They had, of course, been glad to hear about how he'd handled Tongue-Toad. His fellow guildmates had sent word of his accomplishment ahead of the storm. Now, as luck would have it, they had a new assignment for him - this one a bounty put up by the Ordinators for a Khajiit outlaw who was "somewhere here in Vivec - St. Olms, I think."
Naturally, Garyn sets out for the first location Lorbulg had mentioned - the head office of the Ordinators. This, a passing guard had curtly told him, was in the Hall of Justice at the High Fane - the two slim spires at the end of the central canal, beneath the giant floating rock they called the Ministry of Truth.
The mer to talk to is a severe-looking fellow by the name of Elam Andas. Garyn judges him as reasonable, but about as cheerful as Ald'ruhn is wet. Turns out even the lead of St. Olms is more than the Ordinators know. Curious, that.
In any case, their efforts were now divided with the rash of mysterious killings that had been sweeping through the city. Yesterday two guards had stumbled upon the killer in the act and had their throats slit before they could draw their weapons. Any information he could provide about that would be rather more helpful.
This, of course, is more than Garyn knows. Andas nods, and gives Garyn his leave.
"An outlander like you ought to be careful," he says. "The killer seems to have it out for foreigners."
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Garyn isn't usually surprised when speaking Ta'agra pays off, but he wasn't expecting it to pay off in St. Olms Canton in Vivec City. A few words with some Khajiit by the canalworks narrowed down his search considerably. The crook was hiding in comfort - an apartment built into the canton itself, rather than the stilted shacks that lined most of the canals.
A quiet knock on the door. Then a louder one. Then, in flawless Senchal Ta'agra, Garyn speaks.
"Dro'Sakhar! We have to move!"
The door cracks open. It's all he needs.
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Garyn wipes his sword as the Ordinator inspects the corpse. What little conversation the bandit had made before he attacked had confirmed that this was the Khajiit Garyn was looking for, as did his personal effects.
He'd searched a little more thoroughly than the Ordinator had. But he could find nothing tying him to the guild, or to any organization of any kind. As far as he can tell, this is a legitimate bounty on an independent outlaw.
"I'll inform the Order of the Watch," the Ordinator says. "They will send the bounty along to your guild. Collect your reward from your guildmaster."
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He'd had to wait a couple days for more work. Lorbumol hadn't been expecting him to return so quickly. He seemed almost as annoyed as he was pleased.
Garyn almost wishes he were still waiting. Now he's at the Rat in the Pot in Ald'ruhn again, this time on a debt collection job. He's always hated shakedowns. The marks either don't want to be found or have some pathetic story or another. Sometimes both. And often times - far more often than he'd like - the sad story turns out to be true.
This one's name is Lirielle Stoine. She's easy enough to find - a skinny Breton with short, red hair, keeping to herself at a corner stool. She doesn't deny it either.
"My brother Ruran is dead," she says quietly, her eyes not leaving Garyn's. "I'm sure of it. The Camonna Tong said that he owed them money, which I don't dispute."
She breathes deeply and her eyes narrow. "But now they say that I owe my brothers debts. I don't have 2000 drakes. I've never had that much money. I can't well pay what I don't have, can I?"
Garyn grimaces. "No, I expect not. But I can't go back to the guild empty-handed either. Your brother -"
"Is dead. A dead fool who has already paid for his foolishness. He knew he was in debt, and he went off to some place called Mallapi northeast of Gnaar Mok to 'seek his fortune,' or so he said. I haven't heard from him since, but the Tong know what happened to him. And they don't need to say it."
Garyn pauses. The gears begin to turn in his head.
"...I don't suppose you'd know where I might find this 'Mallapi'?"
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It's two days' and one night's journey through the swamp to the rough collection of boards and fisherman's shanties that the locals call Gnaar Mok. Lucky for him they seem to understand his discreet line of questioning. No doubt this Mallapi is important enough that even the fishermer can grasp what it's used for.
It's a cave, of course. He'd been told the Bitter Coast was full of them. Garyn would bet everything he owns (admittedly not much at the moment) that this Mallapi is a storehouse for Camonna Tong smuggling operations. It explains how the Tong knew that Lirielle's brother was dead, and how he might have been desperate and stupid enough to try to make his fortune by robbing it.
The locals' directions are vague - most have been steering clear of it, no doubt - but Garyn's tracking skills make it easy to spot. A half-trodden path of grass leading from a small cove to a moss-covered cave entrance. Used fairly regularly, from the look of it. He'd guess probably between six and a dozen men guarding it.
He approaches carefully with his sword drawn...
Naturally, Garyn sets out for the first location Lorbulg had mentioned - the head office of the Ordinators. This, a passing guard had curtly told him, was in the Hall of Justice at the High Fane - the two slim spires at the end of the central canal, beneath the giant floating rock they called the Ministry of Truth.
