Oblivion: Journal of Fang - Driving a Man to Crime

From the Journal of Fang (Translated from Ta’agra)

Heartfire 19th, 433

Yesterday… or this morning?... I forget, but that’s not the point… I did something many would find regrettable. I stole a book from my employer… indeed, a book I had just gotten for him… then gave it so someone of… debatable morality. This is obviously a crime, and one I feel no shame in committing. But I’d like to note that it’s not a crime where I have inherently harmed anyone (unlike the crime I have been accused of, falsely, in the Fighter’s Guild), and I’d like to say how I got to this point.

When I first came to Cyrodiil, my hope was that I’d grow beyond my former life of crime. I did many things I wasn’t proud of, back then, all for such foolish reasons. Small change, drugs, booze… nothing I needed, certainly.

As I said in my last entry, at the time, I was at a bit of a crossroads. I needed more money, and was tempted to fall back onto my old ways for it… but still had the opportunity by investigating Thoronir, which I began to do. (Episode 18) I questioned his sources some, but he was evasive. I figured I’d try to keep an eye on him, see where he went and who he talked to. As I waited though, resting in a nearby inn for the market to begin to shut down, I did a lot of thinking, though.

Reflecting on what I was doing now, what I had been doing, and my near-death experience in the arena… it was strange. It was as if everything in my life, up to then, had been merely… existing, not truly accomplishing anything, and I realized that was no longer what I wanted. It was as if I was waking up from a long sleep, and felt… not only obligated to investigate this matter about Thoronir for money, but for a greater good, if that makes any sense.

            To say the least, a lot of this… sense of fulfillment slowly left me as I watched Thoronir do bugger-all in the Garden district for a few hours. The only moment of interest was when he talked to a paranoid man who I’d later find out was named Amantius Allectus. I talked to him as well, to see if he had any connection to Thoronir, and while I’d learn he didn’t… I gave him a wide berth. Someone that paranoid, as I had learned from Glarthir, sometimes had reason to be paranoid. Either way, eventually Thoronir left, heading back to the Market District. There, he’d end up speaking with a Nord, an Agarmir… in what I thought was a VERY insecure location. Honestly, I barely even had to hide to overhear them. Agarmir was clearly the supplier, though, and spoke of “last-minute” shipments. He was also very insistent Thoronir take his goods. I decied to follow Agarmir, to figure out his haunts. I nearly lost him in the Talos Plaza District (I wasn’t being as stealthy as I could’ve been, admittedly,) but saw him just as he ducked into a house. I waited a short while, for him to fall asleep, before trying to break in… only to find he had the door barred from the inside.

            More paranoia. And undoubtedly, for a reason. I decided to let it be for the night, and then speak with Jensine in the morning. (Episode 19) She checked with her people, and found out nothing about Agarmir. I asked the beggars around town if they had any information, and they told me Agarmir tended to business around town usually around mid-afternoon. I placed myself in the bushes outside his house, and waited. I basically fell asleep, until I was roused by the sound of the bar being lifted, and him leaving his house. It was then I encountered my next problem: he had one hell of a lock on his door, and while I’m not the worst lockpick in the world, I couldn’t get through it. I decided to track him down to see if there was opportunity to pick his pocket, to get his house key, but he kept to open areas with lots of people around. I finally got frustrated, and decided to go a different route: magic. I knew some basic alteration magic, but between the stars of my birth and my lack of formal training, I decided to purchase a scroll from Edgar Vautrine, one that could get me through all but the heaviest of locks. And lucky me: it did.

            WhatI found inside was… disturbing. Dirt, bones, bonemeal, dirty clothes, dirty shovels, candles, and a sort of dark little shrine. Agarmir, it seemed, had a bit of a thing for the macabre, and I quickly figured out why: he left a book down there giving, in detail, where he got much, if not all, of Thoronir’s inventory from: grave-robbing. With all this in hand, I went back to Thoronir to confront him about it. I gave him the benefit of the doubt for not knowing about it, if only because I’d like to think he would’ve been more cautious, had he been. After all, being discovered taking part in grave-robbing is bad for business. He gave me information that Agarmir was actually busy that very evening with an “important matter.” It didn’t take a lot of detective work to figure out what.

            Looking around the graveyard, I saw a mausoleum that looked broken into, and prepared myself, readying a scroll I had saved for just this sort of situation. Upon entering, not only was Agarmir present (along with a wicked looking blade), but he had an armored friend as well. He said that he was expecting me, which… was a bit of a surprise, to be honest. Apparently I did have the look of someone good at figuring these things out. He and his friend attacked me, while I released the magic in the scroll…

            And in the air appeared a daedra. A clannfear.

            Have you ever seen a clannfear? They are terrifying. Lizard-like creatures, covered in thick scaly armor, and taller than a man. They have a sharp hooked beak, vicious claws, and they move very quickly. The magic of the scroll commanded the clannfear attack my foes first, and while I handled Agarmir, it tore into the other man present… before turning on me. I am incredibly thankful the summoning spell only lasts so long, or I surely WOULD have died in that mausoleum. But once finished there, I took some of the more expensive looking items Agarmir had (as well as one from the mausoleum, I’m not ashamed to say: it would’ve been stolen by Agarmir anyways, I’m certain), and made my way back to town.

            The next morning, I set to inform everyone the issue had been, hopefully, resolved. (Episode 20) After all, aside from Thoronir demanding proof of Agarmir’s crimes (what more proof did the stupid little elf need?!), I had wrapped it up quite nicely, I thought, and expected decent payment from the merchants that Jensine represented. My reward, for all my assistance?

            One hundred gold coins. One hundred.

            To say the least, I was not pleased with that. I made tenfold more gold selling what I had looted from Agarmir and the tomb, which resonated highly with my old beliefs: crime does pay. More than legitimate work, at any rate. It was around this time I began to ask the beggars around the Imperial City more about the supposed “Thieves Guild” and “Gray Fox,” and they gave me some information on how to reach him, at the city’s Waterfront district.

