Over the next few hours the four of us plotted and discussed what was to come. Viconia and I were to travel to the Imperial City and meet Baurus within a Boarding House in the Elven Gardens District. One of the many hundreds of safe houses scattered throughout the Empire it was here that Baurus had been living and working from since the Emperor’s death. To be able to track down a handful of individuals in the largest city in the world was true testament to not just his dedication but his skill. Now with promising leads he needed assistance in tracking down and burning the cult out with force and Viconia and I were the only ones available to do so on such short notice. We sat within Jauffre’s study for a time, before retiring to make our arrangements for the short journey in the morning. Even on foot it was a short travel south to the city but as time was of the essence and despite my misgivings and desire not to find myself in the saddle again we would travel by horse.
As the journey was short we didn’t take much, leaving with little more than our armour, weapons and clothes and carrying very little food and water. Jauffre had provided us with a fairly substantial amount of septims to pay for lodging and supplies while within the city for however long that it might take. Once we had assisted Baurus and hopefully located the whereabouts of either the cult’s primary home or the Amulet of Kings we were to relay the location back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Upon receiving word of our success Jauffre would send a larger team of Blades to assist us in destroying the cult and retrieving the Amulet.
The plan was simple but simple plans always seemed to work better and had higher chances of success. Once morning broke over the horizon Viconia and I said our farewells and began the trek to the south. Neither of us were impressed with riding again, our bodies remembering all too well the agony of the journey through the darkness after the destruction of the Priory. We rode steadily, making good time and even managing to stay in an inn in the town of Bleakers Way for the evening. It was a surprisingly pleasant journey in comparison to the previous weeks of endless walking through forests, hills and plains and after such an introduction to travelling by horse the gentle canter that we managed turned a three-day journey into an overnight one.
As the waters of Lake Rumare drew closer so did the towering, sprawling majesty of the Imperial City. Gleaming walls of white stone and marble rose spectacularly into the sky and I watched with a grin at Viconia’s open expression of astonishment as we boarded one of the many barges to cross the calm waters of the lake. Our horses were left with one of stables that dotted the waters edge, their stone walls sturdy and well-built despite appearing positively crude in comparison to the Ayleid-made city on the island. A quick haggle with the bargemen, answering the questions from the usual assortment of tariffs and customs officials ensuring that no good went untaxed soon ensured that we were on board the boat and making our way to the City itself.
The Imperial City was unlike anything to be found in all of Tamriel, and judging from Viconia’s expression; in the Underdark as well. A curtain wall six kilometres in diameter and thirty metres tall, formed a perfect circle that carved out a section in the island it was built into. However as we drew closer to the northern bank of the island our eyes were drawn upwards at the enormous spear of white marble and stone that pierced the heavens. White Gold Tower, made by the hands of the long dead Ayleids towered above everything and could been seen for hundreds of kilometres in all directions. Hundreds of metres tall and a hundred wide at the base it was figuratively and literally the heart of the Cyrodiilic Empire. Within the spire lay the theatre and the hundreds of seats where the Elder Council met, the Imperial Palace in which every Emperor and his family had lived and the temple of the Moth Priests and their enormous collection of priceless Elder Scrolls. There was more concentrated power within those stones than could be found anywhere else in the Empire and as such attracted countless thousands like moths to a candle.
Cities such as Anvil and Leyawiin could lay claim to being the largest cities in Cyrodiil and even the wider empire with over a 120,000 souls living in and around their walls. Far away Daggerfall too had claim to a massive population of an estimated 110,000 but they were nothing to the incomprehensible numbers on City Isle. Over a million men, mer and beastfolk made the Imperial City and the rest of the Island their home, their numbers spilling out from the neat circular districts and their architecturally pleasing designs. Houses, apartments, workshops, warehouses, huts and shanty’s crowded over every inch of land and even out onto the water. They jostled against each other, leaning and growing, rising multiple stories into the air in vain attempts to match the sheer scale of the ancient Ayleid structures countless generations of men had claimed within. Made of brick, stones, wood and plaster the buildings outside created a distinct opposite impression of the perfect organisation of the structures inside, growing and shifting like mould as streets and blocks shifted and moved over the centuries.
