Post by Arakhor on May 6, 2007 11:55:34 GMT 1
The discussion thread is here.
Chapter One
Venyarin Silverfur was a Silver Khajiit guardsman in the Imperial City watch. (Silver Khajiits were a very rare breed of white-furred Khajiit that originated in Skyrim. The Nine Divines had blessed several non-Elsweyr Khajiit strains, amongst them the Silver Khajiits, with the gift of standing upright and being able to wear standard helmets and footwear worn by Man and Mer.) It would be more accurate to say that he was once an Imperial City guardsman, as he was now sitting on a rough wooden bench inside a crowded common room, on board an Imperial prison ship.
Dressed only in coarse peasant’s clothing and with his other meagre possessions confiscated by the guardsmen, it would take a gifted spy to work out that Venyarin was not in fact a prisoner. This was a long-term deep-cover reconnaissance mission assigned to him by his superiors back home. Indeed, even thinking about it now, three weeks later, still brought the mission briefing rushing back to him as if it were only yesterday.
Venyarin Silverfur had just recently been promoted to the rank of Corporal in the City watch. This was a job with very little change from the entry-level duties and simply meant that he was responsible for co-ordinating the duties of four or five other guardsmen, even though his time on active service was not reduced. In effect, he gained a little responsibility and a lot more work in return for slightly more pay and a smidgeon of respect from his peers.
He had recently returned to the Imperial City from a one-year rotating posting in each of the various cities in Cyrodiil, after being recalled from the northern city of Bruma, his adopted home away from Skyrim. His silky fur had adapted quite well to the few months in the much warmer climes on Bravil and Leyawiin, though fortunately these had occurred during the winter just gone. Even more fortunately perhaps, the nature of crime didn’t really vary from city to city and his guard’s training had served him well.
His calm, peaceable nature, coupled with his deep religious devotion to the Nine Divines, had distinguished himself within the Imperial Guard and, whilst his sergeant was awarding Venyarin his promotion, he was assured that his name was regularly near the top of the promotion list and that he would go far.
Today, however, after just ten days in his new position, he was ordered to report to his sergeant’s office at once. Venyarin knew his sergeant was not exactly renowned for his compassion (and was well-known for his peremptory manner and brusque behaviour) and wondered if he had transgressed some invisible barrier or violated some unknown code. After all, the Imperial Guard, while publicly striving for equality and diversity, was pretty much a male Cyrodiil boys’ club and woe to anyone else who upset the metaphorical applecart.
Entering the south-western watchtower and climbing the stairs from the soldiers’ dormitory on the ground floor to his sergeant’s office on the first floor, he paused before he actually entered the office to make sure he was properly dressed, with no loose straps or blotchy armour. As Venyarin took his job very seriously and actually considered himself a direct servant of the Emperor’s justice, this was not a problem at all. In fact, he had gained a slightly pejorative reputation as being a stickler for hygiene and cleanliness, both for one’s body and one’s equipment.
Raising his silvery hand, he knocked briskly and awaited an answer. On hearing his sergeant’s stentorian “Come!”, Venyarin came in, saluted and then snapped to attention.
Watch-Sergeant Hieronymous Lex saluted the Khajiit in return and then said, “thank you for coming so promptly. Your dedication to duty and your willingness to serve make you an ideal person for the job I have in mind. You are of course aware of my problem with the Grey Fox?”
It wasn’t really a question, but Venyarin nodded anyway. “Good, good,” Sergeant Lex continued. “Ever since the Fox made me look a fool in front of the entire Empire, I have wanted to catch the scoundrel and watch him hang.”
