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Chorrol.com _ Fan Fiction _ Shades of Ending

Posted by: Olen Aug 2 2011, 10:53 PM

Well it’s been a while, a long while, since I posted anything. I have been writing, some stuff which was non-TES, a false start which I spent too long fighting… There’s also another ~80k piece which I’ve left on a hard drive in Scotland so I’m taking a hiatus. Anyway I decided I fancied posting something.

This is unplanned and unfinished. I prefer to write all of something with a lot of planning and then post, but this time I thought I’d just let it flow and see what comes. Hopefully it won’t be too unpolished and I intend to make it more episodic so if I do lose interest for a bit it shouldn’t matter so much. The plan is to post one section while I write another, that way any criticisms can be addressed as I go.

Anyway without any more waffle a short intro.

Shades of Ending



1.1 Questioning

The prisoner met Verus’s eye across the scarred table. The watchman swallowed. “It does not look good for you,” his voice was quiet. He knew he should feel disgust, hatred even for what the man had done. But it was tempered. Perhaps it was because the man had more brain than most of the scum they dragged into the Cheydinhal prison. Or perhaps it was because he understood why, though he’d never admit it. Or it could just have been the passing resemblance to his son. Same dark hair and eyes, and not so different features.

Damn he hated this place, the sooner the investigation was over the sooner he could go and see the real thing back in the Imperial City. Not that distraction like this helped.

The prisoner looked back, “I’m fetched aren’t I?”

Verus winced at the tone and nodded. “Ferir,” he said the man’s name, gave him that much respect, “double murder of Imperial guards only leads to the gallows.”

“And it doesn’t matter that it was self defence, that they were trying to kill me? Had already killed my friends. We didn’t attack them.”

“It doesn’t matter. And even if it did you’re guilty of enough else to string you up. Possession with intent to supply – don’t tell me that much skooma was for personal use, our mage says you’re clean anyway. Bootlegging. Smuggling. As little as I like it you had it coming.”

Ferir nodded.

Verus could hardly believe it, they were always full of guar apples. Fake bravado to start with which slowly decayed into pleading. There was fear there certainly, he reeked of it, it was in the way he sat and moved. There was pain too, but mainly Verus thought it was resignation in the prisoner’s voice when he spoke. “Can you at least tell me who you killed?”

“I’m not meant to.” The gaze from the dark eyes flashed fierce like glowdust on a fire. It was the same spark which had cost the lives of two of the Imperial Legionaries who had raided the smugglers cavern, and it caught Verus off guard.

“You have a family.” It was a statement. “The people in that cave were as close to family as I’d found. You come and kill them, and within the next couple of days…” His gaze dipped to the scored boards of the table in the interrogation room. It slid uneasily round the manacles which held him. “I just want to know if any of them lived.”

“The patrol killed five. A two humans, a man and a woman, two khajit and a dunmer male.” If you had better luck you’d have been in that list. Verus didn’t add the thought, its truth was too bitter.

The eyes screwed closed. “The dunmer, what colour was his hair?”

“Red.” Verus watched Ferir deflate. His eyes shut and he thumped his wrists against the table, the chain which held them didn’t allow space for it to make more than a dull thud. He muttered something Verus didn’t catch, and decided not to press.

When Ferir finally opened his eyes again they were bloodshot. “Have you got what you want now?” There was anger in his voice, but also sadness, enough to suppress the flames, if not entirely quench them. “You know someone got away, you’ve got our contacts. I’m in pain, several of my closest friends are dead. Have you done enough?”

Verus frowned, it wasn’t something he was used to. Lines about choosing this fate when he chose crime seemed flimsy, paper props for the tragicomedy which passed as justice in this town. Ferir hadn’t lied about the pain either, the man was a mass of bruises. The legionaries had worked him over, and who could blame them? He wasn’t the only one to lose friends. Occasionally his hands would sneak towards the lower ribs on one side only to be rudely stopped by the chain.

Not that they’d waste healing on a condemned prisoner. You should have died in that cave. Verus shook his head, trying to dislodge the malaise which had built. He stood, this was too discomfiting. For a moment he struggled for words, then gave up and offered Ferir a single nod before leaving.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Aug 2 2011, 11:40 PM

Yay, you're writing and posting again! biggrin.gif

So you're going to try a more organic way of writing? Already I'm intrigued by the scene you've set to want to see where you take us.

The despair of the prisoner was quite infectious. I've often thought about the bandits one encounters in the game - why are there so many of them? What is wrong with this society that it breeds bandits like bottleflies on a corpse? It seems to me that you are going to address at least some aspect of the seedier side of Cyrodiil. And in the power vacuum following the end of the Main Quest, I am really interested to see where this story leads you and us.

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 3 2011, 12:23 AM

It is good to see you back and writing again Olen! This certainly looks like a dark, grim tale. Then again, it would seem strange to see you write characters who were shiny happy people! wink.gif

It is hard to really say much so early, but you certainly painted a gritty picture with the cop's interview of the prisoner. You captured Verus' sense of not so much apathy, but perhaps protective dissociation, gained by seeing so much of the worst people have to offer. On both sides of the law.

Ferir (I keep thinking Fenrir) seems an unusual sort, as Verus noted. He does not fit in with the ordinary class of criminal. It makes me wonder who he is, and how he ended up running skooma in a cave.

they were always full of guar apples.
Similar to road apples no doubt! wink.gif

Posted by: Acadian Aug 3 2011, 12:36 AM

Welcome back to writing! And a fine start you have.

Great job of unobtrusively providing some of the 'who/what/when/where/why' in a very gentle manner. For example, this was a clever way of providing a description of Ferir:
'Or it could just have been the passing resemblance to his son. Same dark hair and eyes, and not so different features.'

I'm curious and that, after all, is what an introduction is about. smile.gif

Posted by: Destri Melarg Aug 3 2011, 04:57 AM

Ah, Olen is posting again. This is a sure indicator that things are starting to normalize in Destri’s world! biggrin.gif

As usual your talent for atmosphere puts most to shame. Seeing Ferir through the prism of Veras’ perception gives us a clear picture of the prisoner, without tipping your hand too much. Remind me to steal borrow that technique sometime. As SubRosa said, I find myself wondering just how someone like Ferir winds up languishing in a cell in Cheydinhal.

I’m also eager to see how you like writing without a net. I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised with the minor characters that demand that their story be told. You will also run into connections between people, places, and events that even you never saw coming. The flip side is that there will be false starts and chapters that head nowhere. There will also be dry periods in which nothing at all seems to come of your labors. I can only implore you to stick with it. The muses may be fickle, but they do reward persistence.

Posted by: Olen Aug 4 2011, 09:25 PM

Seeing as the last part was rather short, and got quite a few comments.

Haute - I suspect the seedier side of Cyrodiil will be involved, there really is very little plan, a few things I think I'll steer it towards, if nothing else comes up. Essentially I've just made a few characters and set them loose...

Subrosa - believe it or not the last piece was initially a comedy... but I agree, if I wrote about happy people it would end up boring and flat. I'm glad you find Ferir an interesting character, you'll be seeing a lot more of him.

Acadian - thanks, I hope some of the what and where is explained, and more added...

Destri - A comment from the legendary Melarg himself. If my posting makes things normal in your world it must be a mighty strange place. I'm glad using the different pov worked well, it's something I want to play with, indeed my main issue with first person is that you're stuck in one head. Does normal include an update in Interegnum?

1.2 Mirror to the past

Ferir went quietly when the two jailers came for him. They managed a few insults on the way back to his cell but he wasn’t paying attention. Even the stabs of pain from his ribs with every rough movement seemed distant, news from elsewhere. They were dead, all but three of the inhabitants of Sundew Cave. Two really because he didn’t count. He knew they hadn’t got Teemva, the argonian had been away cutting a deal down Leyawin way with a nord captain called Hulgar. It appeared Torvas had escaped, there were a few possibilities but Ferir couldn’t be sure how.

Arvyn hadn’t. They were dumping him onto the mouldy straw in the cell before he even thought it. He hardly noticed. The door clanged shut and he gazed at the wall without seeing. Neither did he hear the muttered conversation behind him. He didn’t care. He’d heard a dunmer shout in the cave, but not seen anything before a mace to the head put him out. But not hard enough. The thought was viciously grim, it hung from the ruins of the hope he’d half sheltered.

Even through the pain another thought lurked in the depths. It was ever present, waiting to bite. What now? It came with a peculiar edge of excitement, of meeting things unknown. He was cut free. It curdled in the pain like cream in vinegar. In that moment he hated that anticipation. He’d lost everything. Sundew Cave was his home, his family. Had been. What now?

Chains, pain and then death. He killed the curdled hope with savage satisfaction. There was no chancing from this one, no last ditch gamble. He couldn’t even run as he had before. He looked round the cell, seeing it now. The dirty secondhand light which filtered down from the high barred windows. The ingrained filth on the floor. It smelt of urine and worse. The next cell was separated by bars. Its occupant, a bear of a man, sat on a stool talking to one of the jailors and another guard in hushed tones. Ferir turned his glance away, their bearing suggested that overhearing would prove painful.

