[Story] The Forgotten Diamond

RavingArmy

Prelude: Davon's Watch

Sadro Llereth scrutinized the blade in his hands carefully, looking for the slightest flaw. He'd demanded the best work from his new hire, a sword fit for an officer of House Indoril. Not necessarily a high ranking officer, to be sure, but one who'd had the gold to order the commission. The sinuous shape of the blade looked as graceful as anything Sadro had seen from the best smiths in Morrowind. The fact this smith wasn't Dunmer only made the accomplishment even more impressive. Testing the edge, his carmine eyes flicked over to his new assistant.

"I am deeply impressed, Tacitus," he said in a soft tenor. "Curves are just right. Balance is right where it should be. And it's sharp enough to shave a Nord's back in one pass."

The Imperial smiled thinly back at Sadro. "You did ask for my best work. I couldn't deliver something less than that, now could I?"

Slipping the blade into its scabbard, Sadro gave a wistful sigh. "I almost wish you had. Now I feel bad for letting such a fine blade go to such a minor officer."

"I'm sure you'll find the will to carry on," replied Tacitus dryly.

"Hopefully so. Once I make this delivery, why don't we celebrate at the cornerclub? I'll foot the bill."

Tacitus grinned back. "Not afraid I'll drink up all the profits?"

"Well, if you do, then I'll just have to make you forge me blades better than this one." Sadro pulled a cloak around his shoulders and tucked the sword under one arm. "I'll see you at the cornerclub in a couple of hours. Be sure to clean up while I'm gone."

"Of course," Tacitus said with a small bow, then turned his attention towards organizing the workbench.

* * *

"Are you two going to drink till dawn?" complained Breylna Sadri. "I'd like to get some sleep at some point, you know."

"We're just pacing ourselves," Sadro said soothingly, a mug of sujamma next to his right hand. "I'm probably going to make this my last cup of the night. This one," he said, gesturing to Tacitus, "I don't know. He's been downing flin all night and I don't think he's even the slightest bit tipsy."

"Last round for me, Breylna," said Tacitus. "Like you, I should really think about getting some sleep."

"Be quick about it, then." Sniffing in disdain, she made her way back towards the bar and tried to roust a passed out Argonian. Tacitus and Sadro exchanged grins, then clinked their cups together. Taking a gulp of sujamma, Sadro frowned in thought.

"Can I ask you a question?" he said slowly, as if testing the strength of a tree limb.

"Questions can always be asked, but not always answered."

A ghost of a smile flicked across Sadro's lips. "What are you doing here, Tacitus Meridius?"

"Drinking with my new employer," Tacitus answered breezily.

"That's not what I mean, swit, and you know it. I mean, what are you doing here in Morrowind? In Davon's Watch?"

Tacitus sipped his flin slowly. "As opposed to Anvil or Cheydinhal?" He took a deep breath, exhaling very slowly, then sipped his flin again. "I can't go back, Sadro. I went off to fight the Akaviri, even learned how to fight like them, and all the while Cyrodiil was being swallowed whole. I fled Anvil a year ago. Bloody Worm Cult fanatics were looking for anybody who'd survived the Akaviri War. Couldn't leave by the sea. Had to go cross-country. The Eight only know how I managed to get to Falkreath without being murdered."

"You fought in the Akaviri War? But Cyrodiil had no stake in it, they deployed no troops!"

A feral grin flashed on Tacitus' face. "I wasn't always a blacksmith, Sadro. I learned how to swing swords long before I learned how to make them. Admittedly, I probably could have negotiated better rates if I'd been officially representing the Fighter's Guild, but I didn't. Probably cost me some coin in the long run."

Sadro stared down into his cup. "I . . .heard stories from some of the refugees that got out of Cheydinhal a few months back. They were pretty grim."

"I don't doubt they were. It was grim when I was making my own escape. But to answer your question, I'm not here because I fled. I didn't come here because it was any safer or even more familiar. I didn't come because I have any great love for the Ebonheart Pact."

"Then why?" asked Sadro plaintatively.

Slowly, Tacitus drained the cup, his gray eyes looking for all the world like polished chips of the finest Imperial steel. "Because my home is in danger. Because my countrymen and my family down to the most distant cousin face extermination, no matter which side ultimately prevails." Thick callused hands clenched the cup tightly as Tacitus continued in a voice that seemed to echo like iron on an anvil. "I'm not fighting the Pact's war, Sadro. I'm fighting my war. It's my home under threat and I will have it back."

"So why work at my smithy?" Sadro asked, shuddering as Tacitus smiled wolfishly.

