RolePlayerGuilt

Fruits of Contention - Wayrest

8:15pm, Last Seed 21
Dibella's House of Common Pleasures

---

"It's not the type of job you expect here." Everard clarified to Finch. He gestured to the stage, where exotic dancers performed lewd routines. "Let's speak somewhere private, and trust me, it's not what you think it is."

The two men entered the Everard's premium suite, and as expected, it had been cleaned up after his session with S'toth.

"Close the door." Everard instructed. He sat on a leather sofa, and reaching to the table in front, he uncorked a bottle of wine and set down two glasses. "Take a seat when you're done."

"Summerset Reserve, 176 vintage, Shimmerene export." Everard read off the wine label. He poured himself a glass first, and only when he's satisfied after two drags did he fill Finch's glass. "You don't even know what this is, don't you? Normal people like us can't even afford to look at it."

"I'll jump straight to business." Everard stated plainly. "I heard people call you 'Finch', and you tend to get into places you shouldn't be in."

"I'm Everard, leader of the Blackhounds, and depending on who you ask, the future king of Wayrest or an opportunistic bastard." The Breton man finished his glass. He took the wine bottle and began drinking directly from it. "People say a lot of stuff about me and most of them don't even believe their own words. So don't bother telling anyone about our meeting here; people will laugh you off at best, or worse, may kill you for spreading treasonous rumors."

"Here's where you come in." Everard kicked his feet up on the table. "I had a very valuable sword, one made of gold. Some say it's daedric, but I all I care is that it's mine. However, my spymaster, Mathieu the Whisper, decided to steal it from me! That conniving scum! Fuck!"

Everard threw his wine glass into the wall behind Finch. It shattered.

"Excuse me; I get too attached to things." Everard straightened his jacket collar. He took from big gulp from the wine bottle, and settled back to his previous position as if nothing had happened. "But my loss is your gain, right? We're bloody opportunists, you and I. I have a lot of gold for you, if you can return my sword to me."

"Now, here's what you need to do." Everard went to a book shelf and took out a map of Wayrest. "Mathieu prays every evening at the temple, here, just before they close down. It's in the southern occupation zone. They know me and won't let me through, but Mathieu, he's the religious type and on good terms with the priests, so they let him go."

"You'll catch him in the temple around sunset. Take my sword back, and preferably killing Mathieu in the process." Everard stared at Finch for a second, then he laughed. "Don't even think about doing it alone. Mathieu is one of the best nightblades in High Rock, and the sword will further strengthen him. Remember that group of people ahead of you? They're mercenaries. Sub-contract them."

"On more thing, wait here, and drink the rest if you want." Mathieu pushed the half-drank wine bottle to Finch, and went to a locked chest. He returned with a fabric covered shield. Pulling the cover off, the shield underneath was made of cold gray scales.

"Real dragon hide, only wielded by the elites of Jehanna." Everard explained. "A frost dragon flew there from Skyrim, so they killed it and made equipment from its remains. The previous owner, invincible in combat, died from food poisoning. Now you, a nobody, gets to inherit it."

"This is your down payment. Of course, you can sell it for a pretty sum on the black market. Alternately, you or one of your allies can use it against Mathieu. I recommend giving it to someome with actual upper body strength."

"I want my sword back the morning after tomorrow." Everard declared. He took out his journal and ripped off several pages. "Don't bother asking questions. Everything you need to know is here, including a sketch of that spineless traitor Mathieu. I am much better with written words than spoken ones. Do burn it when you're done."

"Now, get to work, and get out of my room." Everard pointed to the door.

The Elder Scrolls: Realms Asunder

Helspar's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when he saw what the human woman did. He had a creeping suspicion that she was skilled in dark magic when she saved him, and now she didn't even bother hiding it. Helspar's jaw dropped, and the arrow he prepared nearly did the same, as the absolutely foul skeleton ran past him, and crashed straight into a (most likely) bad guy. At least they're on the same side, right? Even so, letting her stand behind him with a sword felt a lot less appealing now.

"You did something, alright!" Helspar said nervously. The diminutive human just took out what looked like the cult leader, and spared the carriage driver from the knife. However, the remaining five people in the cavern weren't as happy as the carriage driver.