Only the most affluent and well-off could live within the city walls for any period of time. The wealthy could afford to rent apartments within the Elven Gardens or Talos Plaza Districts but only the most exceedingly rich could ever possibly hope to own anything more within the walls. Even inheritance was no guarantee of being able to own even the smallest of buildings, houses or apartments, where the shifting price of the tiniest piece of property ensured that Counts and members of the Elder Council had to take deep looks into their purses in contemplation before making purchases.
But the Imperial City was the heart of the Empire, the city where-all-roads-led. The sprawling multitudes and the secured trade routes both by land and sea by the might of the Legion and Imperial Navy ensured that goods from throughout Tamriel could be found within its bustling marketplaces. Arms and armour from orcish smiths sat alongside silks from the depths of Blackmarsh, spices from Elsweyr, furs from Skyrim and alchemical ingredients from Valenwood. Ebony hewn from the heart of Vvardenfell was fashioned by expert smiths into the greatest of crafts, and silver and gold from Highrock was combined with gems and precious stones from the Summerset Isles before being paraded by the wealthy and powerful of the city. Anything could be found at a price in such a place, but as with all great collections of power and money those who coveted it with hungry eyes could also be found.
Outside of the walls, the powerful and wealthy held little sway as the thousands who called the city their home were born, raised, matured, had families, grew old and died. Many would live their entire lives in the shadow of White Gold Tower, never leaving the Isle and the bustling throngs that swarmed over it. Within such a place and despite the constant vigil and actions of the Imperial Watch crime was rampant and every nook and cranny was home to the penniless, destitute and desperate. In darkened corners cutthroats and cutpurses plied their trades and smugglers and thieves made use of the millennia old sewers and tunnels that ate their way into the rock beneath the flagstones. Gangs would prowl the streets in various shades of legitimacy and legality. Some were little more than animals that the Watch put down without hesitation and others, while not the most honest of groups still seemed to have more honour than those seated in the Elder Council. Daedra worshippers, slavers, pilgrims, freemen, guildsmen, citizens and numerous others lived within the closely-packed streets and houses, going about their lives as they ate, slept, made love, celebrated, raised families and died in various ways. Most would possibly never travel further than the City Isle itself and would undoubtedly be cremated or laid to rest within a few hundred metres of their birthplace.
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It was this world within a world that Viconia and I soon found ourselves in, the press of bodies heavy around us as we moved in our full armour and feeling uneasy with the sudden press of the crowds after so long within the wilds of Cyrodiil. Viconia was full of wonder at such a place even as she recoiled from the mass of people and the sheer bustling, overwhelming nature of it. The sights, smells, and sounds overlapped and were mixed together until barely any semblance of order remained. Even despite our appearances; Viconia’s beauty, ebony skin and white hair, and my own tall, armoured and scarred visage barely even warranted a glance from the population of the City. Those teeming thousands were so used to the multitudes from throughout the bounds of the Empire that we were able to effortlessly disappear in plain sight.
We threaded our way through the streets and through the enormous gatehouse on the North Eastern side where the pristine path lead from the Imperial Prison to the central ring around the base of White Gold Tower. The four gates located around the walls were heavily crowded by buildings built up over the centuries but their major thoroughfares were kept open to ensure that the flow of traffic and people never slowed. Each gate served as entrance and route to the major points on the isle; the North Eastern gate lead to the Imperial Prison and the Headquarters of the Legion, the South East to the Arcane University and the home of the Mages Guild. The South West led to the enormous city docks where dozens of ships ranging from enormous barges and caravels built for lengthy journeys at sea moored alongside smaller galleys and cogs for the river trade. The three smaller gates however were utterly insignificant in scale to the Western gate, where its mouth opened directly onto the ancient bridge connecting the City to the Mainland and the town of Weye on the Western Shore. An almost impossible feat of engineering, the ancient stone bridge was over two kilometres in length and wide enough that an entire legion could march across in columns of fifty men abreast.
