Tes4Mod:Order of the Dragon/Brotherhood of the Knights II

Chapter I

Diron Hayth, an official of the Slave Traders Association in the service to Kathar, had always been of the opinion that the 'Sleeping Pahmer' - a tavern centrally location in Kathar with a worse reputation than sunbathing in the desert and a random collection point for every imaginable crime subjected to twilight - a retread as of the role 'blazing explosion' was as necessary as desert sand.

He just had not expected that someone would put these thoughts into action.

Now he stood before the sad remains of a building that had been reduced to rubble. The expression he displayed reflected a mixture of recognition, regret and fear. Recognition that someone had finally taken the initiative and erased the stain from the face of the city. Regret at the deaths of the innocent, which had gone hand-in-hand with the explosion. And fear of what this ruthless madman had in store for Kathar.

It was obvious no slave-rights activist who had caused this massacre.

"That there, that was certainly not a slave-rights activist," came a voice beside Diron, just at the moment when a gloved hand patted him affectionately on the back.

Diron grinned crookedly. "You may also want to mention that someone has hunted the tavern in the air? Just in case that I have not yet noticed."

Vion Dekano defensively raised his hands. "I'm only expressing my respect for old people." He chuckled. "How old are you? Six hundred?"

"I'm not even four hundred," Diron replied icily and turned his gaze back to the crime scene. This meant that the issue was over for him, and also that Vion ignored this gesture with deadly certainty, to his chagrin.

"You see? Old," said the Dunmer, nodding determinedly. "You're much too rude for a man whose tooth will be falling out in a few years. If you keep this up, no one will be willing to explain to you how to chew food."

Diron whirled on him. "And if you keep this up, you'll be needing pre-chewed food much sooner than I. Shall we therefore turn back to the actual topic?" 

Vion he had to think for a moment. Then he said expertly, "Your argument speaks strongly, yes."

Vion was an oddball. Had Mehrunes Dagon himself stood before him, the guy would have associated his aggressiveness with nothing more than serious childhood neglect. What mother could ever love a giant multi-armed baby?

Diron sighed inwardly. It was already beginning.

"So what do we know?" Vion asked as the silence dragged on.

Diron just shrugged his shoulders. "It was the darkest night and all of our witnesses, including the inhabitants of the neighboring building, are dead, but we know that some of the tavern flew down to the marketplace."

Vion nodded in understanding. "And that means that the spell can be traced mentally."

"Magic can do what?" Diron cried and looked at the younger man blankly. This one only made ??big eyes, and then grinned apologetically.

"Oh, that will not work? I meant, we produce a wizard here now and he ... then does what he does and we know who has done this mess." As Diron only continued to stared at him with incomprehension, which could represent his features, Vion cautiously added: "Or we put a magician here and then have him tell us what spell was used and how much power someone has to have to cast it? There's a good chance that he just bought it; surely someone must have so brought a strong spell in scroll form, and as a responsible scroll maker, I would keep records of who spends that kind of money."

Now it was Diron's turn to make big eyes. "These moments of sudden inspiration are decidedly rare, my friend," he commented. "Where did the usual mental block go? Do you have to work up to the relationship with your mother before you can become a full-fledged investigator? "

Vion grinned Diron's half-sided grin. "Then I'm eternally damned. My mother is dead. But, even among us, do your work and leave the sayings to me."

Vion was right. Diron really had to focus on this matter urgently. Normally he was not so concerned about his cases. No wonder, he worked for criminals who were hiding behind the purely legal legitimacy of their profession, and the Dunmer had never claimed that he liked that.
He only did his job well because he did made everything as well as he could. And because his family would otherwise starve.

But this ... It was different. Besides the slave- and drug dealers, buyers and all the usual riff-raff that had gathered in the 'Sleeping Pahmer' regularly, many innocent people had died. If he was successful, he would at least give the bereaved the satisfaction of seeing the murderer punished.

And that was more than you could ask for in this day and age.