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Garyn has been avoiding the Guildhall whenever he can. Lorbumol had finally given him a job he can't do. He's to kill a woman named Adraria Vandacia. It didn't take much digging for him to find out she was a Hlaalu tax agent. He'd already collected debt money for a gang - albeit from their own stores. He's not about to kill government officials for them.
He's even stored most of the goods and gold he'd acquired from Mallapi in his room in Milliways rather than his footlocker. A necessary precaution, given how he'd caught Lorbumol trying to peek in on him as he began loading it.
"Just wonderin' how it is you got so rich so quick," he'd said.
He doesn't know how much Lorbumol knows about Mallapi, or whether he'd be able to identify what few Tong goods remained unsold. But he's left a little present for him under the lid of his footlocker, just in case.
In the meantime, now would be a very good time for him to find a job of his own to do...
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Even with no living witnesses, it's not hard to find rumors on the mysterious killer preying the streets of Vivec. Everyone in town is talking about it. But sifting the real leads from mere town gossip is something Garyn has been trained to do since his adolescence.
He's able to find the sister of one of the victims in the Hlaalu canton. She hadn't seen anything - but she did know a sewer cleaner who said he'd been threatened by a wild-eyed Dunmer woman with a dagger. He'd found the mer and corroborated the story - and he added the detail of a skirt and netch leather armor. Not much in a city of Dunmer, but at least he had a description. And perhaps, an indication of mental instability as a motive.
But from there the trail runs cold. No one can piece together any other details about this woman. And in a city this size, such a woman would be difficult to find. He figures his best bet is the Foreign Quarter. This is where the killer would find the most targets. Perhaps she might find cover in the lower levels.
And so he spends the better part of the next day in the dim and musty confines of the Canalworks of the Foreign Quarter. He sees no sign of the killer. But eventually, an Argonian emerges from a hatch on the floor - another sewer cleaner named Deeh-Jo, whose shift has just ended. And he has a rather unusual sighting to report...
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The Underworks are dark, and about as pleasant as one would expect. Garyn is fortunate to have thought to bring a torch, though this doesn't help with any of the other sensory features of the spacious sewers. If nothing else, the system of viaducts that runs within the cantons does an effective enough job of keeping the foundations from growing rotten and stagnant.
His torch flickers in the damp air as the water beneath him glistens. There is no sound but the water quietly rushing above and beneath him.
Suddenly he spots movement from the corner of his eye. Something floating...and green, trailing crimson behind.
It's an orc. A dead one.
Then a woman's voice, echoing across the water: "We see you, Garyn Balvadares...waking, and sleeping..."
Garyn swivels his head. The voice seems to be shifting, coming at him from all sides. Hurriedly, he reaches for to draw his sword. But she is already upon him.
She rakes across his back shoulder with her chitin dagger, landing only a glancing blow. And yet Garyn staggers back. His vision goes red. Soon he finds he can scarcely lift his sword, much less land a returning blow.
The woman's blade is cursed! This had been why the Ordinators couldn't fight back! He drops to one knee as the killer advances, her eyes seeming to look through him.
She speaks again, without emotion: "At the lonely hour of midnight, I fly, when stars are weeping. Beneath the echo of souls, my spirit sleeping. Dawn is coming, the wickwheat has been winnowed, and His House has risen!"
Garyn's sword clatters to the ground. His vision is fading, and the killer's dagger is rising toward his throat. He has nothing left - save, perhaps, the one gift he had been born with...
He lifts his hand, feeling the mark burning upon his forehead, and says the only words that can possibly save him: "GHARTOK PADHOME."
After this, all goes dark.
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It is about two minutes before he awakens. But it is a great relief to him that he awakens at all. The Star Curse - that awful blessing that marked for certain the night of his birth, the night the Serpent had crossed the Tower - had done its job.
At his feet, his would-be killer foams at the mouth and clutches at her throat. The poison of the Serpent's curse does not kill quickly, or painlessly. But kill her it will...eventually.
He draws his sword and points it at the woman's throat. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
A wide, delirious smile crosses her bluing lips. "I dream dreams, soul of the Sixth House, flesh of Lord Dagoth. We have you in our discerning eye, Garyn Balvadares."
