Dragon of the East - Arc 1 Epilogue

• Posted by Okan-Zeeus August 25, 2014 - 1,247 views

  Darasken

  ~ ~ ~

  We leaned over the cool marble of a wall, watching dragonflies hover above lily pads in a man-made pond. There was little solace to be found in the sight – nothing seemed to stave away our longing for home. We wished to return to the marshes of the east. The Imperial City was disdainful. Everything built in gleaming white stone, nature left only to thrive in small gardens or pools, as though the creatures that dwelled there needed no more space than that allotted by men.

  The White-Gold Tower stood behind us, a titanic pillar touching the sky. Ruptures and holes riddled its form. The Thalmor of the Summerset Isles were content to leave their mark after sacking the city. Not even the heart of the Cyrodiilic Empire could walk away from siege weapons unscathed. Restoration work began after the Great War’s end, but many walls and ramparts were still under repair.

  We rubbed the grey scales on our arm. Our search had so far been fruitless. Yet in spite of a foul mood, we needed to hope we could still catch his trail. We had come so far…

  “Did you forget when we were meeting?” a woman suddenly asked.

  Afareen leaned over the wall, her dark brown eyes glaring mildly. The shade of a tree filtered spots of sunlight on her dark skin and leather tunic. Humans considered her figure attractive, lean and well-proportioned.

  “Ours is to remember details. You know this,” we hissed. Tamrielic is not our first language. We find its pronouns confusing. Too simplified.

  “Everyone’s gathered, Darasken,” the Redguard said. “It’s you and J’qar we’re waiting on.”

  “The noon bell has not rung. This one assumed there was still time.”           

  “Sun’s high enough. The bell will ring any minute now.”

  We groaned in displeasure.

  “Are all so eager to tell of their success…?”

  “I wish. It’s not looking good so far. The rest of us couldn’t find a single lead.”

  “Not one?” we replied, distressed.

  Afareen shook her head.

  “He’s done a good job covering his tracks this time. We’ll be lucky to get even a whiff.”

  “Xhuth!”

  “Couldn’t find anything either, huh?”

  A clicking growl came from our muzzle. “It is as you say. The traitor was here – of that there is much certainty – but nothing has revealed where he went.”

  The Redguard sighed, gazing across the pond with us. She brushed back the braids of her hair.

  “Guess it’s up to the cat, now. If he doesn’t find anything, we’re sunk,” she said. “Let’s break the bad news and get it over with.”

  We complied, following Afareen down the city’s bustling streets and alleyways. Stone brick and arched tunnels wound a coiling path through buildings, taverns, and homes. We soon arrived at a small grassy enclosure full of weeds and scattered boulders. A grated manhole rested atop the lip of a drainage tunnel.

  Picking open the latch, we descended down into the Imperial City sewers as the temple’s noontime bell began its lengthy chime.

  The air below ground was thick with moisture and smelled of rot. Light from high ceiling shafts bled into the water channels, glistening against greasy rock walls. Afareen had a torch to spare. We memorized the layout of the sewers in advance.

  “I’m not sure I like this choice of meeting place anymore,” the Redguard chided.

  “There are few locations in the city that avoid traffic,” this one replied. “Our conversation would not remain confidential in a pub.”

  “As if anyone would actually eavesdrop.”

  “This is a precaution. Bear it for now.”

  We wound through tight and murky corridors. Light from flickering flames stretched across the wall ahead. As we entered a chamber of fair size, riddled with waste and discarded foods, our sights set on two figures huddling near a campfire.

  One was roasting legs plucked from a freshly killed mudcrab – Ugrash, an Orc female, wearing a rough hide garb and barbed gauntlets. Her battle axe was resting on the ground, stained with blood. The other, Nicolard, was a muscular Breton man adorning a set of embroidered cloth robes, steel boots and steel bracers. A blade rested at his side. His bald head and thick eyebrows perked up as we entered.

  “About time. Did Darasken find any leads?” the spellsword asked, addressing the Redguard as though we were not present.

  “No,” Afareen said flatly.

  “Figures… I told you he wouldn’t,” the olive skinned Orc muttered, pulling away her meal from the fire.

  Nicolard glanced at us.

  “Take a seat, then. We’ll wait for the Khajiit. He’s got to have found something.”             

  We sat down on opposite sides of the fire. Ugrash devoured her crustacean with tusk-like teeth. All kept silently to themselves. An eclectic party indeed, and this one felt most unwelcome in it. But the An-Xileel would not have these mercenaries pursue such a sensitive target without a delegate to bear witness. Nicolard and Ugrash were the first to voice complaints. J’qar was indifferent. Only Afareen seemed tolerable toward my presence. Of the four, we respected her the most.

  Kaah… This one speaks idle gossip. Ours was to be content on this embarking. We would finally send one of Black Marsh’s greatest traitors to the void. An honorable commission.

