C57 Hey, Skeever Butt!

"Yeah..." I started talking with her, but in my head, I was starting to realize just how delusional this lady truly was. To think that she could actually kill me, even after being strung up like she was and then seeing me kill a dragon—single-handedly...

— —

"No drink? But—it may as well be sacrilege not to have a drink on an occasion such as this!"

"Hah! Finally, someone around here who speaks sense!" the man I spoke to looked up from the bench he was sitting on like he found a long-lost friend, "I would be drinking, but it appears Elenwen had me cut off," he harrumphed annoyedly, "likely to stop me from causing a scene—again."

"No, no. This won't do." I sit down beside him and hand him a cup of brandy, "Here, take this. I've a habit of taking two, instead of one, whenever I'm offered," I nudge him with a knowing look, "and I'm not just talking about drinks, if you catch my meaning."

"Hm? Oh. Oh! Hahaha! Yes! Yes I do, my good man! I think we'll be fast friends, fast friends indeed." He takes a big swig from the cup, "Aah, that's the spot. Mmm, stronger than normal too." He looks at me after savoring the drink a bit longer, "A friend—no—a dear friend, you are. Yes! You and I will start a mighty 'conquest' across all the upper class societies of Skyrim. No, all of Tamriel! We won't stop until every posh pussy has been thoroughly..."

This is Razelan.

He's going to be my distraction here at the Thalmor embassy, and quite soon at that, as I may have 'enhanced' his drink to facilitate his—boisterousness. Though, I realize now that that was unnecessary.

—

It may be overkill to have me the one who infiltrates this place, but in Delphine's defense—and likely the only time I will ever be in her defense—I'm the only person trusted enough, and skilled enough, to pull this off who isn't already compromised by the Thalmor.

"Aahh, oh, hahaha," Razelan babbles incoherently, "Mis-mistrressss Elen—I hav ti us that, itss ti gud," he stands up and starts wobbling to the center of the ballroom.

Seeing him leave, I soon get up and move to the back, where the elf spy, Malborn, is bartending. He looks as cool as a—a volcanic vent, "I said to cause a distraction. Then I c—"

"I-{hiccup}-I'd like to propose a toast to El-{hiccup}-Elenwen! Our Mistress!"

I never looked away from Malborn and only blinked after hearing my—dearest friend—play his part with perfect timing. The best part was that I never even asked him to do anything, just—guided him in the right direction. Yes, guided is the right word.

"Come on, this way," Malborn quickly waved me behind the bar and through a back door, to the kitchen.

"Who comes, Malborn? You know I don't—like..." the khajiit stops taking and makes a flirtatious growl, "Tsavani likes!" she stretches her neck a bit while giving me 'those' eyes.

"He's a guest, just feeling a bit ill, so I brought him back here to rest," Malborn—who's thick as mud—stuck to the script.

"Hm? Yes, I won't say anything." Getting that answer, I was led to another room, though, not before giving a playful wink to Tsavani before closing the door—I received another, more excited, growl in return.

Inside was a chest, holding some of my gear, and a door that led to the interior of the embassy. "That chest has your gear. Be careful, if you're caught, then my cover will be blown too," he was high-strung, but it was understandable, "I have to go before I'm missed. Hurry up so I can lock the door behind you."

I opened the chest and pulled out my stuff—it wasn't much. Two ebony daggers that I normally kept in my boots, a few lock picks, and a cloak with wrappings which were actually just the cloak and liner of my normal armor. All of this made a pretty good, ultralight armor.

"Alright..." Once dressed, I nodded to Malborn and opened the door, strolling in like I owned the place.

With my enhanced physical specs—which are now a little over five times a fit nord after the second dragon—and senses that are further enhancement from being a werewolf lord, almost makes me like Daredevil. While I can't 'see' what I hear, I can pretty much tell where and what's around me at all times. This is even more so when my other senses are brought into the equation.

Getting past the guards patrolling this part of the embassy was pretty easy. All it took was a little waiting and walking in perfect sync with their blind spots. The hardest part was actually opening the door to the outside, as the snow and cold doesn't exactly do wonders with hinges.

"Hey, skeever butt!"

"Hm. Did you hear that?"

"Yes. I think someone said skeever—butt."

My solution to that was a newly learned Throw Voice—shout?

Of course, I sent it someplace it couldn't be heard well. Likely, it would be thought of as one of Razelan's episodes that got out of hand. But, that's all I needed to sneak out the door unnoticed.

Once outside, I traveled along the perimeter rather easily. The wind covering up the little noise that I did make.

Entering the most important part of the embassy, Elenwen's quarters, was the hardest part, but that was easily solved with another Throw Voice to get the guards—plural—to leave me an opening.

Aside from me doing this the stealthy way because it's fun and I haven't done a 'stealth run' in a while—unless I go full ham—I kinda need to. Sure, I may be like five nords rolled into one, but when one Thalmor wizard—out of dozens—can single-handedly kill a dozen nords with relative ease, it doesn't mean much.

I could still do it, and it'd no doubt be fun—but—you've gotta mix it up every now and then, or things get stale...

