajiit also use two swords, to add more sharpness to the truth, no?
Maybe you wonder what kind of reputation the Merotim Blades have. Of course, this one could tell you, but why spoil it? Maybe it would be better if you find out on your own, make your own opinion, yes?
But it’s time to move the story forward, because this part is the most important one. Why? Because Mazubar-do finally enters the stage of this story and what a stage it is.
The Golden Blade.
It sits right on the Crooked - the main street winding through the Weye district. Know Weye? It used to be a small settlement on the western bank of Rumare, long time ago, but now? Now it almost rivals the Imperial City itself. Well, if this one had to compare sizes - which he does not - Weye would be comparable to two or maybe three of Imperial City’s districts, especially since the end of Great War when the Waterfront burnt down and forced the poor out of the City, throwing them right into the open arms of Weye. Still cannot imagine it? Imagine the Waterfront of old, with all the ramshackle houses, beggars, thieves, whores and all kinds of the worst, but much much bigger. That is very close to what Weye is.
Now back to the Crooked. It leads from southern end of the district to the northern one. People used to call it Red Ring Street, because all the houses are built around the Red Ring Road, but this one does not have to remind you about Battle of Red Ring, yes? After that people started calling it the Crooked, since it winds throughout the district, sometimes separating into two roads, sometimes running in circles… well, you surely get the idea now.
So Golden Blade sits right on North Crooked Crossroad, which is just a stone’s throw away from the rebuilt Fort Nikel, and this one knows he told you to imagine ramshackle houses of old Waterfront, but the Crooked is a bit different. The houses are mostly made of stone or marble, because...it is the main street, no? Everyone heading to the Imperial City has to go through Weye first, so it has to represent, alright? At least that is what the authorities say when they tear down a not so pretty house someone decided to build on the Main Street.
The tavern itself is not some cheap ‘boozer’ you usually find near to the shore, but a well established inn. The building itself is made of stone with a roof of tiles. It has two stories, with the ground level being where all the magic happens and the upper floor has four rooms for guests - which are mostly occupied by us. Now yes, the walls are made of stone, but Ballista insisted on covering them with wooden planks, because wood is more welcoming than stone in her words.
When you enter, first thing you will notice is most likely the hearth. A huge beast made of stone that burns with an insatiable hunger and constantly spews smoke up through the chimney. Maybe you’ve heard this one complaining about it, especially in the summer, but you will never hear Mazubar-do complain about the hearth in winter. Never ever.
To the right are arrays of round tables and chairs, which are mostly occupied by mercenaries dropping by, looking for work. Yes, Merotim Blades are a mercenary company, but we do not hold monopoly on that kind of work, and throughout the years the word got out that Golden Blade is the right place for you to find people willing to throw away their lives for a bit of coin. It gets a bit rough then and now, mercenaries and all that, but the business is good. People always pay for their drinks and food, always pay for any damage they cause and nobody’s gotten killed in here yet. So those are definitely the marks of a successful business, no?
Now to the left is the counter, a solid piece of wood with half a dozen of stools in front of it, and counters with beverages behind it - along with a nasty old woman who seems to dislike Mazubar-do. Thrattia she is called, an Imperial woman so old this one has to wonder how is she not dead yet, and she runs the day to day business in Golden Blade. Old hag. But do not let the appearance fool you, it is mostly her who throws out the troublemakers.
The Golden Blade. Mazubar-do has been calling this place home for several years now and it is a fine home.
But yes, this one has not forgotten the most important thing. Himself.
It is shortly after the ninth toll when Ballista enters the Golden Blade and sees the tavern half full with people. Some are regulars, some are new, but they all are enjoying their drink while they talk about unimportant things or discuss business. The Nord mercenary glances towards a table close to the counter and first thing she notices is the most handsome Khajiit she has ever seen.
The Khajiit has a beautiful black pelt streaked with gold stripes that seem to dance in the light of the fire. His eyes are of a bright blue color, like Secunda’s reflection on the water surface. He has wide shoulders with his whole stature being bigger than that of a Suthay-raht. His legs are in a more familiar human shape, with an exquisite red brocade doublet covering his upper body. That surely speaks volumes about this Cathay, no? So that is Mazubar-do, a poet, writer, dancer, musician, storyteller, fighter, lover… ah, the list could go on. At your service.
Ballista nods in the Khajiit’s direction and he nods back, the Nord walks towards the counter, but then Mazubar-do has to focus on his friends at the table again. This one does not know we have not received the promised payment, at least not yet, but soon, very soon.
But his friends. Ah, yes, they are quite often in the Golden Blade, always bringing in stories from around the world and Mazubar-do does not enjoy anything more than a good story. Sadly, good stories are few these days, but there certainly are rumors.
Mazubar-do’s first friend is a Breton spellsword sellsword - hehehe - going by the name Chroc Ganriane, but most of the people call him either ‘Croc’ or ‘Ganr.’ Poor fellow, his parents certainly must have hated him for giving him such a name. Bretons… But Ganr is actually quite the funny fellow, always smiling his crooked smile of white teeth, his wide shoulders shaking with laughter. Though for some reason the laughter never reaches his black eyes, so very often the smile looks as if crocodile was smiling at you.
The second friend is a Bosmer female going by the name Glateril Elmshade. She is small, barely reaching Mazubar-do’s chest, but she is well known for her skill with a spear. Just do not try to use that line to get in her pants. Her long black hair are tied into a ponytail which she constantly plays with, her green eyes darting around the room. It’s not that she is nervous, she just cannot sit idly for very long. But talking keeps her busy most of the times, so this one leans forward in his chair, carefully listening to the rumors she brought.
