Mor’Tuul [RE-UPLOAD]
As part of an art trade with @couldyounottalktomethanks, she asked for a story for her Skyrim OC! It apparently has been eaten since then, so I’m re-uploading it.
A hovel was a polite way of calling a house a shithole. That was what he was standing in now. The client, Bazin, was standing between him and the door, as if his weedy little body was any kind of barrier.
“Did you find it?”
“Of course.” Mor'Tuul replied, keeping a snort out of his tone. He wouldn’t have shown up if he didn’t have what he had been paid to get.
Bazin’s eyes searched him, eagerly rolling his wrist towards himself.
“Well come on. Let’s see it then.”
Mor'Tuul complied with the weasel, reaching into his bag. He palmed the retrieved object. It wasn’t very large or impressive, appearing to be little more than a circular piece of metal with symbols etched into it, but its supposed power to drain life force made it incredibly intriguing to certain individuals.
Bazin perked up when he saw it, crooked smile widening.
“Wow.” He breathed.
“Yeah...” Mor'Tuul agreed, glancing down at the item, “It wasn’t easy for me to get.” Bazin waved him off, dismissing what he was saying. Mor'Tuul frowned, but held his tongue. Bazin fondled the metal, rubbing his thumb over each of the symbols. There may have been some academic assessment in his process, but there was unmistakeable greed in his eyes.
“I got what you asked for.” Mor'Tuul spoke up, “Now give me the gold.”
“Yeah, about that...” Client’s smile didn’t falter as he continued to examine the item, “I’m not going to pay you.” Mor'Tuul blinked once, mouth pulling into a line as his ears pressed back against his skull.
“Excuse me?”
“Do I look as stupid as you are? You’ve probably already nicked coins out from under people’s noses on your way here.” Bazin laughed in Mor'Tuul’s face, “Now you can be a good kitty and sneak back off into the shadows.”
He had given the client one chance to change his mind.
Mor'Tuul’s lips curved into a smile that couldn’t have been more thin if it had been drawn on with a pen.
“Okay.”
Mor'Tuul took a step forward. Bazin finally looked up, eyed Mor'Tuul over, and then that confusion turned to fear as he backed away. He made It a few steps before Mor'Tuul grabbed him around the throat, still walking forward and driving Bazin back. Bazin’s feet dragged uselessly against the floor as Mor'Tuul shoved open the door, marching the both of them outside. There were few people around, and even less that turned their heads at the loud display.
“I told you that it wasn’t easy getting this thing,” Mor'Tuul growled, ignoring the hands clawing desperately at his own, “You must have some idea of the kind of shit I went through. I am in no mood for your bullshit.” Bazin’s efforts proved useless, and his already saucer-wide eyes grew somehow larger when Mor'Tuul unsheathed his mace.
“No, please-” His pleas fell on deaf ears, the closest thing to a reaction being Mor'Tuul adjusting his grip around his neck. Mor'Tuul lined up the shot, Bazin murmuring a whimper as sharp metal grazed his temple.
Mor'Tuul raised his arm.
A squelching cracking sound followed.
Someone screamed.
Mor'Tuul released his hold around Bazin’s neck, and Bazin crumpled to the ground, the crushed remnants of his head connecting with the stone steps. Blood continued to pour from the wound, trickling down to the road below like a stream. In the chaos, the item had fallen from Bazin’s pocket. Mor'Tuul plucked it from the stones, palming it again as he spun around on his heel and went back inside to collect the rest of his things, leaving the corpse where it lay.