Here it is, after two hours and nearly losing it when the memory randomly wiped! Without further ado, I hope you like it:
The group sat, gathered around the campfire situated in the pine forest of the Pale, attempting to keep the cold at bay. It was an unlikely band of brothers that night: a skilled mercenary, a corrupt yet warm guard, a grizzled assassin and quite curiously, the Master of Coin of Skyrim. Despite the all the killers differences, they were all united in one thing. Each one was currently employed by the same man, Lord Pinarus Baenius, Master of Coin.
Many had tried, although none had succeeded, in attempting to truly understand the machinations of Lord Baenius. He was a short man of slender build, with handsome features, Pinarus had gray-green eyes, a small pointed beard on his chin, and threads of grey running throughout his dark hair. At first glance, you would never believe he was much of a fighter. That you would make you right. Most intellectual people tend to treat Pinarus with distrust, and this, is quite possibly the wisest thing they will ever do. However trust means nothing to a Sellsword like the aforementioned men, money was the only thing they respected. Coincidentally, money was one thing Lord Baenius had.
"Always keep your foes confused. If they are never certain who you are or what you want, they cannot know what you are likely to do next. Sometimes the best way to baffle them is to make moves that have no purpose, or even seem to work against you." A master Machiavellian was Pinarus Baenius. People often made the mistake of underestimating him and woe to those who do.
Laughter filled the cold camp as the mercenary finished a rather pathetic joke. Everything seems to be funny when you're drunk, Pinarus noted. Of course, he was not drunk and he was not laughing, but the others were. Then, he looked up from the fire to see the assassin looking at him. The assassin was clad in tight leather, he was a Dark Elf, an ex-Morag Tong member with red eyes and short black hair. The Dumner spoke, his voice ever so slightly slurred and surprisingly jovial for his kind "So then... My Lord." He mock bowed and they laughed drunkenly "You've heard all our stories. We'd like to hear your life story now. How did you, a low born like us, rise so high with such callous disregard for honour?"
For a brief moment, there was silence. The ex-Morag Tong feared he had overstepped his boundaries but was disproven by a reply from his employer "So, you want to hear my story?" The question was evidently rhetorical yet his tone was not forbidding "Well then. My story began in a small village in the land of High Rock, home of the Bretons. At the age of eight, I was fostered to a wealthy family in Windhelm. Oh they were quite nice to me, treated me like a son in fact! They had a daughter named Sottilde, beautiful, intelligent, impeccable blood lines. After a time, I began to love her." He paused for a moment and closed his eyes, then spoke again, softer this time "When we were seventeen, she was wed to a man of another wealthy family. So I challenged the brute to a duel. I mean, why not? I'd read all the stories about the little hero defeating the big scary villain, I wasn't afraid. Before the battle I begged Sottilde for her favour but alas. She gave it to her thug of a groom."
There was another short pause as the events flooded back to him, his face contorting in a mixture of long suppressed emotions. Anger and love. When paired is there anything worse? Lord Baenius continued his story, his voice growing more bitter "The duel was rather long. But only because I refused to yield, even after I was wounded multiple times. When he had me cornered, he stabbed me in the chest and slashed up from my navel to my collarbone. He gave me a lovely scar. As I lay bleeding on the floor, the ruffian about to finish me, I began to accept that I had lost, but I at least was happy that I died for my love." He clenched his fist as his gaze passed to each of his underlings, the tone of his voice was now frightening "In the end she didn't even let him kill me!" Then rather suddenly, he snapped back to normal as he regained his composure, the tone calm once more.
"I passed out and that was the last I saw of either of them. Boy got himself killed, joined the Stormcloaks and got captured. I personally oversaw his torture and subsequent execution, I believe I got my vindication. I resolved to be stronger before that however, I was appointed the equivalent of my current position in Whiterun. In a few years Whiterun was the most wealthy city, I the most wealthy man. The High King personally asked for me to be Master of Coin and offered me a lordship. The rest is common knowledge. But I am the Mockingbird now. I hear everything, with so many songs to sing."
Upon the last sentence, he rose from the ground and outstretched his arms in a grandiose manner. After he had finished there was a long period of stunned silence, the men all seemed quite frightened of their employer now. All except the Dunmer. Noticing this he said "Ah, good! You're not as easily scared like these fools. Kill them both and then catch up to me. It's a long way to Markarth." He began to walk away before finishing "And remember. Should you tell anyone my story, you will suffer the same fate as the men you are about to kill. Farewell my mercenary, my guard. I don't like bad investments you see, and you two... Were bad investments. I don't know who hired you to spy on me but they won't be getting any more information. Cheerio." With that, he mounted his white horse, Shadow, and began to ride away.
I'll get a post up before I leave for work.
