To Kill A King [Closed RP]

(I'n sorry for the late reply. Been sleeping off the meds, which brought me into some bizarre state of delirium in the middle of it. Nothing dangerous, but hard to wake up from by oneself.)

"Enough of that," Saeria told Malfius a little sharply. "He's the Forsworn we sent for. If you set off all our contacts, Ulfric Stormcloak will be waiting all night. I detest admitting it, but we do need him for the moment."

Turning on Nico, she continued, "And you! We'll bring you your backup, but watch close what you say. The Dominion does not take kindly to such seditious sentiments - and neither do we. You may be good, but I doubt you're better than us both. Stormcloak can wait another night."

The justicar came to stand beside Dalos, crossing her arms and looking down on the map.

"Bottom line - we all stop talking about the extraneous and move onto what matters. The time to move draws near." Saeria glanced at the Dunmer, noting the writing on the map. "Is it your intention that we infiltrate the Palace in a four-man cell?"

"The smaller the party, the better. Four men wouldn't be a problem, but I don't believe a fifth would make things much more difficult. My letter did say that we would be a party of five."

He took his letter out, to double check its contents. "Is this no longer the case?"

Malfius' left eye began to twitch horrendously as an outbreak of the tremor of an earthquake. He did not take kindly to insults, even if he was more than welcoming of the idea to serving them himself.

"Easily rat me out? It's going to take more than that little pocket knife to hold me back from dumping your body downstream and have your corpse wash up on the shore of the ratway where rats belong."

"Allies? Friends, now Dalos? How about I let you celebrate with a feast in the Thalmor Embassy and our little 'friend' here can be your main course? I'm sure rat makes a good enough substitute as any for dog food..."


"Enough of that," Saeria told Malfius a little sharply. "He's the Forsworn we sent for. If you set off all our contacts, Ulfric Stormcloak will be waiting all night. I detest admitting it, but we do need him for the moment."

"Very well, Saeria dear..." Malfius spoke as his left eye settled into place. "Charm and grace wins the battle once again.... A rare trait of the feminine tongue."

"Now, if you don't mind...I'd like to get on to business," Malfius stated, pointing to the docks on the eastern hemisphere of windhelm. "Six to be exact. As much as I hate to admit it, I actually need you all alive on this one. So, I've taken the necessary precautions to ensure our exit remains secure. I've requested a small detachment of reinforcements. We don't want to draw to much attention to ourselves so we'll be operating in a four man cell to infiltrate while the other two we haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet station themselves at the exit leading to the pier."

Malfius shifted his finger to the Grey Quarter.

"Now, if I read this correctly, the guards patrol on a rotation in a circular motion, as you can all see here. At a glance it seems ideal because it provides a 360 degree security, when in all actuality, it's not. Lucky for us there's a big loophole in that system. They provide less security in the Grey Quarter than the other quarters, but each guard has to make his rounds through the area. If we time our snatch and grabs right we can pull about three bodies inside before nightfall without any other guard noticing."

Malfius reached into his satchel and brought out a gold pouch and placed it on the edge of the table near Dalos.

"Now, as sure as I am that your fellow Dunmer here in the Grey Quarter would be willing to hear no evil, see no evil on this job as they want to see Ulfric dead just as much as us, I suggest you bribe them with this as the icing on the cake to seal their lips and line their pockets. We can't afford to muck this up if the Dunmer decided to get twisted tongues on us."

Orange globes shifted their gaze to Saeria. "Now, I'm sure you're all wandering how we're going to blend in amongst all these guards with us all having distinct Mer accents. Well, lucky for us, Saeria has been perfecting her Nordic accent months prior to this mission. Saeria, I hope your tongue is sharp as your blade. That being said, if we are approached by any guards let her, do the talking. Hopefully she can charm their guard down a bit."

"Breton.... Nico, if my Dossier is correct...you are an exception to the rule. They won't expect a Forsworn to stray that far from the Reach. I'm guessing you have a nice, delicious surprise to serve the guards for dinner. And how cute... Our little Forsworn is all dressed up for the occasion. Well, at least one of us has their costume. What say we go collect ours? Once we get dressed we'll come back here and discuss the details of phase two."

Nico nodded to them and looked at his costume

"Yes, I will pretend to be a Breton cook in the Palace of Kings, but when i give the guards their food it will have a good rage poison in it, and that will cause such a distraction that when I launch my attack, they will be disoriented and have no great defense," Nico said to them with relish. If his plan went well, he could retake his homeland and avenge his family.