            The waterfront… also where my supposed hovel was. Feeling frustrated and annoyed, I felt like waiting in somewhat isolation, to rest some more. After all, my last few days had been occupied with following people around. I decided to spend a little gold to rent a room at the “Bloated Float” inn, which was… an interesting little concept. “An inn inside a boat!” I remember thinking. “This should be relaxing.”

            Ha. Ha. Ha.

            APPARENTLY, in broad daylight, some… thieves or pirates or something… actually managed to take over the inn, and sailed off with it. While I was aboard. Again, in broad daylight. Can you even FATHOM how ridiculous that is? To say the least, once more it seemed I was forced to act, as I found out we were incredibly far out to sea; when I made my way to the top deck, there was no land in sight. Oh, also, to save myself and what few others were on board? I had to kill four people. Admittedly, one of them, a dark elf, was… incredibly robust, questioning me and interrogating me after I had shot her, in the head, with an arrow… but I suspect she may have, well, not been thinking clearly. I would come to find out that this was all because of some rumor the innkeeper had started to drum up more business for his rotten inn!

            Four people’s blood, on my hands, all because of his greed. Six people dead in the last forty-eight hours all because of people wanting more money: Jensine’s blasted society, Thoronir, the innkeeper, Ormil… here’s the best part. I got a reward, for the death of the thieves’ leader.

            Seventy-five gold.

            The elven bastard even had the gall to tell me not to spend it all in one place, unless it was his inn. I’d be hard-pressed to NOT spend seventy-five gold in one place!

            It was here that it all began to click down on me. How my life was in the distant past, how it was in the recent past, and how it would be.

            I enjoyed doing… good, I suppose. I wasn’t opposed to stopping grave-robbers and bandits, or thinking further back, those swindlers in Anvil, or the insanity of Glarthir. But the rewards I was given by the authorities were all so… pitiful. Handfuls of gold here and there, meanwhile, stealing from those I had slain was proving far more lucrative.

            I was no longer a puppet of my vices, but I wouldn’t be a puppet of society either, being a ‘good person’ for a few gold here and there. No. I’d be a good person because it was the right thing to do.

            But when it came to money? To power? … Well. Given what I’ve had to deal with, can you blame me for deciding being a little more cutthroat to get what I deserved was… unwarranted?

Oblivion: Journal of Fang - Arriving at the Imperial City

From the Journal of Fang (Translated from Ta’agra)

Evening of Heartfire 18th, 433

The amount of hoops I jump through in Cyrodill… and some of it for matters not even my fault! Blasted Fighter’s Guild… but no matter. After doing some work for the Mage’s Guild today, I ended up fighting several large beasts, which has left me exhausted, physically, but mind is still working. So I thought I’d take the time to write here some more, about what happened when I first arrived at the Imperial City. (Episode 16)

My original intent, upon arriving, was to simply sell what wares I could, then see what there was for work. Of course, I had barely arrived before I spoke with a woman, Jensine, who wanted to hire me to investigate one of her competitors, Thoronir. Do I exude a scent that makes me people think I’m good at looking into the affairs of others? Look how the business with Glarthir turned out, after all. Regardless, I didn’t want to look into it right away, not really… if anything, Thoronir did offer me better prices for my wares. Still, I hadn’t reached my goal… oh, right. My goal.

I had heard around that there was hovel available for purchase in the Imperial Waterfront, for two thousand septims. Not much, but it was relatively cheap, and would’ve been my first major step in my new life.

Looking back… it’s kind of funny… but I’ll let the events speak for themselves.

To make the last few hundred septims, I took my chances at the Imperial arena. Unlike the one at Kvatch, this one involved men fighting other men, not beasts. I gambled on it, of course, but the bulk of my gold I made through fighting in it. I thought I’d be relatively prepared for the arena… I’d certainly gotten some experience fighting in the previous weeks leading up to this… and I did actually fare quite well. Well enough that I believed I’d made enough money for my house.

When I finally got the Chamber of Imperial Commerce, after convincing the old shrew I was a legitimate customer… she informed me the price for the hovel was FOUR THOUSAND Septims, not two. I was livid and angry… all of my savings, to this point, had barely netted by two thousand! How was I to get four thousand?

I decided to gamble at and fight in the Arena some more, hoping to make enough money to afford the hovel. The benefits outweighed the risk...

Up until those damned Bosmer sisters.

I hate to sound this way, but I am seriously beginning to think Bosmer were put on this world to be absolutely terrible, horrifying nuisances. Glarthir, that Thoronir, and these two… they fought incredibly hard, and only armed with a dagger myself, it was incredibly taxing. I very nearly died, and decided that was enough for the Arena, especially as what good would the money be if I was dead?

I figured my best bet was to look into this matter for the shops of the Market District, with Thoronir... but I digress, and I tire. I will write of that next time, perhaps.

Oblivion: Duel at the Gates

Timeline: Near the End of Episode 15

            Fang took a few ragged breaths, glancing around worriedly. The sun bore down on him, and he was afraid of what it would look like, with he and the ground around him streaked with the blood of the two dead Redguards. He sighed, wiping the blood off of his fine elven dagger with his glove.

            He rolled his shoulder and reached up to rub his neck. The outlaws hadn’t caught him off-guard, but they had outnumbered him, and the big one’s hammer had came down hard on his shoulder. He reached into his satchel and uncorked a potion, taking a swig as he knelt down near the Redguard woman. The potion was frothy and foul-tasting, but it was the best he could manage. “Bleagh.” He spat nearby, hoping to get some of the taste from his mouth, when he thought he saw… something flicker through the air. “What the…”

            Wham! He flew to the side, mind spinning, his dagger spiraling from his grasp. The blur struck at him again, a blade cutting across his shoulder. He yelled in pain, stumbling across the ground and readying his shield to catch the next blow. What in the world was even happening?!