  Clattering sounds echoed from further down one of the sewer tunnels. A man covered in fur with the face of a puma emerged from the darkness. The Khajiit J’qar walked slowly toward the fireplace, stooping down onto the floor. His light garbs, brim pockets, and bandolier glowed in the light.

  “Well? What did you find?” Nicolard asked.

  “Nothing,” J’qar declared.

  There was a collective jeer. That was the final blow. We had scoured the whole city for clues, questioning probable witnesses, checking log books and ledgers, stealing Imperial records…

  “Damn cat, we were counting on you!” Ugrash bellowed.

  “What would you have me do? Pull my tail and make an Argonian appear from the air?” J’qar scoffed.

  “I don’t get it!” Nicolard exclaimed. “We’ve kept up with him till now. How can he cover his tracks so perfectly all of a sudden?”

  “He cannot,” this one replied, “unless he has been holding reserve. Xhu?”

  The Breton leaned forward in his seat.          

  “You don’t think…?”

  “If not that, then he’s manipulated us,” Afareen said. “Left enough crumbs to lure us here before finally ditching the bread.”

  “Yes. He knows the An-Xileel still pursue him,” we rejoined. “This was a grand effort to completely erase his trail, something beyond our ability to predict.”

  The others sulked. Until then, we found it unusual that the traitor would risk exposing himself to public witness in a place like the Imperial City. Now we saw through his intent. The city lies at the center of Tamriel. He could have gone in any direction across the continent. Without a lead, we could do little more than pick a course and hope to find him by chance.

   Okan-Zeeus was a master tracker among the Zanxhu-Loh. That skill and knowledge served him well as a fugitive. It appeared we were bested by his cunning.

  “So what do we do now?” Ugrash asked, slumping back against the slimy sewer wall.

  “We go home. Our chase cannot continue,” J’qar shrugged. “We would be combing for a whisker in the desert.”

  “I can’t believe this!” Nicolard fumed furiously. “Four months! We spend almost four months trying to catch this scaleback, son of a whore…!”

  “There’s nothing we could have done,” Afareen asserted. “We were in over our heads. The An-Xileel wouldn’t offer a fortune’s worth of gold to find just anyone. If killing this Argonian was easy, someone would have done it a long time ago.”

  The spellsword paused, swearing under his breath.

  “Then that’s it. It’s over,” he said, gesturing with a toss of his hand. “We have no idea where he is or where he’s gone. Any more searching is pointless.”

  Nicolard looked to his compatriots. This contract had promised them wealth enough to live lavishly for years. We could see the displeasure in their eyes. They felt cheated, as though they had discovered all along that they were chasing the wind.

  “Grab your things. We’re done here.”           

  The group picked themselves up and prepared to leave. They would no doubt spend the eve drinking away thoughts of their failure. This one, however, was not yet ready to concede defeat. We spoke up.

  “Wait. There is more we can do.”

  J’qar let out a bad-tempered huff.

  “Khajiit disagrees. Our efforts have proved to be in vain. Who is to say this will not remain true, going forward…?”

  “Forget it, Darasken,” Nicolard retorted. “If anyone’s finding Okan-Zeeus, it’s not gonna be us. We’re cutting our losses. Go back to Black Marsh and tell those ambassadors to find some other chumps to do their dirty work.”

  We exposed our teeth in anger. “This is unworthy of you. We must not let the traitor have his way! If we grant him this leave, he may never resurface!”

  “So? Who cares?” Ugrash snorted.

  “Damn straight!” the Breton replied, glaring at me. “Ten years dangling a bounty over Okan-Zeeus’ head, the An-Xileel ought to know when to give up.”

  “You would let the villain roam free?” we hissed. “Were you not told of his crimes? Okan-Zeeus sought to bring anarchy upon our people!  He is a mass murderer and a disgrace–”

  “He’s a hermit!” Nicolard snapped. “Lives in the wild and minds his own business! That’s all he’s practically done since we started tracking him!”

  “You made Okan-Zeeus out to be quite the tall tale, Darasken,” Afareen said. “He’s clever, I’ll give him that, but he’s not what you’ve lead him on to be. I hope you’re not coloring this man with some patriotic vendetta.”

  We remained firm, inwardly acknowledging the Redgaurd’s perceptiveness.

  “Our desire is to see justice done. No more, no less,” this one avowed, looking to Nicolard. “If you could grasp the weight of what Okan-Zeeus nearly did to the Saxhleel, you would not dare yield at the first sign of defeat. Are we hapless and weak as hatchlings? No! We must persevere!”

  “Stow your crap, lizard!” the Breton snapped. “An-Xileel be damned; you’re not here to give us orders!”

  “We ask for one more chance, Nicolard. You are free to disregard our words and leave if you so wish…”

  Looking about the room, we met the eyes of every able body present.