Saeria nodded, shooting another glance at Dalos. Lycanthropy certainly hid itself well in its victims. She wondered if the two mentalities ever merged - did he ever lose control of his lycan form? It would be a shame if he did in the midst of the operation. She didn't like to gut their own so much.

"Glad we sorted that out," she murmured, breaking out of her musings. The Altmer made her way to the door, pushing it open. "Let's go then. If we dither, we'll miss our chance."

Three guards' armor... Hopefully there would at least be that many patrolling the Quarter.

"I will head to the palace and wait for a signal," he said to the group.

Nico wondered what their motives were. Maybe they wanted revenge like him, looking to bring peace, wanting to rise up ranks. Well, whatever reason they had, it was going to happen. He walked through the inn. It was rundown and practically derelict. He knew what Nords did to people who were not of their culture and race. All around he saw poor Dunmer. Of course, the Nords would blame the assasination on the Dunmer and their persecution would only grow, but the Dunmer assassins did not know this.

Saeria watched as the Breton left the group, inwardly relieved. Why, why, why did they have to have his aid? Why did it have to be a Forsworn? They spent all day in the wilderness carving up deer, without the slightest regard for the mess. So filthy. Her jaw clenched tighter the more she thought of it, and the justicar had to shake her head slightly to clear such distracting thoughts. She looked left and right, taking note of all the darkest alleyways and sharp corners.

"Shall we split up and meet back in front of Calixto's House of Curiosities? There are enough alleys for us each to make do, and from there, we can use the side entrance to the palace courtyard. Less will see us that way." She shifted from one foot to the other. "I'd rather that than go back to that club. It will seem suspicious if three guards enter it, and even more if three Mer enter it carrying armor."

Dalos picked up the pouch of gold. For a moment he considered bribing himself, but he never really did care that much for wealth.

"Sounds like a plan. I'm sure the dunmer will be as quiet as mice, they're used to be treated as so. I'll meet you there, hopefully I won't have to wait too long."

He walked off without another word. It made him uncomfortable that Malfius so freely discussed his lycanthropy. He didn't trust the forsworn with keeping a secret for long. The Thalmor were more acceptable, since he planned to really become part of the Dominion.

"I'll have to discuss that with him after this," he muttered to himself as he approached the first dunmer to bribe.

After the pouch of gold was empty, Dalos waited for a victim guard to show up. He waited in a dark ally with a conjured sword in each hand. And then the guard passed.

Dalos sprinted out with the speed of a wolf. He repressed a battle cry and swung viciously with both swords together at his victim's back. The guard fell to his knees with a cry and reached for his weapon.

He even drew his sword before Dalos finished him. The dunmer dragged the corpse into his alley and began to strip him of his armor.

It is hard to imagine that his infatuation with the death of Ulfric Stormcloak would fuel his lust to attempt an enterprise on such a grand scale as assassination. Upon a moments reflection, many a man would consider success impractical, but Malfius' conviction would never allow his perseverance to be obliterated, neither allow second thoughts to halt him nor subdue him in his endeavor. Justice was balanced on one scale; self-preservation in the other.

He couldn't allow the Thalmor to take responsibility for their actions. The mission required extreme discretion, but certainly someone would have to take the fall. The Forsworn? The Dunmer? Legion Agents? Certainly he had to leave some evidence behind framing a party for the murder of the Jarl.

He grabbed a quill and piece of parchment before sitting at the desk.

"I'll catch up with you all shortly. I have business to attend to here." He waved dismissively as he pulled out a pair of glasses as he sat down at the table, wiping them off for clarity.

He paused for a moment and thought deeply, letting out a heavy breath as he placed his left hand on the parchment, and began to outline the image of a hand. A hand shaded in and scorched with black ink. A Black Hand. The mark of the Dark Brotherhood.

He studied the hand for a brief moment, then folded up the parchment after being satisfied with his work, tucking it into the pocket of his tunic. It would have it's uses later in his clever plot. If there was something he knew how to do all to well it was cover his tracks.

He rose from his seat, places his glasses back in his pocket, and decided to head outside.

Noticing a blood spill on the ground both satisfied him in knowing that his men had been well at work while he was busy forging documents beneficial to their cause, yet angered him at the lack of aptitude they showed for covering up their tracks.

