Author’s Note: Ah, well here it is… the action packed Chapter 32 that has taken me months to get around to JUST TO FINISH IT. That is how consuming college can be… fear it! But embrace it all the while :). Anyways, as usual, please read and review, ask any questions you may have. I love arguing about and discussing the various researched themes I place in A Crimson Conspiracy. Enjoy, and look forward to Chapter 33 very soon. This and the next chapter are huge turning points in the story... the climax as you can say that will lead to the inevitable end. Have fun :).

Chapter 32: Destiny's Ball

Revenge. The word churned over and over in his mind as Dunsalipal ran his finger along the grind ridge of his dagger, all too enthralled in the fantasy of retribution playing out in his mind. Soon he would have it, oh yes he would. The plot that Andarys had planned bothered him greatly. So impersonal, so public… the one he sought might be killed by an undeserving murderer. She was his, and only his to kill. That was the mission objective for him. The Morag Tong was a corpse of what it once was, in its final death spasms under that fool Andarys. This plan was rough and ludicrous even. Their disguises would prevent them from fighting effectively when the time came. He didn’t like how his helmet blocked his vision in certain sections. Little, pathetic slits to see through—how was one supposed to see all their enemies? How was one supposed to see their enemies bleed before them as they watched the life leave their eyes?

No matter. If it was one thing Dunmer were good at, they could adapt.

They had fought for their lives and land for centuries. The taking of one's life was nothing new to them. It was in their blood and their destinies. Secret murder, ordained by Mephala herself. That was their will and way of life.

Abandoned houses with dusty floors. Shambles of ancient, rotting furniture and broken pottery. All remnants of lives lived and lives past, extinguished in fire and brimstone. Only the light of the Dark Brotherhood's torches and the sun leaking through the cracks of the sewers lit this section of Old Mournhold. The evidence of what happened there was too apparent still. The great battle between Mehrunes Dagon and Almalexia herself—a true testament of the Tribunal’s stolen powers. The wrath of a Daedric Prince against falsified gods; their errors and sins would affect Morrowind for many more years, even if their immediate touch had faded.

The thick dust was almost like ash in the air, irritable to the eyes and throat. There was never a time where Kassandra relished being in such places. Exploration in the ancient dungeons and ruins of Tamriel was always exciting, but they weren’t generally the most hospitable of places to stay in. The Dark Brotherhood had been holed up in Old Mournhold for days now, gathering and waiting for the rest of those selected to go on this mission. Leaning back against the decrepit stone, she sighed from under her hood, arms folded. The wait was getting under her skin. She was uneasy, nervous, and a whole other multitude of emotions character to such a task. And who were they waiting on? The one and only Lucien Lachance, she thought bitterly.

This mission could be done at anytime, however. The big show was tomorrow evening, but even so… a missing Lucien Lachance did not bode well for the mission if he just so happened to not return. He had taken it on himself to go ahead and do a bit of reconnaissance with a few other Dark Brothers and Sisters, but it had been hours now. In their field, just a tad of schedule meant ill news.

Lachance and others eventually returned, bearing the news everyone expected, but not what everyone fear. The palace seemed to be preparing for ball as one would think. Nothing seemed suspicious, besides the extra guard on hand. There was reason though, as the Emperor of the Cyrodiilic Empire was there himself—Uriel Septim VII. The presence of Blades impeded their process. Not like normal guards, the Blades were the best of the best, and were trained to detect and destroy any possible threats to the Emperor. Of course, that did not stop Lachance and the others from doing what was needed. The Blades and heightened security only impeded their work. The servants of the Empire would never successfully foil the plans of the Dark Brotherhood.

The plan was simple, as Lachance laid it out for the Dark Brothers and Sisters who weren’t already knowledgeable of the minor details of their scheme. The palace would be infiltrated. Although draining, all of them would maintain active spells of chameleon, allowing them to move around concealed as they hunted for the Morag Tong remnants. Their supplies of magicka would be replenished by the proper, provided potions. As each target was found and tracked, the Dark Brotherhood would act in unison during the final hour of the ball, when Helseth would perform a final toast as he liked to do with the political dignitaries as sign of good will. First, they will strike their true targets: the Morag Tong.

And then, Helseth would be next.

It was the perfect opportunity to send a message to all the provinces: The Dark Brotherhood was to be feared, and there was nothing that could protect them against their black hand.

Lachance could not help but grin at such a spectacle of blood. Such a message... spelled out in their victims' blood.

