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.