He washed out the blood with a bucket, leaving no trace of the sanguine fluid to be spotted.

"These idiots are starting to be a pain in the ass..." He muttered, seething between clenched teeth. "Why not just write out in blood 'The Dominion Wuz Here' If you're going to leave behind a trail...Tch."

"As you wish," she replied easily, shrugging her shoulders.

While her partner stayed in the club, she and the Dunmer went in different directions, Saeria quietly making her way to an alley far displaced from the establishment. The Altmer didn't lay in wait - the ground was far too dirty for her to even deign to crouch. She simply stood in the dark, taking note of the various open barrels strewn throughout the alley, filled with all manner of miscellaneous items.

The wait seemed long and tedious, but her mark walked by soon enough. The justicar pulled the glove off her non-dominant hand in preparation, tucking it into her belt. His pace was leisurely and his posture unguarded - perhaps still drunk from the Stormcloak victory. It was a simple matter to creep up behind him. Her dagger made a small noise upon being drawn. The guard didn't notice - maybe that was luck.

She didn't dwell on it, rising and slitting his throat quickly, the Nord letting out a gurgle as he fell backwards into her. Her blade had found just the right spot between his helmet and armor. Saeria grimaced, cupping the base of his throat to prevent the blood from spilling. Divines, if she had her glove on, she would never get it out.

Trying not to notice the warm, sticky feeling in her hand, she pulled him backwards, hauling him into the shadows of the alleyway. It took all of her will power not to wipe it on his armor - she'd have to do it all over again if she did. He was still bleeding though, and her hand couldn't contain all of it. Thinking quickly, the Altmer dragged him over to one of the barrels, holding his head and throat over it so that the blood wouldn't smear all over the ground.

Malfius was far better at covering his tracks than her, surprisingly, and with great displeasure, she left him sprawled on top of the container to bleed out. With her hands free, she patted him down with her clean hand, smiling when she found a weapon-polishing cloth tucked in his boot. After wiping her hands clean, she went back to work, quickly stripping him down.

Dalos shifted from one foot to the other both impatiently and nervously. Calixto's House of Curiosities seemed like a dull place from the outside. The stormcloak armor he wore wasn't all the comfortable to him either. The dunmer couldn't decide if that was because it was the enemy's or if it was just because it ill fit him.

He saw a stormcloak guard approach and immediately tensed up before forcing himself to try and look casual. Panic threatened to set in when he thought about what would happen if the guard tried to start conversation.

Maybe it was Saeria approaching? He could only hope.

Her skin crawled underneath the armor, the knowledge that it had touched a Nord's flesh infinitely disgusting to her. A guard was waiting in front of their designated meeting point. Casually, she approached.

"Relax a little," Saeria murmured in a thick Nordic accent, testing the waters. If he was who she thought he was, his voice would tell all. Hopefully he recgonized her voice. "This is a day to celebrate. People will look at you oddly if you're not acting drunk."

Relief flooded through him. Her accent was truly convincing, but he was able to decipher Saeria through it.

"That's right, we're just a couple of lax celebrating guards..."

He relaxed for a few moments, but then he felt the familiar impatience that never seemed to leave him. He was anxious to get started. He told himself that Malfius shouldn't be much longer.

Malfius' technique for the acquisition of a proper uniform required a great bit of finesse.

A stumbling guard swaying side to side, tripping over his steps with a shield in his left hang and a mug in his right hand.

Obviously he was more prone to a slothful nature as many drunken Nords were after getting hammered. This would play greatly to Malfius' advantage as in the guards' drunken state, he would not have the willpower to be able to protect his mind from the tainting effects of Malfius' Illusive magics.

Malfius whistled an upbeat tune as he dropped down to a crouch, and slipped down the ledge to sit on it, his legs dangling of the edge, alternating swings.

He pulled out an apple from his satchel and began to nibble gently into it with one hand as his gaze lingered on his victim.

The guard waltzed over shouting curses at the Dunmer residence, before throwing his mug through one of their windows.

With a shake of his head and a flick of his wrist, he channeled magicka that pulsed through his veins and surged at the very heart of his fingertips. He raised his hand, aiming at his target, savoring the moment as he played on invisible piano keys with his fingers, until at last he released the spell.

"Salutations my little slave...you belong to me now understand?"

"Yes, master. I am at your command." The guard responded in a drunken slur.

