The Embassy I

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    There are many types of thieves. There are those who steal gold and those who steal children. There are those who steal trinkets and those who steal fortunes. And then there are those who steal lives… – From the diary of Loki Dar’Renrij

    “The Thalmor have something to do with dragons returning, I just know it!” the Dunmer standing across from me shouted, slamming her hands on the table between us.

    I winced, and my ears fell flat against my head at how loud she got. “No need to yell, Delphine,” I murmured. My tail twitched. “We hate the Thalmor just as much as you, if not more.” I knew I hated them more.

    “Aye, they tried to wipe Talos from Skryim,” my companion, a red-haired Nord by the name of Frey, said. His newly forged greatsword was strapped to his back.

    I grunted in agreement, although Talos wasn’t all that important to me. Rajhin, Baan Dar, and Alkosh were my gods. No, the Thalmor had taken something far more personal to me.

    Delphine grimaced. “We need to find out what they know. I have a friend who can get you into the Embassy. The First Emissary is holding a party next month.”

    “So what’s our story?” I asked.

    “Frey will be a nobleman. After he gets a distraction going, he’ll sneak into the Embassy and steal the Thalmors’ information,” Delphine said matter of factly.

    Frey and I looked at each other. He raised his eyebrow, and we both cracked up with laughter.

    Delphine looked at us, puzzled. “What’s so funny?”

    “Frey, a thief? That’s like trying to teach Merrunz to be careful,” I choked out between laughs.

    “Aye, or Arngeir to be less prudish!” Frey laughed. I snorted.

    “The Thalmor won’t exactly like having a Khajiit at the Embassy party,” Delphine said, completely serious.

    I stood up straight, wiping the grin off my face. In my full Elsweyr accent, I said, “This one is the Commander of the Dar’Jo Rebellion, Dunmer. This one is the son of Lok’nir Ri’Dar, Lord of the Mane’s Chosen, and Anarkis Jo’Khaj, Lady of the Tenmar Forest. This one is the Champion of Sheggorath and Merrunz. This one is Dovahsos and Ziitafiir.” I leaned in close, dropping the Elsweyr accent in exchange for a deadly low voice. “I am far more powerful than you will ever know, Dunmer. Never forget that.”

    Delphine paled, turning a lighter shade of grey. I grinned, reverting to my usual self.

    “Now, when is this party? I need to ask Ri’saad for some clothes.”

    “I… I will provide party clothes.”

    I shook my head, my grin still on my face. “Sorry, Delphine, but you don’t know what a real Khajiit rabi looks like.”

    “You do know how scary you got there, Loki?”

    “Mhm. That was the point, Frey,” I said, elbowing my Nordic friend. “Now, I’m going to be talking to Ri’saad in Ta’agra. Go talk with the Companions if you’re bored.”

    We walked up to the gate of Whiterun. Ri’saad’s caravan was parked outside the city.

    “Greetings, Ri’saad!” I called in Ta’agra. “How are you?”

    “This one is well, Dar’Renrij. Business has been good. What can this one do for you?”

    I grinned. “This one needs a lord’s rabi with a very specific sigil.”

    “A true rabi is very hard to find in Skyrim. What use have you for it?”

    “With luck, Rajhin will smile upon this one’s efforts. Without luck, may Baan Dar grant this one the cleverness to escape.”

    Ri’saad nodded. “And what sigil?”

    I stood up straighter, making my slight stature less noticeable. “A black arrow pointed down on a white magic burst.”

    The older Khajiit stared at me. “The Dar’Jo Rebellion.”

    I nodded but did not elaborate.

    Ri’saad sat in silence for a moment. “Very well, Dar’Renrij. Or, perhaps, this one should call you by another name?”

    I cocked my brow. “This one needs this rabi in a week, Ri’saad. The why is not important. This one will pay double whatever price you want.”

    “Agreed, Dar’Renrij.” Ri’saad was a businessman first, a collector of secrets second.

    “If this is successful, I will tell you all about it. I promise, Ri’saad,” I added in Tamriellic.

    The elderly Khajiit smiled. “May your roads lead you to warm sands,” he said, the traditional Khajiit farewell.

    “And may the winds guide you home,” I said in reply, the farewell of the Dar’Jo Rebellion.