"Why? What's special about me?"
The madwoman coughs, flecks of blood now staining her lips. "All are nothing compared to His glory!
Fire, poisons, claws, pincers, wheels... what slave knows what the lover feels?"
At the last word, she rises suddenly to her feet, pulling herself through Garyn's sword. Even as the lightning laces her body, she begins to laugh. Rivulets of blood bubble and ooze from her throat.
Even as the light drains from her eyes, the ecstatic smile never leaves her face.
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Elam Andas's eyes widen. "...Lord Dagoth, you said?"
"She said. Something about a Sixth House as well."
Andas frowns. His pacing about the room, which had not ceased since Garyn had began his report, begins to slow. "This is...troubling."
"'Troubling' doesn't seem to cover it," Garyn says. "I'd thought Dagoth was some kind of...native Dunmer folk devil, from what little I've heard of him. But apparently he's real enough that his stab-happy little priestesses know me by name!"
"The Sharmat is no mere folk tale!" Andas snaps. The air falls silent for a moment as the momentary anger dissolves into sheepishness.
"Apologies, sera," says Andas. "But Lord Dagoth is real, though no match for the might of Almsivi, of course. And you have served Vivec's will in dealing with one of the poor, misguided souls seduced by his evil. The Watch thanks you for resolving this matter, and more specifically for resolving it with discretion."
Garyn frowns. "And I take it you'd like me to continue that...discretion, concerning the motives and nature of the murderer?"
"Yes," he says. "You must understand, Almsivi have protected the people from Daedra and cosmic evils great and small for thousands of years. If word gets out, it may cause a panic that is entirely unwarranted. You can think of this as no different from banishing a lesser Dremora. But we are prepared to pay very handsomely for the work you have done."
Andas snaps his fingers and signals to a nearby guard. The guard turns to open a large chest pressed against the wall. Inside is a set of gleaming golden armor of unmistakable design.
Garyn's poker face dissolves. "I was going to protest, sera, but if that's what I think it is, I'd say you've bought my silence."
"An Indoril cuirass, helmet, and shield. To be worn outside the confines of the city, of course - you are not a member of our order."
"Of course."
"We'll have it delivered to you promptly," Andas says.
"Thank you, muthsera."
"Oh, and if I may have a private word with you?"
"Of course, sera."
Andas looks over his shoulder and signals the guard to leave. When he's satisfied they're both alone, he clears his throat and continues.
"We've had our eye on you for a while now, Balvadares. It's clear to me that you're a mer of good character. I like you. It's for that reason I advise you to leave Vivec and quit the Fighters Guild immediately."
Garyn's brow furrows. "I rather suspect I know where you're going with this. But I'd like to hear it anyway."
"Yes. You're no fool, either. It probably didn't take you long to figure out what these foreign devils are. And you should also be smart enough to know that there's no stopping them. The Watch can't stop what they do. The Legion can't stop what they do. They have powerful friends in high places and powerful friends in low places. If you stay with this Guild, they'll either destroy you or make you into one of them."
Garyn's eyes narrow. "That's all as may be, sera, but the Guild is all I've ever known. I can't just -"
"You can, Balvadares. You want to make a living? Be a shrine sergeant for the Temple. Be a retainer for House Redoran. Hell, even the Legion would be better for a mer of your talents. I've watched these crooked invaders take away too much of my city already. I've watched them take down much stronger men than you, outlander. If my words can stop them from claiming one more life, that's a victory to me."
Garyn falls silent.
"I'm just asking you to consider it," Andas says. "Think it over for a little."
"I will consider it, sera."
"It's all I ask," Andas says. "Once again the Watch extends its thanks to you."
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Garyn sleeps uneasily in the Guildhall that night. He recalls only brief moments of his dreams when he wakes, of rows upon rows of the dead, who spoke to him though their lips did not move. The face of the host remained just out of sight, but his voice was clear deep sweet and -
He shakes his head free of the lingering cobwebs as Lorbumol approaches. He'll need all his faculties to tell him what he's about to tell him.
