The Gift of Mortality
Unknown
Kargenath loved to watch as people passed in front of his shop in the central market. Some traveled absorbed in thought, some strolling nonchalantly along with eyes surveying the magnificent pillars or the fire-dancers performing in the market's center, and others plodding in the drudgery of eternal routine. He observed them from behind rows and stacks of odds and ends, goods ranging from piles of parchment and quills to prominently displayed enchanted daggers and suits of armor. No one ever seemed to notice him, the only blessing of his seemingly diminutive features.
Kargenath worked as a store-clerk for a wealthy merchant named Ank'Nemuth, a Dwemer who had gained a reputation as one of the most ruthless and audacious investors in the region. He owned a series of stores throughout the city and in one of its neighbors, as well as a number of small operations of questionable legality outside the range of most patrols. Rumor had it that Ank'Nemuth was responsible for the rise in crime inside the cities, but no one had yet been foolish enough to dare pose the question in the public forum. Kargenath was content to sit and watch from his store, content to wait and see whether or not anything would, or could, ever change in this city.
A small, shadowy figure ran down a deserted, old corridor. Two larger shades followed closely, gaining on the frontrunner; the prey turned back for a moment, revealing a beautiful oval face contorted in fear and desperation, and as she turned, and her foot caught on a bit of broken piping; she stumbled and fell hard against the bland, stone ground, a trickle of blood coming from her bare foot. She tried to scramble to her feet, but it was too late; her pursuers had caught up, and one of them hit her viciously in the lower right side of her back. She staggered and coughed wetly, collapsing against the corridor's rough wall. Before she could right herself, they were upon her; there was no escape.
Kargenath decided not to take his usual route to work that morning. Certainly, the detour would add several extra minutes to his commute, but it was worth the trouble to take in a different view of the city every now and again. He decided that he would walk through the slums today; even in deep squalor, you could find beauty if you were to look. As he walked, Kargenath saw a few kindnesses even here: a shopkeeper slyly slipped a bit of food to an urchin, two lovers kissed as they parted ways, and even a makeshift little hovel seemed handsome. Scenes like this amid such poverty warmed his heart.
Sacrificing his schedule, Kargenath elected to take a look around a bit longer, traveling into the back alleys. His path took him for a short distance into a part of the city which had seen long disuse, a place shied from even by the strays. However, as he turned one last corner, he felt his stomach turn.
He fell to his knees and wretched, wretched until long after his stomach was empty. He knew that all living creatures could die and had heard of murders, rare as they were. But to be confronted with something like this, something so heinous... Kargenath could tell it was a girl's body; her limp form lay sprawled horribly against the wall. Small pieces of broken pipes protruded from her body and stretched out like dreadful fingers pulling her inward. A dark brown and blue ring collared her throat, and there was a blood stain on her skirt; her murderer had spared her from no cruelty.
But when his horror had passed, his intrigue followed. Who was this girl? What had she done to deserve such a fate? He moved closer and looked over her corpse; judging by her wounds, her assailant, or assailants, had been right-handed. There was heavy bruising on the left side of what could at one time have been a gorgeous face.
For a moment, he saw something strange, something he had never expected to see here… Beauty. In her death, there was something sickly divine. How many Dwemer died before their time? How many had been willing to make such sacrifice, intentionally or otherwise? Most lived veiled behind steam and machines and invention, hardly taking the time to live. Even amid all of her pain, all her wounds, perhaps she felt... joy. Ecstasy. Bliss. No older than thirty-five, and she'd escaped the confines of her mortal form already.
Kargenath, shuddering from his thoughts, reached out and closed her ghastly eyes. As he pulled down her lids, however, Kargenath jumped as two tiny metal objects fell and clanged against the ground. He picked them up cautiously and brought them to his face; two intricately carved ‘A’s lay in his palm.
Ank'Nemuth sat in a large chair behind a long, metal desk, drumming his sleek, gold-ringed fingers over the table. His face was long and sharp, and his nose thin as a blade. He was dark-skinned and his long, dark hair fell in a majestic swath around his face. He wore long, flowing garments which concealed a number of trinkets about his body, including an ebony amulet glowing with magic and a long, thin dagger with exquisite etchings running the length of the curved handle and runes inscribed along both sides of the serrated blade.
An attendant scurried quietly into the room, a piece of parchment clutched in his nervous hand. He knelt and handed it to Ank'Nemuth, who took it and dismissively waved the Mer away with a slide of his hand. As he finished reading, he chuckled and folded the paper – he couldn't believe that they'd bothered to sign in her blood.
