EliteCommander and New Yorker Collaboration
"Very funny." Sharee said, rolling her eyes at Tagorn. "Just make sure you start your distraction at the right time. I'm going to leave the tavern and head over to the prison. Wait a minute, then follow me. I'll wait a minute or two near the prison so you can get yourself in position, then I'll head inside. Make sure to give me a few minutes to actually get down to Sarel before you start. I don't want everything to be over and done with before we even start to leave. Now, if there are no objections, I'm going to head out." Sharee said, still in a hushed tone. When no one spoke up, she left the the tavern.
As she walked through the street, she kept up her act down to the last detail. At least in Leyawiin, wealthy Argonians were not all that uncommon, so she attracted little in the way of special attention from the citizens of the city, or at least no more than was usual for a finely dressed noble. As per usual for this time of day, the city was alive with activity, especially in the markets she passed through on the way to the prison. It was not long before she reached the prison, which was adjacent to the castle on one side, and a residential district on the other. Given that it was a decently wealthy district, there was a small pond nearby surrounded by various flowers, with a bench by the edge of the water. She took a seat on the bench for a few minutes to give the others time to catch up. She looked around a little bit, but hoped that they would not make themselves obvious enough to be noticed. In the meantime, she reached into a small velvet pouch on her side and pulled out a small vial filled with a dark green liquid. She uncorked it, then put one of her claws inside the vial to coat it in the liquid. It was quite a potent concoction, even in small doses, and while it would not be viable for too long when exposed to open air, it would last long enough. She replaced the cork back on the vial, then slipped it back into her pouch. After a few more minutes, she got up and walked into the main lobby of the prison.
The front lobby itself was not large, though nevertheless, there were three guards and one jailor posted inside.There were four doors total in the room, the entrance, one on the right side leading upstairs, one on the far wall leading to the offices, and one on the left leading downstairs into the dungeon. In the center of the room closer to the far wall was a desk, at which sat the jailor who dealt with all visitors.
Sharee approached the Imperial man's desk, feigning the level of discomfort one would expect from a noble in such an unsavory environment. "Excuse me, sir, but is this where I would go to see about visiting a...prisoner?" She asked, perfectly replicating a Cyrodilic Argonian's accent. Her voice sounded almost nothing like her normal speaking voice, a skill that she had learned early in her career as an assassin.
"Indeed it is, ma'am, but why would a lady such as yourself want to visit a criminal?" The jailor asked with a hint of suspicion.
"A...criminal...I...with respect, sir, I just don't think he did it. I'm sure his trial will show that. Why, I've known him for many years and..." Share said, beginning to go off on a long rant before the jailor held up his hand and interrupted her. "I'm sure it will, ma'am. Just tell me which prisoner you'd like to visit."
"He is a Dunmer. His name is Sarel. Young, red eyes, a bit rough looking with a wonderful set of traditional Dunmer tattoos and..." She began based off of the description of the Dunmer, acting as if she was going on another long-winded explanation.
"We have someone who fits that description." The jailor interrupted. "He's been charged with a serious crime, though, so I'll need to escort you, and you'll need to keep it short."
"If it means I will get to see him, then...alright." Sharee responded, acting a bit disappointed that she would have to keep it brief.
The Imperial stood up and started toward the door to his right. "Follow me." He said, rather monotone. Sharee smiled, walking over to him excitedly and "accidentally" brushing against his side, dragging her claw across the exposed flesh on his hand.
"Ow!" The jailor exclaimed, grabbing his hand. Sharee looked at him with her eyes wide open in a surprised expression, then quickly brought her hand to her mouth and switched to an apologetic one.
"Oh, I am so terribly sorry. I really must not keep my claws so sharp." She said, her demeanor switching to one of slight embarrasment.
The jailor grumbled for a few moments, obviously annoyed, but after a few moments put his hand back down to his side and turned back toward the door. "Don't worry about it, let's just go."
Sharee followed the guard down the staircase into the dungeon. He was still rubbing at the scratch on his hand, and he seemed slightly agitated, but he did not suspect a thing. Sharee maintained proper posture, kept her dress away from the grime in the corners of the staircase, and did everything else necessary to keep up the appearance of a “proper lady.” It was annoying how many asinine behaviors Cyrodilic nobles expected from one another, but at least she didn’t have to deal with it on a regular basis.
Once in the dungeon, the guard led her to Sarel’s cell, and of course, by regulation, remained to supervise while she visited him. She needed to maintain appearances at least for the moment, else she risk alerting other guards and jeopardizing the plan.
“Alright, you got fifteen minutes.” The guard said as he leaned against a support pole, nearly losing his balance for a moment.
Sharee walked up to the cell and looked at the Dunmer who she presumed was Sarel. She wished she could have gotten a message to him beforehand and simply hoped he would be attentive enough to play along until the guard was incapacitated. “Oh, Sarel it is you. I did not believe it when I first heard. How did you get into this terrible situation?” She asked, still maintaining a near perfect Cyrodilic accent. Since the guard could not see her face at the angle he was at, she winked at the Dunmer, and did pretty much anything else she could to hint at the fact that it was a ruse without alerting the guard.