The remnants of the pallet chewed on his bruised back. The irony didn’t escape him; after a life which he’d lived every moment the last day would have no final crescendo. It was outshone by the past’s reflection, there was nothing even to rival the chance that he might dream. He felt the tug of religion, that some god might come and save him, lift him from this pit. He threw the thought aside with disgust, the gods were dead, or wantonly evil. Striking people at their weakest, infecting and spreading. He’d seen enough of the world not to want to have anything to do with any higher power. Certainly none that might save him. There at least he was under no illusion. He was guilty.

It had been easy to assume it wouldn’t be them who were caught. The guard only caught idiots, or those suffering form massive bad luck. It would be fine, a bit of bootlegging lead on to smuggling. And then the realisation that he was a good ‘cook’. Then they were hitting the big stuff. Hell it had been fun, and bad stuff happened to other people right?

So did that make him unlucky or an idiot he wondered.

Both. He thought of Arvyn and rolled to face the wall and shut his eyes.

Sleep took a while to come, but slowly he drifted away from the hushed voices by the next cell and, in spirit at least, escaped the gathering dark.


It was late afternoon, the sun washed red light over the hazy Jerall mountains. The blue peaks marched away to the west climbing towards Skyrim. One day Ferir would go there, but for just now Sundew Cave was home. He sat on a broken log and looked at the old track which away though the stunted birches. A little out of sight it dipped into the valley and past several villages towards Cheydinhal, and beyond that was the world. In the other direction it rapidly diminished, no one passed this way now. Whatever it had once served, drovers perhaps, or the scattered ruins which dotted the mountains, had passed into obscurity.

Ferir looked at the rising slope of the glen behind the cave and smiled. For all he knew it had always been a smugglers trail taking contraband over the obscure passes in better days. Days long gone now, but the birds still sang in the trees’ edge where they gave in to rock and grass. Cyrodiil was tucked away there, and beyond it Nirn, there was more beyond that if it came to it. This was his corner though, away from the law and the rent and the bills which caged society. Here he could up and leave anytime, go cut a deal in some backwater inn, or take a shipment of kitty oil to Kragenmoor. He was free to run.

And because of that he didn’t have to.

The smell of Hrissa’s skooma pipe drifted to his nose. He smiled, even now Ja’lar would be complaining, most likely with a moon cake in hand. She had a cat on her shoulder though, well two including Ja’lar. But supply was no issue with them so where was the problem? He always felt the loss of novelty would be disappointing though and stayed off the stuff in the main. It made it more fun when he did partake, and without care cooking it up all day was a recipe for a massive addiction.

The current batch would need the reflux turned down soon. He glanced out over the hills again and heard the door behind him. Only one person opened the door quite that way, not that he could have described it if asked. Perhaps the skooma could wait, he always said the trick was a long reflux, and he was one of he best ‘cooks’ in the business. Arvyn walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“How’s things?”

Ferir smiled, “Yea, good.”

“You’re not planning on leaving are you?” His rough voice held jest, but there was more there.

“Nah, I like it up here.”

“Good.” Ferir knew the elf would be smiling. “Your batch smells ready.” Arvyn turned to head back inside, Ferir shot one last glance down the track and then followed him in.


The dream wavered, somehow, like a drop of ink landed in its mirror surface. Darkness leached in from the corners, breathing like a monster in the shadow.

He was dreaming, good dreams just before waking on a good day. The first crash wove seamlessly into his reverie, but it became confused. There came another. Shouting. The reverie cracked. A scream.

It shattered. He woke disoriented.
What? Another scream, harsh, a dunmer? It was cut off.

“Guards,” a shout. Ja’lar probably. Ferir reached for his axe.

An instant later the curtain to his chamber was torn aside. He rolled up out of bed as an armoured behemoth crashed in. Ferir saw the blood spattered on its blade and armour with terrible clarity. The cold helmet regarded him with a cyclopean slit, the line as dark as death. It bellowed something. Ferir didn’t hear, his heart was pounding, the last webs of sleep burned away.

He threw out a hand and fire leapt from his fingers. It was instinctual, and it was powerful. The invader staggered back. Another scream rang through the halls. Ferir threw himself forward. The blow was wild, driven by surprise and panic, but it was powerful and the fire had done its work. The mail split under the long axe-head and this time he could see the screamer. The axe head pulled free in a torrent of blood and the guard fell. He rose it for a killing blow. Another shout echoed, closer this time. It was Ja’lar and maybe just outside his room.

The axe returned itself to guard without him thinking and he leapt the writhing legionary. Suddenly he was acutely aware that he wore only his bedclothes. There was no time, the fight was now.

The khajit was being pressed hard, he had his ridiculous oversized sword in hand but was otherwise naked. His opponent was taking full advantage, a lightning blow added another cut before the heavy sword could block it. Ferir brought his axe back sideways, it left him open, but he had the guard’s back and needed to break through the imperial armour.

His feet slapped the stone floor. The guard must have heard as he tried to circle round Ja’lar. The khajit took the opportunity to press his attack but it was the wrong move at the wrong time. The guard took it on his shield and turned the momentum driving his own sword through Ja’lar’s unprotected throat.

It was too late for the guard. Ferir realised he was screaming as he brought his axe round. A desperate attempt to block knocked it low so it bit into the armour over the stomach rather than higher on the side. But it was enough, the steel bent and split under the impact which knocked the man from his feet. Blood erupted round the wound and a moment later from his mouth and nostrils.

Then Ferir realised what had prompted Ja’lar’s desperate last move. The shape of another guard was advancing down a side corridor.

The axe was stuck. Ferir glanced at it, but it was no help. When he looked back the guard was running, the mace in his hands held ready. Too late. It was in swing, maybe if he dodged right. He tensed and at the last instant moved with all the explosive force he could muster. Maybe it would miss and then-

Darkness.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Aug 4 2011, 10:51 PM

Okay, let me get a couple of nits out of the way first:

QUOTE
The remnants of the palette chewed on his bruised back.
Did you mean pallet? Palette refers to the flat piece of wood or acrylic used by artists to mix paints, or the range of colors in a scene. On the other hand, pallet refers to the rough wooden construction commonly used to keep crates and other containers off the deck, or to a rough wooden bed that is low on comfort.

The other nit is:
QUOTE
It was late afternoon, the sun washed red light over the hazy Jerrel mountains.
Did you mean Jerall?

Okay, now the good stuff. I really liked the way you set up the depths of despair that Ferir (I'm with SubRosa, I keep reading Fenrir!) felt due to survivor's guilt. At first I thought Arvyn was a good friend, but now I'm beginning to wonder if there's more. Not that I care either way - they were very close, and he'd rather die than live without the other. That's what matters to me. That is the driving force behind Ferir's despair, and I can understand and accept that.

To go from the depths of despair in a dank prison to the heights of the Jeralls in such beautiful surroundings is quite a sudden transition, and it does well to explain further the reason for Ferir's guilt and depression. And to end with a bit of a flashback to how Ferir ended up in jail after killing two guards just makes this whole segment sing, albeit in a funereal dirge. Still, it's beautiful writing, and I for one, am so glad to see you back again.

Posted by: Black Hand Aug 4 2011, 10:58 PM

I like it! I like it! The intro shows us a criminal in his worst moment, and than this update shows us that he's had worse.

Hope you keep up with it. cool.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 4 2011, 11:03 PM

So it looks like Ferir was cooking up meth in the cave. Or skooma at least. It seems that just as you like grim tales, you cannot keep your characters away from the skooma either.

The dark and ugly fight at the end complements the dark and ugly scene in the cell at the beginning. Ferir's almost idyllic memories in between really do seem a like a dream, given the two bookends around it. I expect that he will not see times as happy again in this story, if ever.


nits:
but not seen anything before the a mace to the head put him out
I am not sure whether you want to keep the a or the the here.

the sun washed red light over the hazy Jerrel mountains
Those are the http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Oblivion:Jerall_Mountains.

He rose it for a killing blow.
I believe you were looking for raised here.

Posted by: Acadian Aug 5 2011, 02:32 AM

This followed smoothly on the heels of the previous episode and filled in many gaps, giving us a much better feel for what Ferir is all about and why he is where he is.

Some nice melancholy writing as Ferir expresses despair and provides us a feel for his surroundings. Same in the dream, with the addition of some up close bloodwork with axe and blade.

Posted by: Grits Aug 5 2011, 12:49 PM

I liked seeing Ferir from Verus’s POV first. We get to see his grief and pain without having to immediately wallow in it. I especially enjoyed the glimpse of Cyrodiil law enforcement, with a mage doing toxicology screens.