Rumors of the girl's murder spread about the city like a plague, each retelling becoming wilder and wilder as the narrator sought to please his audience. Kargenath knew, though, that no story could compare to what he had seen, and he never bothered to listen when someone started up. He left each gathering with a jingle in his pocket, the twin ‘A’s rattling quietly.
Most thought that Ank'Nemuth was responsible for the murder, and they were probably correct in that guess; as usual, no one said anything publicly, but the fact that someone had turned up dead, and killed so brutally, within the confines of the city was troubling. Compared with the relative lawlessness of the barbarian villages nearby, the city was traditionally a bastion of civility. The officials had cordoned off the murder scene, and a number of centurions guarded the site from curious eyes.
Nothing would come of it, though. The city's denizens would forget, the city officials would be bought off – Ank'Nemuth controlled too much of the commerce in the city to actually be punished. He had donated large sums of money in both public and private manners, and he knew well enough that he was safe almost regardless of the crime.
Still, Kargenath could not slough away the image of that girl's contorted body, that look of muted desperation engraved into her last moments, the ruthlessness of her murder. It was not pity that he felt, though. In fact, his feelings could not have been any different – Kargenath envied the dead girl.
The Tinkerer looked up momentarily as Kargenath entered his workshop for the second time that day and then returned his attention to the trinkets before him. Of course they belonged to Ank’Nemuth; no one else in the city could afford such delicate craftsmanship. They had been imbued with a modified paralysis spell that essentially embalmed the corpse on which they had been placed, disallowing the face or muscles to slacken. She would look exactly as she had in her final moments when the funeral rites were performed. The spell masked the true time of death, and it seemed to work only on the flesh of the deceased. The Tinkerer told these things to Kargenath and took his payment, and Kargenath left with the A’s back in his pocket.
Ank’Nemuth thought it odd that Kargenath would seek an audience with him. He had sent a messenger to speak with the Mer about his recent extended absences from work. But there was no harm in letting Kargenath come and meet with him.
A knock came at the heavy, metal door and Ank’Nemuth motioned for his attendant to greet his visitor; Kargenath was accompanied by one of the household guards, who marched inside and took his position near the room’s exit as the guest approached Ank’Nemuth’s long desk. He didn’t offer Kargenath a chair – he knew it was better to maintain an air of superiority when dealing with subordinates. Ank’Nemuth’s visitor wore a long, grimy, gray cloak, a stained tan tunic, a pair of baggy, black pants, and a pair of dirty workman’s gloves. There were dark circles underneath his eyes and his hair was a mess – obvious sweat - stains marred his cheeks. He did not meet Ank’Nemuth’s gaze. Couldn’t even be bothered to clean himself up to make an appearance before his master? Ank’Nemuth thought with mild disgust.
“So, what is the purpose of this visit, Kargenath? And why have you been absent from your station? Explain yourself.†The last note had an ominous edge to it. Kargenath stood silent.
He moved no muscle save his jaw when he finally responded. “I don’t know.â€Â
Ank’Nemuth waited for several seconds, seeing if Kargenath would continue, but he did not. A wave of rage contorted his face. “Insolent beast! I should kill you here and now for such disrespect. Have you forgotten who I am? I–â€Â
“Kill me,†Kargenath interrupted. Ank’Nemuth choked on his words. “Go ahead. I don’t care.â€Â
Ank’Nemuth’s rage seemed to be on the verge of erupting right through his flesh. His fist clenched so tightly on the arm of his chair that he could have torn it off. Then he sat back, took a deep breath, and said, “No... No. If you die, it shall only be by accident.†Ank’Nemuth smiled and the guard knew the cue. He began to approach Kargenath from behind.
Kargenath, however, didn’t notice – he was muttering ferociously. Just as the guard came within reach to take him by the arm, however, he looked directly at Ank’Nemuth and in a low, steady voice said, “Share this with me, will you?†A long, thin line of light began to take shape near Kargenath’s right hand, and the guard stepped backwards in surprise. The light condensed and took the shape of a blade, and Kargenath took hold of it. In an instant, the guard was deprived of his head and the visitor was approaching Ank’Nemuth’s desk.
Ank’Nemuth staggered backwards in horror – not from the shock of having seen his guard decapitated, not from his own impending death, but from the terrible look in his killer’s face. He cornered himself against two walls, wordless. “Yes, just like that,†Kargenath whispered...
The Gift of Mortality [Ready for BoT]
Moderators: Haplo, Lead Developers