The mer to talk to is a severe-looking fellow by the name of Elam Andas. Garyn judges him as reasonable, but about as cheerful as Ald'ruhn is wet. Turns out even the lead of St. Olms is more than the Ordinators know. Curious, that.
In any case, their efforts were now divided with the rash of mysterious killings that had been sweeping through the city. Yesterday two guards had stumbled upon the killer in the act and had their throats slit before they could draw their weapons. Any information he could provide about that would be rather more helpful.
This, of course, is more than Garyn knows. Andas nods, and gives Garyn his leave.
"An outlander like you ought to be careful," he says. "The killer seems to have it out for foreigners."
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Garyn isn't usually surprised when speaking Ta'agra pays off, but he wasn't expecting it to pay off in St. Olms Canton in Vivec City. A few words with some Khajiit by the canalworks narrowed down his search considerably. The crook was hiding in comfort - an apartment built into the canton itself, rather than the stilted shacks that lined most of the canals.
A quiet knock on the door. Then a louder one. Then, in flawless Senchal Ta'agra, Garyn speaks.
"Dro'Sakhar! We have to move!"
The door cracks open. It's all he needs.
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Garyn wipes his sword as the Ordinator inspects the corpse. What little conversation the bandit had made before he attacked had confirmed that this was the Khajiit Garyn was looking for, as did his personal effects.
He'd searched a little more thoroughly than the Ordinator had. But he could find nothing tying him to the guild, or to any organization of any kind. As far as he can tell, this is a legitimate bounty on an independent outlaw.
"I'll inform the Order of the Watch," the Ordinator says. "They will send the bounty along to your guild. Collect your reward from your guildmaster."
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He'd had to wait a couple days for more work. Lorbumol hadn't been expecting him to return so quickly. He seemed almost as annoyed as he was pleased.
Garyn almost wishes he were still waiting. Now he's at the Rat in the Pot in Ald'ruhn again, this time on a debt collection job. He's always hated shakedowns. The marks either don't want to be found or have some pathetic story or another. Sometimes both. And often times - far more often than he'd like - the sad story turns out to be true.
This one's name is Lirielle Stoine. She's easy enough to find - a skinny Breton with short, red hair, keeping to herself at a corner stool. She doesn't deny it either.
"My brother Ruran is dead," she says quietly, her eyes not leaving Garyn's. "I'm sure of it. The Camonna Tong said that he owed them money, which I don't dispute."
She breathes deeply and her eyes narrow. "But now they say that I owe my brothers debts. I don't have 2000 drakes. I've never had that much money. I can't well pay what I don't have, can I?"
Garyn grimaces. "No, I expect not. But I can't go back to the guild empty-handed either. Your brother -"
"Is dead. A dead fool who has already paid for his foolishness. He knew he was in debt, and he went off to some place called Mallapi northeast of Gnaar Mok to 'seek his fortune,' or so he said. I haven't heard from him since, but the Tong know what happened to him. And they don't need to say it."
Garyn pauses. The gears begin to turn in his head.
"...I don't suppose you'd know where I might find this 'Mallapi'?"
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It's two days' and one night's journey through the swamp to the rough collection of boards and fisherman's shanties that the locals call Gnaar Mok. Lucky for him they seem to understand his discreet line of questioning. No doubt this Mallapi is important enough that even the fishermer can grasp what it's used for.
It's a cave, of course. He'd been told the Bitter Coast was full of them. Garyn would bet everything he owns (admittedly not much at the moment) that this Mallapi is a storehouse for Camonna Tong smuggling operations. It explains how the Tong knew that Lirielle's brother was dead, and how he might have been desperate and stupid enough to try to make his fortune by robbing it.
The locals' directions are vague - most have been steering clear of it, no doubt - but Garyn's tracking skills make it easy to spot. A half-trodden path of grass leading from a small cove to a moss-covered cave entrance. Used fairly regularly, from the look of it. He'd guess probably between six and a dozen men guarding it.
He approaches carefully with his sword drawn...
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He would offer a hand with the two spearmen, but the force lightning powerful enough to kill three people arcs outward from the mage's corpse and, wouldn't you know it, kills all three of them.
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"More luck than I deserve that we were not more badly injured."
She shakes her head as if to clear it. "Healing?" she offers.
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It hurts plenty, of course. Second-degree burns on the side of his neck, among a couple other places. But there's no need to heal anything that isn't life-threatening until they know the threat has been dealt with. Speaking of which...
"There are three of them left. And I don't hear footsteps."
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"Ambush waiting, from the feel of it. Not a bad plan, in their situation." She swings one lightsaber in a humming arc through the air to point in the direction of the ambush. (Pity there's cave wall in the way, but what can you do?)