"I still need to eat. And I need to perfect my craftsmanship. I don't care if Molag Bal plants himself on the top of the White-Gold Tower and proclaims himself the Eternal Emperor of Nirn. Because the moment he shows his face, I aim to send him back to Coldharbour gelded and in agony. And he will know it was my steel that cut him, that it was my blade which made him shriek loud enough to attract the attention of the Eight." Tacitus' smile softened as he let go of the cup. "It's going to be a long war. Plenty of time to make the perfect weapon. But I will end it, Sadro. Make no mistake about that." Standing up, Tacitus tossed a few coins on the table. "For Breylna's trouble. I'll probably be in around midday or so. Sleep well, Sadro."

As he walked out into the street, Tacitus reached up and rubbed his chest, feeling the scar underneath his tunic, hearing the words of the Worm Cultist who'd almost killed him echoing in his ears once again. "Coldharbour calls, and Nirn obeys," he murmured. "But not me."

Omgzzwtf

Good story, can't wait to read more! I don't do very good dialogue, mostly scene description and if I try to make my characters interact, it usually turns out pretty clunky. I think I'll take some inspiration from you next time I try to incorporate witty banter. Truly amazing work you have here, I envy your ability!

RavingArmy

@Omgzzwtf‌
Thanks for the comment. Dialogue is one of those things that feels a lot harder to do than it ought to. The one thing I try to do when writing dialogue is remember that it's a conversation between two people. If somebody's making a snappy one liner, it's because the character is trying to make the other guy laugh (or trying to deflect attention). It should be a natural expression, not an attempt to get a laugh from the reader.

RavingArmy

Author's Note: A note of thanks to Writer for the concept of using the "spoiler" tag to cut down on large blocks of text showing all at once. It makes for much easier thread management.

Chapter 1: A Matter of Honor
Sadro's arms were crossed tightly against his chest as he heard the Ordinators speak. He could hear the anger and the disgust in their voices as they explained their purpose for being at his forge. Strangely, he felt some anger of his own, though not at the same target as the Ordinators.

"Let me see if I'm understanding this correctly," he said slowly. "Two of your brothers were beating an Argonian just outside the city limits. While doing so, both of them were in turn beaten very badly by one Imperial, who you believe is my assistant. And you want me to tell you how to find him, presumably so that he can receive a similar treatment."

"It's your duty," growled one of the Ordinators.

"Somehow, I think you're not properly using that term. What did this Argonian actually do to warrant being beaten by your brothers?"

"That is no concern of yours," the other Ordinator replied hotly.

"I must disagree with you." Sadro casually walked over to a rack of weapons which he used to display his latest works, then selected a maul and inspected the head closely. "If it was my assistant, then he very likely had cause to intervene. He has a very sensitive spot for those in trouble, particularly when they're being mistreated by authority. And from what he's told me, he spent a lot of time around Argonians during the Akaviri War." He smiled thinly over at the Ordinators over the top of the maul head. "You did know he was a veteran, didn't you? Rather decorated, too. I took the trouble to verify his story."

The Ordinators looked over at each other. Sadro considered it a pity he couldn't really see their expressions under their helms, but he had a pretty good imagination, and he could almost smell the nervous sweat. There were very few survivors of the Akaviri War who weren't Dunmer. Hearing that they might have been dealing with one would make anybody nervous. And part of them had to be wondering if Sadro was one of their quarry's partisans. Particularly if that same possible partisan was now holding a very large maul in his hands.

"I must confess to not knowing where Tacitus Meridius is currently. My understanding was that he'd taken a contract with the Fighter's Guild to clear out some nix-hounds that'd overrun a farm not too far from here. I'm sure he'll back eventually." Sadro hefted the maul and took an experimental swing or two. "Was there any special message that I should relay to him?" he asked politely.

Stepping back nervously, the Ordinators shook their heads. "Just have him come by the barracks when it's convenient for him," one of them said lamely. The pair turned and walked away briskly, leaving Sadro to chuckle in their wake.

* * *

"I'm sorry if I caused any trouble for you," Tacitus said contritely as he took a bite of kwama quiche. "They didn't try to start anything, did they?

"No, though they were starting to think about it. I think mentioning your service in the Akaviri War probably put that process in check." Taking a drink of water, Sadro leaned back in his chair. "What did prompt you to mix it up with the Ordinators?"

"I was just past the city gates and I happened to see the Ordinators starting to roust the Argonian. Golden-Hands, he's called, or so he told me after the fight. He was just another merchant, trying to get by, selling jewelry. And it is good work, by the way. I'd hire him if you ever need any inlays done."

"You didn't kill them, did you?"

Tacitus shook his head and laughed. "No, I didn't. But I didn't exactly spare their dignity either. I made it clear to them that they're to leave people alone if they're not actively committing a crime. They didn't quite like that, but I made it clear to them that I'd be watching for them. And the next time wouldn't leave them with just bruises."

Raising an eyebrow, Sadro scowled at Tacitus. "You're not talking about killing them, I hope."