“...and then the Gold Queen and Black Queen approached the Dragonborn and each handed him a shard of the Crystal Tower itself. They pleaded, tears in their eyes, to end their exile. And the Dragonborn took the shards into his hands, and whispered to them with his Voice, intertwining their true names and the shards obeyed, becoming one. And then he threw the crystal into the Sea of Ghosts with all his might. The land shook and the sea raged and then a tower rose from the waters, made of ice-”
Ganr snorts, interrupting Glateril and she throws him an annoyed look. “What’s your problem, Ganr?”
He looks at her with raised eyebrows, the right corner of his mouth twitching as if he is suppressing a laugh. “Come on, Teril, even you’ve got to admit this story is gods damnned bullshit. Dragonborn,” he snorts again and takes a sip from his tankard.
“So you do not believe the stories about the Dragonborn then?” Mazubar-do leans back in his chair, watching Ganr with interest. There are always people who doubt such stories and this one cannot blame them. Sometimes they really do sound like fairy tales after all. But there is a truth to every story.
“He doesn’t believe even his own mother,” Glateril rolls her eyes. “He wouldn’t know the truth even if it hit him.”
“Truth?” Ganr shakes his head, his lips parting to form a perfect smile of white teeth. “Come on. Alduin and Dragonborn, dragons, end of the world. It’s all bullshit. I think we’d know if the world was ending and I gotta tell you, I haven’t seen shit. Not a single dragon and definitely not Alduin chewing up the mountains and drinking the oceans or whatever he’s supposed to do.”
“This one has seen a dragon,” the Khajiit leans forward. “In Upper Craglorn, near Elinhir. It was massive, flying over the Jeralls-”
“You’re also a damn liar, Maz, so don’t get offended if I don’t believe you,” Ganr interrupts this one with a chuckle. “If there really was a Dragonborn, shouldn’t he be sitting on the Red Throne or something? I mean, the Dragonborn Emperors and such, no?”
“‘Ruby’ Throne, you dumbass. It’s Ruby Throne, everyone knows it,” Glateril rolls her eyes once again. “And who says he won’t? His Imperial Majesty Attrebus Mede III. won’t last long.”
Yes, most people think that these days. The young Emperor...well, the apple could not have fallen further from the tree in this case. “This one heard that the Dragonborn hired the Dark Brotherhood to kill Titus Mede.”
Now they both throw Maz ridiculous looks and shake their heads. Glateril is the first one to speak this time. “Now it’s my turn to call bullshit. If the Dragonborn wanted to be Emperor he could take the throne and nothing and nobody would be able to stop him. If he wanted the throne why would he have gotten stuck in Winterhold in the first place? Frozen shithole.”
“Winterhold?” Ganr asks. “What’s that?”
“By Y’ffre, you’re dumber than a pair of rocks, Ganr,” Glateril slaps her forehead. “It’s a city, up in the north, sitting on the cliffs above Sea of Ghosts.”
“Even this one knows that,” Mazubar-do smiles.
Ganr buries his face into his tankard and murmurs: “Was just testing you. I know that.” He takes another sip and then burps. “Alright, you two. So if he’s real, what does he look like then, eh? And don’t give me that crap about ‘tall as a giant, strong as ten men’ and all that. Give me facts. Yeah, I’m giving you the benefit... ehm…”
“Benefit of the doubt?” this one offers and Ganr pats Mazubar-do on his shoulder with a smile.
“Yes, benefit of the doubt. So convince me.”
Mazubar-do is the first one to speak. “This one heard that he is a Nord, looking as if Ysgramor himself stepped out of the stories-”
“Pffft. Knew it was going to be horse shit even before you spoke, Maz,” Ganr scoffs and Mazubar-do shrugs. It was worth a try. Ganr then turns to Glateril and points at her. “Your turn, love.”
“He is an Altmer,” she nods, and Ganr is about to laugh into her face but she hisses at him like a cat about to chase away a dumb dog. “He’s an Altmer and stop interrupting or by the Green I swear I’m going to wipe that stupid smile off your face.”
Ganr leans back with raised hands, smile playing on his face. “Fine, fine. He’s an Altmer.”
“Yes, an Altmer. A big one, almost as big as one of them pet Orcs you keep around,” Glateril continues and if this one has to guess which Orcs she means it would most likely be Mul and Gadba. They are members of the Merotim Blades too, but by the Moons, they cannot put even half a brain combined. Good thing that Maz does not have to babysit them this night. “So big. Eyes like embers, and a pale skin. Some say he’s got Snow Elf blood in his veins. And long silver white hair, so long he can wipe his arse with them-”
“Where did you hear that?”
The voice is so unexpected this one nearly jumps out of his skin. It is Ballista’s voice and Mazubar-do turns to see her on sitting on the stool at the counter, looking over her shoulder at us.
And this one is not the only one surprised by that. Glateril falters and then shakes her head. “Got it from Degran, he’s been up in Falkreath,” she says and then looks at Ganr. “Which is behind the Jeralls, a city and a county, negotiated from the High King of Skyrim if you didn’t know that.” She then looks at this one and frowns. “Degran heard it from one of the Khajiit travelling caravans, since those are still allowed to travel beyond Falkreath into free Skyrim.”
Ballista narrows her eyes and it seems like she looking into a great distance, somewhere only she can see. “Knew an Altmer like that. Once,” she adds with a whisper and then blinks, just now realizing that we are all staring at her. She frowns and turns back to her drink, as if nothing happened.