"Interlopers! The captives have escaped!" The figure immediately behind the dagger-wielding man shouted. This strange individual wore long robes with intricately etched patterns, and in their hands was a staff that looked like a knotty piece of wood with a glowing mushroom on top. "Kill them while I finish the ritual."

"Yeah, I think they're angry about the, uh, smell!" Helspar blurted out, and suddenly aware of the skeleton's putrid scent. "Do you have to make skeletons smell like rotten eggs?"

Four people approached Helspar and his necromancer comrade, all of whom clad in Bomser style leather and bone armor, and wielded very mean looking melee weapons. However, what concerned Helspar was the mage behind them. Said mage raised the mushroom staff, and it lit up as energy gathered from sigils around the cavern floor. Helspar knew this was his target; always interrupt the scary wizard casting the scary ritual.

Taking the best aim he could muster, Helspar let loose an overdrawn arrow at the mage. Instead of hitting flesh target, the arrow skewed slightly and knocked the mushroom staff out of the mage's hands. Still, energy stopped channeling from the sigils, and the mage was momentarily confused.

At the same time, the four melee enemies were closing in fast. At this distance, they smelled as repulsive as the exploding skeleton. They looked like Bosmers to Helspar, and from what Helspar heard about their lifestyle, it must be their poor sanitation. They had the numerical advantage, but there's enough room and obstacles in the cavern for him to lead them on a wild guar chase. Kiting, as the Argonian shield-bearers called it. It was a terrible idea; Helspar didn't have a big shield and thick armor, but he would rather face four blades than whatever magic the mage conjured.

"You can handle the mage, and free the carriage driver, too!" Helspar informed his ally. He saw how nervous the human woman was with her sword, but he himself was also shaking with fear. Nothing they're doing was inspiring confidence, but it was too late to turn back. "I'll keep the rest distracted, for as long as I can..."

Stepping directly into the cavern, Helspar casted magelight instead of reaching for another arrow. The shining light got his foes' attention, and the suddenly brightness got them to briefly stop their attacks. Helspar then peeled off to the left. Three out four followed him, while the last one focused on the human woman. Knowing it was the best he could do, he reach for his quiver again. There was only time for one quick shot before he had to dodge, and Helspar's arrow struck an enemy in the shoulder, pinning them to a nearby boulder.

Angry battle cries and the slashing of blades followed Helspar. He dashed behind a rock pillar, ducked beneath a flaming brazier and ran through a glowing sigil on the ground. The sigil lit up when Helspar stepped on it, and he could hear the fizz of magicka flaring up. The angry Bosmers weren't far behind, though Helspar had gotten enough distance for another shot. This time, he went for the brazier.

The brazier tumbled over right as a Bosmer went by. It fell on the Bosmer and lit the poor elf on fire. Just one more; maybe Helspar could do this after all! All he needed was another arrow and...the quiver was empty!

"Not again!" Helspar complained out loud. His enemy, probably the one of the biggest Bosmer ever, taller than Helspar himself, literally brought down the axe.

Helspar had one thing to put between his head and the axe, his bow. Metal collided against wood, Helspar's bow held and his arms went numb from the impact. The Bosmer axe murderer swung again, and Helspar blocked again. The second strike cut Helspar's bow clean in half, though the axe itself missed the Dunmer. Helspar reeled, he collapsed onto his knees, the Bosmer raised his axe for the third time, and Helspar threw whatever dirt he could grab into the Bosmer's face.

It was effective, the Bosmer was blinded and missed. This would be the moment for Helspar to escape, but he didn't. He could not leave his newfound ally, necromancer or not, to fate, like he had done with Gnarl-Braids. Instead, he mustered every last bit of stamina left in him and charged into Bosmer. Helspar intended to tackle his foe and disarm him, but the Bosmer was swinging his axe wildly. So Helspar could only push the Bosmer into a sigil.

The sigil, however, was having none of it. It glowed brighter than ever as electricity danced. The Bosmer was caught in the midst and began convulsing, which prompted Helspar to step back and shield his eyes. Surely enough, an explosion occurred. The Bosmer and sigil were no more, leaving only a crater in their place.

Only then did Helspar realize a wide gash had been opened on his side. The Bosmer's axe cut through Helspar's jacket and flesh during their tussle earlier, leaving a steady trickle of blood in its wake. He desperately ripped off fabric from his sleeves to cover the gash, while praying his guts weren't spilling out.

