banner

This is the autobiographical journal of Arvil Bren, a somewhat reluctant hero who has been placed on an unknown quest by powers that he barely knows exist. Follow his journey as it is updated daily, Monday through Friday, and enjoy! These are the most recent entries in Arvil Bren's third journal; Politics of the Redoran. His first journal can be found in its entirety here. His second journal, Trail of the Archmage can be found here.

Monday, June 27, 2005

Day 146: Final subterfuge

I am sure the Dark Brotherhood is watching me. You can't kick the kagouti without expecting the tusks, as the saying goes. So today I gave them everything they could want to see. I didn't hide. In fact I'm probably among the best known faces in Mournhold right about now.

I sold their black mesh armor, their poisonous weapons, and their Jinkblades all over the city. Most of the merchants will remember me for the easy bargains I gave them. I barely negotiated, saying things like "no problem, there is more of this for the taking," and "I walked in once I can walk in again." It doesn't take many comments like that when talking about the notorious Dark Brotherhood to really bring attention to yourself. By the afternoon armorers were greeting me at the door of their shops. Probably hoping to get in on the deal before I meet an abrupt end.

I also made no secret of staying at the Winged Guar. In fact I tried to negotiate a weekly rate on my room, but as is the case throughout Morrowind tradehouses and cornerclubs can only let a room for one night at a time. The impression was clearly given that I would be sleeping there for several nights at least, which is the impression I wanted to give. I am actually not sleeping there at all.

Late in the evening, as traffic in the bar of the Winged Guar dwindled away, I entered my room and cast a powerful locking spell on the door. I removed the ornate sleeves and gauntlets of my armor, and my boots, and placed them in my pack. Then I pulled a common robe and hood over the rest of my armor, and painfully completed my disguise by slicing open my forehead above my right eye. I let the blood flow briefly, then held an old shirt to the wound as I cast a teleportation spell. All anyone saw enter the temple is a drunken acolyte injured in a bar fight. I checked into the infirmiry with a minimum of fuss, apologizing profusely for the embarrassment to the temple that I had proven to be.

Galsa Andrano, who runs the infirmiry, of course knows better, but I trust her. I cast a healing spell to stop the bleeding and thanked her for providing me a safe bed for the night. If the Dark Brotherhood enters my room at the inn I hope they enjoy the decor. I left nine of their hoods in an impressive display on a table with a note of my own.

"Ahnassi did not enjoy your hospitality, but I did. Bar your doors."

Hopefully they will add extra guards to the access tunnel in the morning, and perhaps even send patrols out into the sewers. The fewer there are in the cave when I teleport myself in, the better. When I cast my mark spell in the cave she was held in Ahnassi had worried that I would not be returning home. I will go home, but when I do I will be able to walk openly into Pelagiad. There will be no more assassins dogging my footsteps.

3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Excellent yet again! thank you! Arvil Bren is a great adventurer and opportunist . I like his style!

- Angela

3:18 PM  
Blogger Liszt_Maniac said...

You'd think that the Brotherhood would be suspicious of someone (who had so easily avoided them before) to let so much inforomation about him be known in their base of operations.

3:26 PM  
Blogger frootat31 said...

oohhh this is getting good!

5:58 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home