Once. You have to understand something about Ballista first. Her life is divided into two timelines. One is called ‘Now’ and the other is ‘Once.’ The Now started the day she became a mercenary. She talks about the people she met in the Now, about the jobs she took or what she had seen. But her past before that, the Once? A mystery, a secret.
From what Mazubar-do knows her past is similar to her step-sister’s. She is from a small village, her father is some travelling mercenary who knocked up her mother and then vanished in the winds of adventure and gold. She left her hometown and became a mercenary when she was sixteen summers old. That’s everything we know about Ballista’s past and this one believes she wants it to stay that way.
Maybe something happened to her, maybe not, Mazubar-do cannot say. What this one knows though is that Ballista sometimes misses her family very much. When she has had one too many drinks she talks about her mother, about the songs she used to sing, about the stories she used to tell when combing her hair. And everytime Ballista talks about that with such sadness in her voice, such longing, it breaks Mazubar-do’s heart. But then she remembers where she is and she looks at everyone, reminding them to mind their own business. And we all pretend we heard nothing.
“Degran is a damn liar too. He’d sell his own mother for a bottle,” Ganr snorts, but Mazubar-do no longer listens. No, this one’s attention is solely focused on Ballista now and he stands up, pats Ganr on his back and heads towards the counter.
She doesn’t notice this one at first, but when Mazubar-do sits down on the stool right next to her she glances his way and sighs. If anything this tells the Khajiit she is troubled by something and does not want to talk about it. But when was the last time this stopped Mazubar-do? This smells like a good story and this one never lets go of a good story.
“Don’t even think about it, Maz,” Ballista murmurs into her tankard just when this one is about to speak. “Won’t get a word out of me. Not interested ending up in your novels or plays or whatever you’re writing these days.”
Harsh words, maybe even wounding Mazubar-do’s pride a little. It’s not like this one has ever written a novel or a play with the names of his friends in them. He always changes the names, even if the stories are based on true events. And yes, Mazubar-do uses the true names for the rough drafts, before they are heavily edited and tweaked to ring better with readers or listeners.
So this one shrugs and looks at old Thrattia, raising his hand to let her know it’s time for another drink. “If you say no then this one will not press on the matter anymore. But Mazubar-do will one day get your whole story, lovely Ballista, mark his words.”
Thrattia then appears with a glass of strawberry wine and throws this one a look. “Have you ever considered that people usually have reasons to not talk about their past? Some things should remain hidden. A mystery,” she says with a disdain and yes, this is probably why the old hag does not like Mazubar-do. This one has argued with her on this many times, but how can she understand? She is an old woman with no secrets, her life as boring as Cherim’s Heart of Anequina.
“Mazubar-do disagrees,” this one waves his hand dismissively. “Mysteries are the currency of life. They are vigorously interesting and when brought to light they make this world a bit richer, a bit brighter.”
The old woman rolls her eyes and turns around to the counters with beverages. “I’ve better things to do than argue with you, Khajiit. You’re free to think what you want.”
“Mystery is the magic,” Ballista than murmurs, getting this one’s attention and he looks at her with a frown. Magic isn’t really a mystery and this one is about to argue precisely that when the Nord stops him with a raised hand. “No, seriously. I’m not talking about magic magic, but…” she pauses and sighs. “There is something magical about a mystery. Everyone chases it, thinks about it, it keeps people occupied. It dazzles them, makes them wonder. But once the mystery is revealed the magic is gone. That which made that thing so interesting is suddenly taken away and there’s nothing left but the revelation, which might last for few days, but after that… the magic is gone.”
“Which is why there are other mysteries to be revealed this one says-”
Ballista snorts and Mazubar-do frowns in annoyance. This is one is really getting tired of how everyone interrupt him. “Yes, other mysteries. You reveal one and then chase after another. And then another. And this, this tells something about you, Maz. You love the mysteries, you love them so much can’t help yourself but turn every stone. But aren’t you a bit sad with every mystery revealed?” She then shakes her head when this one is ready to argue. “Alright, I’ll say it bit differently. What is more important to you, Maz? The mystery or the revelation? The thrill of the hunt or the thrill of the kill?” she smiles and rises her right eyebrow with a knowing look.
Now she’s hit the mark. What is more important for Mazubar-do? Mystery and revelation, they are closely tied together. What is a kill without a hunt? What is a hunt without a kill? Both are very important to this one, but as Ballista said, once a mystery is revealed Mazubar-do has the tendency to move to greener pastures as they say. Ah. “You are hiding your mystery to keep this one around, yes?” he grins.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Maz,” she replies with shrug, but this one sees it. Ballista is hiding a smile. Oh, what a clever captain she is. Money are important, yes, but mysteries… Still plenty to discover in the company of Merotim Blades.
The door to the tavern loudly open and Selence Merotim walks in, her famous smile on her face. She gives everyone a look, her eyes sparkling and it is as if the whole tavern was drawing a breath. Yes, Selence does have that kind of effect on people. She then grins and heads towards Ballista and this one, taking a stool to Ballista’s left.
“The warehouse?” Selence asks and Mazubar-do frowns in confusion. What kind of greetings is that? This one wonders. Is that a replacement for the popular ‘How do you do?’ and if so, why? What is wrong with ‘How do you do’?
“Empty,” Ballista replies. “Not stolen, everything sold. But hold your hate, sis, because it was all bought by one buyer.”
