Posted: July 2, 2007 in Crime, Dark, Death, Fan Fiction, Fantasy

Just some fan fiction from TES IV Oblivion.

My tale begins like most of my kind- getting thrown in jail. I was a Bosmeri thief, a determined, if unsuccessful, pickpocket and scofflaw. One day changed my life from subterfuge to constantly moving to stay alive, killing for profit to make ends meet. That day started in the frozen city of Bruma.

Bruma- Tirdas, 3rd day of Frostfall, 3E434.
My first mistake was being cheap. Having just traveled from the Imperial City to Bruma to find a fence to sell the stolen silver I had taken from a rich man’s house in the Elven Gardens, I was eager to get my money and head back to the sunny capital. When I did find the surly Nord, he offered me much less than I had expected, leaving me with little to feed or clothe myself, let alone please the Thieves Guild. I decided to rob houses until I had enough swag to satisfy the Guild and get something to eat. This I accomplished, but I had wanted to get a horse and some extra food, which left me with one or two drakes to live on in the City. I pickpocketed some ordinary people, getting ten septims or so, then I tried it on a guard.
Wrong choice number one.
The guard whirled on me, disgusted. I didn’t have enough gold to pay the fine, so he hauled me off to jail. I languished in the cell for a while, losing weight and dignity, as I shared a cell with an unfriendly Nord called Jorundr who didn’t care to relieve himself in the waste bucket the guards had so thoughtfully provided. I had gotten off on the wrong foot with him in the first place, trying to be friendly.
“Hullo,” I offered brightly. “The name’s Montmorency. What’s yours, friend?”
He looked at me as if I had the gall to offer him a beer he had just seen me spit in. “Jorundr,” he spat. “And unless ya want to see yer pretty long hair burnt on that candle over there, you’ll shut yer mouth until yer outta here. Stupid Bosmer.”
I sat down at that, and shut my mouth. I stayed that way for a few days, getting heartily sick of Jorundr and his stench, until my salvation (in a way) came in the guise of the guard captain. He walked up to me as Jorundr was asleep
“We’ve had a bit of a problem, prisoner. It seems the jailor has lost the key, and it seems I have found it in my possession. I’m going to have some fun with you, filthy rabble.” He gestured to the torture table, stained dark with dried blood and littered with scythes, small knives and scalpels, an old iron axe and a sharp dagger.
At that point, I lost it.
My second big mistake.
There was only one way out of this that I could see in my insane mind. I ran to the prone Jorundr and began kicking him ferociously. Woken suddenly and groggily to the pain, he did not take my intrusion to his dream world lightly, and so grabbed my ankle, pulling me to ground. He then proceeded to beat me to death. The captain hadn’t expected this mad Bosmer to ruin his fun, but he would stop the fight, if only to allow his own sadistic urges to wreak havoc on my body. He unlocked the door, pulled Jorundr off of me and and beat him with his blunt club. At that I darted with natural agility out of the cell, sprang to the torture table and seized the dagger. Returning to the cell, I saw Jorundr dead, his skull crushed, with blood leaking onto the ground. I felt little pity; this man had been pissing on my pillow for the last few days.
The captain stood over the dead man, breathing hard, and so did not hear me as I snuck up to him and buried the dagger in the side of his neck. He had been wearing no helmet, which was his own folly. But every Imperial has to show off their pretty locks, I suppose.
I stripped his body of his armor, noting some gold and food he had on him and pocketing that as well. I dressed in his Bruma guardsmen armor and fled. At the front room, a quick search told me no one else was in the dungeon, and I discovered two lock picks in the cupboard. Without breaking a pick, I busted the lock on the evidence chest open, and retrieved my belongings, mostly my keys, potions, lock picks and food. I left my leather armor there; the Bruma uniform would suit me for now and I needed no extra baggage. No one had seen me, and so I left the dungeon.
The Imperial City- Fredas, 6th day of Frostfall, 3E434.
Days later, I emerged from the Great Forest onto the road just outside of the Imperial City. I had hiked down the mountain from Bruma, avoiding the eyes of the Legionnares that patrolled the roads between cities. As the weather warmed up I abandoned the Bruma cuirass by the side of the road, certain it would attract unwanted attention. I chose not to go through the main gates of the city, and so leapt off the bridge, diving into the clear waters.
I swam around the City island until I reached the Waterfront. Ignoring everyone, I rushed to the local tavern and inn, the Bloated Float. I had had a bad experience on the floating hotel recently, but I had no other choice if I wanted obscurity. I paid for my room, quickly opened the door and collapsed onto the blanket and hard wooden board that was called a mattress. Being exhausted, I fell asleep in an instant.
I was awoken soon by a sudden chill and a dim impression that someone was standing over me. My hand immediately leapt to my dagger, but it was gone. I had been disarmed without even being woken, and whoever this person was they wished to toy with me. As I lay almost stock-still on the bed, the dark figure began to speak.
“ You sleep rather soundly for a murderer. As you can see, I’ve taken your weapons, so you have no choice but to listen to me. I’ve come to you with a business proposition.”
“Who are you!?” I gasped. It was a man dressed in a shiny black robe with an equally shiny black hood. From the gleam that was evident even in the dark, his clothes held powerful enchantments that whispered of blood and shadows, a mixture of thief and warrior. By this, and the deadly silver shortsword by his side, I knew he was an assassin.
“All in due time, my friend.” The ghostlike man smiled in a chilling way. “I am a representative of the Dark Brotherhood, a league of murderers and psychopaths, assassins and madmen. I’ve come to invite you into our ranks as a paid killer. Seeing as you have the stomach to do what I’m proposing, I’m sure you’ll be eager to join us.”
“But I’m no killer….” I moaned this even as I knew it was false.
“No?” His face hardened. He retrieved a scroll from within the folds of his robes, unfurled it and began to read. “You are Montmorency, a former Bosmeri thief who, three days ago, commited his first assault and murder in the depths of the Bruma dungeon. You were in the cell to serve a sentence for pickpocketing a guard, you served a cell with a prisoner called Jorundr, and when the opportunity arose you escaped from your cell, seized the very dagger I have taken from you and killed a captain of the Bruma force with it. Why didn’t you just run from the cell, Montmorency? That’s what a normal thief would have done. You have the killer instinct, whether you like it or not.”
He paused, rolling the scroll and tucking it into his robe before saying, “Now that I’ve revealed myself to you, you have three options: you can leave Tamriel forever, forsaking this land to flee to another continent such as Akavir; you can go to the authorities with my description and find yourself dead and floating in the Waterfront bay a week from now; or, you can take up my offer and live as a free man, killing for profit every now and then and reaping some very potent rewards.”
What choice did I have? I was weak, a sewer rat thief who had been thrown headfirst into a world of madness. I did not want to leave my homeland, and I most certainly didn’t want to die.
My voice shook as I responded. “Wh-what would you have me do, my lord?”
His face wormed into a sadistic smile. “I knew you would come to see it my way. Your initiation is to take place in an inn north of Bravil. It is the Inn of Ill Omen, a fitting name for a place that is soon to be the spot of a fresh murder. There you will find a man called Rufio. Kill him, and wait in a secure location for me so I can check on your success.”
He began to leave, but then paused and reached into his robes again. This time he pulled a knife from beneath the shadowy depths of his clothes.
“This is a gift from the Dark Brotherhood. It is a virgin blade, thirsting for its first blood. Take it, and plunge it into Rufio’s heart with ferocity.”
With that, he left, and when I got up to follow his progress I saw that he had disappeared. Trembling from my horrific first encounter with the Dark Brotherhood, I collapsed onto my cheap bed and fell into a fevered dream.


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