Venyarin attempted to look sympathetic, but Sergeant Lex’s obsession with catching the Master Thief of Cyrodiil was widely known, as was his zero-tolerance police towards crime, however minor. Sergeant Lex was also exaggerating about the scale of the humiliation suffered, but the story was essentially true. A powerful noblewoman had been transporting a priceless jewelled necklace, which some said had been crafted by none other than Zenithar, Lord of Wealth, and Sergeant Lex had personally guaranteed its safety with the bold statement that not even the Grey Fox himself could steal it if Lex was on the job. The Grey Fox had then humiliated Lex by rising to the challenge and stealing the necklace without any of the Imperial Guard even being aware (until much, much later) that the necklace was even gone. The theft had quickly become infamous throughout the Imperial Province and Sergeant Lex narrowly avoided a spell of duty at the notorious Fort Frostmoth on the icy island of Solstheim, on Morrowind’s northern coast.
“I have come into possession of certain information, from a mystic noted for her prophetic talents, which indicates that the Grey Fox will go to Morrowind and unite the Thieves’ Guilds, both here and there. There was no timescale listed with this prediction but the wise woman indicated that it would be soon. As such, I’m sending you undercover to Morrowind to investigate these disturbing events.”
Venyarin was shocked, to say the least. “But sir,” he spluttered, “it’s Morrowind. That’s not a good place for me to be.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lex. “Slavers don’t requisition Imperial citizens and I’ve sent ahead to have proof of citizenship papers made up for you specifically.”
“But the Dunmer are xenophobic and unpleasant towards their own kin, let alone my people or those from Argonia!”
“Which is why I’m not sending anyone else,” Lex replied. “Since they’re going to be hostile and uncooperative anyway, why not send you? Anyone I send will cause attention to themselves anyway.”
Venyarin’s breath was quite stolen away by the uncaring attitude and somewhat bizarre logic being used to send him off Gods-know-where for Gods-know-how-long. “With respect, sir,” Venyarin managed after a while, “I am a Silver Khajiit – my people are unusual in our native province and I myself am unusual even amongst my own people. What’s more, even setting aside the Dunmer’s disgusting slaving practices towards the so-called ‘beast-folk’, the only Khajiits in Morrowind are the ‘normal’ variety – you know, the semi-upright insular people that inspire small-minded bigots to refer to us as beast-folk.” Venyarin drew breath and then added, in a much more normal tone, “… sir.”
Sergeant Lex didn’t smile or frown or even give any indication that Venyarin was skating on the wrong side of indignation and insubordination. “If the Dunmer are xenophobic, uncooperative and able to sense an Imperial Dunmer regardless, sending a Dunmer member of the Blades, fully conversant in Great House culture and fluent in Daedric will be just as conspicuous as sending a rare beast-folk sub-breed who has never been to Morrowind in his life.”
Lex shrugged, continuing to ignore Venyarin’s distress and barely-controlled anger. “I can’t get a Blade to investigate a future claim anyway and you’re the most responsible guardsman I have available. Your policing tactics are exemplary but too soft – we need a crackdown on crime and your gentle touch is not quite what we need at the moment. Thus, I can either take you off-duty to teach you more intensive techniques or I choose you as my spy in Morrowind. You’ll be gone for several months and you leave in two days’ time. Enjoy your time off until then. Dismissed.”
The next couple of days had passed in a blur. Venyarin was too well-trained to disobey and too self-disciplined to even consider making any more of a scene, so he had left and began somewhat numbly preparing to completely uproot his life once more. To the other guardsmen, he claimed that he was going on a long sabbatical back to Skyrim and to the poor folk of the Imperial City to whom he spoke regularly, he said he was going home for several months’ rest and relaxation.
In fact, the only person he mentioned anything near the truth was to the Argonian mage Tar-Meena at the Arcane University – they got on very well, with Venyarin keeping her apprised of happenings in the city and within the Guard, and Tar-Meena providing advice, gossip and a friendly face to complain to. Even so, he only mentioned that he was being sent away for a long time and he didn’t know the first thing to do about it. Tar-Meena’s simple response was to squeeze his hand reassuringly and tell him that his gentle nature and kind heart would answer any questions that his discipline and training could not.
And then he left all his belongings in the Watch lock-up and, attired only in simple peasant clothing, he was bundled onto one of the regular carriages that freighted prisoners through the Morrowind mainland and then to the waiting prison-boat to be transported to the island of Vvardenfell.