Selence silently whistles and takes a sip from Ballista’s tankard. Her younger sister gives her a hard stare, but Selence merely shrugs. “Now that’s an interesting twist indeed. Now come on, ask me what I got.” Mazubar-do cannot see into Ballista’s face since she is turned to her older sister, but he can easily imagine the raised eyebrows in an impatient grimace. “Tssssk. Whatever,” Selence rolls her eyes and leans closer. “I got an address.”
“Quaridicus’ place?”
Selence nods and Mazubar-do’s confusion only strengthens. Quaridicus was our employer on the last tour to Dragonstar, but why do the sisters talk about his place? Do they want to rob him? No, that does not sound like Ballista. Selence? Definitely, but not Ballista.
“Oh my,” Selence then suddenly draws her breath and her eyes glisten. Mazubar-do follows her gaze and after checking few times he comes to the conclusion Selence is staring at a wench carrying drinks around. This one has noticed her before too, quite a pretty girl. An Imperial, curly brown hair, deep blue eyes, capturing curves-
“Is that the new help?” Selence asks and takes a proper swig from Ballista’s tankard. “Excuse me.”
“Oh come on!” Ballista throws up her arms. “I’ll need you to help me snoop the merchant’s place-”
Selence merely pats her and points with her chin on this one. “Take Maz with you. I think I’ll have more important things to do tonight.”
She walks away and Ballista groans. Mazubar-do notices Thrattia watching Selence with an envy in her eye and that makes this one raise his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t mind being a century younger,” the barkeep shrugs and returns back to her beverages.
“A week. Tops,” Ballista grits her teeth, muttering under her breath. “In less than a week that wench is going to run away when Selence dumps her and we’ll have to look for new help again. Why does she have to keep hitting on them? We need those people around. Helping hands...”
Helping hands. This one grins when that image burns into his head, but decides to not say anything. Instead, he focuses on the matter of Quaridicus and snooping around his place. “So Quaridicus, eh?” this one smiles.
Ballista groans and looks around. “Have you seen Cutter?”
“Left for Bastion. College business.”
“And Jahad?”
“Babysitting the Orcs. Took them out beyond Weye.”
She stares at this one for a moment and then she grimaces. “Fuck!”
Mazubar-do smacks his lips, hiding his smile.
“Fine! But don’t screw this up, alright? Grab your things, I’m going to get the address out of Selence because it seems that at the sight of arse she’s completely forgotten to tell us,” Ballista murmurs in a low and dangerous tone, clearly frustrated with her older sister.
This is going to be quite an adventure, Maz is sure about that.
***
There surely is nothing like the Imperial City at night. Silent and suspicious. Anyone walking the streets so late at night gets stopped by every guardsman they meet, overwhelmed by a flood of questions - ‘who, why, what, when, how,’ which can get tiresome really fast after the fifth guardsman you meet asks you exactly the same questions.
Now we could be more stealthy, of course, but even though the Imperial Watch maintains a heavy presence in the city it is simply safer to follow the main streets rather than the alleys. The Saint Martin Plaza District - it used to be called Talos Plaza, but you surely remember the White-Gold Concordat and the ban of Talos, no? - is mostly occupied by nobles and the wealthy, thus it is the most heavily patrolled one. But other districts have their dark corners.
Hundreds of thousands of people live in the Imperial City and even though the poorest live in Weye it does not mean that there is no crime or danger in the city itself. Law cannot be everywhere.
This one realizes it might be a little harsh to immediately assume that where the poor live the crime festers, but Mazubar-do dares you to say different. Now this one does not claim that there is no crime in Saint Martin Plaza or Temple districts of course, it is just less obvious in comparison to Weye. There are gangs and organized crime syndicates in the City too, it is just more… sophisticated.
So it is better to stick to the main streets after dark. Now if you want to reach the Market District after dark there is no other choice but use the Green Emperor Way, because the Elven Gardens District is closed to everyone who does not live there when the sun sets. It is not even patrolled by the Imperial Watch. Why is that? It is because the Elven Gardens District is solely for citizens of the Dominion.
Yes, it is strange, since it is not that long since Empire and Dominion were at war with each other, but do not underestimate the power of the Dominion's voice. After Great War and after the Concordat was signed, the Thalmor demanded a concession of Imperial buildings in order to establish a presence in the heart of Empire. It started with few buildings, for the Thalmor officials, then a garrison for Justiciars, then Dominion's merchants, and after a few incidents with Dominion's citizens the Imperial Watch was withdrawn from the district and justice was handed over to Thalmor. And then more people with Dominion citizenship moved there and then some more and very soon most of the residents that were not affiliated with Dominion moved out or were thrown out.
Just think about it. All the soldiers and officials, who might bring over their families. Now the families need servants and they won’t hire just any local Imperial looking for work for various reasons. Such as spies for example. Another question could be why hire Imperials when you can give work to Dominion citizens? So more people need to move in there. Now all these Dominion citizens will most likely be uncomfortable about buying from Imperials and so the Dominion merchants move into the district too. Now all the buildings need repairing, the citizens need clothes, so artisans move in. Food is required too and the Elven Gardens are not called gardens without a reason and gardens can be used for growing vegetables and fruits and herbs and you need gardeners for that. Suddenly you have a self-sufficient Dominion city inside a city which proves every day that people in the Dominion lead better lives than those in the Empire. So they convert. Very clever this one says.
During the day the district is normally open for everyone, but after dark the Thalmor guards are adamant about who they let in. And sadly, we were not on the list, so we had to take Green Emperor Way. There is nothing like a stroll among a thousand graves by the moonlight.