"Not the next time, no. But a third time, then I might just have to, if only because stupidity of that degree demands its immediate removal before it can be bred out into the world." Tacitus took another bite of quiche, then looked up as a massive Nord entered the cornerclub. He wore the uniform of the Ebonheart Pact and he seemed to be scanning the room. Tacitus stood up and grinned, gesturing to the Nord. "Hrolfgir! Come over here, you hairy son of a fishwife!"

The Nord turned his head and grinned back, striding over to the table and throwing arms that looked as thick as dock pilings around Tacitus. Sadro was surprised as Tacitus was lifted up half a foot from the floor. "Tacitus! It's very good to see you, old friend!" Setting Tacitus down, Hrolfgir's grin faded slightly. "Though I do wish it was under better circumstances." The Nord paused, seeing Sadro for the first time. "Who's your friend?"

"My semi-regular employer, actually. Sadro Llereth, this walking pile of mammoth flesh is Hrolfgir Wave-born, an old comrade from the war. Hrolfgir, Sadro Llereth, one of the best smiths in Davon's Watch, and probably this particular stretch of Morrowind."

"An honor and a pleasure," Hrolfgir said, extending a hand. Sadro shook it, amazed that his own hand disappeared into the Nord's grip so completely. "I'm sorry if I've interrupted your meal, but I'm afraid I'm here on official business and I need to bring your assistant with me."

"This is about that fight, isn't it?" sighed Tacitus. "I'm a little surprised they sent you. I half expected a dozen Ordinators with drawn swords."

"It almost turned out like that," Hrolfgir said in a deadly serious tone. "But I went around their commander and talked Athyn Morvayn, the Pact commander for Davon's Watch. You'd like him. He was there at the final battle like we were. And he understands completely why you did what you did. A pity he can't beat that into the head of that milk-drinker Othas Drenim."

"I take it Othas wasn't in the war like us?"

"No. He was only a youth about to join the Temple Ordinators when the war ended. He's a typical Dunmer noble. Convinced of his own inherent superiority. And now he leads the Ordinators here in Davon's Watch. There's been reports of his men bullying and terrorizing anybody who isn't a Dunmer, and more than a few reports of his men murdering some people in cold blood, particularly Dunmer who don't toe the line in regards to the Ashlanders and the Tribunal."

Tacitus grimaced. "And his men being beaten by an Imperial must just stick in his craw sideways, I'll bet."

"To say the least, friend. I offered to bring you around to the keep so we could try to settle this like intelligent people. Athyn was perfectly happy to let me do so, but he warned me that Othas isn't that intelligent."

"Consider me warned," said Tacitus. "Do you mind if we make a brief stop over at my lodgings? I should probably present the proper image of a grizzled war veteran if I'm going to get out of there with my head still attached to my shoulders."

* * *

Tacitus and Hrolfgir strode into the small audience chamber shoulder to shoulder. The Nord was still in his uniform, but Tacitus had changed into his armor and made sure that every inch of it was gleaming. He'd even gone to the trouble of wearing the medals and decorations he'd received during the Akaviri War, and they were impressive to anybody who'd served in that conflict. Unfortunately for him, Ordinator Legate Othas Drenim had not served in the war, and the medals meant absolutely nothing to him. He was a young Dunmer, thick blue-black hair, crimson eyes, and the haughty air of one who'd lived in the lap of noble luxury so thoroughly that nothing else could possibly exist outside that state that was worth considering.

"Are you Tacitus Meridius?" Drenim asked with a contemptuous sneer.

"I am," Tacitus replied in a controlled voice. "I believe we have a matter to discuss regarding the treatment of your Ordinators against the good people of Davon's Watch."

"I don't discuss assaults with mongrels and sellswords. You are to be placed under arrest!"

"General Morvayn made it clear that there would be no charges leveled until he had reviewed the matter," snarled Hrolfgir.

Drenim looked at Hrolfgir as if he were examining a parasite. "General Morvayn is not in command of the Tribunal's holy Ordinators. And such a lowborn peasant like him has no authority over me to begin with."

Tacitus clenched his hands tightly, trying very hard not to reach for his well honed sword, and made himself look at Drenim directly. "It's my understanding that the Ebonheart Pact has authority over all martial forces not explicitly acting on behalf of the Fighter's Guild or Mage's Guild. That would include the Ordinators, even if your purpose is to act as internal security for Morrowind's cities. Your duty is to support the Pact and ensure that it can go about trying to win the war without having to worry about insurrection in the streets."

"Indeed it is, which is why you are being placed under arrest." Drenim's expression was positively venomous. "You were inciting insurrection when you assaulted my brothers."

"Stopping two armed men from kicking a defenseless merchant is somehow equivalent to insurrection?" asked Tacitus incredulously, his anger growing at a geometric rate.

"They were insuring domestic tranquility by reminding that lizard scum of its place in the world."

