(A/N: This idea has been stewing in my head for well over a year, and I'm finally weaving it into a full-fledged story. As some of you might have guessed, it is roughly based on an old one-shot I wrote called "Cold Blood". If you like this, whoop-de-doo. If you don't... oh well.
Disclaimer: Astoundingly enough, Morrowind and any other installments in the Elder Scrolls series are property of Bethesda. Not me.)
Death's Kiss - Chapter One - Oceanic.
Ocean. Waves. Cold wood. And a mouth full of poison.
These thoughts mesh in my head as I come to. The world is a blur as my eyes open once, twice, blink, close again. My tail twitches with the rythm of the waves that slap against the ship's hull as best it can, thwarted by the ocean's inconsistency. The world is a harsh and unfriendly place, I think as I mull over my dream. I remember from it a female voice, whether of man's like or mer's I cannot say, but it somehow differed from both. The voice was a kind one, assuring me that she would watch over me. The dream was not solely auditory, showing me visions of a parched land with red skies. I was enjoying it, too, until that damned Dunmer cut in.
"Are you alright?" he says again in that gravelly voice of his--it must hurt his soft throat to speak such a way, musn't it? I muse to myself. Good. I hope it hurts a lot for all the pain I'm feeling in every bit of my body right now.
"Get up--" From my spot on the floorboards, I tense as I sense his clumsy body lurching toward mine, obviously bending down to shake me fully awake.
"Go away, Dunmer," I snarl with an irritable tail twitch. "Unless you want that arm flung out the porthole to end up a sea-creature's gut, you'll do well to keep your distance." He backs away in a hurry.
"You're so vicious," he mutters. "This whole trip, you haven't spoken to me but to threaten me."
"Were you not fool enough to flail that fat tongue of yours, mer, you could be spared the threats," I return plainly. Hard as the floor is, and doing nothing to lessen my pain, it is oddly comforting to simply lie here.
"I have a name, you know," he says indignantly.
"Spare me the drama," I snort. "Spit it out, boy."
"Jiub," he informs. "And yours?"
"I am a Serpent," I say. "And you would do well to watch what you say to me, mer... I am no common outlaw, such as yourself. I have killed more of your kind than you would care to count."
"You lie." There is a queasy uncertainty in his voice.
"Believe what you will," I respond, unconcernedly. "Just leave me alone. I am trying to die."
"Good luck with that," he answers dryly. As he turns away and murmurs darkly to himself, I hear the low clunk, clunk, clunk of an approaching guard's boots. I could alert the Dunmer of it, but I have no wish to. As I told him, I'm more concerned with exiting this existence right now.
I'm not really given a choice in the matter, of course, when said guard grabs me by the nape of my scaly neck and hauls me up into a standing position. I do not give him the satisfaction of standing on my own, though, and let my weight depend on his straining arm. Still, I now have a optimum view of his beet-red, bristly human face, moist brown eyes leering. In the background, the navy-skinned, red-eyed, scar-faced dark elf calling himself Jiub stands, leaning to and fro with the ocean's flow.
"Your clothes are gone again, Argonian?!" the guard cries, wrinkling his nose distastefully as he surveys my assortment of self-inflected wounds.
"Would you have your dog prance about in a tunic and breeches, human?" I sigh. "For all that you think of my sort, I'm surprised you would have me do so."
"I've met many Argonians," the guard responds, finally letting me drop to the floor; a triumphant smile passes over my face despite the pain. "But never one as unpleasant as you." His attitude is aloof. I wonder if he would be so arrogant, were he aware that I could easily wrench his arms from their sockets? But alas, no one knows an assassin of my caliber when they see one. They've arrested me for the single murder they are aware I committed, and any simpleton can kill and be caught. By "they", of course, I mean the human guard's higher-ups, who boarded me on this prison ship and set me off to be exiled on a foreign isle of the Morrowind province. I was hoping for an execution, and that they would choose Morrowind is suspicious. I tell myself they're only going to abandon me on Solstheim to freeze to death. That's all it would be, and such is best. A slow demise would be most befitting of me.
My thoughts are broken as the guard lets a bundle of cloth drop on me.
"Clothe yourself, Argonian," he snaps. "We've nearly reached the island, and I don't want you looking the savage you are in front of the officials." So saying, he stomped away and climbed back updeck. With a deep sigh, I roll over, letting the bundled clothes slide off and fall to the floor. Wiping away the blood seeping from a fresher wound on my collarbone, I inspect the clothes critically. Brown pants made small enough to accustom a wood elf and and a not-quite-white shirt woven of thick, itchy fibers. I climb into them reluctantly, my tail easily ripping a gap for itself in the seat of the pants. Much of my yellow-scaled, black-blotched complexion has been covered. I notice then that the guard also gave me a pair of leather shoes. Far too small to fit my large, four-toed feet. Clothed, I lie down and wait.
Scanning my surroundings yet again and disregarding the scarred, bare-chested dark elf in my way, I notice the portholes too small for anything larger than a rat to wriggle out of, and the same crates filled with dried meats ripped from the insides of a beast I have never seen. The crates slide around as the ship sails, and are quite fond of slamming into the elf and I without warning. On cue, the ship jolts to a stop and sends a crate crashing into me. I don't bother getting out of the way, and let it crush me against the ship wall. If the guard wants me on deck, he'll have to come down and heave the crate aside himself.