This one is glad it did not take us too long to pass through there and now we are walking under the lamps of Market District, looking for Quaridicus’ house. By now Mazubar-do has been briefed on what happened to our payment and this one is prepared to do whatever it takes to get it back, since Mazubar-do was thinking about buying a new lute. The old one is getting...well, old.
Ballista glances in the Khajiit’s way and looks at the lute in his hands like for the thousandth time this night. But Mazubar-do has to admire her will, because she has resisted asking about it the whole way. It was almost maddening. This one wants her to ask, because the answer is so interesting she has to hear it. Mazubar-do wants her to hear it. But he cannot just ask her to ask, that would be...well, stupid. No, he needs to work up to it, tie her up in a vigorous conversation this one is famous for.
“This one wonders,” Maz says all of a sudden, getting her attention. She gives him a sideway glance while still walking, tilting her head a bit to indicate she is listening. “Applewatch. That is where you were born, yes? Where is it?”
Her stride gets a little bit stiff, but she quickly shakes it off and shrugs. “You already know that. What of it?”
“But where is this Applewatch? Maz has never heard about it.”
“Bruma County, north-west of Bruma. Used to be a single farm but it grew into a small village and…” Ballista pauses and frowns, giving this one a hard look. “What you on about?”
Mazubar-dod-do shrugs. “Just wanted to make sure this one has the story right. So Applewatch. Your father was a mercenary, who just passed through there on a job. You never met him.” Mazubar-do narrows his eyes. “How do you know he is your father?”
“Someone told me,” she shrugs, but this one can clearly see it is a forced shrug. He strokes the neck of the lute just to remind Ballista it is there and then he smiles.
“Cruel people this one says. Maybe you would have lived a better life without knowing the truth.” He taps on the lute and then rubs his ear. “So you left when you were sixteen. For Imperial City. Must have been strange, no? So many people at one place, so many exotic things. One can easily get lost in here, no? Or… hide.”
She stops and stares at Mazubar-do and this one rises his eyebrows. A touchy subject then. The Khajiit fingers gently touch the strings of the lute and continues. “And then you met Selence. She tried to rob you, if this one recalls correctly. Now that is quite a coincidence, yes? Someone would even say fate-”
“Arrrgh! Fine!” Ballista growls and this one puts on his innocent kitten face. “Just… You win. Why the damn lute, Maz?”
This one grins in victory. He knew it! She just didn’t want to give this one the satisfaction. But Maz has his ways. “This one is glad you are asking,” he leans forward with a grin and whispers. “This one has hid a weapon inside the instrument.”
“Weapon?” she raises her eyebrows in confusion. “Why on Nirn would you hide a weapon in there?” She suddenly frowns, as if she realized something. “Wait. Is this because of that play? The… Desperatis, was it? With... what’s-his-name in the main role of some bard assassin?”
“Antonius Banderus, yes! You have seen the performance?”
“No, but you couldn’t shut up about it for weeks,” she rubs her nasal root and then grimaces. “Didn’t you say he had like a fake lute case where he hid the weapons? Not inside the lute itself. How in the Oblivion are you going to get the weapon out?”
Mazubar-do frowns and shows her the lute. “Well… This one has to unstring the lute of course-”
She laughs, literally roaring with laughter that surely has to wake up everyone on the street. It takes a few moments and then she catches her breath, shaking her head. “Sorry,” she wipes tears of her eyes. “Please, continue. This is precious. Why isn’t the weapon clattering in the lute?”
This one is not sure what is so funny about it. It is a unique and special idea after all, like one of the heroes from the stories. “Maz stuffed the lute with clothes. But this one has only one bad shirt so he had to improvise and put a sack of flour in there.”
Corners of her mouth twitch as if she was suppressing laughter. “And what kind of weapon did you hide there?”
Khajiit smiles at that and winks. “A warpick. A small one though.”
“How in Zenithar’s Anvil did you get it in there?”
“Hedgehog in a cage.”
She frowns. “A what?”
“That’s how the Khajiit call it. Hedgehog in a cage. It is like… trying to carry a chair through a door that is more narrow than the chair.”
“Ah,” she nods and leans against the lamp. “So,” she starts, her shoulders slightly shaking for some reason. “So if someone jumps out of the alley, in order to get the weapon out you have to unstring the lute, pull out the clothes and the sack of flour and then you have to do this… hedgehog in a cage to get the weapon out, yes?”
Well, when put like that, it does sound ridiculous…
She roars in laughter again, now hanging by the lamp by one hand like an Imga. “That is the most ridiculous and stupid idea I’ve ever heard! Hahaha. If someone tries to rob us be sure to tell them to wait for like...five minutes so that you could get the weapon out… hahahaha!”
Mazubar-do sulks after these words. “You do not have to be mean,” this one murmurs and pulls the lute closer with a grimace. Maybe Ballista had a point, maybe it was a stupid idea. He certainly did not think it all through, yes, but still… was it not an astonishing idea? At least a little bit?
Her laughter has gained the attention of an Imperial Watchman and Mazubar-do can hear the rattling of the armor as the guardsman walks towards them. Maz turns around and smiles. By the looks it seems the guard is actually a woman, an Imperial or a Breton most likely.
“You are disturbing the peace, citizens,” she growls and this one sees that Ballista immediately straightens, wiping tears off her face and tries to look seriously.
“Sorry, ma’am. The Khajiit just told me the best joke in the world, and... I’m sorry, won’t happen again,” Ballista says and slightly bows her head.
But the guardswoman is not one to let this be so easily. “What are you doing in the streets so late at night?”
