Last time on Oblivion Adventures,
our morally murky mercenary marksman tried to get a leg up on the competition.
It didn’t go so well. Now, a mere, er…eight months later, the story continues…
The Waterfront District of the Imperial City leaked in more ways than
one. Beyond the solid stone walls of the district proper, buildings oozed out
towards the shore like urban sludge. It wasn’t the only way this shantytown
resembled sludge. The living arrangements were only homes by technicality,
local vernacular was 90% beatings, and its citizens bathed about as much as
they paid rent. But for some unfathomable reason, this wretched hive of scum
and villainy had a fairly nice little garden squirreled away between a few of
its hovels.
Note
I’m using some artistic license here. The GAME calls it a garden. I call it a hilariously
tiny backyard without a single god damn plant in it.
It was here that a hooded figure loitered, propped up against the city
wall. S’razirr was no stranger to waiting. Epic tales of heroes and vagabonds
painted a picture of smooth, continuous action. Non-stop adventures of rescues
and battles, close calls and suspense, hedonism and danger. The Khajiit
snorted. Even as a child he’d known it was a load of imp’s gall. But exactly
how much hadn’t hit him until his first time on all night watch duty in the bowels
of a musty tomb. Eventually the boredom gets so oppressive even the threat of
hungry undead monstrosities can’t keep you on edge. No, the vast majority of
adventuring was dull as mud. It had to be. There were only so many things to
kill or be killed by. And even if you knew exactly where and when to find them,
everyone needed to sleep.