"Great. Now slap yourself for your insolence of allowing yourself to get caught in this predicament." He chuckled as he finished off his apple.

"As you wish, master." he responded as he unleashed a powerful paw lashing out at his own face.

"Alright, great now follow me..right this way." Malfius jumped up to his feet and walked back into the Gnisis Cornerclub, followed quickly by his puppet.

"Now let's see what creative things Ol' Malfius could conjure up for you...oh you should be honored that I am giving you the pleasure of a beautiful death fool. I'll make sweet sweet art of your murder without even getting my paintbrush red."

Malfius grabbed some rope from the cabinet and placed it into the drunken guards hands.

"Marvelous. Now let's kick it up a notch. I want you to suffocate yourself. Choke out the very life from your lungs. Hang yourself from the ceiling like a beautiful little ornament."

"Of course, master" He spoke in his delusional state.

Within seconds, the guard tied a noose with the rope, climbed up a chair and threw the untied end over a beam in the ceiling.

"Ah, let me help you with that." Malfius smiled while he grabbed the untied end as the guard place the noose around his head and kicked off the chair from underneath him.

Malfius' muscles were strained as he balanced the weight on the rope while the guard dangled, wiggling frantically.

"My my..you're a fat little piggy aren't you...oh what's this? Oh no no no...you haven't earned the satisfaction of a peaceful death!" With another slight flick of his wrist, he released his spell over the guard.

With his heightened sense of awareness and shock of how he come into the situation, his eyes casts out anger and lamenting sorrows.

He reflected on his past as his life flashed before his eyes as tears streamed down his face.

Only moments later he held his little girl for the first time in years, since he had returned from the war.

He promised her that he would never miss another one of her birthdays and promised he'd be able to see her grow up to be the beautiful priestess of Talos she always dreamed to be.

His final lie.

"Yes! Yes! Feed me your tears! That is EXACTLY the reaction I wanted!" Malfius shrieked as he tightened his grip on the rope, pulling further for greater impact.

With all the angst and malice he could summon, the guard lubricated his mouth with a tsunami of saliva before spitting violently onto Malfius with peerless accuracy.

Malfius' eyes bulged out murderously as he jerked sharply on the rope and relished in the moment as white orbs rolled slowly to the back of the guards head.

A final breath whispering from his lips.

"Fun fun fun..oh hehehe...hmm...let's see." Malfius slapped his knee as he released the rope, the dead weight of the body crashing onto the chair, before breaking through it and unto the floor.

He took off one glove and wiped his finger beneath the bags of the guards' eyes, where his tears still stained his face. It was obvious he led a very weary and tiring life.

"Mmmm...MMMMMMM! Yes..this really brings back so many great memories. I just love love love LOVE the flavor of the tears of the fallen, so pure and fragile..ohhh and rare! oh so very rare! the last tears he'll ever have to cry." Malfius cackled after tasting the guards tears as he slapped the dead man's face with his unadorned glove.

"Pathetic little wench...I better hurry before your dead carcass starts to stink up my new costume."

Malfius quickly relinquished the corpse of his uniform and dragged the body deep into the cellar and hid it in a cabinet.

He later came by to the scene of the crime and dispose of the broken chair and rope in the attic.

Content with how he had covered his tacks he changed over into his new uniform and washed his hands with a glass of water.

He despised the thoughts of Nordic flakes contaminating his precious golden skin.

He made his way over to where they had agreed to meet. Discovering two people dressed in Stormcloak armor.

"Those ugly colors look good on you two, you guys ready to join the 'Sons and Daughters of Skyrim'..." Malfius teased.

Dalos rolled his eyes. "Let's just get started. I don't want to be seen as a 'Son of Skyrim' any longer than I have to be."

Saeria crossed her arms and shifted her weight once more, leaning back as she regarded Malfius. He looked a tad too tall for a Nord but then, she was crossing into that territory somewhat as well.

"I'm with the Dunmer," she replied blandly, still using her accent. It would be good to put it in practice. "Have you got anything else to run by us, or shall we go?"

Malfius was shocked at how authentic her Nordic tongue was.

"You know if I didn't know any better, I'd suspect you were Jarl Elisif herself. I see you've been playing close attention to her speeches in solitude. Well, on to business then ladies..." He commented, ignoring the fact that Dalos was a male while folding his arms.