Which he does, after a fervent bit of swearing upon coming back down and seeing me in such a predicament
"Are you some kind of masochist?!" he grunts, pulling the crate back and yanking me up. This time I stand on my own, albeit with a slouch. I'm done talking; I eyeball him loathingly as he drags me up the steps and onto the deck.
The sun is a shock to my eyes after so long in the ship's deeps, but I welcome this pain as I would any other. The pleasure is gone, however, when I realize we are not in Solstheim.
"What kind of a prank are you pulling?!" I growl, yanking my arm free of his grasp and bolting to the ship's side, smelling the air. "We're in a swamp! Argonians COME from swamps! We love swamps! Why the hell did you bring me here?!"
"This is where they want you," a guard with darker skin than the first explains calmly. "Head on down to the dock and they'll show you to the Census Office." He gestures to a thin plank bridging the edge of the deck with a small dock.
"I don't believe this!" Fuming, I leap over the plank and land smoothly on the dock, glaring at yet another human guard who awaits me. A small hiss escapes my throat, but I say nothing more as he grabs my elbow and leads me down to the dock to a small courtyard enclosed by cobblestone walls I could easily scale, had I the will to. Rather than a back wall, there is a building of ramshackle material. The guard lets me go and I pass inside, cheering myself with the thought that some form of torture must lie within.
There is another guard inside, as well as a human with no armor, but a thin robe draped over his aged, weakly self. Despite his obvious physical inferiority, his facial expression indicates a high place in local politics and a bloated ego to accompany it. I hear a clinking sound behind me, tilting my head just enough to see the guard has locked the door through which I came. With a low growl to show that I'd really rather not be here, I return my attention to the old human in front of me. He says some things, but I do not respect him enough to listen. Instead, my head pivots as I look about the room, noticing a bookcase with no books, only valuable silverware and the like. There are fine carpets on the floors, to my right is a low table, and to my left is another door. My eyes narrow as I notice a chest by which the guard stands. It is heavy, imprinted with the words "Evidence". Evidence of my crime. No doubt my possessions are in there even now. I curl my lip as the weakly man slaps me to garner my attention. His lips word, more words come out, and begrudgingly I begin to listen.
"See here," he says primly. "I am Socucius Ergalla. I'll need some information from you."
"I am a book open before you, sire," I smile sarcastically. "What would you have of me?"
"They tell me you were born under a certain sign," he says, steepling his fingers under his nose. "And what would that be?"
"My sign is as my name," I reply. "The Serpent."
"Excellent," says he, writing on a piece of parchment that lays on the table to my right. "And your trade?"
"Assassin," I sneer. For all the neutrality with which he continues to write, I could have told him I was prancing guar. At last, he folds up the parchment and hands it to me, pointing to the door to my left and mentioning something about giving it to someone, seemingly unaware of my clear disinterest. My clawed fingers curl around the parchment and I leave through the door, wondering what punishment they have in store for me. My curiosity gets the better of me; once the door is closed behind me, I open the letter and read:
"For release, by Emperor Uriel Septim VII's decree, to the district of Vvardenfell in the province of Morrowind.
Name: The Serpent
Race: Argonian
Class: Assassin
Signed,
Socucius Ergalla
Agent of the Seyda Neen Imperial Census and Excise.
16th of Last Seed 3E 427"
Hot bile rises up in my throat with revulsion and fury. Release? RELEASE?! After all that I have done, they dare loose me upon the world again?! Are they really so asinine as to endanger Vvardenfell's citizens?
Apparently... yes.
"Alright... I don't know what they're plotting, but I'll play along," I growl to myself at last, folding the letter back up as best I can and storming down the hall. A right turn, and I am in what appears to be a dining room. I barely glance at my surroundings before catching notice of a door at it's end, a thin draft seeping through the cracks, ripe with the scent of marshland and telling me that the door leads out of the building. So, I move toward that door and out it. Sure enough, it leads out, but yet again into an enclosed area, bordered by two stone walls and two buildings--the one I came out of, and one opposite me. Drudging through the marshy mud of the ground, I approach the opposing building and go through its door. A human with brown hair and rich red-and-gold armor greets me. Antonius Nuncius, I think he says his name is, though I cannot be sure, as my mind is muddled and he does not repeat it. I am fairly certain he is the one whom I was to deliver these mistaken papers of import, however, and hand it over.
"What is this?" His eyes switch it over, and he beams. "Ah, so you're here at last." There is more talking, and next I know I have been given another piece of paper, that I am to take to one Caius Cosades. I am beginning to feel quite the errand-lizard.
"Where is Caius Cosades's place of habitation?" I query, resenting my lowly task but reveling in my own bitterness.
"In Balmora," says he. "Ask around when you get there."
"And where, pray tell," I prod further, "is Balmora?"
"Around town is the siltstrider port," he replies, as simply as though I had asked him how to walk. "Take the siltstrider to Balmora. It's as simple as that. Oh... and here's some gold to cover the transactions." He plops a plump bag carrying easily 200 drakes into my palm. I stand there dumbly, then snarl, tossing the money to the ground.
"Are you INSANE?!" I growl, tempted to shove him against a wall. "I am a wanted criminal! I choked a man with his own intestines! You're letting me go free--and paying me, no less!--to take a package to a man in some obscure city on this unlucky island?!"
"Yes." His smile is grating my nerves. I glare at him uncertainly for a good while. Finally, I take up the fallen bag of coins, pick out which door leads away from here, yank it open and slam it closed behind me. No sooner have I done so, than the drear and murk that is the small wetland town of Seyda Neen opens up before me.
It is beautiful.
(To be continued in Chapter Two...)