            He pushed forward against the blade, world still spinning around him as he dove towards the shape, knocking it against a nearby tree. That seemed to knock the enchantment off it, and he saw an angry orcish woman, dressed in furs and leather, and wielding a scimitar. “You’ll join them in death, furlicker!” she yelled, kicking back against his shield, knocking him back once more.

            Fang tumbled backwards, but caught himself, his world finally beginning to come back into focus. “Friends of yours, then?” he slurred as he scrambled across the ground, grabbing his dagger. She charged forward, bringing the scimitar down on him. He parried with the dagger. The scimitar may have had weight backed by orcish muscle, but the dagger was of fine elven steel, and Fang had learned a lot about blocking and parrying from training in Skingrad. He tilted the blade, and her force was used against her. He swung around, slamming his shield against her sword arm. That Fadus Calidius had known his stuff; it worked like a charm, and she yelped in pain, dropping the weapon.

            His days back in Elseweyr rushed back to him here, and he couldn’t keep the sneer off his face. “Not so tough without your blade, are you greenskin?”

            She whipped back around, and fire flickered across her forearms. “Don’t think me helpless without a sword!” She swung her arm around, and Fang instinctively jumped back to avoid the lash of flame. She used the time to get back on her feet, and then sent a ball of fire into him. The impact forced him stumbling, and singed his armor, but arcane energies whipped around him, absorbing it.

            She didn’t seem to notice. “I am a shaman, and will use my crafts to suck the life from your flesh!” She charged forward and grabbed his neck while he was still dazed. Her grip was strong, as one would expect from an orc. If she had used solely that, maybe she would fared better. But she wanted Fang to suffer, and coils of dark magic arced down her arm to his neck, hoping to suck out his life force.

            It was only then she noticed Fang’s grin, and the arcane sparks that rebuffed her spell. Dropping his shield, he reached up with his now free hand, dug his claws into her arm, and returned the favor: he knew the spell to drain one’s life to replenish his own as well. She groaned at the sudden drain, but then remembered her own strength.

            There was a long, tense moment. Fang’s magic, rapidly weakening without her supplying anymore, barely able to keep him afloat by draining her energy, and her strong hand choking him, keeping the air from his lungs. He lashed forward wildly with his dagger as his vision clouded, and she released him with a feral yell. He felt the warm splash of blood against him, vaguely, as he fell backwards, gasping in a deep breath.

            “Aagh, curse the stars of your birth!” she yelled, holding her side. As she struggled to retain her composure, Fang shook his head. His vision cleared, and he gripped the dagger tightly. “Curse them all you want,” he spat. “But mine were clearly better than yours.”

            I really have to stop insulting orcs, Fang thought as her eyes blazed with fury. Smoke seemed to coalesce around her hand, and then a daedric dagger was in its place, and she stood to her full height. Even a female orc made Fang feel small… and then she charged at him, wound be damned, aiming to cut him to ribbons with the conjured weapon.

            Fang stepped to the left, getting low, and readied himself. The orc's mistake was conjuring a dagger. Daggers weren’t weapons of mad, brutish strength. They were best used with a certain subtlety, with finesse. As she got close he thrust his free arm straight out, and while she managed to rip the curved dagger across it, forcing a pained roar from his lips, his palm struck home, slamming into her gut, probably close to the wound he’d given her only a few seconds earlier. She bent forward, both as a product of pain and momentum.

            He didn’t hesitate to seize the opportunity. He pulled his free arm back, brought it around to her back, and then jabbed his blade into her stomach. She howled in pain, and tried to move back and away, but with a struggle he kept her on the blade. Finally she threw him off, and he took a few steps back, readying for another charge… but it didn’t come. She instead staggered a couple of feet before falling to the ground, moaning, clutching her stomach.

            Fang glared at her, knowing he had two options here. Part of him wanted to slit her throat, or worse, leave her here to die of a painful stomach wound. That’s how he would’ve acted in Elseweyr. That’s the way things worked there.

            … But it wasn’t the way they needed to work here.

            He knelt down, holding the dagger at ready, and took a potion from his belt. He uncorked it, slathered it onto his hand, and rubbed it over the wound. She screamed. He took off another potion, one of the especially foul ones, and placed it near her. She looked up at him, eyes of a mix of confusion and rage.

            “I won’t shed a tear if you die,” he hissed. “But if you do, that’s your fault. Not mine.”

            He stood, and winced as he turned away. Blood was dripping down his arm from a couple gashes, but he didn’t feel he could risk sitting here for too long. He searched the coinpurse of her dead comrades, then spotted the scimitar she’d dropped early on. He grabbed that… it was a decent enough blade. A bit heavy for his tastes, maybe, but it would at least sell well.

            He glanced back over his shoulder, and held up the sword with his good arm. “This?” he said, making sure she saw. “This is payment for the potions.”

            “Fuck your potions!” she yelled at him, livid.

            “Do what you like with them, but I’m still taking this sword,” he said, and began to walk away. She roared curses upon him from a distance, but they were just words… and he was close enough to the Imperial City now that, even if she did get up and running, she would have guards to contend with.

            Had he done a good thing there? A bad thing? Who could know? But Fang sighed, finally getting far enough away to uncork another potion. As he soaked a rag with it to use on his arm, he thought… well, he thought he probably broke even. Today, at least.

Oblivion: Journal of Fang - From the Docks to Skingrad

(Translated from Ta’agra)

Heartfire 18th, 433

            It has been some time since I saw fit to keep a journal, long before the events that drove me to Cyrodiil. However, while staying in Chorrol, I’ve managed to buy an empty journal from Renoit’s Books, and no keep it with me. I will, hopefully, keep this as a record of my time here in Cyrodiil, so that others will know of what I have done here.

            Cyrodiil is far from the calm center of the Imperial storm that many make it out to be. When I arrived in Anvil, it wasn’t long before I was involved in intrigue between the guards and local thieves, and whatever various matters the Fighters Guild got into, of which I became a member. (Episodes 1-3)

Tiring of Anvil, I made my way to Kvatch, (after some brief altercations with local outlaws), where I began to compete in the local arena. It was good money, but the behavior of the Arena master, Kholfe, disturbed me, so I left from there as well. I once more ran into outlaws, as well as an Imperial Guard who had helped me before, one Viatrice Kolinidas.  (Episodes 5-8)

She would escort me to Skingrad, and after buying her a few rounds for her troubles, I decided to integrate myself into Skingrad, hoping to build up some more funds before once more pushing towards the Imperial City.

