@battlmage
Unfortunately for her–the rest of the world didn’t agree could that she literally not care less about this ‘End of the World’ . Or rather–the last remainder of the Imperial Blades didn’t. And with them in her face–it was getting harder to keep up her night job.
Panic meant that more people were likely to get paranoid. Paranoia meant that the Dark Mother would be called for more contracts. But dragon attacks meant that her targets kept dying before she could get to them. And it wasn’t as if she could just recruit said over-sized lizards into the family.
Which lead to her current situation of having to simultaneously play socialite, spy, and thief.
Get in. Get the dossiers. Get out–without killing Thalmor if possible. Shame–those bastards could use a second stick in them–arrows are such wonderful accessories.
The words ran on repeat in her head over and over again as she took half an hour and multiple invisibility spells to sneak through to the Solar and grab the documents needed–all fortunately gathered in one chest. She opened it, flipping through them rapidly.
Stormcloak–ugh. Lorin–shit. Nothing on His Royal Dragonness…
She paused, glancing at the notes in her hands. She doesn’t recognize the person in the last dossier by their appearance, but there’s something uncomfortably familiar about the name there.
The Dragonborn closed her eyes and swore colourfully in every language she knew (which was rather limited to the common tongue and terrible draconic.)
…Sithis preserve me. If I don’t investigate–I’m going to get eviscerated. By the both of them.
The dungeons were large– few shadows to hide in and more guards to keep track of. Footfalls silent and form invisible to the naked eye– she stuck to the walls as she moved through the complex.
he sighs , looks at the binds around his hands . if he could only - a bit of magic . . . plotting an escape - it’s not as if he lacks time , HAS ALMOST AN ETERNITY OF IT . yet , the posions DRUGGING him , preventing him from employing his magicka reserves , are not so easily rid of . a frown - ponders upon a possible way . ‘ taproot perhaps , or , elves ear - elves ear ! ’
indeed - he is talking to himself . ( when thalmor are out of earshot . ) the SILENCE is maddening , only the repetitive rhythm of guards patrolling his cell remaining . there has been turmoil - for what reason , he does not know , but they are looking for someone . if only . . .
FREEDOM lies within hand’s reach , but they are bound . how many years have passed ? he knows not , but he must return to cyrodiil . it plagues his mind - at night , countless scenarios have played before his eyes .
politically he has become irrelevant , a politician like him knows that too well , even after so many years . his contacts are likely gone - but the name of OCATO OF FIRSTHOLD still carries weight . so he hopes . the empire . what of the empire . DIVINES - he is rotting away in this cell .
closing his eyes - focusing . if he could only cast a spell to unlock the door . and as if by divine intervention , the lock begins to creak . his eyes open , going to hands - nothing . then - to the lock . AURI-EL - this is not some THALMOR illusion , is it ? ‘ why . . . why are you here ? ’