While the docks brought in trade from throughout the Empire, the Bridge brought uncountable tonnes of food and supplies from the counties of Cyrodiil, each bag and wagon ensuring that famine and starvation was only barely held at bay for the city. It took almost the entire harvests of counties Cheydinhal, Bravil, Kvatch and Anvil just to keep the populace fed enough to stop starvation and death, and food convoys would travel from as far away as Hammerfell and northern Elsweyr to feed the city of thousands. Such a titanic undertaking not only seemed possible but happened with such prodigious ease and regularity that a mass starvation or famine hadn’t occurred on the Isle for over 600 years.
It was in this place of teeming numbers and appearance of a humanoid anthill that Viconia and I had come to find and kill a tiny nest of a dozen or more. Such a task should have been impossible but simply served to show the incredible skill and ability of the Empire’s spies.
Our destination was a seemingly innocuous affair in a city of wonders. While fastidiously maintained by a literal army of street sweepers and cleaners there was no hiding the fact that this particular series of streets within the Elven Gardens district were rougher than most. It was the little details of weather beaten signs hanging in the breeze, the taste of soot from cooking fires and hearths and the sudden sensation and appearance of a layer of grime coating every wall and surface from uncountable years of habitation. The crowds appeared to be rougher than the usual passers-by threading their way through the Temple or Arena districts with their gardens, temples to the Nine and collections of theatres, upper class taverns and bathhouses. Instead there were other hard-bitten adventurers, sell swords, mercenaries, tradesmen, labourers and those who relied on such individuals for their own trades. Bawdyhouses, low-rate bathhouses, taverns, inns and other various houses of ill repute could be found at every turn of the head, as well as bunkhouses, boarding houses and comparatively cheaper apartments compared to the rest of the city. Almost every bodily desire was catered for, and the further one delved into the back alleys and darkened corridors the more and more hedonistic of desires could be sated.
It was here that we found the Boarding house run by an associate of the Blades and that possibly provided the only safe house for the members of the order in the entire city. Solidly built and smelling of unwashed bodies and stale alcohol there was little to recommend to the place. However, in an area frequented by the more roughest of individuals Viconia and I were able to travel and move freely and without suspicion. Our own appearances were perfectly suited for such a place and even as we pushed our way inside no one but the owner standing behind the bar bothered to even look up at us for more than a second.
Until the early hours of the evening we waited within the dining room of the boarding house, having arranged for individual rooms and resting comfortably. The advice from Jauffre was to arrive, make ourselves known and simply wait for Baurus to show himself before rendering whatever assistance we could. Luther Broad was a well-built slab of muscle that was slowly wasting into fat from the years of running the boarding house. Thick wrestler’s arms, trunks of legs and a bullish neck despite the balding head ringed with grey hair ensured that rarely anyone caused issues within his business. If they did they soon found themselves vacating the premises and only if they were lucky he’d open the door first before throwing them out into the street.
We settled in and made ourselves at home, shedding most of our equipment in our rooms and remaining in the dining area near the lit hearth that left the room somewhat stuffy from the temperature. From the chill of the southern Jerals it was a pleasant experience despite how I kept myself armoured while I sat at the bar, sipping Colovian Brandy and wishing for a mug of Vvardenfell Matze. While staying for any period of time within a city I rarely drank water, and despite the unique and efficient plumbing and aqueducts of the Imperial City I wasn’t going to take my chances drinking anything that wasn’t alcohol or boiled repeatedly.
Viconia found herself drawn into one of the various games being played through the room. The Boarding house seemed to be a popular place for the working classes of the City, and a glance around the room showed over two dozen individuals from a variety of trades and professions. Masons, carpenters, smiths, guildsmen, caravan hands, sellswords, tailors, street sweepers, daytalers, jewellers all mixed and intermingled to some degree despite the various races and genders. While overwhelmingly Imperial, there were Dunmer, Altmer, Bosmer, Bretons and Nords and almost surprisingly a handful of Orcs, Argonians and Khajiit seated at the tables or standing near the bar. Some played dice, which seemed to fascinate Viconia especially when she realised that she was good at it. Some sat at the bar and stared into the mugs and a very small group was near the back wall, tossing daggers into a wooden board hung haphazardly and showing clear signs of a being a popular target. Such a place seemed almost like home to me, especially how except for the bearing of those around me and the lack of uniforms it could’ve passed for a Legion bar.