"Hey, hey! Are you still there?" Helspar called out for the human woman. The cavern was lot darker with one less brazier and sigil.

Fruits of Contention - Wayrest

@POOHEAD189, Dax and Alim have the all clear from me. Let's hear what @Stormflyx has to say.

Fruits of Contention - Wayrest

Everard's Journal

Last Seed 18, 4E 205

News of the truce broke yesterday. A Camlorn messenger came through the portal, saying Prince Narcisse had suffered minor injuries. Typical, that arrogant prick never had any bite behind his bark, not that biting a vampire lord would do anything good. It's amazing the soft-bellied monarchs agreed to anything; Emmeria must be smarter than she let on. Personally, I prefer we just get down to business, but it made sense for everyone to plan and backstab each other first. One week; one more sodding week until I cut "Prince" Gregory Bellemont's pretty head off his epaulet-adorned shoulders.

I had taken temporary residence at this "House of Commons". It's the most upscale brothel, and a few from the company already visited before. At this point, it didn't really matter what they do. We took the city and got our pay. None of us were interested in patrolling for petty criminals; everyone knew the pay was rubbish anyway. So I guess now's the time to enjoy a little earthly pleasure; try some different, like that infamous Khajiit, before such action is no longer becoming of the king. Plus, the bed here's soft and plump, though the artificial fragrance could be...overbearing.

Still, sleeping in the premium suites was comfortable. But last night, I had the most unusual dream. The dream took place in a gray smoky void, and I was visited by three queens; all of them majestic, terrifying and otherworldly. The first one was a warrior-queen, clad in impervious ebony adorned with serpentine patterns. I was not uncertain if she was a man, until she spoke to me. The next was the silk-clad queen, tempting and alarming. She wore a spiked crown infused with chitin, and her arms, all six of them, weaved incomprehensible patterns. Finally, there was the grotesque queen. She skulked in the shadows of her fellow queens, never prominent, yet always present in the edge of my vision. I spared her one curious glance, and no more; her form was a horrifying, yet beautiful, amalgamation of my deepest fears.

When they spoke, they spoke in a tongue I had never heard of, yet, I could understand every single word. They spoke of a contest among themselves, for pride and power only bestowed by a mortal agent. They informed me of the last agent, a man with the voice of thunder, courted by many more of their peers. Finally, they all judged me, and I bowed my head, not daring to look into their eyes. I will be the fated one in this moment, they told me, and I must choose my patron.

The silk-clad queen spoke first. "Choose me, mortal," her many arms beckoned seductively, "and I shall grant you the secrets of allegiances and betrayals."

"Take up the mantle of my champion." She continued. Her voice was smooth as velvet. In her hands, a long and svelte sword, jet black and seeping with cold malice, materialized. She offered it to me. "Master the web of love and hate."

The grotesque queen stepped forward next. "Choose me, mortal," tendrils shifted around her form, "and you shall forever be remembered and rightfully feared."

"Do not reject what you do not know." She encouraged me. Her form settled into an elderly woman, and she held a skull-adorned staff, the very sight of which made my spine shiver. The staff whispered to me. "Make your foes suffer."

At last, the warrior-queen announced herself. "Choose me, mortal," her voice was authoritative like a legate, yet defiant like an insurgent, "and in my name you shall conquer."

"I only ask you to fight with my blade." The warrior-queen threw back her hooded cloak, revealing powerful physique and skin dark as the armor she wore. She drew her sword; it was of gold and flame. "Take it, and carve out your own destiny."

"Choose." They spoke in unison. "Choose you boon, and your curses."

I weighed my options carefully. I wanted to refuse, to wake up and ask a priest to banish this perverted encounter from my mind. However, the warrior-queen's offer was irresistible; I needed a weapon to grant me strength above others.

I knelt down in front of her, my hands held out obediently.

She sheathed the golden blade and placed it in my waiting palms. When I grasped it, she laughed.

"It is once again what it should be." She turned to her fellow queens. "Was there ever any doubt, sisters?"

The grotesque queen's response was expected. Despite her otherworldly aura, she was immune to jealousy. She slammed the skull-adorned staff into the ground, and terrifying images swirled around her. "You have merely conscripted another witless brute, Deceiver of Nations." She retorted. "And you, mortal, will know fear."