  “…This speaks to everyone here. Abandon everything we have worked toward if that is your choice. But can you all truly give up now, after coming so far, knowing that we might miss our last chance to catch this traitor?”

  Silence.

  “What would you have us do?” Afareen finally asked.

  “The only information we lack is Okan-Zeeus’ bearing from here,” we said. “Some of you have contacts in Cyrodiil’s other cities, yes? Since we cannot scour the whole of the province ourselves, we would be wise to seek their assistance. We need only to reach them by letter…”

  “To see if they can find anything,” Afareen interpolated.

  Nicolard rolled his eyes.

  “That’s your idea?” he scoffed. “Sit here with our thumbs up our asses and hope that somebody out there happened to see Okan-Zeeus walk by?”

  “It is more efficient than spreading to search for leads on foot,” we replied.

  “This does not matter. It all works out the same,” J’qar said. “Our odds of discovering anything useful are slim.”

  This was true. Very true.

  “We can still try. Only when we have exhausted all resources should we quit.”

  Afareen came close. “Darasken, we don’t have enough contacts to reach across all of Cyrodiil. Bruma, Skingrad, and Cheydinhal are the only places we could write to for help. Maybe Leyawiin, gods permitting.”

  “That is all we need.”

  Nicolard cut in. “Far from it! Okan-Zeeus could have gone anywhere!”

  “He could have gone anywhere, but there are only so many places he can go,” we retorted. “Have you forgotten? The An-Xileel has gathered intelligence on the traitor’s activities. Some provinces can be ruled out.”

  “Such as…?” Afareen asked.

  Our tail swayed with vigor. “We know he will not return to Black Marsh. Nor will he travel to Morrowind.”

  “Okan-Zeeus has to know some secrets about the An-Xileel,” the Breton said. “He could make a deal with House Redoran – information in exchange for protection.”

  “That is not his way. We have seen that he avoids contact with civilization. Besides this, there are too many risks. He would surely be attacked on sight upon entering great house territory.”

  There was unspoken agreement. We continued.

  “Moreover, we believe that the traitor has enemies in Elsweyr. He clashed with members of the Renrijra Krin three years ago for reasons unknown. Though his status under the Mane has not diminished, there would be few safe places in the province for Okan-Zeeus to hide.”

  “That leaves the western half of Tamriel,” Afareen noted.

  “Yes. He has already spent time in High Rock and Hammerfell. We cannot rule out that he may return to either region, but if the traitor is seeking new asylum he will travel north or southwest.”

  “Hmph. Aren’t you sure of yourself,” Ugrash remarked.             

  “We understand how he thinks,” this one hissed. “Okan-Zeeus is trying to isolate himself from the larger world. He may seek the harsh ice lands of the north, where no one treads. Or perhaps an island. The Summerset Isles, Stros M’kai, and Solstheim are all accessible through the routes available to him.”

  “This sounds far-fetched, Darasken,” Nicolard retorted.

  “It is. But the regions near Bruma, Skingrad, and Cheydinhal are still possible crossing points for the traitor to take, wherever he intends to travel. Even if our chances of finding him are next to none, what is there to lose in trying?”

  The troupe of mercenaries glanced at one another. There was still potential in our mission. They needed to see that. We could not give up now.

  Afareen spoke to Nicolard. “There are plenty of bounties we can pick up around the city while we wait for our friends to reply. What’s the harm in writing a few letters?”

  The bald-headed Breton sighed and regarded the others.  

  “Thoughts?”

  “Khajiit would not be against this,” J’qar replied.

  “If it means we get to go out and find trouble, I don’t mind the wait,” Ugrash said.

  Nicolard mused for a while.

  “Alright lizard,” he grumbled. “We’ll wait ten days to hear back. If nothing comes by then, we leave. Got it?” The man exchanged looks with everyone. “Start writing, people. Let’s get couriers on the road before the day’s out.”

  Satisfaction. The five of us separated to resurface at different sewer grates, making it easier to avoid attention. Despite this victory, the blind luck it would take for these contacts to provide a lead was discouraging. We were fumbling in darkness.

  But the traitor was tired, enough to try and throw us off his scent for good. His life on the run was wearing him down. One side or the other had to make a decisive move. The letters – this gamble – was our move. No better could be made.

  The game was nearing its end, and Okan-Zeeus’ death was overdue.

  AUTHOR'S NOTES

  A note on Darasken’s use of pronouns. He refers to himself as “we” due to Tamrielic (read: English) not being his first language. Jel in my story is completely based off of lu_ming's Jel Language Project.

  In Jel, Argonians refer to themselves using a “connected” set of pronouns to indicate all individuals connected through the Hist (i.e. ‘sep’ for 1^st person connected and ‘see’ for 1^st person disconnected). Since Darasken refers to himself in a connected sense, he uses “we” instead of “I” as a sort of linguistic compromise between Jel and Tamrielic.

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