And this is Mazubar-do’s cue. “This one humbly apologizes. Khajiit has been playing at Lute and Smiley’s and he can proudly say that he has charmed this lovely lady here. This one is escorting her home right now, if you follow.” Maz pauses and lets the guardswoman process it, her frown under the helmet deepening. “Maybe a pretty guardswoman would like to join us? Provide an escort, yes?” he quickly adds, but the woman already rolls her upper lip.
“Just keep it down,” she growls and walks away.
Both Maz and Ballista watch her and then the Nord turns to this one, her eyebrows raised. “This was actually quite clever.”
“Yes,” Mazubar-do smiles proudly. “Though it was a risk. For a second Maz thought she would try to save you from this one’s clutches. It certainly did work that way few times with Selence.”
“Selence? Wait, are you her matchmaker now or something?” She then shakes her head. “No, don’t answer. Don’t really want to know. Seriously, Maz, you’re a puzzle. The ideas you sometimes have are nearly genius but other times…” Her voice trails off into nothingness as she sighs. “Sorry, I didn’t really mean it. I get it you thought it was a unique idea and… I didn’t have to be so harsh. Can you forgive me?”
“Yes, this one forgives you,” Maz replies instinctively, and she smiles, because there is no trace of hurt feelings in this one’s voice. Mazubar-do has learned to hide such things long time ago, and one could say that sometimes Maz plays his role too well. He smiles and points at the street, raising his eyebrow in a question.
“Are you sure?” she tilts her head.
“Yes.” This one is not really sure if that is a lie or the truth. The words hurt, yes, but the fact Ballista said them makes it somewhere easier for Maz, because she never uses words to hurt someone - well, she is trying at least. But beware those who insult her company. This one has seen her defending other Merotim Blades with a vigorous zeal even at slightest hints of insults.
“Alright. We have work to do. Let’s go,” she nods.
We roam the Market District for a while before we finally reach the target - at least we think it is the right place. Finding a specific house not on the main street can prove a bit difficult in Imperial City, because not every street has a name and houses do not have numbers like the Thalmor in Elven Gardens District - this one wonders why the Empire does not introduce such a system too, it certainly does make orientation much easier.
No, the Empire has a bit of a different system. The main street running round the city is called the Rim, and each street running from the White-Gold Tower to every district is called a Spoke. So if this one has to put it into practice, we have been following the Market Spoke from Green Emperor Way to Market District, and exactly in the middle of the district the Spoke meets the Rim. That is where the district is divided into quarters. North-western, south-western and so on.
Every street running from the Rim or from a Spoke has a name, such as Reman’s street, Magnus’s street - frankly, most are named after Emperors or other royal members of the history, sometimes even after a Chancellor.
But now it gets tricky, because every other street running from this named one does not have a name. No, instead, the Imperials name the corners.
‘Market District, south-western quarter, Cuhelcain’s street, Beroe’s corner, left behind twenty-fifth house, fourteenth house on the right.’
Those are actually our directions to Quaridicus’ house. So up until Beroe’s corner it is quite easy, the signs mostly lead you. But after that? Well, in this case it is still rather easy, because it leads us mostly straight to our destination, but if we had to traverse the alleys… well, that’s when you have to hire a guide. There are always children looking to earn some money by guiding people around, but you will not find any of these at this hour.
So we follow the direction and we turn left behind the twenty-fifth house behind Beroe’s corner and then we count the houses to our right until we reach the fourteenth one on the right. Ballista walks up to the door and reads the plates on it.
“Gasquet, lower floor. Quaridicus, upper floor.” Yes, most of the houses in Market district are divided between two owners - well, sometimes they do not even own the house, they are only renting it. Imperials are strange.
Ballista tries the door, but it is locked and she grimaces. She takes a few steps back and looks up. This one then steps to the door and tries it too, just in case.
“Hmm,” Ballista grunts, obviously thinking. “You think he’s up there? If we catch him we can talk to him and persuade him to uphold his side of the bargain. Or ask why he can’t do that. That’s the best case scenario I guess-”
The door then click and Mazubar-do opens them, revealing a narrow hallway with two door at each side and stairs leading up and another leading down to the basement, with a door on the right side at the top of the stairs. Maz throws a grin over his shoulder.
“How-” she starts and then shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. Wait here.”
“But this one might help you with the negotiating-”
“I need you to keep watch. If nobody’s at home I’m going to snoop the place and I need you to give me a signal if anything happens.”
“Like what?”
“Like Quaridicus showing up or something.”
That just seems strange, but Maz does not say it out loud. If this Quaridicus really stole all the money then he was long gone probably. Why would he come back? Also, how is Ballista intending to get inside his apartment?
This one shrugs and leans against the wall. “Maz will keep watch then.” She nods and disappears inside, heading up the stairs and Mazubar-do begins tuning his lute.
This one hears how Ballista knocks on Quaridicus’ door, which is followed by silence. Another knock. More silence. Then there is a quiet creak of the hinges and this cannot help himself but raise his eyebrows in surprise. There is no way Ballista picked the lock so quickly. One of the windows above Maz suddenly lets out a warm light of a candle, which means that either someone is home or Ballista needs light to scour the place.
Voices sound on the street and three men walk into Maz’s line of sight. They are all dressed in black shirts and tan linens stuffed into soft moccasins, one of them tapping on the pavement with a walking cane. They jest and laugh, looking like three friends that just had a great night. As they draw closer this one recognizes that the one with a cane is an Imperial and his friends are a Dunmer and a Khajiit - and by the looks a female Suthay-raht. There is no better sight than a Khajiit female swinging her hips in true feline way. And this one likes the colour of her fur too, a lovely mix of golden and brown.