Interesting that Ferir briefly thought about his loss as a possible beginning, it makes me think this is not his first trip through despair. That thought combined with his musing that he could stay at Sundew because he didn’t have to makes me think that he might love his freedom more than anything else. His grief over his unnamed hopes for Arvyn along with the thought that now he is cut free make me think there was some conflict in Ferir even before the legionary crashed in covered with his friends’ blood. But I might be overthinking this.

I should dismiss the skooma-cooking Ferir as a bad guy who is getting what he deserves, his actions have probably caused more pain to others than he is experiencing. Except now I’m hooked and rooting for him.



Posted by: King Coin Aug 5 2011, 03:40 PM

Ferir was "fetched" as soon a the guards entered the cave. I'm certainly interested how this is going to turn out.

Posted by: treydog Aug 7 2011, 03:20 PM

This is grim and dark and entirely engrossing. It is so great to see you back again and writing what looks to be quite a tale.

I almost hear echoes of "Owl Creek Bridge," but with LOTS more depth.

One quote I wanted to pull out as representative of your way with words:

"Even the stabs of pain from his ribs with every rough movement seemed distant, news from elsewhere."

Welcome back to the Arena, my friend!

Posted by: Olen Aug 8 2011, 10:50 PM

HER - Nits fixed, as ever my utter reliance on spellcheck rears its head. I'm glad the flashback worked, I'm generally not a fan but opening with the raid wouldn't have set to tone I wanted. Survivor's guilt was the term I was looking for, I think you've hit the nail on the head there.

Blackie - glad you like it. There's certainly a good few parts to go yet and it's still flowing.

Subrosa - skooma does seem to appear doesn't it. It makes a good tension point, I also seem to have a knack for living in areas with that sort of thing, probably something to do with looking for the cheapest places. I'm glad you got the dream like feeling of the good memory, apparently I can still write. Fixed all but using 'rose' as the past tense of 'raise', 'raised' sounds odd to me.

Acadian - thanks. Hopefully filling in gaps in Ferir will continue.

Grits - I'm glad you like my version of Cyrodiil. I see the game as a sketch which is necessarily rough on which to add obvious uses for magic. You seem to have worked out quite a bit about Ferir, thanks for sharing, it lets me know I'm getting across what I meant to.

KC - He certainly was. As for where it's headed, well I'm really not sure.

Trey - can't say I've heard of 'Owl Creak Bridge' but I'm glad you're enjoying. And thanks for the welcome back. smile.gif

All - Thanks for all the comments. The next part, I've made a word change you will spot, I hope it's not too jarring but I couldn't think of another way round it.


1.3 The Shadow of Hope

Ferir felt the ground fly up and hit him. He woke with a start and lay curled over for a moment breathing. The sour taste of vomit clung to the back of his mouth. He wasn’t sure if he’d flailed suddenly or not, certainly he felt like he’d just struck something. There was no reaction he could hear and the feeling the dream had left in its wake began to dissipate. He took a deep breath and winced at the stab from his ribs. A stamping boot had done it but he was fairly sure he could heal it, if he could cast a spell that was. He couldn’t manage so much as a flicker, probably it was the irons, but he couldn’t even feel any enchantment.

It didn’t matter. He glanced up at the high window and saw only darkness. With a grunt he rolled over and looked back across the dungeon. A lone torch guttered weakly in the corridor outside, it only served to make more shadows. The man in the next cell was a large dark blot in the gloom. He sat hunched near the door. His stool groaned slightly with every rock of his bulk like the ticking of an inverted pendulum.

Ferir stood. The action extracted a series of pops from his back and he half grinned. Enjoy the small things. They were all he had now. He felt a bit cheated, there should be some sort of marker to make the best of things he’d never know again. Last smile three days gone. Enjoy tomorrow’s walk. He shook the thought away.

Frek. It was heartfelt. It was the only word. He wanted to be angry, but who at? Who was to blame but himself? If only he’d known. Without a target he felt the flicker of rage moulder towards depression.

“Frek!” He shouted it this time and threw a punch at the wall. So what that it barked his knuckles? He didn’t need them. The pain sank in and fuelled the directionless anger. He raised his fist again.

He took a breath and lowered it. The force would have broken his hand and what was the point? He dropped back onto the bed.

What was the point? He could just do their job for them, the chains which dangled from the ceiling would make that easy enough. But he wouldn’t, perhaps the speculation wasn’t so idle but he wouldn’t do their job for them. That would be weak, and somehow it still mattered. Likewise the temptation to curl up in the corner and cry, he’d be damned if even a hint of the desire showed.

“I preferred you when you were asleep,” said the figure in the next cell.

“You won’t have to put up with me long.” Ferir gave a dry snort and felt his lip curl slightly.

The swaying stopped. “You’re right there.”

His tone was strange, not the flat darkness Ferir felt. Well not entirely, there was something else in it. Fear? Hope? Closer to some hideous amalgam of the pair Ferir decided. “What are you in for?”

“Couldn’t be much worse. Killed a guard.”

“I killed two.” The figure didn’t reply. “The guard seem awful friendly given you killed one of them.”

“I didn’t kill one of them,” there was venom in the man’s tone, “I am… was one. It was one of the bastards from the Imperial City I sixed.”

Too much emotion? Not quite, but too controlled. The man didn’t seem about to explode one way or another. Ferir thought he was right anyway, intuitions often were. The hushed conversation. The grotesque hope. “You don’t expect to die tomorrow do you?”

The rocking started again. Back and forth. Near and far. Ferir let it hang in the balance. For a while longer the man swayed. The pendulum’s creaks watched the time. “I don’t know,” he said at length. “You complicate things.”

“The three you were talking to, they might break you out?” The swaying stopped. Ferir continued, “Where would you go then? Out into the wilds? That’ll go well for you, a guard with the death of an Imperial agent on his head? You don’t look much like an outdoorsman.”

“Better chance than if I stay here.”

Ferir heard the fear. He knew how wild the backcountry could be, he knew it well. He paused, was this the time to try? Whoever the man was his accent couldn’t have been more Cheydinhal and he was a guard. Not the brightest one if he thought there was a shred of sanity in his plan. Still at least he had a plan. “You could have a better chance another way.”

The man turned and Ferir saw his silhouette. Short hair just reached cauliflower ears on a head which merged seamlessly into shoulders.

Ferir went on. “I’ve lived in the backcountry for years. I have a few contacts, I know enough of what to watch for.” He held up a hand to forestall any comment and realised that the man, whatever his name was, probably couldn’t see the gesture, “I’m perfect for your… friends too. They can lay the blame with me. It’ll be lost in the charges they’ve already hung on me.”

The rocking returned. Ferir hung on every movement, caustic hope etched through his conscious like rivulets of hot mercury. It filled his mind with the power to break his spirit. Hope like he’d never felt, it made him sick. This mattered. He cared how this went.

The rocking halted, so did Ferir’s breath. “Aye, they might like that. You’re a known mage right, they said they’d had to crack out the black irons.”

“Close enough.” Not exactly a lie, he dabbled, read books but he’d never been schooled in the arcane and it showed. He hardly understood how it worked. But that was a conversation for another time.

“The court will blame you. Since the crisis rogue mages have become the explanation of choice when we haven’t got a clue. The people lap it up.”

In the darkness Ferir smiled. That sounded like the law’s view on justice, and who was he to argue? They were the strong after all. The smile swept through the worry. Hope still clung like fungus. What if they wouldn’t help him? But if they did… If they did it would be him, his wits and strength pitted against the world again, and as far as Ferir was concerned there was no finer thing. Well not many.

“If we are going to disappear together I’d know your name.”

“Ruben. Ruben Sjorson. You?”

“Ferir.”

“You got no surname?”

“No.” He made sure his tone closed that avenue of conversation.


Time passed marked only by the slow death of the flame in its rusted iron bracket. No longer crawling towards the gallows, but the mingled hope choked the air and glittered like the eye of a spider. Their talk was fitful, mainly grunts. The atmosphere didn’t induce it. They were not well met in prison cells on the eve of rescue or death, and with pressing talk done silence crashed down. Ferir’s mind was stiller, he sat on the pallet, his half closed gaze flickered on the dance of the diminishing flame. The passing storm of the past few days had confused him, he had lost his centre. Perhaps a stiff drink would find it, but it wasn’t an option and he needed his wits.

The flame was little more than a blue glow when light tentatively shone down the corridor. Ferir blinked and returned to the present. Footsteps. More than one person but he couldn’t tell how many. His heart picked up a little. Let this go well, this has to go well. But it didn’t have to. He kept that thought ready, but he hoped it would.

Three men walked past his cell, all wore the knotwork surcoat of the Cheydinhal guard. One Ferir recognised as a jailor carried a bunch of keys.

“Evening Ruben,” said one of the other pair. He was as tall as the man he addressed but much thinner. In the torch light Ferir saw he had the same dirty blond hair.

“Gentlemen,” Ruben nodded back and stood. He said the word as if he’d heard it once and got the wrong idea.

“This is madness,” muttered the third guard, “Look Ruben I like you but it’s going to look damned suspicious for us.”