The time had come

The plan was being set up. Now all it would take was a bit of patience, constant vigilance, and a steady hand. Spaced about the Throne room and throughout the palace itself, the Dark Brotherhood waited. And wait they did, for hours, almost motionless and without a sound they watched with a hunter’s eyes. The event had not yet begun. All that was happening was the careful preparation for the guests. The guests themselves had not yet arrived.

The prey had not shown.

Just yet.

“I do not like this one bit, my silent friend,” Helseth murmured as he prepared for the Ball in his chambers. The cloaked Orc in the corner only nodded darkly, not seeing it fit to say anything to calm the fool’s fears. Helseth would always remain paranoid, no matter how much reassurance was given. It was his Dunmer nature, not which was a matter to Alb gro-Lagom.

The fool and the others would learn to never shun their creators, and to never trust the ilk of Mephala and Boethiah. And above all, Sithis.

And so the game of hide and seek continued throughout the ball. Helseth remained in his throne, sipping cautiously from a golden goblet as he watched his guests interact with each other. He had been obviously very, very unsocial at this event, even if he did never care to talk to many of them. Alb gro-Lagom stood silent, a drab statue compared to the energetic event unfolding before them. King Helseth peered over at gro-Lagom with leery eyes, unsure of his trusted advisor as usual. Helseth knew that his advisor would have to go after his little ‘plan’. The Orc was just too good at his job. The problem was Helseth was running out of ingenious ways to kill his subordinates.

His attention was drawn to the movement of a few of his Royal Guard, positioned around the room and around himself. Too close for comfort perhaps, but he had to make them seem realistic. Also scattered throughout the room wandered many, many soldiers of the Imperial Legion, only here in mass because of the very special presence of Emperor Uriel Septim VII. It was quite the surprise that the Emperor accepted his forced invitation. His advisor had urged it, and could only imagine that Septim’s High Chancellor urged the same of him to go forth and increase his popularity ‘amongst the other provinces’.

A dangerous situation for the old Emperor, but it was part of the plan. Apparently.

Oh how messy this was about to get. But he didn’t mind having such glorious bloodstains on his luxurious rugs.

The Dark Brotherhood found themselves baffled. Nowhere in the palace was one target. Helseth was to be saved to the end of the party, as he was not the priority target. It would be easy to kill him anyway. The Morag Tong on the other hand, seemed to have simply… not shown? Furious, Alval Uvani seethed in the corner, unnoticed, cloaked by every means at hand. Maybe someone would pick up the flux of magicka in the air, but many of those present had such capabilities flowing through their veins. A simple spike might prick someone’s attention, but they wouldn’t think anything of it unless they were looking for it. He could sneak up to the throne of Helseth and end his part of the mission, but the Morag Tong masters and the Grandmaster himself took priority.

If they did not show, then… it was merely a lucrative opportunity lost, but not a complete loss for them. Helseth dead and out of the way was a prize worthy in itself. Although once an employer of the Dark Brotherhood on several occasions, he was encroaching hostilely on them now that the Dark Brotherhood was making a larger presence into the landmass of Morrowind. The King of crumbling Mournhold was a road block; a carcass on their path to victory.

Patience was not a virtue in her book, Kassandra always liked to believe. The wait had been hours now, and she had seen no glimpse of any of their Morag Tong targets. She had seen their faces quite well, so she didn’t know how she could miss them. Each and every room she had managed to wander without detection, looking for them. She knew the others were doing the same. It was odd, but not unexpected. Everyone knew this was a likely trap, and were prepared to abort at anytime. Something about this did not feel right. When did things ever feel right? Once in a while, her eyes would meet the gaze of a crimson-armored Royal Guard, piercing through her very psyche. And yet, they would take no action. Maybe she was growing paranoid. She prayed that madness would not take her now, not in such a crucial point like this.

But that wish was just begging for ironic retribution.

Moving a few more steps to better cover her form behind a dangling banner, a whisper tingled in her ears. What was a whisper turned into a yell as she looked around her, looking for someone who had seen her. But no one was looking at her, until she saw it; the shadowy, cloaked fellow who stood solemnly by Helseth and his throne. His concealed face allowed no emotion to be seen, but she could feel his eyes looking straight into her soul. The feeling was familiar, reminding her of the agonizing evening spent in the forest, scared out of her wits in some shock-induced psychosis.