Once they walk past, this one will take a long and delightful look at her backside. Sadly, that will not happen, because they walk right towards Maz.
“Good evening,” this one says, while tuning his lute, lowering his head a bit.
The Imperial with the cane looks straight at this one and a smile flashes on his face. “Good evening. Good evening indeed.” His eyes dart towards the light in the window above Maz and then narrow into thin lines, but the smile still stays on. “What is it you people say? Warm sands? Am I saying it right?”
You people? Well, if this one was not used to such proclamations and if one of the Imperial’s companions was not a Khajiit, this one could get offended by that. You people… Pffft. “Warm sands and pleasant journeys is one of the variations, yes. But this one wonders why your friend has not educated you on this?”
The Suthay-raht’s whiskers twitch and she reclines her ears, but otherwise she is silent. The Imperial chuckles at that. “Now you can see why. Tell me, is Quaridicus home?” the man points at the window above us.
Ah, interesting. The Imperial said it as if he and Quaridicus were friends, but this one sincerely doubts that. “Khajiit is sorry, but he does not know anyone by that name. This one is here to play wooing ballads under lovely Silavera’s window,” Maz points with his chin at the house on the other side of the street and then lowers his head again. “But so far this one has done nothing but been ashamed himself for he has not mustered his courage yet.” Mazubar-do then turns his attention to the Suthay-raht and smiles. “Though maybe Khajiit was just waiting for his muse.”
This time the female hisses in annoyance, as a cat that just spotted a dog, and her tail twitches in restlessness. The Dunmer next to her snorts, but quickly hides his smile, though the Imperial’s shoulders are shaking without a worry. So clearly the Imperial is her superior. Well, superior, such an unkind word. Stands above her? No, still not helping. Ah, Khajiit never have it easy anywhere.
“Hah. Believe me, friend, you don’t really want to go down that road with her,” the Imperial leans closer, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “She can be quite...feral,” he winks and then heads for the door to Quaridicus’ house, pulling a key out of his pocket.
This gives Maz a pause. What if the Imperial really does live here? What was the name on the other plate? Something Breton-ish. The Imperial does not look Breton-ish. Maybe they are friends with Quaridicus? Or maybe they are looking for him too. But why the key then?
The Imperial puts the key into the keyhole and then stops, turning around to Maz with a frown. He measures Mazubar-do for a moment and glances at his friends and then looks back at this one. “Tell me, ‘friend,’” an emphasis on the word friend this time, “have you perchance seen anyone enter the house?”
Maz keeps tuning his lute and tries the strings, which let out a humming sound without any actual tone, since the lute is stuffed with clothes, but it could be enough of a warning for Ballista. But this one hopes the sound is loud enough. “Actually, yes. This one has seen a Nord woman, red hair, enter the house. A friend of yours maybe? She was pretty, maybe you could introduce this one to her, yes?”
“Maybe,” the Imperial frowns and then nods as his companions. His jaws are clenched and he watches Maz with suspicion, but this one keeps playing his innocent role. Just like Antonius Banderus would, up until the last moment. The Imperial then opens the door, sparing Maz one last glance and then he and his companions disappear inside, which only confirms that Mazubar-do should play in one of the bigger plays, because this act was surely one of his best.
But nothing lasts forever and as soon as Maz hears their footsteps on the stairs he begins unstringing the lute. So the three are looking for Quaridicus too. And poor Ballista is trapped on the upper floor.
It could not be clearer. Maz has to save her.
There is a surprised shout and then a splitting sound of wood. The door to the left opens and a half naked Breton woman - quite a well-endowed one if this one may say - peeks out into the hallway and at the sight of Maz she screams and quickly shuts the door with loud bang. Shattering of glass sounds from upstairs closely followed by heavy thuds and grunting.
But the time Maz reaches the door he’s barely let three strings loose from the lute. Sounds of fighting sound from behind the door and Maz struggles with the strings.
Yes, it was quite a stupid idea to hide the weapon in a lute.
The door suddenly explode as a figure flies through them and lands directly on poor Maz. We hit the wall opposite the door and this one recognizes the Suthay-raht female and smiles at her. She hisses and bares her teeth and her claws strike at Mazubar-do’s face. This one grabs her hand by the wrist, but by that time her head had already snapped forward, her teeth aiming for Maz’s neck.
Maz quickly pulls his lute closer and there is this strange humming and hollow sound as the Suthay-raht bites directly into the lute’s neck instead of this one’s. Her golden eyes grew wide and Mazubar-do pushes her from himself, sending her rolling down the stairs. She is hissing and sizzling all the way down, but Maz is already on his feet and heads through the door, ready to save Ballista.
He enters a big room, lit by a weak light of a table lamp, which something between an office and a lounge, with most of the furniture being destroyed, leaves of paper everywhere. Ballista is standing behind a heavy desk that is still intact, her back towards Maz. Her white shirt is covered with sweat and Maz can see blood on her shoulder.
On the other side of the desk is the Imperial and the Dunmer. The Imperial is holding a thin long blade in his right hand and the stick in his left - no, wait! The blade came out of the cane! Damn, Maz should have thought about that one too - and the Dunmer is holding a nasty knife in each of his hands.
And Ballista has no weapon.
Now is the time to get the weapon out of the lute!
The Imperial looks behind Ballista, straight at Maz, and she spares a quick glance over her shoulder, noticing Mazubar-do.
