Pesci rode the horse to Cheydinhal non-stop, arriving at night. Formaggio still looked tired, so he carried him to the sanctuary. No one was there to greet them except for Prosciutto.
“What happened to him?” he asked.
“He couldn’t sleep well once we arrived at Anvil. Oh, and Anne is dead,” Pesci responded.
“Yes, I heard. Word travels fast.”
“Were you waiting for us the whole time? We need to speak to Illuso.”
“Illuso is no longer here. He’s currently working for Vicente now.”
Formaggio woke up. “Excuse me? What? When? Is this why he asked if I— Damn it! Why didn’t he tell me?”
“To make you feel better,” Prosciutto said, “you’ve been promoted up two ranks. Since you killed Anne during her birthday party, you are no longer an Eliminator but an Executioner.”
“Put me down, Pesci. What, I skip the Assassin rank? That’s my bonus, to replace Illuso’s spot?”
“If you want my opinion, I think you’re a lazy layabout who’s just looking for a quick way to get a large sum of money. I find it insulting that we are now the same rank, but this was not my decision. Do not disappoint the Night Mother, dear brother.”
“I won’t, I promise!” Pesci responded.
“That wasn’t directed at you,” the blond responded.
“Well, Pesci, it was nice knowing you,” Formaggio said. “If you need me, I’ll be in my new room. You can have my bed and the stuff inside my chest.” He tossed the key to him. “I don’t care anymore.”
Formaggio took the trapdoor that lead to his room.
“Did you have to be so mean?” Pesci asked.
Prosciutto sighed. “We’re assassins, brother. If I’m not being harsh, they’ll get too soft and die.”
“Has anybody died?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course, a couple of people have died. They were poorly trained, kind-hearted, or barely prepared during their contract. Speaking of preparing, here’s this enchanted bow. You have been training with a bow, right little brother of mine?”
“A few times, I’ve been up close and personal.”
“Have you tried using a bow?”
“No.”
“Listen, it’s handy to know close combat training, but it’s safer to stay hidden in the shadows and far away. Come to the training room with me.”
He followed. M’raaj-Dar was there, sleeping on the chair. Prosciutto stood in front a few feet away from the straw target dummy.
“I may not be a professional archer,” Prosciutto said to Pesci, “but I could help you. Stand next to me and face the target. Here are some arrows.”
“Looks simple,” commented Pesci.
The chattering woke M’raaj-Dar.
“That’s what everyone says,” the Khajiit commented. “You’ll miss. Don’t cry now, hehe.”
Pesci ignored his insults and focused on his target. He took a deep breath in and out with his feet turned 90 degrees. He grabbed an arrow and placed it on the strings.
“Your body is not in a T shape. Adjust your arms. Spread your legs out a bit more,” told his brother. “Good. Hold up. Why are you grabbing the strings like that? Use only three fingers. Okay, now, let loose that arrow.”
The arrow flew into the air, landing near the bullseye.
“Pfft, lucky shot,” M’raaj-Dar commented. “Let’s see you try again.”
He went again. This time, he landed on the bullseye. The Khajiit’s eyes widened. Pesci had a shit-eating-grin. Again, he wanted to show that cat who’s boss, and he aimed and fired once more. This time, it nearly missed. The smile on his face faded.
“Keep practicing, brother. You’ll get better.”
Prosciutto began to walk out of the training room, but Pesci stopped him.
“Wait, what’s the next contract?”
“You remember Fugo, yes?” Judging from Pesci’s silence, it was clear that name didn’t ring a bell. “He bumped into you on the way to my room on your first day here. He was in a rush. You’ll rarely see him here because he’s the Grand Champion. Lately, a fan has been stalking him, making him unable to enter the sanctuary.”
“Why doesn’t he just kill him?”
“Your target, Tuudir Greenthorn, always carries a torch. So Fugo couldn’t sneak around him. And he tried to lure him into a lair filled with minotaurs, but they were defeated. He’s also been traveling with others, so he never gets the opportunity.”
“B-but, brother, how am I supposed to defeat a guy who killed more than one minotaur?”
“Consider using the bow. Fugo’s in Bruma, which means your target is also in Bruma. Go. It’s been difficult to keep track of where Fugo could be going next as of lately.”