There was no doubt in her mind. That thing, whatever it was that lurked like a buzzard over Helseth’s party was the demon that had targeted her that evening. A gamble perhaps, but when dealing with the unholy divine, she wasn’t about to foolishly ignore such a thing. Enthralled, her mind consumed by her focus on the Orc, Kassandra walked along the wall, making sure to not grow too close to one of the guards scattered along it. Keen on her steps, she watched the cloaked Orc move from Helseth’s side; almost floating through the crowd as if the party goers did not notice such a ghostly being. The Orc left the throne room, exiting into the Reception area just outside.

Kassandra knew that she was to follow him.

She didn’t care if it was a trap or not. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

Andarys, frozen in his armor, watch the party commence as normal. It was interesting, the things he saw while routinely refreshing his detect life spell. There were the party guests, as expected, and then, there were, as theorized, the Dark Brotherhood, invisible as shadows while they clung to the walls like patient hunters. He observed them as they moved in and out, searching, yet they stayed their hand. They made no move. The Grandmaster could admit he was pleased with the plan so far. The Dark Brotherhood was obviously baffled, and unsure of where their exact targets were at.

The plan was working, and that was what mattered. But still he did not trust the motives of Helseth. Something bothered him about his assistant, and the complete ambiguity about the plan itself. It seemed that it would be left to the Royal Guard to pick off the Dark Brotherhood agents that would theoretically remain around a bit as the party emptied, but Helseth did not give clear details on how that would work. And what Andarys’ never did like was a half-baked plan. However, he had foolishly agreed to this. What other choice did they have?

Andarys’ attention came to King Helseth’s advisor leaving the party. It was an odd move, as the Orc always seemed glued to the King’s side. Andarys looked to the right, watching the pink glow of an invisible Dark Brotherhood member move in response. Was it coincidence, or did something about the advisor attract the attention of the Dark Brother? Or… was there perhaps something more sinister to all this after all?

There was no way to tell for now. Then again, Helseth was safe for the moment. Ethasi and Dunsalipal would make up for his… lack of presence.

He never did like it when his High Chancellor forced him to come to such events; the Emperor doted as he sat uneasily in a chair, observing the busy reception area of Helseth’s palace. High Chancellor and a High Elf; what a terrible combination for an Altmer’s ego. The Altmer had served the Emperor well though. There was no doubt in Ocato’s abilities. He just sometimes wondered if the position and emphasis on connections was going to his head.

Ocato had a made a point that relations were strained between the two provinces of Morrowind and Cyrodiil, and that the Empire’s image and reputation were at stake. Uriel had made a point that it would just bode well for him to send Ocato himself in such a dangerous time, but his Chancellor had insisted that there was nothing else better for him to do, and that the Morrowind was not that dangerous of a place. A sigh left his lips as he was filled with regret as another political notary approached him.

It was clear that he was in no mood for chit chat, especially chit chat that involved him focusing on every word to ensure nothing came across as something that would wreck him politically. He looked to his Blades standing protectively aside him on each flank. He was glad for their presence, and for the many Imperial soldiers from the Legion stationed there at the Palace for that matter. It was rare to see Blades seen in public in such a manner, and he was quite sure it delivered a message to those around him.

Uriel watched as a small miracle occurred. Ocato had grabbed the attention of the politician before he could get to the Emperor itself. Somehow he would remember to thank Stendarr for such mercy in his prays later.

The Blade to his right, Captain Renault, looked down at him from under her ancient Akaviri-inspired helm. She could see the distressed look on his face.

“Are you alright Emperor?” she inquired, worried.

The Emperor cracked a forced smile, “I’m fine child, but I feel we should leave soon. Maybe a walk would help ease the moment’s passing.”

With creaking bones, he stood up from his chair. Ocato noticed this, unsure of what the Emperor was going to do now. The Altmer finished his conversation and moved quickly over to the Emperor.

“Emperor, are you preparing to leave?” the Altmer asked with panic.

“High Chancellor, I feel we have spent enough time here at this amusing ball, but you fail to remember my growing age. An old man can’t be staying up into the late hours of the night.”

Ocato nodded disdainfully, a bitter frown aching to form, “But of course Emperor, but at least bid farewell and give thanks to King Helseth for inviting us to this international formal.”

The Emperor chuckled lightly at Ocato’s choice of words, “Yes, we shall.”