“It’ll look most suspicious for Arrand, and he’s clean right?”

“Yea we sent him off out the way, he’ll suspect but he wouldn’t tell.” Said the tall one.

“What about him?” the third guard, a dunmer, asked.

“He,” Ruben replied slowly, “Could be the solution to our problems, or your problems at least.”

Posted by: haute ecole rider Aug 8 2011, 11:22 PM

First the nit:

QUOTE
Since the crisis rouge mages have become the explanation of choice when we haven’t got a clue. The people lap it up.”
It looks like the 'u' switched places on Reuben. Rogue is the desired choice in this context - it means ruffians, good-for-nothings, scoundrels. Rouge wouldn't look good on a male Dunmer, let alone a male Nord. I doubt Reuben is a cross-dresser. wink.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 8 2011, 11:58 PM

http://fiction.eserver.org/short/occurrence_at_owl_creek.html is a classic piece of American literature. I first read it when I was in grade school, and loved it.

Ferir felt the ground fly up and hit him
You know, this is one of the reasons I stopped drinking alcohol... wink.gif If only Ferir were lucky enough to be having the problem for the same reason.

Frek.
I nice way of side-stepping the forum's swear filter. I have found that creating your own curse words works best, like Battlestar Galactica did. Yiddish is also a good source, which is why I have been using dreck lately.

Since the crisis rouge mages have become the explanation of choice when we haven’t got a clue
I thought this was a good post-crisis touch. Ever since the Ayleids, Imperials have not been fond of magic. I am sure the Mythic Dawn and Mehrunes Dagon were a huge reminder of why.

Well, it is not the Emperor and the Blades, but I am sure Ferir is not picky. It looks like Reuben is going to keep his word about breaking him out too. I just love the idea of using Ferir as the fall-guy. Every inside-job like this needs someone to blame, and it is true that he does fit the bill perfectly.


nits:
How was to blame but himself?
I think you wanted Who?

Posted by: Destri Melarg Aug 9 2011, 10:07 AM

Well, I think there are probably more industrious and satisfying ways to break out of prison, but any port in a storm . . .

I think Frek works. Given the setting, almost anything would work if given in context. It’s funny that trey would bring up Owl Creek Bridge. Given your style you would be the perfect person to write an account of Ambrose Bierce’s last days. He went down to Mexico in 1913 to cover the revolution, hooked up with some rebel troops, and promptly disappeared without a trace. It remains one of the great mysteries of 20th century literature.

QUOTE
caustic hope etched through his consciousness like rivulets of hot mercury.

I’m not sure how well this fits into the setting, but I do like the simile.

S.G.M

Posted by: Acadian Aug 10 2011, 12:45 AM

So, Ferir has an uneasy and unlikely alliance! This story is off to a fine start and you have an interesting character. I wish Ferir well as he hopefully makes good on his escape. smile.gif

I will be backing off now. Beyond 'welcome aboard' or 'welcome back' comments, time constraints limit my reading selections to the concept of mutual support. Best wishes!


Posted by: Grits Aug 12 2011, 12:14 AM

Ferir made a good case for Ruben not choking him the minute they’re outside the city. It’s pretty exciting to know that the characters are in charge. The cauliflower-eared, no-neck Ruben sounds like he could be handy in a tussle. I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes, but mostly I think I will be savoring the journey.

I am also a fan of made-up swear words.

Posted by: Olen Aug 13 2011, 10:57 AM

HER - nit fixed, silly letters and their orders...

Subrosa - occasionally trying to edit round swearing in the rough draft is impossible, I'm glad frek worked. I could have drawn form another language but it sort of begs the question what makes that okay if English isn't.
I'm glad my vision of post crisis Cyrodiil works for you.

Desri - There are other ways of escaping prison, but with the help of the guards seemed most feasible. I'm not following the game that closely and don't understand why they would provide prisonders with lockpicks blink.gif .
Mercury would fit the setting I'd say, it's been known since pre-history (a Chinese Emperor died after an eternal life potion of mercury and powdered jade turned out not to work so well).

Acadian - thanks for the best wishes, and I completely understand. There's lots of stories I'd love to have time to read here but don't have time for.

Grits - Ruben certainly shuld know how to handle himself. Glad you're enjoying.

1.4 Escape

An eyebrow rose.

Ruben gestured to Ferir and continued. “He’s a known mage.” The nord’s voice took on a mock story telling tone. “He magics the door open and lets me out because I know the castle and the city. We escape and the guard heaps it on him. Andel will take it like a sweetroll, he’s always wanting to blame rouge mages since Farwil got himself killed in that gate.”

“Aye and we lost enough bloody men trying to get him back.”

“Well then it’s time he saved one isn’t it.”

The dunmer nodded, “It’s less risky, if we play it right…” He looked hard at Ruben, “You know what he’s in for?”

He’s the bright one, decided Ferir. He took the chance to answer himself. “Yea, he knows fine,” he said, “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same in my place.”

“I’d never have been in that place,” the dunmer sounded like he’d stood in something unpleasant.

Ferir shrugged, “Perhaps not, but don’t you think a smuggler might be of use in the wilds? Assuming you mean for Ruben to survive.”

“And you’ll help us?” This from the jailor.

Ferir cocked an eyebrow at him. It was the dunmer who spoke, “He doesn’t have much choice.”

“Indeed,” said Ferir, “And running away isn’t exactly arduous.”

The guard frowned. “But there’ll have to be magic.” Ferir stood and walked to the bars of the cell next to the speaker. Their eyes followed him. Two of the guards stepped back, only the dunmer stood his ground. Ferir raised his wrist and brought the iron against the bar with a clack.

The jailor flinched slightly. Idiot, still a necessary one. “You’re the man with the keys. These things aren’t ornamental.”

The dunmer glanced at the jailor. “Jarl,” he addressed the tall man, “Go and grab some gear for them from the store.”

“An axe for me,” Ferir put in.

The dunmer glared a him and he tipped his head. Yes?

“Unlock them, if we’re going to do this I might as well see it done right.”

The jailor didn’t reply as he opened the door to Ruben’s cell and set to work with a finer key on the man’s wrist irons. The former guard was rubbing his wrists as the lock of Ferir’s cell clicked open. He presented his wrists.

The jailor shook his head. “You see a keyhole?” He asked with the cocky tone reserved exclusively for the dull witted when confronted by a mistake.

“Well I’m guessing you can get them off. Enchantment, if that’s what it is, is expensive.”

“Yea, they use magic, you’d need a mage. That way the scum in here can’t fiddle them and start a riot.”

Ferir closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them he looked at the dunmer who said. “I knew there was something. There’s a file somewhere as I recall, can give you that. We’ll have to do without magic.”

A noise.

The dunmer glanced back up the stairs. His flickering speed belied his nerves. It was the guard, Jarl.

He passed a sack to Ruben, “You should find most of what you need in there. Your sword is in evidence but there’s a similar one. We got the armour off a couple of corpses found on the road, it’s better than nowt.” Unceremoniously he ditched another bag in front of Ferir. “I can’t believe we’re giving you this. I’m not sure what you like but it’s going to do you.”

“Thanks,” muttered Ferir in a tone which didn’t reveal how much he meant it.

“Pull another pair of trousers on and get a cloak around you, we need to move now.” The dunmer glanced around again.

Ferir had barely pulled the cloak, a moth-eaten green thing which smelt of damp, on and they were leaving. The dunmer paused at the door to the barracks. “Jarl, check it out. If it’s fine go on patrol, I’ll see them out the city.” He turn his red gaze on the jailor, the look was like nails, “Set a fire. We need havoc to cover this and make it believable.”

“Where?”

The dunmer’s lips curled back, “Do I look like I give a damn? Just try not to get caught.” Jarl passed through the door and didn’t return. “Move,” the dunmer growled at them, “and for Vivec’s sake be quiet.”

The door led into a slumbering barracks. The detritus of a meal lay scattered on a table. Opposite a stair curved upward to a mezzanine. Rough snores drifted from it. The dunmer walked quickly and quietly across to the main door and pulled it open. Ferir followed. He barely dared to breathe, his complete concentration was focussed on not bumping anything, not tripping.

The air outside was cool. A soft breeze ran its cold nails over the bruises on his face. Ferir allowed himself the ghost of a smile. The moons hung high, the phrase brought an instant’s emotion which fell away like a weight. He wasn’t going to hang. Not this week at least. That was enough, next week was a foreign place.

“Stop.”

Ferir froze. The dunmer had spoken. Ferir followed his gaze and saw a pair of guards patrolling by the outer gate of the main keep.

“Come on, walk, don’t look suspicious. Not to fast or slow. It’s not invisibility but at this time of night in this city it’s as good as.”

The dunmer, Ferir wondered if he’d ever discover his saviour’s name, most likely not he thought, started down the slope which led away from the castle. Ferir relaxed, at first he had to force it but as the edges of calm seeped into his mind it spread like syrup stilling his worry and choking the frantic clockwork of fear.