The silk-clad queen laughed along with the warrior-queen. Her laughter was sharp and piercing, like a raptor's cry before descending upon a helpless prey. She sauntered to the warrior-queen and ran her clawed finger down the ebony armor; the resulting sound was a blood-curdling scrape. "You never learn, sister; you never see beyond the battle." She smiled. "Do not worry, Everard, the third of you name, for you will enjoy playing the pawn, as you always will."

"Enough!" The warrior-queen stomped. She shoved the silk-clad queen away, and her obsidian hair lit on fire. With a wave of her armored hands, a great inferno banished the grotesque queen's nightmares. "The destined has chosen; leave my champion!"

The grotesque queen disappeared in a flurry of tendrils, and the silk-clad queen left in a portal of webs and shadow. I was still kneeling in front of the warrior-queen, the golden blade in my hands.

"Stand, champion." She instructed. I obeyed. "Know you will be tested, you will be challenged, and you will be betrayed. But you must fight back if you are to prevail, and often fight back from the shadows. Do you understand?"

I nodded, but I know I can never comprehend the designs of a higher power.

---

Last Seed 19, 4E 205

A Dunmer woman approached me outside of Wayrest's gates. She was mute, but beckoned me to follow her; I did. She led me to a cave inland, there were bones arranged like a shrine, similar (but also different) to goblin's ritual sites. Inside the cave was an old and blind warrior. The warrior knew I was here to battle. We fought, I won, and I took the warrior's weapon; it was a golden sword that left flames in its wake. It felt right in my hands, like what I have been missing my entire life.

When I emerged from the cave, the Dunmer woman was nowhere to be found.

---

Last Seed 20, 4E 205

I barely slept at all. I dreamed of the night when Corsairs ransacked Wayrest, of the sight of my mother slain while I fled with Mathieu. I dreamed of that day when Prince Barynia ambushed me with his assassins. I dreamed of being clubbed by a giant and flying into the air. I dreamed of my abduction by the Thalmor in Elsweyr. Never had my nightmares been this vivid, and in the back of my mind, I could feel the grotesque queen sneering at me.

My troops looked at me strangely today. If this continues, stronger discipline must be instilled; I cannot let traitors fester in our ranks.

Where's Mathieu? Never saw him today...

---

Last Seed 21, 4E 205

It's gone. Mathieu took it. He stole it from me last night and defected to Daggerfall. Bellemont gave him shelter, and I cannot get him in the other occupation zone. All those years we fought together, like brothers, only for him to stab me in the back before our moment of triumph. He could have been been my general when I ascend the throne, but now he doomed us both.

I cannot let Mathieu betray me. I cannot let him lie to me, to cheat me of my victory. I will get the blade back, even if I have to kill him. No, I must kill him!

Mathieu prays at the temple, and the temple's firmly under Daggerfall control. There's no way they'll let me pass, and I cannot let anyone in my company know. However, there is rumors of another mercenary group arriving. Perhaps they can defeat Mathieu in my stead, or at the very least, wear him down and die without anyone knowing...

Fruits of Contention - Wayrest

Looks good, @POOHEAD189; just one thing. Alim first encountered Relyssa at Evermore, not Jehanna.

What Are You Listening To?

Fruits of Contention - Wayrest

Meet our quest giver NPC:

Everard

Everard

^{(AKA Ebrald Black-Thane; or Brother Everard Barynia III)}
Male Breton | 29 | Steed
Major Willpower | Expert 1H Blade

---

Everard was born in Wayrest, to King Barynia and his secret mistress. His mother never told him about his father. On the night of the Corsair invasion, a royal agent named Mathieu spirited Everard away (and he would never see or hear from his mother again). Mathieu told Everard his true lineage, and how King Barynia promised protection for him, in exchange for his mother's silence.

In the immediate aftermath, one of King Barynia's legitimate sons discovered Everard and attempted to kill him. Everard survived with Mathieu's aid, killing the prince in the process, but suffered head trauma that would impair his memory. The duo would seek asylum within Camlorn, and train with its famous nightblades.