"Fine, then. I'll find someone else to do the job. Clear out your footlocker."
Garyn snarls. "You clear it out."
He storms out the door of the Vivec Fighters Guild, never to return.
He's even stored most of the goods and gold he'd acquired from Mallapi in his room in Milliways rather than his footlocker. A necessary precaution, given how he'd caught Lorbumol trying to peek in on him as he began loading it.
"Just wonderin' how it is you got so rich so quick," he'd said.
He doesn't know how much Lorbumol knows about Mallapi, or whether he'd be able to identify what few Tong goods remained unsold. But he's left a little present for him under the lid of his footlocker, just in case.
In the meantime, now would be a very good time for him to find a job of his own to do...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Even with no living witnesses, it's not hard to find rumors on the mysterious killer preying the streets of Vivec. Everyone in town is talking about it. But sifting the real leads from mere town gossip is something Garyn has been trained to do since his adolescence.
He's able to find the sister of one of the victims in the Hlaalu canton. She hadn't seen anything - but she did know a sewer cleaner who said he'd been threatened by a wild-eyed Dunmer woman with a dagger. He'd found the mer and corroborated the story - and he added the detail of a skirt and netch leather armor. Not much in a city of Dunmer, but at least he had a description. And perhaps, an indication of mental instability as a motive.
But from there the trail runs cold. No one can piece together any other details about this woman. And in a city this size, such a woman would be difficult to find. He figures his best bet is the Foreign Quarter. This is where the killer would find the most targets. Perhaps she might find cover in the lower levels.
And so he spends the better part of the next day in the dim and musty confines of the Canalworks of the Foreign Quarter. He sees no sign of the killer. But eventually, an Argonian emerges from a hatch on the floor - another sewer cleaner named Deeh-Jo, whose shift has just ended. And he has a rather unusual sighting to report...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Underworks are dark, and about as pleasant as one would expect. Garyn is fortunate to have thought to bring a torch, though this doesn't help with any of the other sensory features of the spacious sewers. If nothing else, the system of viaducts that runs within the cantons does an effective enough job of keeping the foundations from growing rotten and stagnant.
His torch flickers in the damp air as the water beneath him glistens. There is no sound but the water quietly rushing above and beneath him.
Suddenly he spots movement from the corner of his eye. Something floating...and green, trailing crimson behind.
It's an orc. A dead one.
Then a woman's voice, echoing across the water: "We see you, Garyn Balvadares...waking, and sleeping..."
Garyn swivels his head. The voice seems to be shifting, coming at him from all sides. Hurriedly, he reaches for to draw his sword. But she is already upon him.
She rakes across his back shoulder with her chitin dagger, landing only a glancing blow. And yet Garyn staggers back. His vision goes red. Soon he finds he can scarcely lift his sword, much less land a returning blow.
The woman's blade is cursed! This had been why the Ordinators couldn't fight back! He drops to one knee as the killer advances, her eyes seeming to look through him.
She speaks again, without emotion: "At the lonely hour of midnight, I fly, when stars are weeping. Beneath the echo of souls, my spirit sleeping. Dawn is coming, the wickwheat has been winnowed, and His House has risen!"
Garyn's sword clatters to the ground. His vision is fading, and the killer's dagger is rising toward his throat. He has nothing left - save, perhaps, the one gift he had been born with...
He lifts his hand, feeling the mark burning upon his forehead, and says the only words that can possibly save him: "GHARTOK PADHOME."
After this, all goes dark.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is about two minutes before he awakens. But it is a great relief to him that he awakens at all. The Star Curse - that awful blessing that marked for certain the night of his birth, the night the Serpent had crossed the Tower - had done its job.
At his feet, his would-be killer foams at the mouth and clutches at her throat. The poison of the Serpent's curse does not kill quickly, or painlessly. But kill her it will...eventually.
He draws his sword and points it at the woman's throat. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
A wide, delirious smile crosses her bluing lips. "I dream dreams, soul of the Sixth House, flesh of Lord Dagoth. We have you in our discerning eye, Garyn Balvadares."
"Why? What's special about me?"