Walk. Not to fast, not to slow. Don’t glance about. Don’t look like you’re doing this. The final was hardest, but a trained eye could spot someone pretending to be calm. You had to be calm. He could do it, had done it enough times before.

But this was different from the time he’d passed through an unexpected checkpoint with twenty pounds of black-tar moontreacle from Kvatch. That had been a thrill, an almost erotic mixture of adrenaline and calm, to be savoured afterward. This had him scared. He hurt, and anything more than a casual glace would reveal him. The city felt enfolding, a threatening maze of darkness. He glanced back at the dunmer who looked from side to side.

“Don’t look around so much. Trust me I’ve done this a lot.”

He didn’t need to see the dunmer frown. But the guard stopped glancing about like a spooked guar.

“We’d be safer cutting through the old town and out by the East gate,” said Ruben. “Who’s on?”

“Lerar and some new kid.”

“Lerar will be drunk and anyone new will go charging into the Newlands every time there’s a fight.”

“I’m wearing a guard uniform, we’d be noted if we pass through the old town.”

“Which is why you’ll go home now. You owed me one for taking that guy down, but I reckon you’ve paid it back now.”

The dunmer licked his dark lips. Ferir noticed. He also saw the guard’s throat bob as he swallowed. “Good luck. I doubt we’ll meet again on this side.”

“Aye,” Ruben replied, “until then.” He gave a quick nod.

“Whatever you find I hope it’s better.”

Ruben had already turned and started towards the tangled mat of alleys, hovels and squats which made up the old town. Ferir gave the nameless dunmer a nod in thanks and followed the other man.

Posted by: Grits Aug 15 2011, 08:03 PM

Old town doesn’t sound like a polished brass and window boxes kind of neighborhood. I hope Ferir looks around a little on his way out the gate. Looking forward to more! goodjob.gif

Posted by: Destri Melarg Aug 15 2011, 09:26 PM

I loved the description of Ferir's ordeal at that checkpoint outside of Kvatch. To quote yourself, you have laid some really nice hooks into this story. I wonder how Ferir and Ruben will fare together in Cyrodiil's wilds (if they can make it past the gate). The tension in this chapter was palpable! What happens next?

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 16 2011, 02:34 AM

he’s always wanting to blame rouge mages since Farwil got himself killed in that gate.”
Could not have happened to a nicer guy! biggrin.gif He was probably killed by the Champion of Cyrodiil, not the Daedra... wink.gif

So Ferir makes his escape! I liked how you compared the thrill of when he sneaked by the guards in Kvatch to the simple dread he felt here. It shows how much higher the stakes are, how bad he really knows things can get now. Now to see if they can slip out of the city, and then make it far enough to evade the inevitable pursuit.


nits:
Perhaps not{,} but don’t you think a smuggler might be of use in the wilds?
I think this would flow better with a comma where I inserted it above.

[I] The final was hardest, but a trained eye could spot someone pretending to be calm. You had to [I]be
This looks like it might have been some left over bbcode.

You owed me one for taking that guy down, but I recon you’ve paid it back now.”
I think you wanted reckon, recon is short for reconnaissance.

Posted by: King Coin Aug 17 2011, 09:27 PM

1.3 - It’s nice to have friends in high places, or to make friends with those with friends.
1.4 – Out! Well, not quite. It’s going well now which makes me nervous about the next episode.

Posted by: mALX Aug 21 2011, 12:42 PM

I just now saw this, Olen! Haven't been getting on the Fan-Fic board much lately and missed all the new stories being posted !! I'll have to catch up on this, so sorry I didn't see it before now!!

Posted by: Olen Aug 25 2011, 11:14 PM

All - Sorry for the delay, RL has become hectic and will remain so for a while but I've scraped enough time to post this.

Grits - No old town isn't that nice. A lot of places I've lived the old bit of town's been the worst.

Destri - thanks for the comment, I'm glad it's working.

Subrosa - agreed on all the nits. I'm glad the description of running a guarded point worked as a counter to trying to escape.

KC - Thanks, I'm not sure I'd describe Ruben as high places but...

mALX - I know what RL can be like. It'll be here if you have time.

1.5 Freedom

The crooked buildings leant like the drunks and junkies who made their unsteady ways on the dark pooled streets beneath. The smell was the same as in a thousand slums in a thousand cities which differed only in colour and culture. The eye watering stench of stale urine lay like broken glass over a tapestry of sewage, decay and the reek of fires. They wove their way through it and into it.

Ferir broke the silence. “You know this area?”

“I know the main ways,” Ruben shot him a look which said be quiet, “but daren’t use them. But we’re as deep as I’d go into the old town.”

A stir in the air, no real breeze could penetrate here, brought the rich smell of a tannery. From a house somewhere nearby a woman was screaming. Other people’s problems. The cardboard filled windows were blind, but they offered scarce privacy. It was just the city, thought Ferir, must be. They made him uncomfortable. You could disappear, but only in plain sight. Much better to put a few miles between yourself and danger.

A man lay unconscious in the gutter of the narrow alley ahead. An ambush? No, the vomit running down his chin and pooling on his chest was too real. Ferir took the opportunity to glance behind while stepping over him. Nothing but shadow. So why the feeling? He ignored it and hurried on between the crowding buildings.

Before he’d been worried about being seen. Perhaps it was still a risk, or would be when they left, but he doubted the guard came into the old town often. The people they passed didn’t look, even those who could walk steadily, perhaps especially those. Something had him on edge though, and he trusted instinct. At worst it made a fool of you. That was a small enough price.

At the next crossroads he drew alongside Ruben and wrinkled his nose at the other man’s smell. Not that he’d be any better. “Are we being followed?” he asked.

“I think so. They’ll spring at the next junction if they do, after that we’re too near the wider streets.”

And you didn’t think to tell me. Ferir said nothing. He eased out the muscles of his chest and back, checked that the pack was loose enough to ditch in a single movement. The axe was there. Too late now. There was no running for the guard, there were plenty of rough shirts in the old town but his was still a style they might recognise. And it failed to cover the irons. He swore inwardly and focussed on his breathing.

When it came it was poorly executed. A man burst from a narrow close. “Drop the freking packs!” he shouted.

“What?” asked Ruben.

What Ferir had taken as shock clearly wasn’t. The mugger had barely opened his mouth when Ruben’s fist hit his jaw. But his mouth was open and the punch was solid. A lightning flick of the guard’s hips and the mugger toppled in the way of the second man in the close.

A noise behind made Ferir turn. Movement. He ducked and lunged towards the source. A bottle whisked past his head and glanced form his ribs sending a shiver of pain through him. He ignored it. He was in close and the bottle was more a liability than a threat. His knee found a groin. The figure didn’t drop but he knew where it was now. The second had more force and got a cry and the man tried to disengage. Ferir didn’t let him and piled in a third with all the force he could. As the figure stumbled back he threw an punch. It was slow but the iron shackle lent it weight. It connected well and the mugger went down. Ferir felt greasy blood between his fingers where the freshly scabbed knuckles opened.

There was another figure. Without thinking he’d kept the first between them. He rose in a fighting stance and tried to hide how much his side bothered him. The figure hung back for a moment then darted forward. The stab was to his throat and fast, he barely avoided it. He lunged for the wrist but it slipped from his bloodied hand before he could grasp it. Another strike followed, he jumped back.

When faced with a knife attack the outside. The lesson rose in his mind. It limited their options, you knew what was coming. Close behind it came another thought. Frek that. Dither and die, how many fools had been killed thinking maybe. Better a stupid action than none. But where was Ruben? He didn’t dare look behind-

Another lunge took advantage of his thoughts. He watched the body not the blade. The tells were earlier and the corners of the eye faster. A string of curses ran through Ferir’s mind. He made a lunge to the left but the figure turned away and tried to stab. It was clumsy. Even so Ferir had to block it hard. His bones met the knife-wielder’s with a stinging impact. He was slowing. Another stab, at his head this time. He avoided it. Then out of nowhere a slash.

Well not nowhere. It started high but it was fast. It slipped through his block and he felt a line of hot pain open across his chest. He staggered back. The figure advanced. Then paused.

Ruben was there, he had a rough club in one hand and circled behind Ferir’s attacker who turned and lunged. Ferir sprung forward, a move of desperation. He grabbed higher up the attacker’s arm and was surprised to find he more or less controlled it. He thumped the side of his head into the attackers jaw ineffectually then sunk his teeth into the nearest flesh. Unwashed sweat and the tang of blood filled his mouth. He didn’t care.

He felt the impact. It was like someone kicking a sack you were sat on, only more. It knocked the wind half from him then he collapsed on top of the mugger.

He panted. There was no movement until a hand grasped his shoulder. “You okay?” asked Ruben.

“Yes,” gasped Ferir, more from habit than thought, “Whoreson caught me one though. Could heal it up if not for these damned irons.”

Ruben grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. “You’ll live, which is more than can be said if the guard catches up with us.”