"Right this way, if you will...we still have much to discuss in regards to the infiltration of the palace. Follow me to the cornerclub we were shacked up in early for a quick briefing. We could also use a refresher of the layout of the palace. It's best we do that now while we still have access to that map. We don't want to be waltzing around deep behind enemy lines with a stick up our asses, not being able to make head or tails of which direction leads to the Jarls chambers."

Malfius walked down the alley and back into the cornerclub, the stench of the deceased guard had already began to fester and the scent lingered in the air.

She didn't reply to his comments- only uncrossed her arms, sighing quietly. Truth be told, she was a bit suspicious as to his aims, being well aware that he didn't make it a habit to hand out such honeyed words without a healthy coat of venom on top. Nonetheless, Saeria followed after him. She touched Dalos on the shoulder lightly, gesturing with a tilt of her head towards Malfius, the silent message of "let's go" clear.

Dalos remained quiet at Malfius' comment. He realized that the strange Altmer intimidated him. He followed Saeria's lead and walked with them to the corner club. Saeria seemed much more normal to the werewolf. Her presence was a comfort, if only a small one. She was still a dedicated Thalmor though and was no doubt a strong ally to Malfius.

He frowned as he followed after the two. He was excited to be part of the Dominion, but he suddenly felt that he missed the Companions. He knew he could count on them as a brother could. With the Thalmor, he was just a new asset. There was no reason for them to risk their lives for him, or even inconvenience themselves. They held all the cards and with his secret exposed to them, he had no way to resist them.

He wondered if he had just spent too much time with the Companions. He'd grown too comfortable with them and now he felt vulnerable without them. That will change with time, Dalos told himself.

After this mission, he should be a real part of the Dominion. There was no reason for them to betray him. He was being paranoid. Malfius had even expressed approval of him. This mission was what he was looking for. This sense of danger and unpredictability. He should be enjoying this, not fearing it.

By the time he took his seat in the corner club, the dunmer's doubts were placed to the back of his mind. He was focused on the mission again.

Malfius' scowled fiercely at a peeping dunmer before slamming the door shut behind him. As the door shut a thunderous clap could be heard as rain began to pour down the paved city streets. It was a rare occurrence that such an event ever came to prosper in the snowy winds of Windhelm. It was often even considered a bad omen amongst the Nordic folk. Fitting for the occasion.

At last, they had the seclusion he desired. Malfius' welcome the scent of the deceased as it tickled his nostrils. With great haste, he quickly double time his way over to where the others sat. Pulling out a pipe from his garment as he stood over the table where several miscellaneous document's lie. He stuck a match on the pinewood surface and set the tobacco alight. A toxic black cloud raised like an ebony phoenix that danced through the air.

A stern expression plastered upon his face, he revealed the contents of the files to his peers, glaring at them with piercing eyes, relaying the seriousness of this mission.

After embracing a drag of his pipe and releasing a puff of dark smoke that riddled the atmosphere, he began to analyze the first file.

It was map of the exterior perimeter of the palace walls.

Blood-letter markings had shown an uncanny resemblance to shadowmarks derived from the thieves guild, marking danger zones and safe areas. In all his clever grace, he had managed to deliver a letter to Dalos prior to the mission with the attachment of a glossary of shadowmarks that he had managed to confiscate from a thief that wandered too deep to the inner halls of the Thalmor Embassy. Where the cunning lied in this effort was that if, by mere chance, Dalos was to be compromised and the files were found, the guard captain would assume all the files were tied to a sweep job planned by the thieves guild, instead of a coordinated assassination plot. Yet another party to fall victim, should their plot go awry.

"All right by the looks of things, Dalos has already got everything worked out for us. He may not be an Altmer, but he makes a damn reliable spy. As you can all see here there are always two guards posted on the outside of the palace gates, as well as the occasional roving guard checking in to report his post. Lucky for us, in the next half hour hour, the day shift is going to switch duty with the night shift and go on a pleasant rest cycle inside the palace for dinner and some rest. Good thing for us, we nicked these outfits before they switched shifts."

He shot a sharp glance at Saeria, unflinching in his gaze.

"This is where our lovely femme fatale comes into play. You're going to do all the talking for us. If Dalos or I say a word, our distinct accents will blow our cover and this whole plan goes up in flames. Dalos! If anyone approaches us, we're going to have to rely on mimicking a drunken incomprehensible slur. They'll assume we're too shit-faced from hitting the flagons too hard and leave us alone. It's a good thing we've already been drinking. They should smell the alcohol from our breath and clothes and catch the hint."