The madwoman coughs, flecks of blood now staining her lips. "All are nothing compared to His glory!
Fire, poisons, claws, pincers, wheels... what slave knows what the lover feels?"
At the last word, she rises suddenly to her feet, pulling herself through Garyn's sword. Even as the lightning laces her body, she begins to laugh. Rivulets of blood bubble and ooze from her throat.
Even as the light drains from her eyes, the ecstatic smile never leaves her face.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Elam Andas's eyes widen. "...Lord Dagoth, you said?"
"She said. Something about a Sixth House as well."
Andas frowns. His pacing about the room, which had not ceased since Garyn had began his report, begins to slow. "This is...troubling."
"'Troubling' doesn't seem to cover it," Garyn says. "I'd thought Dagoth was some kind of...native Dunmer folk devil, from what little I've heard of him. But apparently he's real enough that his stab-happy little priestesses know me by name!"
"The Sharmat is no mere folk tale!" Andas snaps. The air falls silent for a moment as the momentary anger dissolves into sheepishness.
"Apologies, sera," says Andas. "But Lord Dagoth is real, though no match for the might of Almsivi, of course. And you have served Vivec's will in dealing with one of the poor, misguided souls seduced by his evil. The Watch thanks you for resolving this matter, and more specifically for resolving it with discretion."
Garyn frowns. "And I take it you'd like me to continue that...discretion, concerning the motives and nature of the murderer?"
"Yes," he says. "You must understand, Almsivi have protected the people from Daedra and cosmic evils great and small for thousands of years. If word gets out, it may cause a panic that is entirely unwarranted. You can think of this as no different from banishing a lesser Dremora. But we are prepared to pay very handsomely for the work you have done."
Andas snaps his fingers and signals to a nearby guard. The guard turns to open a large chest pressed against the wall. Inside is a set of gleaming golden armor of unmistakable design.
Garyn's poker face dissolves. "I was going to protest, sera, but if that's what I think it is, I'd say you've bought my silence."
"An Indoril cuirass, helmet, and shield. To be worn outside the confines of the city, of course - you are not a member of our order."
"Of course."
"We'll have it delivered to you promptly," Andas says.
"Thank you, muthsera."
"Oh, and if I may have a private word with you?"
"Of course, sera."
Andas looks over his shoulder and signals the guard to leave. When he's satisfied they're both alone, he clears his throat and continues.
"We've had our eye on you for a while now, Balvadares. It's clear to me that you're a mer of good character. I like you. It's for that reason I advise you to leave Vivec and quit the Fighters Guild immediately."
Garyn's brow furrows. "I rather suspect I know where you're going with this. But I'd like to hear it anyway."
"Yes. You're no fool, either. It probably didn't take you long to figure out what these foreign devils are. And you should also be smart enough to know that there's no stopping them. The Watch can't stop what they do. The Legion can't stop what they do. They have powerful friends in high places and powerful friends in low places. If you stay with this Guild, they'll either destroy you or make you into one of them."
Garyn's eyes narrow. "That's all as may be, sera, but the Guild is all I've ever known. I can't just -"
"You can, Balvadares. You want to make a living? Be a shrine sergeant for the Temple. Be a retainer for House Redoran. Hell, even the Legion would be better for a mer of your talents. I've watched these crooked invaders take away too much of my city already. I've watched them take down much stronger men than you, outlander. If my words can stop them from claiming one more life, that's a victory to me."
Garyn falls silent.
"I'm just asking you to consider it," Andas says. "Think it over for a little."
"I will consider it, sera."
"It's all I ask," Andas says. "Once again the Watch extends its thanks to you."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Garyn sleeps uneasily in the Guildhall that night. He recalls only brief moments of his dreams when he wakes, of rows upon rows of the dead, who spoke to him though their lips did not move. The face of the host remained just out of sight, but his voice was clear deep sweet and -
He shakes his head free of the lingering cobwebs as Lorbumol approaches. He'll need all his faculties to tell him what he's about to tell him.
"Fine, then. I'll find someone else to do the job. Clear out your footlocker."
Garyn snarls. "You clear it out."
He storms out the door of the Vivec Fighters Guild, never to return.