—
Pesci arrived at Bruma the next day on foot. He did ask Formaggio if he could borrow his horse, but he needed it. Unaware of where Fugo was, he approached a beggar who was warming up near the brazier.
“Excuse me, but do you know where I can find the Grand Champion?” he asked, shaking a small bag of coins.
“You’ll find him in the Jerall View Inn,” she answered.
As soon as she took the bag, she left to go somewhere.
While on his way to the inn, he noticed there were a few people outside except for a few people who were taller than him. He’ll never understand how these Nords could handle the cold.
Inside the inn, it was cozy and warm. The fireplace was lit, and above it hung the head of a deer. The floors were cleaned and were covered with fancy rugs. The tables and chairs were finely crafted. Pesci assumed nobody was here until he heard the clattering of kitchen utensils. He headed to the source of the noise, finding a blond Wood Elf whose hair made him look like an onion. He was eating some tomato soup. There was another blond person, but he looked annoyed.
“Are you done yet?” the blond human asked very aggressively.
The Wood Elf politely wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Gee, I’m starting to think you don’t want me around.”
“I wonder what gave you that fucking idea.”
“How about that one time we were inside an Oblivion gate? Oh, and that one time you tried to lure me into a trap inside that Ayleid ruin. I haven’t forgotten that one.”
“If you hate following me, then why don’t you beat it, kid?”
“I’m bored, and lately you haven’t been inside the arena much as of lately. I wonder why.”
The other sighed. “You’re worse than my friend Narancia.”
The blond then turned his face, facing Pesci.
“Hey, you there!” Fugo waved his hand. “You! Remember me? Come sit with us.”
He sat down.
“Now who are you?” Tuudir asked, giving him a look of detestation. “And why do you have no chin? You seriously can’t be friends with this creep.”
During Pesci’s childhood, kids would call him names and make fun of him. He did nothing but cry. As an adult, nobody bothered him. Now, he just wanted to smash this elf’s head into the table.
“That’s my friend you’re talking to,” Fugo lied, maybe. They never hung out with each other to be friends. “Anyways, Tuudir, this is Pesci. Pesci, this is Tuudir.”
“Why is your hair green?” Tuudir questioned. “That doesn’t make sense. Then again, we were traveling with a girl with pink hair. How do you people end up with these strange hair colors? Is it magic? If so, perhaps you could get a better hairstyle? You look like a walking pineapple.”
Fugo slammed his fists into the table, grabbing both of their attention.
“Let’s try rock climbing,” he suggested, giving them a forceful smile. “I know a place in the Jerall Mountains.”
—
So much snow fell around them, limiting their field of vision. Pesci was shivering in his boots. Before they left Bruma, they bought some climbing gear, food, and things to keep them warm.
“How are you guys not cold?” complained Pesci.
“I’ve been in combat with frost mages,” Fugo answered. “I’ve also visited Bruma and even traveled to Skyrim.”
“This flame burns as bright as my passion,” Tuudir added. “I don’t need a coat.”
“Your hands seem to disagree,” Pesci commented.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll just use my torch to warm my hands. By Azura, that burns! Hot, hot! Ah! There, my hands are warm and toasty. Let’s climb!”
Pesci sighed. He had never gone climbing before, and in these weather conditions, he wasn’t sure if he’d make it. The other two started climbing.
“Nothing bad will happen to us, right?” Pesci asked.
“No, nothing will happen,” assured Tuudir. “Unless you want to die. If anything happens, the Grand Champion will save you.”
“We just started climbing,” Fugo said. “It’s not a long fall… yet. Come on, start climbing.”
Pesci started climbing. The others were further ahead than him. Meanwhile, his feet could still touch the ground. Tuudir still held onto his torch, climbing faster than Fugo. The Grand Champion looked below him, observing the green-haired assassin who was struggling. He cast a rejuvenating spell on him, healing any injuries and making sure he can continue to climb. Eventually, all three of them got to the top, but it took them a while. It was night, and the adoring fan’s torch was the only source of light that they had. Luckily for them, there were two tents and an unlit campfire.