Upon reaching adulthood, Everard founded a mercenary company, traveled through Skyrim, defeated Orc raiders in Whiterun, and earned the title Black-Thane (though it would be revoked when the Dragonborn came to power). Soon, Everard's talents were discovered by the Penitus Occulatus. His Blackhounds were contracted to aid the Khajiit rebellion in Elsweyr, where Everard reunited with Mathieu and vowed to retake Wayrest.

Their goal finally came to fruition in 205, with the Blackhounds spearheading the assault and Everard nominated for king. However, Everard knew full well the powers that backed him (Camlorn and Jehanna), would keep him on a short leash. So he schemed silently, until a strange dream on the night of Last Seed 17.

---

Everard is a wildcard, calculating and takes the time to weigh out options at some points while acting rash and hastily in others. He is no thief, but knows how to command his men and is especially adept at small-team operations that require discretion, or bloodshed.

Everard is selfish and will take the opportunity to further his own ends, but he sometimes will make a win-win situation for both he and his allies.

To his subordinates, Everard is a strict leader, maintaining his place at top of the chain through discipline. To his opponents, he is ruthless, quick to anger, a very dangerous individual. To keen observers, Everard has been keeping his company afloat by making shady deals, while making friends with those that share his agenda.

---

Everard is an expert swordsman and can fling a few fireballs. His weapons include a steel bastard sword, an Orcish dagger, and currently, an empty scabbard. Everard wears leather lamellar and bear fur cloak, as well as a Nordic silver circlet (given to him by Jarl Balgruuf).

Fruits of Contention - Wayrest

@Stormflyx is eager to enter the Hall of Fame™.

What Are You Listening To?

Fruits of Contention - Wayrest

Dibella's House of Common Pleasures

2100, Last Seed 21, 4E 205

---

The sun had set, the curfew had taken effect. Yet in the premiere brothel of Wayrest, the night has just begun. Citizens and occupying soldiers flocked to the "entertainment" district alike, and the latter were more than happy to let their orders slide. Not all who came to one particular brothel, commonly called the House of Commons, came for the bodily pleasures. It was a large three story building of many rooms; many of them housed former pirates trapped between rock and a hard place, while other were occupied by opportunists hoping to pilfer the legendary treasures of the Corsairs.

One such individual was Ander. He had rented a small room three days ago, never requiring any services and never returning until dark. Tonight, he was carried in by a band of mercenaries. Ander was unconscious, but in stable condition. He was soaked liked the mercenaries, though thankfully, only in water. They had emerged from a manhole, guided by receipts in Ander's pocket and Alim's directions.

Overlooking the bustling lobby, where red lights glazed across dark leather, were the premium guest rooms. These weren't the rooms for pirates and scavengers; only the richest (and often the anonymous) could afford them. Sounds of pleasure and pain seeped through the cracks of mostly sound-proof doors. One such room was taken by Relyssa an hour ago. Another was where a Breton man in an ash gray cloak had emerged. This man wore leather armor under his cloak, and partly concealed under his hood was a silver circlet and messy black hair. His relaxed shoulders showed his ease, yet a faint frown made it clear he was not happy. His right hand hovered around his waist, as if protecting an invisible object attached to his belt. The Breton man took out a pipe, lit it with a spark spell and watched the scene below.

"S'toth trusts you were satisfied with his services?" Came a sultry purr from the same room. The Khajiit was a busy one tonight, for his barbed appendages were coveted by curious lords and ladies alike.

"Most enjoyable." The Breton man nodded absentmindedly. Without turning to acknowledge the prostitute, he offered a handful of coins. "Here's your tips."

As S'toth left, the Breton man focused on the newcomers below. He watched Gustav rent a premium room for himself, and cheaper options for his employees. He watched Xenia Richton, madam of the house, chide them for leaving a wet mess (on this already wet mess of an establishment), and redirecting Ander to the nearest clinic. He watched some soldiers cast suspicious glances at the mercenaries (but none of them did anything, since they weren't supposed to be there in the first place). He watched mercenaries from other companies, who were hired by the armies, size up their newest competitors. Finally, he watched the lonesome Nibenese sailor trailing after them.

The Breton man smiled to himself. He made his way downstairs, brushing past the mercenaries and not acknowledging them. He weaved through the sweaty, drunk and aroused mass of people, almost unnoticed, until he was in front of the Nibenese lad.

"You there, come." He gestured. "I have a job for you."