Chapter One
Venyarin Silverfur was a Silver Khajiit guardsman in the Imperial City watch. (Silver Khajiits were a very rare breed of white-furred Khajiit that originated in Skyrim. The Nine Divines had blessed several non-Elsweyr Khajiit strains, amongst them the Silver Khajiits, with the gift of standing upright and being able to wear standard helmets and footwear worn by Man and Mer.) It would be more accurate to say that he was once an Imperial City guardsman, as he was now sitting on a rough wooden bench inside a crowded common room, on board an Imperial prison ship.
Dressed only in coarse peasant’s clothing and with his other meagre possessions confiscated by the guardsmen, it would take a gifted spy to work out that Venyarin was not in fact a prisoner. This was a long-term deep-cover reconnaissance mission assigned to him by his superiors back home. Indeed, even thinking about it now, three weeks later, still brought the mission briefing rushing back to him as if it were only yesterday.
* * *
Venyarin Silverfur had just recently been promoted to the rank of Corporal in the City watch. This was a job with very little change from the entry-level duties and simply meant that he was responsible for co-ordinating the duties of four or five other guardsmen, even though his time on active service was not reduced. In effect, he gained a little responsibility and a lot more work in return for slightly more pay and a smidgeon of respect from his peers.
He had recently returned to the Imperial City from a one-year rotating posting in each of the various cities in Cyrodiil, after being recalled from the northern city of Bruma, his adopted home away from Skyrim. His silky fur had adapted quite well to the few months in the much warmer climes on Bravil and Leyawiin, though fortunately these had occurred during the winter just gone. Even more fortunately perhaps, the nature of crime didn’t really vary from city to city and his guard’s training had served him well.
His calm, peaceable nature, coupled with his deep religious devotion to the Nine Divines, had distinguished himself within the Imperial Guard and, whilst his sergeant was awarding Venyarin his promotion, he was assured that his name was regularly near the top of the promotion list and that he would go far.
Today, however, after just ten days in his new position, he was ordered to report to his sergeant’s office at once. Venyarin knew his sergeant was not exactly renowned for his compassion (and was well-known for his peremptory manner and brusque behaviour) and wondered if he had transgressed some invisible barrier or violated some unknown code. After all, the Imperial Guard, while publicly striving for equality and diversity, was pretty much a male Cyrodiil boys’ club and woe to anyone else who upset the metaphorical applecart.
Entering the south-western watchtower and climbing the stairs from the soldiers’ dormitory on the ground floor to his sergeant’s office on the first floor, he paused before he actually entered the office to make sure he was properly dressed, with no loose straps or blotchy armour. As Venyarin took his job very seriously and actually considered himself a direct servant of the Emperor’s justice, this was not a problem at all. In fact, he had gained a slightly pejorative reputation as being a stickler for hygiene and cleanliness, both for one’s body and one’s equipment.
Raising his silvery hand, he knocked briskly and awaited an answer. On hearing his sergeant’s stentorian “Come!”, Venyarin came in, saluted and then snapped to attention.
Watch-Sergeant Hieronymous Lex saluted the Khajiit in return and then said, “thank you for coming so promptly. Your dedication to duty and your willingness to serve make you an ideal person for the job I have in mind. You are of course aware of my problem with the Grey Fox?”
It wasn’t really a question, but Venyarin nodded anyway. “Good, good,” Sergeant Lex continued. “Ever since the Fox made me look a fool in front of the entire Empire, I have wanted to catch the scoundrel and watch him hang.”