Skingrad… what can I say about SKINGRAD? The local guild master, Ah-Malz, wasn’t too fond of me, but he gave me regular work. But many of the people there were so rude, it almost drove me assault them, despite my hopes for some reformation in Cyrodiil. But that wasn’t the most… bizarre part of the city. (Episodes 9-10)

Glarthir. What an odd little man… reflecting on my time working with him is what drives me to write this. He offered me gold to investigate some of his concerns, and while I was tempted to brush him off as a mad man… well, his gold glittered just as much as a sane man’s. His first task was to have me follow some woman around. I honestly thought of just asking her about him, as well as the local church leader… but neither would give a straight answer. Glarthir believed a group was secretly out to get him, and multiple people were refusing to discuss him. I had seen such things before, back in Elseweyr… so he began to make more sense. I found nothing in her house, but as soon as I left, a guard, Dion, immediately accosted me, telling me to stay out of the town’s business. Glarthir’s conspiracy theory was making more and more sense to me.

The next target was Toutius Sextius. I’d met him before, and he’d proven surprisingly capable at combat, more than I would have expected from a random noble. I managed to buy some guard armor off of the town blacksmith, in the hopes that by pretending to be a guard recruit, maybe I could ply some more information from the locals. Toutius seemed ignorant, but I wrote that off as him hiding something. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on Glarthir, even those in the Fighter’s Guild! It was beginning to seem like Glarthir was right: everyone in town was against him! (Episode 12)

I spent much of the following night in thought on the matter, and tried to be rational… would an entire town really all be against one man? Or was he actually just a lunatic, as I originally thought, and so they kept an eye on him. And my previous experiences with Bosmer weren’t all that thrilling either. Investigating Glarthir’s next target, Davide Surilie, I found him to be relatively stand-up, and though proud of his vineyards, he had an air of humility about him. I decided to investigate Glarthir’s house (once properly fortified by some of Surilie’s wine), and found his home… disturbing, to say the least. Skulls, strange books, chests enchanted to stay locked… it was enough to, at the very least, make me doubt my continued involvement with Glarthir. However, after speaking with him again, he essentially conscripted me into murdering Bernadette and Toutius, and to say the least, this wasn’t a task I was… keen on performing. But he grew angry when he showed reluctance, and though part of thought I could overpower him, I didn’t know what sort of mad strength he secretly had, and how his scythe shined under the moonlight! No, I decided to sleep, hoping my dreams would give me an answer on what to do…

And so they did. In the past, maybe I would have done the deeds he asked. Or maybe I would have run away. Or maybe I would have turned my blade upon Glarthir. But I decided that I would instead bring this to the attention of the guards, hoping it could be ended without bloodshed. I was, sadly, mistaken, and Glarthir perished during the altercation with the guards. Captain Dion thanked me for my assistance, and I pocketed Glarthir’s keys to make use of some of the goods in his home (after all, it’s not as though he would need them), but still… I regret that things ended as they did. It was at that time I decided to leave Skingrad behind me, and to move on to the Imperial City, my ultimate goal since coming to Cyrodiil. But I’ll leave that for another time, as I believe Renoit is getting anxious by the cloaked Khajiit sitting and writing furiously in the corner. Perhaps I will continue this later, after I tend to some business around town...

Oblivion: A Real Nightmare

Timeline: Reinterpretation of Episode 8

            … Stupid Kholfe.

            With Kvatch behind him, Fang was making his way towards Skingrad. However, in his haste, he had forgotten to grab any sort of food to take with him. Stopping and snacking on various plants had not gotten him very far either.

            So when he smelled the aromas of food being cooked nearby, he couldn’t help but be drawn to it. Peering through the tall grass, he spotted the nearby camp, and glared at it enviously. He wasn’t sure what they were eating, but it smelled fantastic, and he didn’t need to study the inhabitants too hard to know they probably wouldn’t appreciate his intrusion.

            He sighed, and began to turn away. He could’ve tried attacking them, but it was broad daylight, and they had a dog. It wasn’t his idea of a good time.

            He inched forward a few steps before he bumped into something. “What th-” he hissed quietly before looking up.

            Standing there, clad in iron armor and holding a brilliantly polished club, spiked and seemingly made of silver, was an orc. A big orc.

            And he was looking right down at Fang. Fang grinned sheepishly. “Hehe. Um. Hello.”

            “Going somewhere, little kitty?”

            “Actually yes,” Fang stated hastily. “Anywhere but here, so if yoaaaAaghhHH!”

            Fang whipped around and the dog he had seen before was clamping down, hard, on his tail. It wasn’t a particularly large dog, only a feisty one, and so he reached down, grabbing it roughly by the sides, and then threw it against a nearby tree. It stopped moving.

            “… Did you just kill my dog?”

            “What?! No!” Fang said, looking over at the dog then back to the Orc. “He, I, it just hit a tree. It’s probably knocked out.”

            “You knocked my dog out?!”

            “I,” Fang looked over at the dog again, and then back to the Orc. “Okay, which of these is the better answer?”

            Fang yelped as he hit the dirt, barely missing the swing of the orc’s club. It roared and slammed the club against the ground, which Fang barely avoided by rolling. He was up and moving quickly, hastily drawing his dagger.

            “Amel’Ya! Shoot it!”

            Not a moment later an arrow plunged itself into a nearby tree, and Fang could feel a few splinters shatter off and speckle him. He spun around and threw his dagger directly at the Orc, and it thankfully caught the orc in-between one of plates of his armor. Both Fang and the Orc stopped.

            “… You stabbed me!”

            “Come on, that was a hell of a shot!”

            “You stabbed me!”