"And what's the man's name?" Sarel asked, he was sat on the hard rock floor. He was looking through the rusted metal bars toward Serge who was laid on his bed facing Sarel's cage. The two had been talking periodically, making sure the guards were out of earshot. They spoke about High Rock mostly, and a little about Morrowind and the plight of the Dunmer. Sarel was quite impressed with the Breton's practical knowledge of Dunmeri history, it wasn't just the regurgitation of words read in a history book or heard from a scholar. Apparently Serge assisted in a small relief campaign for Dunmer refugees, he'd been around Dark Elves for a grand portion of his life. This was similar in a way to Sarel's understanding of Bretons. He spent a proprtional amount of time in High Rock, he lived and breathed the political intrigue and unabashed chivalry. So the two spoke freely, as if they were from the same, hybrid place; somewhere between Vvardenfel and Daggerfall.
"Brent, or Burt-- I think it was Burt."
"And this was after you had finished fending off a Dragon?" Sarel asked incredilously. He was drunk off of friendship suddenly and he was smiling.
Sarel hadn't much time in his cell to think, he was always either talking to Serge, or hoping to. So, he hadn't given much thought to what would happen to him after this recent mix-up. From what he understood, Leyawin was rather strict with their laws, or they had become so after decades of an oppressive crime wave. Though, it was clearly in self defense, and Sarel wasn't thinking about abandoning the Inn either, he fully expected to help with the repairs that were needed. He was suddenly lost in thought as he pictured what the scene must have been like. A bloody hallway with a mostly decapitated Redguard tribal warrior splayed across the corridor, a large, splintered hole in the wood pannled wall lets in a cool draft and the afternoon light, drying, and heating the blood on the floor. The burnt corpse of yet another Redguard tribal warrior basks in the hot sun with a stream of blood filling behind him. Sarel dislodged himself from his thoughts in time to hear the tail end of Serge's response.
"... Nord drunkard. So, anyway, I'm walking through the city gates, my armor still blackened from the fire, a group of cheering people around me and my crew, when this Burt walks up to me. He's raving something about being a hero and his ticket to Sovngarde, and the next thing I know, I see the glint of a dagger in the corner of my eye."
"I know that glint" Sarel says.
Serge nods and brushes his beard with his fingers, gathering his thoughts again.
"So I ready my shield. The idiot still tries to stab at my gut, breaks his arm on my shield and falls face first on the ground."
"Don't tell me..."
"He stabbed himself in the heart! If there were ever a man who deserved such a fate, I assure you it was Burt." The two laugh a little,"What is your most ridiculous kill?"
Sarel thought for a moment and knew exactly the story he was going to tell. Before he spoke he could hear foot steps from the stair well leading from the Warden's office. Sarel and Serge became instantly quiet and Sarel slipped back on his bed. He heard two pairs of steps, one of the guards, and the other of female origins. Sarel was very still in his bed as he waited for the steps to go past his cell. But they stopped, and the guard rattled the cage with his club.
"Alright, you got fifteen minutes" the guard said.
Sarel stood up to face a beautifully embroidered Argonian woman. She looked like she was of high birth, and if not, the dress certainly betrayed her. It was gorgeous and, from what Sarel could tell, was expertly crafted. To say the least, Sarel was certainly confused when he saw the woman, then she spoke.She spoke like a true Cyrodiil and carried herself as one, too. Sarel was quite confused, since he didn't know how many Argonian nobles lived in Cyrodiil. Perhaps the Empire had really changed since the extinction of the Septim bloodline. She spoke as if she knew him, then winked. Sarel continued being confused for a few seconds after she spoke, trying to collect his thoughts. It seemed as if this woman had some plan, and Sarel was very much apart of it. Did he want to be apart of whatever illegal activity was next in this Argonian's plan? Probably not, but Sarel also realized that this would likely be his only chance at getting out of this situation scott free. Maybe the Countess would grant him mercy and only sentince him to labor, or something like that; or maybe she'd have his head cut off in the town center. Sarel felt like this was a risk worth taking.
"My love," he said as convincingly as he could, grasping at the iron bars and bringing himself closer to the Argonian. "Why are you here? Who sent you? Are you alright? It must have been quite a journey."
Serge looked on in shock, an Argonian mistress! This Dunmer was more complex than he seemed.
Sharee smiled, both to keep up proper appearances, and because the Dunmer had managed to catch on to what she was doing. The guard was still awake, so she needed to keep it going for a bit longer. She stepped a bit closer to the bars, placing one of her hands on his to help play up the “frightened lover” character. “I came here from Bravil as soon as I finished with that business with the count. I was so excited to meet your family here, but when I arrived this morning they told me, well, that you had been arrested. And for murder! Surely there has been some misunderstanding, I know you would never do such a thing.”
Sharee looked around the room nervously, sneaking a glance back at the guard behind her. He was starting to sway slightly and seemed to be having trouble standing correctly. His hardly seemed to be able to focus, and he was constantly scratching the cut on his hand. It wouldn’t be long now.
