05: An Angry Mob

The weather was quite still throughout my moonlit crossing, making for a trouble free if depressingly slow passage, however it did give me time to reflect. Why did Sepia think that the newly established and likely fragile peace in Vvardenfell was tied to the purpose of my mission? The simple answer as I saw it was that my target Sujata Hlaalu was an important figure who either needed to die so as to destabilise the peace process, or who needed to be killed before she herself destabilised it. Right now I had no way to tell which it might be. In some ways it felt like a line of thought that was academic, as it was my mission either way, but at the same time learning more about Sujata would be helpful if only to guess at those who would seek to revenge her death.

Khuul had established itself as one of Vvardenfell's main ports, but I began to doubt the wisdom behind this decision as I tacked my boat around what seemed like the hundredth rock to loom out of the water. This challenge was certainly not helped by it being night time and my having avoided any lighting. Illumination from the moon had seemed more than sufficient during most of the crossing, but the lights of Khuul across the water ahead had ruined my night vision. And I had no spells of Starlight or Nighteye available to me now. I skirted slightly to the east of Khuul, eventually coming ashore at an inlet just shy of the mountain border dividing the western grasslands and the norther ashlands, the sun now beginning its slow climb into the clear sky of a new day.

Leaving the boat behind I made good speed towards Khuul on foot. This region was relatively attractive to the eye. Green grass, flowing streams and even a couple of wild Guar. Relatively distant from the Redoran stronghold of Ald' Ruhn and far from Hlaalu holdings, the area seemed to have escaped the brunt of the conflict. A guard strode out to intercept me as I approached. Yes, I was a mercenary. Yes, I knew the war was over. Thank you. Was I lost? Not any more, but thanks again!

I moved on into the settlement looking for a place to lodge. It was less impressive than I had imagined, mainly consisting of wood huts, although a few stone structures appeared to have been erected in the last, say, two hundred years. After barely five minutes of searching - during which time I managed to circle the settlement twice at walking speed - it became clear to me there was no inn as such, and I approached a hut with a sign advertising lodging. The proprietor appeared distracted as I haggled a price for lodgings for the day, but thanks to travel fatigue the same could be said for me. Rooms are cheaper in the day? What capital news! Wonderful! Now please let me get to to bed. Now.

I slept well, right up until the point where I was woken by the sounds of an angry mob outside. Angry over what? Did that even matter? Drawing my short sword I swiftly moved to the side of my door and waited for a time in ambush, listening carefully. The volume grew louder, but not closer. Having reassured myself that they were not here for me, I took a moment to compose my appearance before stepping forth.

"Witch! Witch!"
"Undeath! Soul Stealer!"
"This cannot stand!"
"She cursed me with vile magic as I fled!"

The latter cry came from a Dunmer woman, obviously a local, and now the focus of the group. She appeared to be enjoying the attention rather, and - as if for my own benefit - began to repeat her tale.

"Rilos Bael! Hearing of her distress and filled with pity, I visited her. Pity for a witch! And I was attacked! Would ye credit it? Would ye believe?"

"Unbelievable!" cried the assembled group, as if on cue, though judging by their enthusiastic response they did indeed believe her.

"Quaking in me shoes but resolute, I reached her home, but scarce had I knocked at her fancy door than it was flung open by... a zombie! Her dog of a husband... Undead! Undead! Undead! Would ye credit it?" With each cry of the word 'undead' her voice grew higher in pitch, her pronunciation stretching the vowels. 'Uuundeeeeeeaaad'

"Unbelievable!" cried the assembled group again, evidently reluctant to expand beyond their limited mob vocabulary.

"Attacked me. And I ran and ran, blood weeping along with me tears. And she... that witch... she shrieked after me and cast vile magic. I felt it sweep over me! A curse I'll warrant!"

"Curse! Curse! Undead!" The mob was getting even more excited.

The woman stood silent for a moment, chest heaving from the exertion of her erudite narrative. Her clothes were torn as if by attack, but I could see no sign of any injury. How accurate was her tale? Again, the matter was almost academic to me. This was an opportunity, and one I seized upon instantly. The opportunity for a better cover than 'unemployed mercenary'. That of Witch Hunter.