            “Well, you can’t really blame me for-” the orc ran forward, swinging his club again. Fang fell to the ground, and then rolled backwards, shifting rapidly to a running stance again. “Oh come on, that should hurt!”

            “Not as much as you will!” the Orc yelled, and then let out a sharp whistle.

            Fang glanced backwards for a moment before he heard a commotion from the bushes ahead, and saw a pair of other bandits step out… and on the end of a long, thick chain was a minotaur.

            “Get him!” one of them shouted, releasing the chain. The minotaur hefted a crude hammer and bellowed before charging at Fang, pinning him in-between the orc and the bull monster. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

            Fang dove out of the way as the two brutes nearly collided, scrambling to his feet and running to the road, heading back the way he had came. Fang didn’t see himself as a cowardly man, but three people, an orc, and a minotaur? He didn’t stand a chance!

            As he ran down the road, he saw… well, he couldn’t believe what he saw.

            “Help!” he yelled, waving his hands.

            “You again?” the Legion guard said, furrowing her brow. “What are you… oh my,” she said, quickly dismounting and drawing her sword. Fang ran behind her, drawing his bow.

            “Yes, them. I swear I did nothing wrong.”

            “No, I believe you. What’s your name, by the way?”

            “Fang. Yours?”

            “Viatrice Kolinidas.”

            Fang pulled back on his drawstring as Viatrice readied herself for the coming charge, her spiked shield up, and her silver longsword gleaming.

            “Get me out of this alive and I’ll buy you a round, Viatrice.”

            Viatrice grinned, glancing back. “Hope you’ve got money, khajiit. I’ve got expensive tastes.”

            With that, and the same bewildering aggression she had shown nearly a week earlier, she charged the outlaws. Fang was glad he was probably going to live… but he wasn’t thrilled that all his arena money was probably going to this guard.

Oblivion: Balanced Breakfast

Timeline: End of Episode 7

            “Looking a little singed, Scavenger.”

            Fang looked up from the table where he was resting after his last match. He didn’t like this arena business all that much, but he seemed to be decent at it, and it paid well.

            He also wasn’t fond of Kholfe Ice-Heart, the master of the Kvatch arena.

            “I fought a scamp and a troll. There was a lot of fire involved. You should know this.”

            Kholfe laughed bitterly, grabbing Fang’s beer and taking a swig from it. Fang’s ears pinned back, but he didn’t say anything. His interactions with Kholfe were always… interesting, and not in a good way.

            “Ruins the meat, that much fire magic,” he said, wiping at his lips and going to set the beer back down. Fang motioned for him to keep it. Shrugging, Kholfe took another drink. “Burns it.”

            “It was a troll,” Fang repeated, leaning over the table and looking up Kholfe. “What would you want me to do, sit there and stab at it?”

            “Yes,” Kholfe said after swigging down the rest of the beer, tossing the bottle to the side. “Cut it, rip it apart, make it bleed. That’s what the crowd wants little Scavenger.”

            “Well, I didn’t want to die,” Fang hissed, leaning back, “so the crowd can sod off.”

            Kholfe laughed. “It makes little difference to me… you’re scrawny enough that people keep betting against you. Those who bet on you are becoming rich men.”

            “Well, good for them.”

            “And besides, I get more meat out of this deal.”

            “Ha, I imagine,” Fang said, smiling slightly. “Not fond of… troll meat, myself… but I imagine it still fills a plate. Can’t say a person would.”

            Kholfe tilted his head, studying Fang for a moment, before saying “well, a scrawny thing like you wouldn’t, no.”

            Before Fang could really digest that thought (pun not intended), Kholfe slapped him on the back and began walking off. “Bright and early if you’ll want more gold, Khajiit. Got some fun planned for the farmyard… and I want a big breakfast.”

            Fang watched the Nord leave, thinking of his options. On one hand, the Kvatch Arena was proving to net him quite a bit of money. On the other, the more he got to know Kholfe, the more he wondered if this was some scheme to end up on his plate.

            He took out another bottle of beer and opened it. Maybe… maybe the Fighter’s Guild of Skingrad would have a job for him.

            If Fang was going to be eaten, he’d prefer to be eaten by a beast, not a deranged man.

Oblivion: No Woman Left Behind

Timeline: Episode 6 Reinterpretation

Fang picked his way back down Kvatch’s plateau, trying to hurry. He had stumbled into Kvatch half-conscious, and only the identifying mark he carried of the Fighter’s Guild showed his relatively “safe” status. He’d rested in the Kvatch Guild for several hours before waking, getting supplies and working on finding people to help.

That is to say, no one.

As the head of the Kvatch Fighter’s Guild put it, “trying to take on the roving bands of Colovia is a lost cause. I hate to say it, but leave it to the Legion, at least unless we’re getting paid.” He had less luck with people outside of the Fighter’s Guild.

“Bunch of cowards,” he grumbled, blinking in the fading light. “City should just be wiped off the map.”

Once he reached the bottom he started on the road proper, though staying to the side and low. He had gotten some armor to help him, as well as a wickedly sharp Elven dagger, but he’d prefer to strike first if he could help it.

He passed around a corner to see the light of an approaching torch, and he stayed back, peering through the darkness. The torch’s light only reached so far, and being a Khajiit, the darkness was no true hindrance to him.

He was somewhat shocked to see what was coming towards him.

“By the Gods, you’re alive?!”

Approaching on horseback was none other than the Legion soldier from earlier. She looked up startled, and made to draw her sword. He spoke quickly, saying “it’s me, the one you met earlier on the road!”

A pause. “The Khajiit?”

“Yes,” he said, moving closer. He could see she had seen better days. Her armor was dented and scarred, and he saw specks of blood here and there. As her hand moved away from her scabbard, it rested on her stomach. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Better off than the bandits from earlier,” she said bitterly. “You’re a bit late in helping, if that was your goal.”

Fang frowned, ears tilting back. “For that I apologize. I passed out on reaching Kvatch, and even after I awoke,” he glared back at the town on the hill, “well, the fine people of Kvatch enjoy their high-life.”