He moved on to the second file, brushing aside the first.

"This displays a rough blueprint sketch of the inner layout of the palace. Be cautious, as this place will be flooded with stormcloaks. There will be two guards immediately posted on opposite corners of the entrance to the palace. In the center of the room is a long dinner table where the stormcloaks will gather for the feast of a liftime! Courtesy of our dear 'friend', Mr. Nico! Across from the table is the Jarls' baby-seat where he can usually be found pondering his ignorant speeches. To the right of that is where we will meet our contact. Chances are he'll be dripping with sweat being all alone in there with half a legion of stormcloaks, once he realizes he has back up he should be able to keep his cool. He is already aware of the security phrase that notifies him that we've infiltrated the palace successfully. It'll also allow him to tell us from the rest of Ulfric's dogs. Now our trusty little forsworn here has concocted a poison that will give the Stormcloaks a feast of a lifetime! Oh-ho-ho it will be quite a SHOW! They will be driven to the point of metal and a symphony of clashed steel will sooth our ears! Sibling brutally slaying sibling. Brothers of war dying by each others hands! It's perfect! It almost brings a tear to my eye."

Malfius trailed an imaginary ear down from the corner of his eye to his cheek with the corner of his finger.

"Tears of laughter, that is! After all, you can't spell slaughter without laughter! Teehee..."

He let out a maniacal cackle as he whipped his head back to Dalos as if possessed. Cocking his head slightly, bearing a creepy grin.

"This is your scene, my precious pet! You see...while those idiots are busy killing each other, You and Nico are going to help speed up the process. Oh ho ho oh yesssss..." His voiced snaked. " Now whether or not you want to..let's say...unleash that beautiful beast form of yours you've been secretly keeping under peoples noses. I wouldn't find you filling your tummy with a few meany weeny old Stormcloaks...but If you aren't able to control that little Lycan blood in you and by chance decide to go feral. I would advice against it...after all we wouldn't want to neuter our little doggy woggy prematurely now would we?"

A malevolent grin washed across his face as he panted a dagger into the war room on the map.

"Now if you're following me on this tour of the Palace of Kings, you'll notice to the left of the throne is the Stormcloaks' War Room. Even though our primary mission is to assassinate Ulfric Stormcloak, we will receive a bonus if we manage to collect intel that reveals the hidden stormcloak camps they have tucked away in the hills. This room is usually where the Stormcloak officials meet to plan their attacks. While Dalos and Nico are keeping the stormcloaks busy, Saeria and I will slip in here and grab whatever documents we can find. It should be taken into account that Galmar Stone-fist and the Jarls' Court Wizard won't be present for our little party crashing since they are going on a political movement to keep the other bloody Jarls in line. That leaves Ulfric's lapdog lieutenant, Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced. Being an officer, he won't be eating with the enlisted men and won't be drunk either. If we can sneak past him in the confusion, so be it. If he proves to be a problem Saeria, dispose of him..."

He brushed his hands across the third blueprint, displaying the second floor of the palace.

"With all the Stormcloak officials gone and the guards down below. This area should be empty for the most part, with the exception of a roving guard or two. Ulfrics' chambers can be found in the furthest corner of the halls. Saeria and I know what to do. Just remember, we want him capture alive, don't rupture any vital organs just yet. He puts up a fight, strike to neutralize...not to kill. We'll save that part for later."

Malfius' traced his hands against the final piece of the puzzle. The drawing of the pier that banked on the eastern hemisphere of Windhelm.

"Dalos, when you and Nico are ready, you will inform him to meet us at the pier just outside of town. We'll regroup with you after we have Ulfric. If we're lucky and our other two Thalmor agents haven't been compromised. They should already have the exit secured for us. Once we have all rallyed at the checkpoint we'll escape on a boat that has been discreetly provided for us by the lizards. The current will give us a swift ride downstream where we will latter hide the boat and move inside an abandoned shack where we begin the next phase of our mission."

Finally finishing his long-winded briefing he collecting his dagger, along with the documents, and begun to walk over to the fireplace inside the Cornerclub. Without any hesitation, he thrust the files into the fires and cast them into the flames, where they vaporized into non-existence, never to be traced to him, nor his accomplices.

"Better burn those thoroughly," she muttered, more to herself than Malfius.