She could feel a chase coming on as she weaved and dodged silently through the crowd in the reception area. Kassandra could not waste much time as she watched out of the corner of her eye as the Emperor made his way into the Throne room accompanied by a set of Blades. Such an interesting guest in such a dangerous situation and they did not have any idea of what was going to go down. A possible accidental casualty could happen in the crossfire if they were not careful. The Night Mother would not be pleased if such an occurrence happened.

The cloaked Orc made his way down a flight of stairs from the Reception area, presumably down into whatever basement the palace had. The Orc was quite fast for his large stature, moving with uncanny stealth and agility.

Something was clearly not right.

Andarys followed the best he could, casting a spell of chameleon to avoid attracting attention to his alarmed running. With so many around him, the life detection spell was becoming useless, but yet he managed to keep track on the two targets he desired. Centuries in the Morag Tong had taught him well. A quick, clever eye was just a good of a substitute than the best of detect life spells.

Hopefully his aging eyes would not fail him now.

Boxes. Oblivious, stupid guards. Boxes upon boxes. All was a blur to her as she focused on the open trap door to the sewers below. Every desire within her body compelled her to continue down. The mission was no matter to her now. This was her mission: To finally solve this link between her and everything. It would be a scheme no longer hidden. Salvation was out of question, but at least there was hope. Kassandra gripped the stone floor as she dropped and swung her way down into the dank sewers below.

It was too apparent that this was a trap… that this character was the bait and she was the prize. But the danger to her life was but of no matter. The quest for truth, even upon death was worth it. At least in her eyes.

The rank of the sewage floating by reached her nose, forcing her to bring her sleeve up to her nose in order to not be effected by the miasmic vapors reeking up from the stream. It clouded around, choking out any light that attempted to reach through, save the sporadic torch along the wall, wavering in what little fresh air was vented in to prevent a build-up of noxious gas. The ground beneath her feet was slick; from what, she could only guess. Each time she lifted her boot, whatever it was would make an awful sticky noise. But this would all be worth it.

She hoped. And ran.

A dead-end. That is what stood in front of her prey, preventing any further escape. The sewers in Mournhold were full of such dead-ends. Anticipation grew as she reached for the Blade of Woe at her side. Her spell of invisibility had dissipated, no longer necessary. Hastening her sprint, Kassandra prepared for the moment. But something bugged her. A chill traveled down her spine while her skin clung to the hair follicles beneath. The Orc just stood there, still, with its back to her. That feeling… again.

She stopped, almost frozen not by fear, but by some unconscious barrier from the times of old.

“My harbinger of death, Julia Valeius…” the being spoke with sarcastic affection, still shrouded by his cloak. Magical energies grew around him as he prepared a spell of non-mortal size.

Kassandra could only watch in naïve horror, too late to stop it.

The Emperor of all of Tamriel approached the throne of King Morrowind, about to take his leave once his thanks were given for such a wonderful party. There was no time to waste, and his place was not to be here, but back at the helm of his empire to prepare for his end. The old Imperial, flanked by his loyal blades, bowed alongside his advisors, if only for traditions-sake. It was really Helseth who should’ve been bowing, but it was his ball after all, and Uriel didn’t feel like making a fuss over such things. Ocato would’ve made a point of it to give him a harsh diatribe about it later.

The King began to clap, standing from his adorned perch among men and mer, “Much gratuity to you and your Legions my Emperor,” he paused for dramatic effect, “But this,” his arms motioned out to the entire palace room, “This is not over! How can our Emperor leave before the final drinks have been served?”

The Emperor’s ancient lips smirked at such a remark, but he grew tired of Helseth’s theatrics.

“It’s getting late for a man like me, but one more drink—“

He froze. Everyone froze.

The room grew quiet as the surge of magicka left, leaving behind the baffled, and the revealed.

A mere glance down was all that was required to know the truth. He was visible for all eyes to see. Trying to cast another spell of chameleon, Lucien found himself unable to summon the magicka. Something was preventing him. Silenced and dispelled… whoever did this knew what they were up against. His blood rushed as the adrenaline surged. His darting eyes were met with the terrified glares of party-goers next to him. In the foreground, he could see other Dark Brothers, just as frozen and confused as he was. Spells so large… no living being could have performed such an act. Perhaps the Psijics, but even so!

The plan had gone horribly wrong. Too awry to have expected such an action.

It was time to act. This was not the moment to allow chaos take over them.

Lucien palmed his dagger, and charged into the midst with one thing on his mind—elimination of the Morag Tong. But for now, Helseth would pay.

Nothing else would suffice but death itself.