She laughed slightly, though stopped, holding herself tighter. “I suppose I see that. Many of the Colovian cities are like that.”

He looked at the horse she rode upon. “Is that… ?”

“Yes… it’s your horse,” she said, some resignedly. “It wandered by where I had fallen… after killing all of the outlaws… and after treating it, I rode it here. I did notice that it was not, however, a Legion Horse.”

“Aah,” he said, feeling a slight twinge of relief. “Well, I am glad. For your helping me… saving me, really… you may certainly keep the horse.”

“Thank you,” she said. “For your assistance, I’ll not look into it any further… so long as you can escort me to Kvatch, at any rate.”

“Of course!” Fang said, taking the horse’s reins and beginning to lead it. “Anything for an officer of the legion.”

“Hrrm,” she said, somewhat disbelieving. “Do keep it that way. The Legion does not look kindly upon even well-meaning bandits or thieves... and my sword can speak of how we treat the ill-meaning ones.”

He didn’t need to study her sword to know it was probably drenched in dry blood. He could smell it. “Trust me miss,” he said, glancing back. He remembered her bold charge against many foes, and the Anvil Guards that had concocted their confusing plot to root out crime, “I’m getting a very clear picture of how the law in Cyrodiil works.”

Oblivion: Outlawed

Timeline: Middle of Episode 4.

He pulled up on the reins as he came near the gray-armored guard standing in the middle of the road. She had a silver sword drawn, and didn’t look happy under that helmet.

Fang did his best to stay calm. “How can I help you ma’am?”

“Where did you get that horse?”

“This horse?” he said, patting it on the head. “Why, I got it from Anvil.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she walked over, sword still drawn. “The stables outside Anvil breed white horses. It’s what they’re famous for. So you want to try that again?”

Fang tried to fight a wince from his face. Okay, he hadn’t known that.

“It wasn’t one of their stock,” he said, shrugging. “It was a sale.”

“It looks like a horse of the Legion.”

“Well, I can’t say where they got it from,” Fang admitted.

She growled, and tapped at his leg with the sword. “Off the horse Khajiit. We’re going to have a little chat about it. And if you just bought it, I’m sure the fine people at Horse Whisperer Stables would have given you a proof of purchase.”

Fang grumbled, but began to get off the horse. Why were all the female guards in Cyrodiil so damn troublesome?

“As I said, it wasn’t one of theirs, they were just-”

“Ssh!” she said, looking to the grass and trees to the side of the road. Fang silenced, and followed her gaze. The horse shook its head, and began to trot away from them.

“What?” Fang asked, putting a hand to his own sword. “What do you-”

Arrows flew from the bushes. Fang yelped, barely bringing his shield up in time to catch one. Two more helplessly bounced off the armor of the Legionnaire, and one last one hit the horse, which let out a dreadful, painful sound as it turned and ran down the road.

Fang was tempted to join it, before he saw the guard charge into the bush, yelling “for the Emperor!”

His jaw dropped. She didn’t even know what they were up against. Another arrow slammed into his shield, which didn’t give him much time to think about fighting or fleeing. Two dogs rushed out to attack him.

Well, I’m in this whether I like it or not, it seems.

He drew his sword and slammed it into the underside of one of the dog’s jaws. It didn’t kill it, but it knocked it back, stunned. The other dog bit at his leg, teeth sinking in. Fang yelled out and slashed at the dog’s side, then slammed the edge of his shield onto its head. That got it off.

Another arrow flew out from the bush, but Fang saw where it came from this time. He stabbed his sword into the dog, provoking a pained whine, and then ran towards the tall grass. Entering it, he quickly came face to face with a red-eyed Dunmer. Moments later, he also came face to face with her iron mace, knocking him rolling back out into the road.

“Ugh… ow,” he said, holding his chin.

“If you think that hurt,” she said, stepping out onto the road, “you really won’t like this!”

She brought her mace down, and he parried with his sword, the edge of the blade scraping across her weapon’s haft. He swept his legs under her, aiming to knock her flat, but she merely stumbled. Either way it bought him time to scramble to his feet…

Just in time to see another of them bearing down on him, a Khajiit woman swinging a battle-axe.

He brought his sword up, but the axe sent it flying from his grasp with a large tear in it. Her next blow probably would’ve caused him to lose a limb if her axe wasn’t stopped mid-swing by the grasp of the legion soldier.

“Not on my watch outlaw!” she yelled before plunging her ornate silver sword into the gut of the Khajiit woman, who screamed in pain. Fang took the reprieve to swing back towards the Dunmer, slashing at her. She dodged, and then charged for her own blow. Fang ducked, and then tried tripping her again. It worked this time, and she fell flat onto her face.

He didn’t let her get up, running over and jamming his blade into the back of her neck.

“Run!” the soldier said as two more Outlaws stepped out of the bushes. “Kvatch is just up the hill! Get out of here!”

“But-”

“You’ll only slow me down!” she said, before roaring and charging at the two outlaw. Fang took a breath. She was right. He wasn’t equipped to fight this sort of fight. He grabbed what he could off the dead outlaws in a flurry, and then began to run up the hill. Arrows whizzed by him, and one planted firmly into his back. He gasped in pain, barely suppressing a yell, but kept going on.

He’d go to Kvatch, get some help, and come back… he had no love for soldiers of the Legion, especially ones wanting to peg him for horse theft. But that didn’t mean he wanted one to die either.

Oblivion: Bad Threesome

Timeline: Near the End of Episode 3.

Fang wasn’t quite sure how he got himself into this situation. The fact that the woman standing across from him, Faustina, a dark-haired beauty of an Imperial wearing a form fitting red dress, thought she had the upper hand in this situation was ridiculous.

“You… honestly expect me to take off my clothes?” he asked incredulously.

“What’s wrong?” she insisted, moving a bit closed and putting a hand to his chest. “Don’t you want to have a little…” her hand trailed downward, “fun?”