Hrolfgir looked at Tacitus, seeing how tightly clenched his old comrade's hands were. "Tacitus, let's just wait till General Morvayn gets here and we'll let him decide the matter."

"Oh, yes. Just like any other dancing bear, aren't you, Nord?" hissed Drenim. "Have to have your betters holding your leash."

Tacitus felt something inside him snap like a twig. Taking three swift strides, he closed in on Drenim and backhanded him, sending the Dunmer flying across a desk. The other people in the room stood motionless, shocked by the speed and violence of Tacitus' strike. Drenim stood up slowly, just as the heavy steel gauntlet of Tacitus' left fist smashed into his mouth, breaking two teeth off and sending them down his throat. A right cross flashed in, breaking Drenim's cheekbone. By this point, people were scrambling to intervene, Hrolfgir wrapping his thick arms around Tacitus and only barely holding him back, four Ordinators helping Drenim to his feet and restraining him.

"You hit me!" Drenim screeched. "How dare you lay hands on me, you Imperial cur!"

"Come a little closer, I'll show you again, since you clearly missed it the first time!"

Drenim struggled free of the Ordinators. "You'll pay for this! I demand satisfaction!"

Hrolfgir let go of Tacitus, who stood straight and glared at Drenim. "Very well," the Imperial said coldly. "I accept your challenge. You will bring one weapon and one shield of your choosing, but it must be one you forge. No spellcraft, no enchantments. Only what you can make." He smiled wolfishly as he saw Drenim's eyebrows lift in surprise. Custom dictated that whoever issued the challenge ultimately determined the time and place for the challenge. But it was the person who accepted the challenge that set the terms of the duel, such as which weapons would be used. To make somebody forge their weapons from scratch was unusual to say the least, but well within the rules. If Drenim refused, he would forfeit the duel before it even started. "Hrolfgir will act as my second, I'm sure, and he will ensure you're the one swinging the hammer."

Drenim swallowed and returned Tacitus' smile with a glare of his own. "Very well. I will send my second around to your employer's forge so that he may ensure an equal degree of compliance. We shall begin forging tomorrow, and we shall meet the day after both of us have completed our works." Turning on his heel, Drenim stormed out of the audience chamber by a side door.

"You know," said a voice off to the left of Tacitus, "I really wish I'd been here to see the first part of that conversation. If for no other reason, I would have enjoyed watching Othas Drenim's face stopping a fist."

Both Tacitus and Hrolfgir turned to the speaker. Another Dunmer, this one had a much more relaxed and earthy feel to him, the black hair shot through with strands of gray, but the only wrinkles to be seen were laugh lines around the eyes.

Hrolfgir snorted, then smiled. "So do I, General, if only because there's precious little entertainment around this city. Tactius Meridius, meet Athyn Morvayn, commander of Pact forces for Davon's Watch and the surrounding area. General Morvayn, my friend and sword-brother, Tacitus."

Morvyn came over to Tacitus and shook his hand firmly. "An honor and a pleasure to meet you, Captain Meridius."

Shaking his head, Tacitus smiled wanly. "That rank is long gone, General. Washed away with the Akaviri, far as I'm concerned."

"Your modesty does you credit, as Hrolfgir told me it would. But I'm afraid that basic courtesy, to say nothing of military propriety, demands I address you at your proper rank. A rank, by the way, which techinically is higher than Othas Drenim's rank in the Ordinators, but only by the amount of time spent in grade."

"I'm sorry if I'm causing trouble, General Morvayn," began Tacitus, only to be shushed by the Dunmer.

"Think nothing of it. And if you're not going to stand on ceremony, please call me Athyn. You're among friends here."

"Thank you," replied Tacitus, smiling warmly at the Dunmer. Hrolfgir had been right. This was one Dark Elf that Tacitus would very easily grow to like.

Athyn gave Tacitus a slightly lopsided smile. "I should perhaps point out that Othas Drenim is many things, very few of them being commendable. He is a small souled, bigoted, cretinous dandy who I'm quite sure achieved his position more by family influence and generous donations to the Tribunal Temple that can't quite be called bribes without risking an accusation of heresy or blasphemy. Certainly it has nothing to do with anything resembling piety or integrity. Nevertheless, his presence here does cause me to take official notice of his actions and express official concern over his well-being. I would take it as a personal favor if, during the course of your impending duel, you would not brutally murder the fatuous imbecile as he so richly deserves."

"I will certainly strive to do so," Tacitus said with a nod. Athyn's lopsided smile grew wider and more conspiratorial.

"I would also take it as a personal favor if, during the course of your impending duel, you ensured that Othas Drenim was not able to resume his duties as an Ordinator at any time in the future. It would alleviate a great deal of pressure in my life and help reduce distractions which would undermine the war effort."

Tacitus nodded in understanding. "I will see what I can do to accomodate you."