Ferir nodded. “Lead on. I’ll follow. Just don’t expect me to be much use.”

“No worries. We’re almost there.” Ruben had grabbed Ferir’s pack, he went to pass it across then hoisted over his chest and turned to continue down the alley. Ferir followed.

It joined a larger one about fifty yards further on. There were more people here. There were still the drunks and enough who were smacked out on whatever mixture of honey, salt and gods knew what passed as skooma here. But they were a higher class of social dropouts, Ferir saw the signs. There were less pissed pants, their eyes were less vacant. It might slide but this was recreational, not just habit. There were others too, people on their way to work and a few women working. Ferir looked the other way.

He also noticed that everyone else on the street was doing the same from him. The occasional tentative glance before turning aside. A short way down Ruben ducked into an alley. Ferir followed. The city wall had joined them quite suddenly from the tangled maze and stood to their right.

“The gate is just through here,” Ruben said, “There will only be two guards, and only the foot gate will be open. One guard will be drunk and possibly asleep in the gatehouse. If we’re lucky the other will be with him but you can never be sure with new blood.”

Ferir nodded. So what? It was hard to concentrate now the pain from the wound had got it’s teeth into him and the adrenaline was dissipating.

“If he’s standing guard be ready to run, the Newlands Lodge is next to the gate.” He said it as if that was explanation enough, and it was. The Newslands’ reputation preceded it.

The alley came out down the side of the Newlands, a few crates of empty bottles and a couple of cracked ale casks were piled against the puke stained wall. Ferir hung back in the shadows while Ruben put his head round the corner. Shouts drifted from a window of the Newlands Lodge. It was late, but the time mattered little there, in better days Ferir had appreciated that.

A moment later Ruben drew back. “He’s there, but he’s more interested in the Newlands than in what’s going on at the gate.”

Ferir said nothing. If he tries anything I’m going to try to kill him. It was a simple thought, a fact unburdened. He looked at Ruben. So would you, it might be one thing to kill a Imperial agent and quite another to kill a local, but you still would. It didn’t matter. It was out of his control.

Ruben plucked a bottle from a crate of empties and felt its weight. For a moment it floated before falling back into his palm with a dull thwack. “This’ll attract his attention,” he gave a half smile then hurled the bottle through the window of the Newlands. There was a moment of silence after the vicious shatter of glass then a storm of shouting. A moment later there was another crash. “Move,” said Ruben.

Ferir needed no second telling. He ignored the sharp protest from the wound which still felt like it oozed blood and the deeper, but blunted, ache from his ribs and followed. The gate guard was running for the grimy door from whence issued screams and the murmur of a full blown barfight ramping up. He didn’t see two moth-eaten travellers making their way toward the gate, and likely wouldn’t have given them a second glance.

Ferir’s nerves started to thrum again. It was there, across a small stretch of plaza. The smaller door within the gate called him. A square of wooden boards which led to freedom. He didn’t run, but his pace was brisk behind Ruben. Ten yards. He was in shock. The idea he was to die had only started to stretch enough space in his head to be understood. Now he had a chance. Five yards. This was the stuff of legends, they would hunt, true. He would run, in the distant wild places, his skill against theirs.

It opened on well worn hinges revealing the darkened road ahead. He waited for the shout and wondered if he could still run. But none came. He closed it behind him. The road stretched out ahead, beckoning him to the world. He would vanish, just as he had before and it would be fantastic.

But there was still a way to go that night. “We’ve done it,” he said. Ruben grunted, no doubt lost in thoughts of his own. There was still a way to go, and Ferir did not expect the coming miles to be pleasant.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Aug 26 2011, 12:16 AM

Tell me about RL! Two major projects last week, and two finals this week!

And new classes start Monday. Ah well!

Okay, this story. It continues to be intriguing. I want to learn more about Ferir. I'm still undecided about Ruben, but for now, like Ferir, I'll go along with him.

And are those two moth-eaten travelers going to be significant later on? I wonder . . .

Great description of the flight through the old town and the brawl with a few of the unsavory locals. Wonder if the guard is going to even notice something went down in that part of town.

And yes, there is still quite a few miles to go, and none of it pleasant. huh.gif

Posted by: Destri Melarg Aug 26 2011, 08:41 AM

After that first paragraph remind me to steer clear of the slums of Cheydinhal! You really laid the atmosphere on thick in this chapter. Your version of Cyrodiil continues to be a very dark, forbidding place. I was beginning to think that Ruben had lit out on his own, but Ruben needs Ferir's survival skills and Ferir needs Ruben to get him clear of the city. It will be interesting to see who turns-cloak first.

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 26 2011, 08:49 PM

You certainly have painted us a vile picture of Cheydinhal's Old Town! No wonder the tourist board left that off their pamphlets!

At first I was worried that whoever was following them might be the law. But when you said the ambush was poorly coordinated, it realized it was simply ruffians. Still, a knife is nothing to sneer at, especially when you are unarmed. I think you did an excellent job of showing the danger Ferir was in.

And a clever way of distracting the gate guard by stirring up a ruckus in the dark elf/orc bar.



nits:
The crooked buildings lent like the drunks and junkies
I am thinking you may have wanted leaned there instead. Lent is the past tense of lend (in the non-religious use of the word).


Another lunge too advantage of his thoughts.
I think that knife lopped off your 'k' in took.

The Newslands’ reputation preceded it.
And it looks like Walter Cronkite turned the inn into a news station. nono.gif

He didn’t dun,
I think you meant he didn't run?

Posted by: Grits Aug 31 2011, 05:31 PM

I took the two moth-eaten travelers to be Ferir and Ruben with their packs and cast-off clothing. That was a great tussle in old town, I’m sure I enjoyed it more than Ferir did. I liked Ferir’s thought in the alley beside Newlands, that he would still kill Ruben if necessary. One fight does not make them BFFs.

Posted by: Olen Aug 31 2011, 10:46 PM

Haute - I think you might remain undecided about the characters for quite a while yet. I avoid moral black and whites, grey is more fun. I doubt the guard would notice, or care if they did.

Destri - I've always seen Cyrodiil as quite a dark place. Slums everywhere, a large guild of devil worshiping murderers working more or less unchallenged, various unpleasant cults, wilds infested with mad wizards and bandits... To produce that its going to have to be pretty grim in the cities too.

SubRosa - agreed on all nits, as ever. I *do* proofread, three times normally after redrafting. There will be more of Cyrodiil's underbelly.

Grits - The travellers were indeed Ferir and Ruben, and no they don't like each other. What happens there is yet to be seen (indeed I haven't written that far ahead).

1.6 Waking to the Wilds

Ruben woke with a sore back. He opened his eyes to a listless predawn light revealing the twisted branches of the half-fallen tree they’d collapsed under. Not long ago judging by the bone weariness which suffused his limbs and sat like bilge water in his muscles. At least it hadn’t rained. Wet clothes were misery and he’d still not opened his pack, he’d been too tired.

Through the exhaustion other emotions swirled. He was alive, he might even continue to be so. For better or worse, he thought and glared at the mouldering leaves he’d slept on. But he was an outlaw. It didn’t fit somehow. The him shaped hole in his ego rejected the term and shied away.

Brrp. Brrp. Brrp. The sound had been going since he’d woken and he only then heard it. Perhaps it had woken him. He pushed himself so he was sitting up and saw the man he’d escaped with. Had that been wise? Perhaps not, double murder on top of smuggling and skooma: the scum had the works. He also claimed to know the wilds though, and Ruben had heard enough stories never to want to go backcountry. For good or ill he was stuck with the dour man.

He’d called himself Ferir. Ruben was fairly certain of this, though it was hard to tell where the reality of the previous night ended and his nightmares began. The young man sat with his back to Ruben, his rough shirt hung oddly and a couple dark curls of tattooing showed between its collar and his short black hair. His right elbow moved back and forward rhythmically, with every push there was another rough sound. Puzzled Ruben stood and approached.

“Good morning,” he said.

The noise stopped. “Morning at least.” Ferir didn’t turn. Ruben walked round the log the other man sat on and saw why his shirt hung oddly; the front was tattered. Ferir met his gaze and as he did Ruben noticed his dark eyes were red and puffy. “The cloth had stuck to the wound, I’ve cleaned it but it needs healing.”

That explained the shirt, but not the eyes. Ruben decided not to ask, partly because something about Ferir unsettled him slightly and partly because he didn’t care. It wasn’t his business anyway. “Where do we find a healer out here?”

A dry smile curled on Ferir’s mouth but didn’t touch the rest of his features. “We don’t. I can do the magic, but not with these things on.” He tapped the file he was holding against the dark metal of the mage iron. The head of a rivet on one side was diminished. “I found a cairn bolete and this area’s thick with lavender. The mixture should stop the infection spreading but I’d need some better apparatus to do more.”