He grabbed her wrist, snarling. “Are… is everyone in this town incompetent?”

“What?” she asked, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows who you are and what you did. I have no idea how they could keep getting tricked other than… insanity or stupidity.”

She tried to pull away, but he pulled her back. His free hand went for his dagger. “No, none of that! You’re gonna take me to Gogan’s ring so I can get the reward?”

“Who?” she asked angrily.

“Gogan, snappy dresser of a Redguard. You took his wedding ring, and there’s a reward for it.”

“That thing was a fake, I threw it out! What is…” her eyes narrowed “Tsarrina was right, this was too easy! You’re working with the guards, aren’t you?”

“What?” Fang asked, genuinely confused. “What guards? Why wouldn’t I just bring them with me?! You are known thieves!”

Fang had been so focused on holding her and trying to drag her towards the door that he hadn’t kept an eye on her free hand, not until it shot upward with a wickedly curved dagger of her own. He released her wrist so he wouldn’t lose his.

As she backed away, holding her dagger at the ready, she yelled out “okay girls! We’ve got someone who doesn’t want to cooperate!”

Then, with a flash of green, she disappeared from view except for a slight shimmer. And with a loud bang, a door in the back slammed open, and two women strolled out of it. One was the Nord woman from the bar. The other was a Khajiit woman wielding a far more intimidating weapon than the other two.

He didn’t take the time to curse his luck before swiping at where he thought the Imperial woman had gone. She dodged, but he winced as he felt the invisible blade lash out at him, cutting at his shoulder. He shoved his shield forward, and then stabbed at random. He heard her cry out and saw drops of blood splash onto the ground.

The Nord woman, Signy, jumped into the fray, running across the room, jumping onto the bed, and then trying to jump on Fang. She clung onto him for a moment, trying to stab at him with her own dagger. He felt the dagger bite at him, but it kept glancing over as he tried to throw her.

“Signy, move, I can’t get at him!”

“I’ve almost got him!” she yelled, which was just insulting. Roaring, Fang threw himself backwards, slamming her into the wall. She let go of him as her lungs let go of air.

He barely had a moment to recover, the Khajiit woman growling and swinging her sword. He barely caught it with his shield, but then stumbled as the still invisible Faustina shoved him to the side.

As he regained his footing, he saw himself staring down two angry women, and at least one more that was invisible.

“Get him!” he heard Faustina yell, and a bolt of lightning shot from where she must have been, slamming into him. He stumbled backwards as it hit, but instead of feeling pain, he felt invigorated.

Bless the stars that covered my birth he thought as he flipped his dagger in his hand. He ran forward, shoulder-checking the Nord and shoving her into the Khajiit, before stabbing forward. Faustina cried out again, and flickered back into view, unable to hold the spell through the pain.

“Faustina!” the Khajiit cried out, moving Signy off of her and running over. Fang roared as the bladed drew across his back, tearing at the shirt and his skin. He ripped his dagger out of Faustina and stumbled forward, turning to block another block.

“Stay back, I’ve got this!” Signy yelled, rushing forward with her knife, shoving Tsarrina out of the way.

“Signy, no!” It was too late though, Signy was right on him. He smiled through the pain… he couldn’t miss at this range. He brought his hand up, and released a ball of fire directly at the Nord’s face. She screamed as the fire burned into her, dropping her dagger and clutching at her face.

“Signy!” Faustina yelled, stumbling over from the bed.

Fang shoved the burning Nord into the Khajiit, to get a little distance. Tsarrina tried to help Signy, while Faustina’s eyes burned at Fang. “You stupid house-cat!” she yelled, another burst of lightning ripping out of her hands.

“Didn’t work the first time!” he yelled. Tsarrina roared and charged at him again, with Faustina not far behind. He blocked Tsarrina’s sword again, and though he felt Faustina’s knife slash against his arm, the heavy fur gloves helped a little. He pushed Tsarrina back with his shield while he kicked at Faustina where he had stabbed her earlier, she crumpled backwards with a cry.

“I’ll kill you!” Tsarrina yelled, aiming for a wide blow. Leaving herself wide open, in other words. Fang came in close and slammed his head into hers, wincing at his own pain, but as she stumbled backwards dazed, it was worth it. He lunged forward, sinking his dagger into her heart. She fell off the blade coughing.

“Last chance!” he said, pointing his bloody dagger at Faustina. She looked around, both of her friends clearly dying… and then fired another bolt of lightning. “I’ll see you rot you bastard!”

She cast a healing spell, and Fang cursed. He should have thought to do that himself, but before he could she was on him, shoving him to the ground and slashing at his chest with his knife.

He cried out, but struggled to push her off, trying to keep her hand away. Both of them were bloodied, and he she cried out as his own blade glanced off her arm, cutting a ribbon off red into her skin. They both fought at each other, rolling on the ground, knives pricking at their skins, before he finally kicked her off of him. She landed hard a few feet away, but she aimed to spring back up and charge.

Fang was faster. Another ball of fire ripped out of his hands, slamming into Faustina’s gut. She cried out for a moment, clutching at her stomach, before falling to the ground, gasping.

Then the door swung open, revealing two Anvil guards… and after a moment, Fang recognized them. “You are city guards?!” he yelled.

“By the gods,” Gogan said, looking around the room.

Maelona seemed less phased. Glancing down at the whimpering Faustina, she drew a knife, leaned down, and slit her throat. She stopped whimpering. “That we are. We were following you, but lost you once you left the road.”

“Yes, we…” Gogan just looked at the carnage, shaking his head. “In Dibella’s name, we didn’t want this.”

“Well good for you!” Fang snapped, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a potion. He took the cork from the bottle and hungrily drank at the healing liquid, throwing the bottle at the ground.

“You’ve been a great help,” Maelona said evenly, and held out a small linen bag. It clinked with coins. Fang stared at in disbelief.

“That’s… it?”

“And the gratitude of the Anvil City Watch, of course.”