Venyarin attempted to look sympathetic, but Sergeant Lex’s obsession with catching the Master Thief of Cyrodiil was widely known, as was his zero-tolerance police towards crime, however minor. Sergeant Lex was also exaggerating about the scale of the humiliation suffered, but the story was essentially true. A powerful noblewoman had been transporting a priceless jewelled necklace, which some said had been crafted by none other than Zenithar, Lord of Wealth, and Sergeant Lex had personally guaranteed its safety with the bold statement that not even the Grey Fox himself could steal it if Lex was on the job. The Grey Fox had then humiliated Lex by rising to the challenge and stealing the necklace without any of the Imperial Guard even being aware (until much, much later) that the necklace was even gone. The theft had quickly become infamous throughout the Imperial Province and Sergeant Lex narrowly avoided a spell of duty at the notorious Fort Frostmoth on the icy island of Solstheim, on Morrowind’s northern coast.
“I have come into possession of certain information, from a mystic noted for her prophetic talents, which indicates that the Grey Fox will go to Morrowind and unite the Thieves’ Guilds, both here and there. There was no timescale listed with this prediction but the wise woman indicated that it would be soon. As such, I’m sending you undercover to Morrowind to investigate these disturbing events.”
Venyarin was shocked, to say the least. “But sir,” he spluttered, “it’s Morrowind. That’s not a good place for me to be.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lex. “Slavers don’t requisition Imperial citizens and I’ve sent ahead to have proof of citizenship papers made up for you specifically.”
“But the Dunmer are xenophobic and unpleasant towards their own kin, let alone my people or those from Argonia!”
“Which is why I’m not sending anyone else,” Lex replied. “Since they’re going to be hostile and uncooperative anyway, why not send you? Anyone I send will cause attention to themselves anyway.”
Venyarin’s breath was quite stolen away by the uncaring attitude and somewhat bizarre logic being used to send him off Gods-know-where for Gods-know-how-long. “With respect, sir,” Venyarin managed after a while, “I am a Silver Khajiit – my people are unusual in our native province and I myself am unusual even amongst my own people. What’s more, even setting aside the Dunmer’s disgusting slaving practices towards the so-called ‘beast-folk’, the only Khajiits in Morrowind are the ‘normal’ variety – you know, the semi-upright insular people that inspire small-minded bigots to refer to us as beast-folk.” Venyarin drew breath and then added, in a much more normal tone, “… sir.”
Sergeant Lex didn’t smile or frown or even give any indication that Venyarin was skating on the wrong side of indignation and insubordination. “If the Dunmer are xenophobic, uncooperative and able to sense an Imperial Dunmer regardless, sending a Dunmer member of the Blades, fully conversant in Great House culture and fluent in Daedric will be just as conspicuous as sending a rare beast-folk sub-breed who has never been to Morrowind in his life.”
Lex shrugged, continuing to ignore Venyarin’s distress and barely-controlled anger. “I can’t get a Blade to investigate a future claim anyway and you’re the most responsible guardsman I have available. Your policing tactics are exemplary but too soft – we need a crackdown on crime and your gentle touch is not quite what we need at the moment. Thus, I can either take you off-duty to teach you more intensive techniques or I choose you as my spy in Morrowind. You’ll be gone for several months and you leave in two days’ time. Enjoy your time off until then. Dismissed.”
The next couple of days had passed in a blur. Venyarin was too well-trained to disobey and too self-disciplined to even consider making any more of a scene, so he had left and began somewhat numbly preparing to completely uproot his life once more. To the other guardsmen, he claimed that he was going on a long sabbatical back to Skyrim and to the poor folk of the Imperial City to whom he spoke regularly, he said he was going home for several months’ rest and relaxation.
In fact, the only person he mentioned anything near the truth was to the Argonian mage Tar-Meena at the Arcane University – they got on very well, with Venyarin keeping her apprised of happenings in the city and within the Guard, and Tar-Meena providing advice, gossip and a friendly face to complain to. Even so, he only mentioned that he was being sent away for a long time and he didn’t know the first thing to do about it. Tar-Meena’s simple response was to squeeze his hand reassuringly and tell him that his gentle nature and kind heart would answer any questions that his discipline and training could not.
And then he left all his belongings in the Watch lock-up and, attired only in simple peasant clothing, he was bundled onto one of the regular carriages that freighted prisoners through the Morrowind mainland and then to the waiting prison-boat to be transported to the island of Vvardenfell.