"Won't be enough," she says, opening her eyes.
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Garyn nods toward the entry.
"Let's play their game. Approach them cloaked."
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Before she cloaks them though, she throws up two purplish, transparent bubbles of force, one around herself and one around Garyn. "These should take the brunt of any more spells, and give anyone who tries to hit you in melee a bit of a shock."
Then the force cloak is up and they and the protective shields both vanish from mundane senses.
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It's quite well set, Garyn thinks as he carefully walks around the older Dunmer waiting behind the corner with a poleaxe. He's the one who set the trap, no doubt - he has the air of the grizzled leader about him. In one corner of the room, an archer stands with his bow drawn. Meanwhile, another battlemage stands at the entrance to the rightmost path with his hands at the ready.
Garyn heads to take out the archer, trusting Ibani to take out the other ranged attacker first.
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She whirls, bringing the other blade up to block potential attacks while she reaches out toward the other with the Force, yanking it out of the mage's corpse and sending it whirling back across the main chamber to her hand.
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The leader stands tall and circles the back of the room, brandishing his poleaxe defiantly.
"Who in the four corners of Hell are you!?" he roars in a voice that sounds like drain full of hot ash.
"Do you have any idea who you're fucking with?"
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"I am Sith, though I am sure my Order's name means nothing to you, or to whomever you might call Master."
Ibani moves also, across from him on the invisible circle he is walking, although she moves no closer to him. "I can hardly taste your fear at all, old one. I'd wager it was not coin alone they bought you with."
"It's a pity that you've reached the end of your road."
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He lunges forward and strikes.
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Then his eyes turn elsewhere. There's a protruding rock near the front of the chamber, with a discarded knife lying next to it. Beside it a trail of blood leads toward the cave entrance.
Without a word, Garyn bolts toward the door.
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"Knew I should have experimented with the karkhole's brain chemistry to keep him out," she mutters to herself.
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Garyn catches up with him at the bottom of a hill just outside the cavern. He's fallen on the uneven swampy ground. He's lying near the edge of a pond, moaning and grasping at his leg. He seems to have hurt it badly. Not that a healthy leg could have helped him escape, but this does simplify things considerably.
Garyn grits his teeth and plants his foot on the tough's injured leg. The armored mer yelps.
"Let's keep this brief. Ruran Stoine. Where is he?"
The criminal looks up in pained bewilderment. "Who?"
This prompts Garyn to grind his boot against his wound. The Tong muscle shrieks in pain.
"Did a Breton thief enter this cave within the last two weeks?"
"That fool? He's dead! We killed him!"
"And where is he now?"
Here the thug seems to find his courage. He knows he doesn't have long. He spits at Garyn. "He's in the latrine pit with the rest of the filth. Now kill me, you bastard! You'll be joining me soon enough."
"Thank you," Garyn says, and obliges him.
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"This place is theirs, they ought not to have disposed of him like an animal." Or a slave, though the Sith Empire's laws don't make many distinctions between the two.
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He climbs up the slope back toward the cave entrance.
"Let's find him and cremate him. I can't bring him back to his sister in the condition he's likely to be in."
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Or a LOT of encouragement. Lightning isn't exactly like fire bur it can work in a pinch.
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Garyn opens the door and re-enters the storehouse.
"I'll look for some. I'm not eager to leave you to find the corpse by yourself, but you're the one who can lift it without having to wade into a pile of shit."
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Time to search for the smell of shit, most likely. Not the best part of this trip.
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He arrives in the chamber on the left. They hadn't had time to have a good look at it, but the Tong has furnished this place. A wooden platform has been installed, with three hammocks, a chest of drawers, and a desk.
On top of the desk, there are a few pouches filled with fire salts. And a lot more. Garyn's face lights up as he realizes what he's found...
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Some leveraging and quite a lot of terrible smell later, she's recovered what's left of a person and placed it together in a pile. More or less.
"You deserved better than this," she says aloud. Possibly to the corpse, possibly to the universe at large.
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"I found some fire salts," he announces.
Then a pause.
"And some smuggled duty free liquor."
Much longer pause.
"And the finest alchemy set I ever set eyes on."
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"How big is it, do you need help moving it?" Ibani's rather fuzzy on alchemy equipment in general.
"I found the remains of the fellow we were looking for. In very bad shape, as I expected."
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"We caught them more or less between shipments, so there's not too much in here. But if you could carry some into Milliways I could pick it up and find a place to fence it. Should be more than enough money to pay off the Tong, and they'll be none the wiser that it's from their own goods."
He looks at the mangled, filthy mess on the floor in front of them.
"We should take him outside. Good ventilation or no, I don't want to be trapped in the same room while he's burning up."
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