Once inside, it was more of the same. Sneak, hide—skeever butt—sneak some more. Eventually, I reached my goal, a chest. After picking the lock, since flames are too risky, I found a bunch of reports and dossiers.

I didn't take any.

Instead, I sped read through it all, so I don't have to take anything. I can do that, as 'forgetting' is something I've long since found myself incapable of anymore. Once done, I even locked the chest again, to make sure they didn't find anything suspicious.

After that, I made my way down to the dungeon, so I could get to the second objective, though, on the way I wondered if Malborn would be caught like in the game. I don't know how he was found out originally, so I wasn't able to try preventing it.

If he is—well—I can only wait and see.

Once down, I saw a member of the Thieves Guild being interrogated by one of the Thalmor inquisitors. He was in terrible shape and hanging from a wall, only able to talk, "Like I said before, I don't know. I've seen him in the Ratway. Maybe he lives down there, but I don't know for sure, I never talked to him."

The inquisitor was sitting at a desk. It would be easy to sneak by him—but—the chest I needed to get to was right behind him, two feet from his ass. The reports from upstairs didn't have anything on Esbern and I wanted to be thorough, even if I already knew where he was.

At this point, I had many options, but I chose to not throw away my perfect stealth run and wait—for now, at least.

—

After a couple hours, the inquisitor went back upstairs, leaving behind an even more traumatized thief and an empty dungeon, aside from the few guards patrolling. The most obvious thing I realized during this time was that Malborn appears to be safe and sound.

Why?

It was obviously my good looks. What else could it be?

The only thing I could think of that was different from the game, in a significant way, was the way Tsavani, the khajiit chef, treated me. In comparison to the game, it's like night and day.

Deciding it was time to get out of here, I got up from my chair—because why would I crouch in a corner?—and made my way down to the chest. It was the same as the other one, except I had to stay out of the patrol's sight, which came much closer than the one upstairs.

Once finished, I went to the trapdoor that I already found while waiting. The thief won't be coming along, as that would jeopardize what I've had been trying to do by keeping everything 'untouched.' The mission is my number one priority, not some guy that's probably morally questionable anyway.

Sorta like—actually—I'm probably way more morally bankrupt than him...

— —

Everything after the trapdoor was a cinch. Just a troll and some ice, which, now that I think about it, is half of Skyrim...

Right now, I'm suited back up and leaning on the side of the Dragon Bridge, the bridge that the town southwest of Solitude is named after. I'm here because this is where I wanted to meet Delphine after the infiltration.

{Crunch}

I'm also eating some salted nuts that I was given by one of the residence here. I guess she thought I was hungry—which I was—after killing a dragon right in front of them. It was another 'weak' one, but the first I came across while out and about.

—

Hearing footsteps and smelling a familiar scent, I pull my helmet back down and wiped my hands off. Afterward, I slid a satchel to the side with my boot and said, "Your info's in there. It's all copies of the original."

Delphine picked it up, but before opening it, she said, "I still don't understand why you never take off your helmet. Me knowing what you look like isn't going to hurt anything, we're on the same side."

"I have my reasons," was my only answer.

The only people who both know I'm the Dragonborn, and what I look like, are the Graybeards. I even used enough of a disguise at the embassy to screw anyone up if they tried searching for me by looks. But even then, it won't matter soon enough.

I'm changing—at least physically. Every time I absorb a dragon, my features change a bit. The cause is the same as why I gain strength from absorbing them, and it's not Akatosh's blessing.

It's the other one.

Absorbing a dragon soul strengthens my Dragonborn blessing—but—it also strengthens the little specks that 'patched up' my werewolf blessing. And as a consequence, it's been growing in strength as well. And since Hircine's blessing primarily affects the physical—well...

"Esbern. I thought they got him long ago, but I guess not," Delphine brought me out of my musings. "Of course, they would be after him if they didn't know about the dragons... It says he's in Riften, probably the Ratway," she looks at me, "I need you to go get him and bring him—"

I raise my hand to cut her off, "Is he not one of yours? I'm sure you could convince the Thieves Guild to show you the way." I was expecting one of her typical answers, but that's not what I got, instead it was a rather good reason.

"I would, but," she coughed, "during the Blades—employment—by the Emperor, I had to burn my bridges with them during a certain mission. It would be much easier, and faster, for you to go instead."

I looked at her for a moment and then sighed, "I'll meet you in a week at..." I assented to her 'request,' but I wasn't looking forward to the smell.

Though, this time, I wasn't going in quietly. I'm going to make a bunch of noise while pissing off people who won't be able to do shit about it. I'll just say that Riften's about to be shaken up by a dovah killin, Thu'um spittin, zero fucks given dude, with no patience for places that smell like shit and honey mixed together.

— —

//Note//

This chapter was boring.

Next chapter won't be.

— —

Thalmor, mostly high elves, are long-lived and have centuries to master their craft. Thus, an embassy—which would likely have high level members stationed at it—would have extremely skilled wizards, even by Elven standards, on guard.

They aren't pushovers—unless—you Fus Ro Dah them. Most things are pushovers then...

— —

I don't really know how good I edited the last half or so.

I started getting too tired to care enough... like I am now.

— —

I've got nothin else...

— —