"Of course there has," Sarel started. He was in this character now, he was able to put words in this characters mouth better than he could his own. It was standard and easy, like a life Sarel never really had. That didn't stop him from sweating profusely, his heart was beating intensely and he hoped that the situation would resolve itself soon; "my darling," he continued, "I've been made to look like a Barbarian."
Sarel noticed the guard was preoccupied with some sort of rash on his hand, perhaps a cut. He scratched at it and eyed it nervously. He seemed to sway from side to side, his balance constantly shifting. His face betrayed whatever stoic look his body tried to present, he was uncomfortable and sometimes confused. Sarel could see what that might mean. "It was all just a big mistake. Oh, my... dear...iguana eyes!" Sarel finally spat out, he was clearly having trouble creating a believable nickname for her. "I just want us to be happy. If we could just go to an island together and stay there forever, then we'd be happy." The guard seemed to be on the verge of collapsing, so Sarel smiled. "What do you say, dear guardsman? Do we look happy?" Sarel smiled wide and pushed his face up the bars "What do you say?"
Between the profuse sweating and awkward nickname, the Dunmer’s act started to fall apart near the end, but it mattered little, as the poison was now fully active in the guard’s system. The Imperial stumbled forward slightly and looked at the Dunmer with a glazed look in his eyes. “I…think…I…” He began before falling forward flat on his face. With no other guards in the immediate vicinity, Sharee was free to drop her act and get Sarel out of his cell.
“Alright, he’s gone, now let’s get to business.” Sharee said, completely dropping the false accent, returning to one more indicative of a native of Black Marsh. She knelt down next to the unconscious guard and turned him over on his back. It wasn’t a lethal poison, but it would keep him knocked out for more than long enough. Reaching into his pockets, she quickly found the key to the cell.
“Now, I want you to take this guy’s uniform. It’s not a closed helmet, unfortunately, but my people should be creating a distraction as we speak. Hopefully, they won’t give more than a passing glance to you while we get out of here.” Sharee said as she unlocked his cell.
Sarel lost his smile as soon as the Argonian lost her accent. Now he was in it, really truly in it. If this plan fell apart for any reason at all, Sarel would be at the center of it, and there would be no getting out of it. Sarel listened intently as the Argonian explained the plan. It sounded malformed and doomed to failure. Sure, they got to him, and got him out of the cell, but what of the repercussions? They'd need to erase any information they had on Sarel, and get his equipment. How did they expect to do that with the Warden still there? Sarel was happy to be saved, but not at the cost of his blade.
"And what of my equipment, my sword?" Sarel asked, opening the cell gate and stepping out. His eyes caught Serge's, who was entertained by the whole business. He laid on his bed with his hands crossed under his head, his smile was a jokers smile; and like all joker's smiles, it had a hint of sadness in it. Sarel made a note to mention Serge once his questions were settled. Sarel very quickly dropped the cloth sack which covered his lower half, and pulled the cloth shirt over his head. His naked body bore some scars here and there. There was another tattoo on his body aside those which crossed down his face. On his inner left thigh ancient chimer characters were inked into his ashed blue skin. It essentially read, "Forevermore Abandoned". Sarel put on the guards clothing as he listened to what the Argonian was saying.
"I thought you might be worried about that. My contact said you had some pretty unique equipment." Sharee responded, showing no reaction when he undressed, as her upbringing did not involve the same standards of modesty as the Imperials carried. "Prisoners' items are generally stored in a storeroom upstairs. One of my people should already be up there recovering your blade and other items, so we just need to focus on getting out of here. Just act like you are escorting an Argonian noblewoman to her home, and once we're out of sight, we'll be leaving the city, at least for the moment. I'll explain everything once we're outside." She explained, wanting to get moving as soon as possible. Provided the distraction the others were making was actually working, the would have a window to leave safely, but it wouldn't last forever.
Sarel had the obvious inclination to ask the Argonian to explain herself. Sarel was the sort of man who demanded answers before he followed anyone into anything. But, he stayed his tongue, he knew when not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and still being in a prison was one of those times. The Argonian woman seemed to have everything under control. Sarel was buckling his cuirass into place when the Argonian spoke her last word, then he lifted the helmet onto his head. He figured that he looked rather out of place, and even more uncomfortable. He put it out of his mind and sheathed the barbaric tool the Imperial guard passed for swords these days. The shield was in place on his arm when Sarel remembered Serge.
The Dunmer, without looking at the Argonian, crossed the prison corridor to face Serge, "We have to get him out," he said. "You're coming with us, Serge."
Serge sat up in the bed and smiled coyly, "I don't have any reason to break out of jail Elf." He shrugged his shoulders and smiled again. "I'm an Imperial soldier, they aren't going to keep me in here. There's a courier on his way down here from the capital now, I'm fine. You, however, seem to have your own crew. I would be lying if I said I didn't take you for a Brigand."
"No, this isn't..." Sarel started, feeling for some reason or another that he must defend himself. He felt foolish for it afterward.
"Ah, it matters little, Sarel Drevan. Perhaps I'll see you again, if I do, I'll be a lucky man."
"Me as well, my friend." Sarel turned quickly to the Argonian, giving her his full attention. "I'm ready," he said, fully embarrassed by the rare display of emotions in the presence of a complete stranger.