A bloody alchemist too. Who is this guy? Ruben pulled back the bloodstained tatters and looked at the wound across the Ferir’s chest. It had sliced into one muscle a little, that was going to hurt, likewise where it ran over the sternum. Otherwise it was shallow, but Ruben didn’t like the way the tanned flesh had puffed up red around it.

“Where are we?”

The rasping restarted. “Somewhere near Harlun’s Watch I think. You should know this area better than I do.”

“Never really left the city much, except once when I went to the Imperial City.”

Ferir shook his head, “Harlun is a large farming village, we’ll pass it soon I suspect. We’re not far south of the main road, I followed it long enough that our backtrail will be lost to traffic then made into the wood.”

Ruben nodded and pretended to understand. He didn’t know which questions to ask. How would they eat when the food in the packs ran out? Where were they going? What did they need? He knew going into the village, especially this close to Cheydinhal this soon would be foolish.

“What’s the plan?” he opted for.

“Disappear. They’ll search hard for a week. Give it a month and it will be a cold case and no one will care.” Ferir paused. He turned his attention back to the file and seemed to have finished but then continued, “If you mean today then I need to get these off. I won’t get far enough without healing, and you wouldn’t get that far without me.”

Ruben said nothing.

The rasping noise continued. “Is there something I can use as a lever. I don’t want to break the file but this might bend off now.”

The bag was heavy. It contained most of the standard kit Ruben had expected: a tarpaulin, supplies, a pot, a knife and some clothes. As ever the thing he was looking for was at the bottom, a small waxed cotton bag with a flint, and more importantly, steel in it. The steel bar was chipped, but thick enough to be strong and if it got bent who cared?

“This do?”

Ferir turned and nodded, “I’ll give it a try.” He put the file down and Ruben threw the steel. It was deftly plucked from the air. He pushed it along side his wrist and pulled ineffectively.

Ruben stood and advanced on him. “Want me to try?”

“Think you can do better?”

“Yes.” He was going to leave it at that but could sense Ferir’s irritation. “I’m stronger than you and have a better angle.” It was a simple fact. He grabbed the iron and sat down before Ferir could protest. “Tell me if it hurts.” He gripped the steel in one hand and the wrist iron in the other and levered up.

Ferir grunted and his arm tensed but he said nothing. Ruben pulled harder pulling with his back, the thin remains of the rivet bent, he pulled harder and got another grunt. Then the rivet burst and the hinge fell away. The iron landed on the ground, an incomplete black circle.

The sound Ferir made was more than a grunt, he rubbed where the skin had twisted away like damp paper under the steel’s pressure. “That hurt. A lot.”

“Can you cast?”

Ruben stepped hastily back as Ferir raised his right hand. A look of immense concentration twisted into effort, like someone with a full bladder trying to lift a heavy object. Nothing. He raised his left, blood dribbled from the fresh wound. The same look, except this time Ruben saw a dull glow run up it like an aura. It converged in his closed fingers then scattered white light. Ferir lowered the hand and rubbed the wound on his wrist. It no longer bled and looked a day scabbed.

“The bracer is absorbing it I think. It’s not efficient and I’m rubbish at casting left handed, but yes I can a bit.”

Ruben didn’t understand magic, all he knew was that mages were best avoided, at least the guild controlled them. Wild ones were a different matter.

Ferir was shaking his head, “It’ll take a long time though at the rate I can. Longer than we can afford.”

“If you hate casting with your left had why attack that iron first?”

“I could use my right hand.”

Was that the hint of a smile on Ferir’s face? Ruben decided to ignore it and sat quiet.

Ferir shook his head again, “Look it’s awkward, can you help, it would be quicker.” His voice dropped towards the end.

Ruben nodded and picked up the file. “That one?” He scraped it over the top of a rivet which was already marked.

“Yes,” said Ferir and allowed his arm to be manoeuvred.

Ruben worked with the filed for a time before either spoke again. When he did Ruben’s thoughts escaped almost by surprise. “So what really happened?”

“The Imperial Guard came,” Ferir muttered it, “we were guilty as they come, but I don’t know who tipped them off. They killed my friends, well one wasn’t there and another escaped I think. I got a couple of lucky hits in then got knocked out.”

“And they took you back to Cheydinhal?” Ruben was surprised.

“You don’t think I wouldn’t have rather died there than been hung? They spent the return trip beating the hell out of me. The officer only warned them off after he had to use a healing potion.”

“Damn.” Having exposed the surface of the sore Ruben wasn’t sure he wanted to break the silence.

But Ferir did for him. “You’d have done the same.” There was no accusation, he could just as well have been commenting on the weather.

For a moment Ruben thought it a comment on the brutality of the guard, both Imperial and local, but then he wondered if Ferir meant the killing. Either way, he thought. Either way he has a point. He continued filing. Eventually the rhythmic tedium pushed his curiosity past unease again, “Did you smuggle much?”

“We made skooma, well I did.” Ferir seemed glad of the subject change, and the distraction. “The stuff I cooked sold high, warm-sands they called it. Hrissa’s idea, she shifted it. As much as I could make, and with the kit we had that was gallons a day if I could be bothered and we had the sugar.”

Ruben said nothing. There was something dreadful about the pride Ferir had in his work. In the guard they heard about stuff, and warm-sands was bad news. It was strong, true, and because of that adulterated. But occasionally some would hit the streets pure. Last time that happened four people were dead before word got around.

Ferir must have sensed his feelings. The young man shrugged, momentarily throwing the file off track. “I was good at it,” he said as if that was explanation enough. Perhaps it was.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Sep 1 2011, 12:01 AM

I'll leave the occasional nit for someone else this time.

I really want to comment on where you're going with this story. After your last one, I fully expected another story full of greys rather than black and white. It's just the sort of story I love - one where I can't decide who's the hero and who's the villain, and settle for calling 'em by the more mundane terms protagonist and antagonist. The moral quandaries you put forth are wonderful, and the characters all the more real for it. I firmly believe that each and every one of us is capable of pure evil, and, just as equally, of pure good. I see that quite well in your characters.

The fact that Ruben is mildly conflicted about traveling with a Dunmer convict rings true; also that he seemed mildly bothered by Ferir's description of the guards' actions against his friends. To me, that smacks of a man capable of good, and unaware of the harm his own actions can cause, simply because he never considered the prisoners as living, breathing beings like himself.

The apparent lack of emotion on Ferir's part also hits home - he's been through a lot and is busy rebuilding the hard shell he needs to wear to survive. His focus on survival bodes well for him. The fact that Ruben is helping him indicates that Ruben isn't insensitive to Ferir's situation, as well as his own. After all, this soft city boy has no chance of surviving out in the wilds, where Ferir is most at home far from civilization.

The fact that the two of them have decided to cooperate with each other to their mutual benefit is reasonable. I wonder whether that will change once circumstances change, or if this mutual cooperation will turn into a deeper friendship. It is not unlikely to me, and I look forward to seeing where this story takes us. smile.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Sep 1 2011, 11:16 PM

I've always seen Cyrodiil as quite a dark place.
Given the stories of your's that I have read, I'd say you see everywhere a quite a dark place! biggrin.gif

The him shaped hole in his ego
I love this phrase!

It was interesting to see things from Ruben's pov now. His unease around Ferir - not only due to him being a mage, but especially because of being a cutthroat skooma runner - makes perfect sense. Ruben's not used to being on the other side of the law, or making alliances with those who are. It all shows so clearly in this segment. His musings on the dangers of a pure drug were also excellent to read, and really show the differences between him and Ferir. Where Ruben sees it as the poison it is, Ferir only feels pride in its creation.

Posted by: Grits Sep 2 2011, 03:24 PM

I loved seeing Ferir from Ruben’s POV, just his reddened eyes said a lot. An uneasy partnership, for now. I hope Ruben has thought of a way to make himself useful once he gets that right bracer off. I’d hate to see Ferir just slip off into the trees. Watching these two come to grips with their situations and each other is too enjoyable.

Posted by: Zalphon Sep 2 2011, 04:39 PM

"He only warned them off after he had to use a healing potion" That seems like something the Imperial Legion would do (nice, squeaky clean, and shiny to the public eye...not so much behind closed doors.)

Very well done.

Posted by: Destri Melarg Sep 3 2011, 01:38 AM

QUOTE(Olen @ Aug 31 2011, 02:46 PM) *

Ruben woke with a sore back. He opened his eyes to a listless predawn light revealing the twisted branches of the half-fallen tree they’d collapsed under. Not long ago judging by the bone weariness which suffused his limbs and sat like bilge water in his muscles. At least it hadn’t rained. Wet clothes were misery and he’d still not opened his pack, he’d been too tired.

Before I get into the chapter itself I just wanted to comment on the subtle brilliance of this first paragraph. The repetition of the water motif, starting with the description of the listless (which is a synonym for languid, which in itself is close to liquid) predawn light, followed by the ‘bilge water’ suffusing Ruben’s tired muscles, and then ending with his rumination on the misery of wet clothing. Wow! salute.gif

Not only are you writing this in third person this time, but you are planning to switch POV’s as well. It was a little jarring to see the story through Ruben’s eyes at first, but that has more to do with my expectation than with anything you did in the writing.