“Hey, kid, use your torch to light this fire,” Fugo commanded.
“But my fire– Okay, anything you say,” replied the Wood Elf.
“I thought your fire burned as bright as your passion,” Pesci reminded him.
“It burns as bright as my passion, not as long as my passion. Oh, hey, my torch hasn’t died out.”
Pesci scoffed. That will be changed soon. “Hey, nature calls.”
He scurried away into the darkness, but he hid near some trees and a bush, just in case. He could still see the torchlight and the fire. He drew his bow and shot at the Wood Elf. Now the only thing that was lit was the campfire.
“Pesci!” Fugo yelled in surprise.
He returned to the fire.
“Did I get him? I don’t see his body,” he said.
You got him. His body was sent flying. I doubt he survived the fall.”
“Just wondering, do you always have fans that follow you everywhere you go?”
“No, it’s just this guy. You know, sometimes I feel like people don’t care who I am, which is great, I guess. Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. I guess we’re stuck here for a while.”
—
It was morning, and the blizzard had passed. However, Pesci still woke up cold. Fugo complained that he wouldn’t stop trying to cuddle with him during his sleep. Other than that, nothing interesting had happened. Fugo headed elsewhere– explaining that he had to check on a friend in Bruma –while Pesci climbed down the mountain. Well, he kind of slid down halfway but was unharmed.
Since he was down at the bottom, he tried searching for Tuudir’s body but with no luck. He was hoping he could extract some blood for Formaggio as a gift. He gave up on the search and had to use the bathroom this time. He urinated on the ground until he saw blood droplets.
“You pissant walking pineapple-looking son of a bitch,” spoke a voice that sounded familiar to Pesci.
He immediately turned around but was punched in the face, knocking him unconscious.
When he awoke, he was in a dark cave. All he could see was a torch and the face of someone holding it. It was Tuudir, and his face was bloodied and bruised. He was standing on higher ground.
“I should’ve known that the Grand Champion wanted to get rid of me,” he admitted. “He always heads to that one abandoned house in Cheydinhal but then stops himself from entering, looking behind him. I follow him, you know. I want to be his bodyguard one day. How can I do that if I can’t be with him? Next time, how about poisoning your arrows or perhaps finding some with sharper arrowheads? Maybe a combination of both. Doesn’t matter. You’re not getting out of here alive. Goodbye, pineapple head”
“Says the one who looks like an onion!” Pesci insulted back.
Before Tuudir left, he spat on the floor.
Pesci got up on his feet and heard a roar. A few seconds later, an abnormally large bear charged towards him, swiping his sides and tearing his clothing. He let out a scream. He was hoping that maybe Fugo heard, but so far, nobody came. Short on arrows and with barely enough training in close combat, he had to run. He sprinted, although struggling, for the exit.
“I’ll kill you!” Pesci shouted. The bear roared. “As for you, are you feeling hungry? Let’s find you a tasty elf.”
Pesci cast his life detection spell while still running from the bear, revealing a couple of purple auras around him. However, their shapes were too small, or some of them moved too fast to be humans or elves.
Tuudir couldn’t escape that far.
He cast it, again and again, increasing its range each time. There were more purple auras this time, but nothing human or elven. The bear swiped at him, grazing his rear. In anger, Pesci drew his bow and used the few arrows he had, aiming at its eye. It hit, but it didn’t improve his situation. The bear let out an ear-piercing roar.
Pesci couldn’t keep this up. He was nearly exhausted.
And then he remembered that Fugo was returning to Bruma. Pesci wasn’t sure where he was, but he was still east of Bruma. Trying to find the road, he headed west and found a path. He cast the detection spell again and noticed a short humanoid figure walking the path. His movements were staggering. He was far away, but Pesci, willing to try, aimed his bow and aimed for his legs. It hit, and Pesci felt a rush towards him when he heard Tuudir’s screams.
“How? How are you still alive?” the panicked Wood Elf demanded.
Pesci said nothing in response but ran past him. The bear that was chasing him now focused on Tuudir. Although Pesci would watch if he could, he’d rather not wait for the bear to finish his meal. Hearing the screams cut abruptly, he tottered his way to Cheydinhal, passing out at the gates.
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