Received With Thanks

[auspex_caelo]

For every project that draws to a close, Stratos finds himself burdened with its sequel. Preparations for his leave of absence; following up on the threats still plaguing the Legion; perfecting his new silence spell and exploring its applications; helping Marcella test and refine her new communication devices. His evenings have been as full as his days, and perhaps that is the only reason he’s slept as deeply as he has.

Tonight, however, is set aside for a different task. The lamps burn steadily in his tent, the cold autumn winds of Skyrim banished outside by sturdy hide walls and slow-burning braziers. There’s a small pile of letters on one end of the table, collected from safe locations across Tamriel by the demon sitting on the wood beside them. The great strategic map of Skyrim is spread out in front of them, but tonight it’s overlaid by an illusion, glowing a soft blue-green as Stratos bends over it. The little blue and red flags that dot the map are lost amid the illusory contours, the symbols that float above this other map.

Some of them show the location of his new agents - or at least, those he’s been considering as candidates. He wanted Nekomata’s report on each of them before he began to trust in their information. She has a small dossier on each - the cat demon is a professional, as she says - but just listening to her talk about them tells him all he needs to know.

“…Almost blabbed everything when I let her think I was one of the bad guys.” Nekomata gives a superior sniff. “If you want I cyan take care of her, Boss…”

“That won’t be necessary. The last one, then, in Markarth?” He points it out on the map: she knows exactly where she’s been, but he’s never sure how much attention she pays to the details of the human world. No more than she absolutely needs to, it sometimes seems.

“Real boring. He’ll do I guess. Kept his mouth shut okay. He didn’t freak out no matter what I tried. His information’s good, too. Not as good as mine but that’s what you get from a meatsack. It’s not a nice place though, Boss. I don’t think he’s going to last long.”

“We’ll keep watch on him,” Stratos says. It’s an irony that planting an agent in Windhelm, capital of the Stormcloak rebels, has proven far easier than finding one in Markarth, a city deep in Imperial territory. But Markarth is a place riven by deep and bloody conflicts of its own. Everyone is suspicious and suspect there. And whatever the Stormcloaks’ military training, espionage is not their strength.

He surveys the symbols suspended over the map, marking agents, drop-off points, targets of interest, significant roadways. It’s been a slow process, made infinitely faster with the tools of the Nexus and Nekomata’s assistance. But now, finally, he looks at his work and sees the bones of a functional spy network.

“Well done,” he says to her. “I’ll call on you when I have replacements in mind for the unreliable links, but that will be all for now.”

Alone again, Stratos stands back, taking in the map, the stack of dossiers, the smaller pile of letters. He’s starting to think he understands what the Autumn spirit did for him, in the Nexus. It’s like a breath of clean air, the sudden sense that he can breathe easier these past few days. His work has not been all in vain, after all…

He dismisses his illusory map with a gesture and sits down to look through the letters. Some are from the agents Nekomata investigated, but the one he settles on first is different, retrieved from a place on the border of Hammerfell and High Rock. The parchment is heavy and sealed with green wax. Inside, the letter is brief and courteous; Stratos reads it and learns that a shipment of shoddy weapons rejected by the Legion has disappeared on the roads… and found its way to appreciative hands.

This good fortune will be remembered, it says. The signature is obscure. Stratos smiles.