In that moment the Imperial jumps forward, slashing with his blade over the desk. Ballista leans back to dodge the blade and the Dunmer is now closing around the desk.
“The lute!” she shouts and Maz growls, working as fast as he can.
The Dunmer strikes with one knife, but it is just a feint, he suddenly changes direction and slashes with the other. Ballista uses her steel vambrace to deflect and before the Dunmer can continue she grabs him by his forearm and pulls, throwing him against the wall.
The Imperial takes advantage of her momentary inattentiveness and his thin blade leaves a nasty cut on her elbow. She hisses and kicks the desk into the Imperial’s way and looks at Maz.
“Just give me the damn lute!” she growls and rips it from this one’s paws, taking it by the neck and swinging with it as a club at the Dunmer who by now had regained his footing. It breaks over his head and suddenly the room explodes with white powder.
The flour.
Maz coughs, unable to see anything in that blinding cloud, and he can hear Ballista’s curses. This one stumbles out of the room, trying to clear his throat, and just then Maz notices the Suthay-raht female running on all fours up the stairs, her tail raised and bristled up. She is furious. This one is in trouble.
Maz kicks like you would kick a street mutt urinating on your favourite trousers, but she suddenly changes direction, jumps directly on the wall opposite the door and then rebounds from it. Her claws bury into this one’s chest as her momentum topples him and throws him back into the apartment. Maz manages to get his legs under her body and using her momentum he throws the bad kitty over his head into the room.
He raises his head to see Ballista facing off the Imperial, Mazubar-do’s warpick - she’s found it! - in her hand and she used it to effectively break the Imperial’s thin blade, then using the blunt side to break his arm and finishing him with a mighty left hook that sends him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The flour is slowly dispersing and Maz lifts on his elbows, fully aware the Suthay-raht is still-
A shadow leapt from behind a toppled bookcase, landing on Ballista’s back with hissing, claws raking over her shoulders. The Nord is toppled on the ground and this time Mazubar-do growls. This one has enough of that annoying kitten!
Maz stands up and stumbles towards Ballista and grabs the Suthay-raht by the back of her neck, pulling her back and smashing the ground with her face. She immediately turns on her belly and strikes with her claw at this one’s leg. Mazubar-do quickly lifts it and then kicks her into her muzzle and she lets out a very cat like miaow of pain. She shakes her head but Maz kicks again, but this time she twists her body, avoiding the kick and her claws leaves nasty marks on this one’s leg and then she grabs the other leg and sends Maz sprawling on the floor again.
The Khajiit female then lands on him yet again, ready to gouge poor Maz’s eyes out with her sharp claws, but if she wants to play that way, this one can do it too. Maz pops his own claws and uses his both hands to stab her sides. She screams and swings at this one’s face, but her forearm is grabbed by a strong hand and she turns around in fury.
Ballista’s fist lands on between her eyes before she can react and then she grabs the Suthay-raht by the hand and her leg and throws her against the wall with such force the plastering starts falling off. The Khajiit female stops moving and Maz lets out a sigh of relief. The Imperial was speaking the truth. Feral indeed.
Ballista walks over to the Imperial and grabs him by his collar, slapping him several times until his eyelids flicker, and when he opens them he reveals eyes clouded by dizziness. “Who are you working for?!” she growls into his face, her hands and back covered blood.
Maz crawls over the floor towards the remains of his lute and as he moves around the toppled bookshelf, he sees a dead body on the ground. A big and stinking body. Why hasn’t this one smelled it before? It is an Imperial with big belly and three chins poorly hidden by a beard of brown hair.
“By the Moons!” Maz lets out a shocked yelp.
“I know! It’s-” Ballista growls and Maz turns around to her.
“Broken!” he moans, showing her the remains of his lute, holding its neck in his hands. “My precious lute.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Seriously, Maz? The lute? That’s your only concern?” The Imperial thug then tries to reach for a broken leg of a chair and she notices it and steps on his broken arm. He screams and she grimaces. “Right. Who are you working for?”
Maz now takes closer look at the body. Yes, it is clearly Quaridicus, our former employer. He looks quite dead in this one’s opinion. And probably has been for some time, because his body has gotten much bigger since Maz saw him last, most likely because of the gases swelling in the body. His complexion is not looking healthy either, almost like a squid washed out on the shore. Ugh.
“Did you kill him?” Ballista continues her interrogation and the Imperial spits blood into her face.
She is about to lose it when a rattling of metal overwhelms Mazubar-do’s ears and this one realizes that we have made too much sound. Not good.
“We have to go,” this one says and Ballista looks at Maz. She mostly cannot hear it yet, she has only small ears after all, not like Khajiit, but she understands what Maz means.
The guards.
“Who are you working for?!” she tries one more time and the Imperial chuckles.
“Go fuck yourself.”
We are running out of time, but Maz can see Ballista will not leave without at least some answers. This one steps to the Imperial and looks into his dark eyes.
“Who are you working for?” Maz asks calmly, his gaze burying into the man’s eyes and the Imperial’s gaze suddenly grows distant, his facial muscles relax and sag, as if he got captured in some kind of memory.
“Ssss,” he hisses, but we soon realize it is not a hiss, he is just struggling to speak. “Ssss-iiillk.”
Silk? As in Silk the gang boss?
But we have lost too much time because several Watchmen suddenly burst into the room and Maz quickly raises his arms above his head when they start pointing their swords at him. “Khajiit is innocent!” Maz shouts.
Comments
Hey, do you mind if I use this as as a joke in the story? Someone should tell Maz