    A carriage bumped its way along the road to the Thalmor Embassy. My rabi was hidden under a fur cloak. A Khajiit wearing fur. Frey laughed about it for half the trip.

    Frey sat across from me, brooding more and more as we approached the Embassy. He wore only his steel armor and his greatsword. My equipment was already hidden in the Embassy, waiting for me to take it and do my job.

    The carriage rode up to the entrance.

    The Thalmor soldier at the entrance examined my invitation, looking for anything wrong. He clearly did not expect a Khajiit, much less a Khajiit lord. He grunted and let me in.

    Frey, my ‘bodyguard’ for this trip, was not allowed in. I looked back at him.

    “I will be fine, my lord. You’ll be safe enough.” The code words for “I’ll meet you ’round the back.”

    I nodded.

    Inside the Embassy, I removed my cloak, shaking the snow out of it before handing it to one of the Thalmors’ servants.

    “I don’t recall inviting you,” a cold voice said. “I do not remember any Khajiit with that sigil.”

    “Lady Elenwen, this one presumes,” I said, bowing slightly in false deference to the First Emissary. My full Elsweyr accent was at work, recalling an image of warm sands and harsh winds.

    “You presume correctly, Khajiit.” The Altmer woman was tall and gold. She also smelled sickeningly familiar. The scent reminded me of blood and rope.

    “Forgive this one, for this one forgot to introduce himself,” I said, maintaining a cool, respectful facade while bristling on the inside. I knew this Elenwen. “This one is Lok’nir Sol’Dar, Lord of the Mane’s Chosen, son of Lok’nir Ri’Dar, Lord of the Mane’s Chosen, and Anarkis Jo’Khaj, Lady of the Tenmar Forest.” I chose to use my true name rather than the one I took for myself, because I hadn’t used the name at all in Skyrim.

    “Ah, yes, the young son of Lord Ri’Dar. Whatever happened to that old cat?” She clearly did not care and was only going through the formalities.

    I smiled. My smile held none of my usual mirth. I gave the Altmer a lie. “This one is surprised you don’t remember. He and this one’s mother unfortunately perished years ago in an accident.” As another guest walked in, I walked away and got a glass of wine from Malborn at the bar. I would have preferred mead.

    I noticed a Redguard just sitting on a bench. I grabbed a second glass of wine and handed it to him. “Greetings.”

    “Hah, I like you already, cat!” the Redguard grinned, taking the glass merrily. “What can Razelan do for you?” He downed the glass in one gulp. I handed him my own glass.

    “This one is Loki,” I said, using my preferred name while keeping the Elsweyr accent. “How about making a distraction for this one?”

    “Ah, you don’t particularly care for these golden bastards either, eh? Buy me another drink and I’ll happily say yes.”

    I grabbed him a full bottle of wine from Malborn the Bosmer and poured Razelan a glass before handing him the bottle. He drank straight from the bottle.

    “Ah, that hits the spot. Many thanks, friend. You’ve earned yourself a distraction.” The Redguard stood up and started addressing the crowd. I slipped away and followed Malborn into a back room.

    “All of your things are in this trunk,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to the party.” The Bosmer departed, locking the door behind him.

    I slipped out of my lordly rabi and into the armor I’d had sent ahead. Siligonder chitin and cloth fashioned into a harden yet flexible curiass. Along the bottom was a red cloth emblazoned with a white magic burst and a black arrow. The armor of the Dar’Jo Rebellion.

    Rajhin guide me, Alkosh protect me, Baan Dar save me.

    The rabi went into my sack. I didn’t often wear nice clothes, preferring simple miner’s garb. This set, however, was special, a reminder of what I’d left behind in Elsweyr.

    I buckled the last strap on my armor and slung my steel arrows across my back. I tied my swordbelt to my waist, made sure my dagger and sword were secure, and grabbed my bow.

    My bow wasn’t much special from the look of it. A wooden longbow with silver inlaid in various designs that came from my Dagi mother. The silver was long tarnished and the wood worn. The bow itself, however, was made from my mother’s own magic. No matter how much I used it, it still works just as if it’s a perfectly worn bow with the exact amount of pull I needed.

    The frost and paralysis spell enchanted onto it also helped.

    I grinned in excitement and pulled my hood up. Time to make my parents proud.

    by Akitcougar

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