Saeria gave herself a last check, making sure she still had her dagger planted somewhere on her. The only good thing about the armor, she thought, was that it was baggy enough for her to carry all or most of the items vital to the plan; the sedative poison, for one thing. Otherwise, it was the abominable work of an abominable people, and she hated it.

The justicar exited the establishment first, eager for this stage of the assignment to be over and done with. She mapped out the route in her head. They would return to Calixto's, and then go past Brunwulf Free-Winter's house, up the steps past the archway and "meet" their replacements, then head into the side-passage to the courtyard of the Palace of Kings. That would be the quickest path.

She leaned against the wall, opposite the door to the Gnisis Cornerclub, waiting for Malfius to finish his work - a wait that would, no doubt, be brief.

Dalos smiled at Malfius' compliment. That was reassuring, right? He nodded at the altmer when he stated their roles to play. Dalos expected himself to play a better drunk this time. He smiled at Malfius' relation of slaughter to laughter, though he wasn't sure if it was out of humor or unease. At the mention of his lycanthropy however, he frowned.

"You don't need to worry about me going feral. I can control myself."

His hand went to the sword he'd stolen from his stormcloak guard. It wasn't one of his conjured blades, but it would do. Dalos the dunmer would be enough.

His eyes watched the papers burn after Malfius threw them to the flames. Soon they were naught but ash and it was time for them to go.

Dalos left the corner club and lead the way to the next phase of the plan. He remembered to let Saeria take the lead on the way there. It was going to be up to her in just a few minutes. He started to act his part as a drunk.

The plan is set. The rules are clear. If all goes right for Malfius' Grifters. They will have swindled the Stormcloaks out of a natural born leader.

Malfius knelt down and checked the fireplace to ensure there was no trace of evidence to be left behind.

"Alright! It's showtime girls!" Malfius gleamed with his display of comical jazz hands.

Malfius chuckled to himself quietly as he shadowed his goons, testing the weight of the mace he relieved the guard of moments earlier. Even though he would rely more so on his magical prowess, a bit of skull-crushing would be delightful to him.

Brandishing a bottle of Honningbrew mead for show, he quickly followed his associates, staying in the rear of the formation.

Night had fallen - Windhelm looked infinitely darker than it had before.

Saeria kept her posture both relaxed and official - she would play the straightman to Malfius and Dalos's drunken bums, after all, and had to look the part. They turned on Free-Winter's house, going up the steps. A light in the distance told her all she needed to know, and her fingers twitched as they neared the oncoming guardsmen.

She was just a bit on the short side for an Altmer - she could pass for a tall Nordic female, if they didn't look too closely. It was Malfius's height that might give them away, but in his foresight, their feigned inebriation allowed him to slouch without catching attention.

Ah, there they were. A pair, both male, that she could tell, and one of them holding a torch.

"Any news on the watch?" asked the one without the torch, his accent surprisingly mild.

"Heard some Khajiit making a fuss outside the walls," she replied, coming up with a plausible answer as fast as she could. "They say the cat was on the sugar. Been quiet, otherwise."

Her tongue felt thick, and it took immense concentration for the justicar's words to remain concise. The guard seemed to accept her answer. His companion nodded towards Dalos and Malfius.

"And those two?" he asked, gruffly, and Saeria had to control her breathing for fear she'd hold her breath. "What, they been drinking?"

Her heart found its beat again.

"Tch. That they have. Must think the victory's an excuse to be idle," she said, disdainfully. "The bloody slackers. Lucky we're about to get off."

Torch-guard, as she termed him, made a disapproving noise, shaking his head, but the other only chuckled.

"Oh, but it is - and to that, we oughtn't keep you. The feast is comin' up, don't you know. Run along, lass. We'll take it from here."

Good. They'd bought it - fully and completely. She nodded.

"I'll hold you to that, then."

The light moved; the pair walked past them without sparing them another glance.

The way was clear.

Nico headed out of the tavern his weapons and potions concealed, he headed to the palace of kings, such greatness it was probably all from the suffering of others though. As he approached closer he could see a guard at the entrance
"Halt who are you breton to approach the palace of kings." the guard said to him, he replied to the guard
"I am the cook your lord requested to cook meals for the guards"
"oh well it has got to be better than the muck that these dark elves cook for us, go right in" the guard said opening the door.
Nico headed in and went towards the kitchen.