Fang sneered, snatching the bag from her hand. “FINE, but this? All this?” He gestured around to the three dead bodies and spatters of blood. “This is your fault. This could have been avoided if you’d done your damn job.”

She frowned. “The situation dictated that-”

“Whatever,” he said, reaching down and taking the elven dagger Faustina had been using. He could see Gogan start to protest, but Maelona silenced him. Good, Fang thought. He was gonna milk this situation for every penny it was worth… he’d earned that much, by the Gods. And with the money and gear he would get from here, he could get out of this crazy town.

Oblivion: Rise and Shine

Timeline: At the beginning of Episode 2. Easily watched before or after.

            “Nnngh…” his hand moved to his eyes, shielding from the sudden brightness that came to him.

            “Up now!” came an authoritative voice from above him. “Sun is long up, Khajiit, and we don’t let the beggars spend their days regretting the night before.”

            Fang grumbled, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry miss,” he growled, putting a hand to his head, “and not so loud, will you?”

            “Just get off your duff,” she said again. “No one’s complained yet, and I’d rather deal with it before they do. We’ve got enough beggars in Anvil.”

            Grumbling, Fang picked himself off the ground. He barely remembered coming out here… some sort of brawl at the bar with an uppity Bosmer… bartenders kicked him out… he stumbled around drunk…

            “Not a beggar,” Fang said defensively, brushing himself off. “Just drunk.”

            “Sure thing,” she said, crossing her arms.

            Fang growled, but didn’t posture too much against her. She may have been a human woman, but she was also a member of the city guard; he didn’t need to feel the blade to know it was sharp.

            “I mean it,” he said, trying to blink away sleep and hangover as best he could. “I arrived on the Floating Log last night. Just… well, had too much fun, I guess.”

            She smirked. “That’ll happen on the Docks. Still, your words won’t hold much water if I catch you sleeping on the ground again, Khajiit.”

            “Yeah yeah,” Fang grumbled, checking his pockets. He had maybe twenty coins. That might be enough money for an inn… for maybe one or two nights. Still…

            He glanced up at the guard. “You’ve got a Fighter’s Guild in town, yes?”

            She cocked an eyebrow, and nodded towards the buildings he’d been sleeping behind. “Yes, over on the square. Azzan runs a training center. Why?”

            He’d grumble. “Looking for work, and heard they were hiring.”

            He glared as she visibly glanced over him. He knew he wasn’t much to look at; he had a ratty old vest, some ill-fitting pants, and a pair of worn out moccasins on his feet. On his side he had a dagger hanging from a belt made of a knotted strand of rope.

            “I’m, um, are you sure that’s the best idea, sir?”

            “I’m not inept,” Fang snapped, running his fingers through his mane. “I’m hoping maybe I can get some gear on loan, work it off or something.”

            “I doubt it,” she said, and he thought he heard some sadness in her voice, “I mean, they used to do that, but there was a string of thefts, so Azzan tightened up regulations. You have to prove yourself with what’s on your back.”

            He grunted. “We’ll see about that,” he said angrily, and nodded at her. “Thank you for your… assistance, m’lady.”

            Fang sighed as he walked away, leaning on a wooden gate for a moment before opening it and stepping past, keeping a hand to his head as he walked. The guard watched him for a moment, before rolling her shoulders slightly and beginning to walk out. “Hmm… should tell Maelona about that one,” she mused to herself, heading towards the western edge of town.

Oblivion: Outbound Shipping

Timeline: The following takes place before Episode 1.

            They had a saying. Vaba Maaszi Lhajiito. It Is Necessary to Run Away.

            He didn’t know how right they were until now.

            “Name?” the man asked across the desk, filling out the paperwork.

            “My name?” He hesitated.

The swarthy Imperial across from him cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, your name. This should be the easiest question I ask you.”

“Ah, Fang. My name is Fang.” He supposed that would do. Maybe this guy wouldn’t know of Ja’Dango of Senchal. But better to cover his tracks as best as possible.

“Uh-huh” the Imperial said, scribbling on the paper. “Not really much of a Khajiit name.”

Fang’s ears pinned back against his head, and suppressing a growl, he reached into his coinpurse and dropped a few more golden septims on the table.

The Imperial glanced at them for a moment, and then smiled. “Alright Fang,” he said, palming the gold. “You work on a ship before?”

Another moment of hesitation, but he figured this would actually help him if he was honest. “Yes, I have. Might not be cut for the navy, but I know what needs doing.”

“Alright… and do you have a line of work?” he asked.

“Is that important?” Fang asked in exasperation. The Imperial just tapped the piece of paper. Fang sighed. “I guess my last job was a bodyguard to an alchemist in town. Bosmer by the name of Berengot. Before that I was a fisherman.” Half of that was a lie.

“If I send a man to find this Berengot, could he confirm this?”

Fang nodded. The man studied for a moment, but then scribbled down more information on the paper.

“Alright Khajiit. I’ll have to review this with Captain Fol, but you check out to get on the Floating Log by my book.”

“Good!” Fang said, perhaps too excitedly.

“Yeah yeah. Again, Captain may disagree. Be here at sun-up, and be ready to set sail. We’ll be hitting Falinesti and Anvil… where’d you want off again?”

“Anvil, if you’ll take me,” Fang said, hoping he didn’t sound too pathetic.

The man just nodded and then waved his hand, dismissing Fang. He walked out, back into the harsh, bright light of Elseweyr. He took a deep breath of the sea air, glancing up at the gulls circling above the docks.

By this time tomorrow, if all went well, he’d be long gone from Elseweyr, and within a couple of days he’d be free to start a new life in Cyrodiil. Sure, it had cost him almost everything he had made guarding that fetid little drug dealer, Berengot, but at least he’d be gone from it all. He wasn’t sure what he’d do next once he went to Anvil, but… once he got some cash, he was pretty sure he’d aim for the Imperial City. Or maybe he’d check out the arena of Kvatch, which a more worldly uncle of his had explained in great detail before.

Either way, he’d be out of Elseweyr, and far away from any and all of the troubles that followed him here.