I especially enjoyed Ruben’s realization that if put in the same circumstance, whether as guard or smuggler, he probably would have behaved as Ferir pointed out. I detect a certain degree of empathy within Ruben. I wonder now if that is echoed in Ferir.

Posted by: Olen Nov 17 2011, 11:30 PM

RL has been rather hectic of late but I have another update. Can't promise that they will be particularly regular but this piece isn't strictly dead, more just semi-dormant. For individual responses:

Haute - I'm glad the characters are working for you, and the morality. I've never been particularly convinced by good and bad, most people are working for what they think is good (even the power hungry lunatics generally want to change the world in a way they see as better). I have a few plans for them but not that many, this piece is largely character driven, it makes writing it quite a lot of fun.
One thing I'd mention is that Ruben isn't travelling with a dunmer, Ferir is human. This may become relevant at some point - is there anything on how long different races live?

SubRosa - I've been playing with changes of PoV, the last piece I wrote had multiple PoVs in different arcs and didn't work for me (it ran aground at the 60k mark). This time I'm sticking with one arc but hopping between characters. Perhaps not the most standard format, but then this is the internet so I'll do what I want.

Grits - Yes I wanted to put two rather incompatible characters together. There will be more.

Zalph - Thanks for the comment. I'm glad my view of law enforcement in Cyrodiil works for you.

Destri - Now you point it out I do seem to use water motifs. I'm glad it worked, though I'm not sure it was entirely deliberate.
And yes I'm keeping within a unit but switching PoVs. As much as I like the immediacy of first person for character interactions (which is what this piece grew from) third is better. I still don't know how you manage so many characters though blink.gif

All - the question about how long races live was directed at everyone. Also apologies again for the slow rate of this piece, RL is busy.

Recap: So far Ferir, a smuggler and skooma maker, has had the base of operations he worked from stormed and the other's there killed (with a couple of exceptions). He wound up injured in Cheydinhal jail for killing two guards during the raid with a fireball being involved. In my version of Cyrodiil they use 'black irons' to prevent mages from casting in jail, these are a problem for him. Before they executed him he ran with Ruben, an ex-guard who was also in jail for killing a Guard from the IC whose contacts within the Cheydinhal guard got them out. We join them in the wilds.

1.7 Freedom's Call

The fever headache had built in dark waves. They crashed over him bringing nausea in their wake. Ferir glared at the food. He knew he should eat but he didn't want to. Ruben was clearly struggling, the result of too many drakes spent in the tavern and too much of what exercise he got aimed at strength. Even so they'd made good enough time before breaking for what was too late to be lunch - though Ferir doubted you could have afternoon tea sat on a rock in the middle of nowhere wearing clothes turned stiff with dried blood. Still the cooler air under the tree had quieted the roar in his head to a dull pound he could just think over.

The second iron had to come off soon. The idea of beginning the afternoon's walk again slithered from his mind, but it was his to suggest. Not a chance. But neither did he want to ask Ruben to do what he should be able to do himself. Using the file would eat time, though he wasn't sure if that might be a good thing.

Did they have time now, he wondered. They were a long way off the beaten track, it was over an hour since he’d seen the last evidence of habitation. Healed they might make the Reed River by the following evening, he doubted anyone would follow them as far as the eastern shore, and by then they’d be back in country he knew.

He glanced to his pack. His intention had been to recommence the journey, that evening would be soon enough to see to the iron but the thought of the pack on his sore ribs made his fingers curl. Instead he reached in and grabbed the file. He needed healing, and that meant being able to cast a spell.

After a time the sound of his ineffectual progress against the iron drew Ruben’s attention. The man stood with a long groan. “You want a help with that.” Ferir wasn't sure if it was a question.

“If you want,” he said and tempered the words with a shrug.

Ruben took the file. “How’d the other one go so quickly?”

Ferir stretched his fingers, the work made his hand cramp. “It was damaged, probably the smith struck it wrong.”

“You’re not in any condition to get much further, I might not know the country but I know people.” There was a blade of black humour in his tone. “Aye I know them well. I’ll see to this and you’ll tell me how you came by it.”

“What?”

“How a smuggler ended up a mage, or was it the other way round?”

“Neither,” Ferir said with a half smile, “I’d not say I was a smuggler, it was just work. But I’m even less a mage, if you think I’m Oruntur you’re wrong.”

“So why’d they crack out the black irons. Need the castle mage to open and close them and Ulene can be a guar about it, bloody dark elves are all the same.”

Ferir tensed involuntarily. Whoreson, how much else don’t you like? How in hell had he ended lumped with this moron? He took a breath, the same moron who was trying to free him so he could heal. He would keep the peace, that was insult enough in itself.

Ruben must have sense some of his thoughts, though not the root. “I’m curious, that’s all.”

“I killed two pigs, a fireball was involved.” There was a certain pleasance in the way Ruben tensed at the term.

“You must know some magic?”

Ferir gave a half shrug, as much as he could while keeping his hand still. “I picked up some, we had some books, the odd lesson here and there. It's just a bit of fire, and I can heal.”

“But learning magic is really expensive. That’s why only the rich have it, and the guild and at least they control it unlike the damned altmer nobles.”

“I had money. The skooma was profitable. I’m rubbish at destruction really and I learnt my restoration from a healer I helped.”

“A priest?”

“A witch.”

Ruben was silent for a moment. “Oh,” he said. “You know you can’t trust those.”

Here we go. Ferir waited for it.

“Only last week Jarand, one of our foresters came in saying he’d run across daedra in the woods well east of Cheydinhal, they hushed it but I overheard his initial report. Fair state he was in too. It was the mages who opened those damned gates in the crisis. We lost a lot of good men," he paused long enough to gulp a breath before the rant continued, "oblivion the Empire’s never recovered, I wonder if it will.” Ruben sounded like the idea saddened him, Ferir supposed it took all sorts. “And they do darker things, witches, daedra worshippers, sorcerers. You must have come across them.”

“There are places to avoid if that’s what you mean,” said Ferir.

Ruben went quiet, the file continued its passage back and forth across the rivet, grinding the proud head into obscurity. “One of my early assignments, the first which went backcountry outside the city.” He paused again. “Mages are all the same, they all mess around with things they shouldn’t. Some do it by accident, most don’t.”

Ferir wondered if he was exempt but didn’t much care.

“We went out to Fort Scinia, we’d had reports of problems there. Who the hell wanted Cheydinhal to deal with a problem that far into the wilds I don’t know. There was talk of garrisoning it again, sometimes I wonder…” Ruben broke off and took a slow breath. “Mages, and corpses walking around. Zombies like things from stories, or nightmares. They ambushed us, only I survived.”

Ferir nodded and let the slow rasp of the file fill the silence. “And you never went backcountry again?”

Ruben nodded.

“Avoid the deep places. If you want a home choose a cave over a mine and a mine over a ruin. Stay clear of the forts of old and better to lie down in a grave than enter anything older.” It wasn’t exact, but Ferir remembered the gist of the words of an old forester he’d met years before.

There was no reply but the hypnotic sound of the file.

They both sat with their thoughts. Ruben with whatever distant memories he’d dredged, and Ferir doubted he’d heard half of it. Nor did he care, his thoughts had returned to the foothills of the Valus mountains and he high pastures beyond. To Sundew Cave. Was it chance which led his feet east?

Returning there would be insane. Really? They’d expect him there, but he needed to see it. To see what he’d lost. Would looking on the bloated bodies of those he’d called friends really help? To be certain. To be certain, to know that the old legionary had spoken true, that those who he thought were dead were. Could he face the smashed ruins of his life so easily?

Yes. He sighed, his eyes flickered closed as he did and pressed a frown on his mouth. He already felt what he’d gained. As much as he tried to hide from it the sense of freedom repaired glowed in his mind. The world was laid bare before him, for now he was pushed, but soon he would be blind for choice. Could he look on the shattered glassware, the broken barrels and burnt crates and empty coffers which had represented his achievement? Yes, without a second thought he'd burn them himself for the freedom. The thought forced its way into his head like a snake, but the worst part writhed within it like a devouring worm. It was thought before he could stop it. Would he look on the corpses? All but one.

The idea was barely formed before he smashed it to pieces. But had he not dreamed of such? What am I? Who am I? Ferir shivered.

“Pass me the steel.” Ruben's voice dragged him back to the present. He blinked and saw the other man looking at him. “You alright?”

“Yes. Fine.” Ferir shook his head and pulled the steel from the pack.

Ruben took it and Ferir braced for its bite. It pressed into his skin. He felt Ruben apply more pressure. It got sore. Very sore. He bit in a cry. The cry pushed forward. Just before it could escape the iron gave a metallic screech and twisted apart. The hateful thing fell to the loamy ground.

Ferir met Ruben’s eye and smiled. He rubbed the reddened skin where he steel had pressed it and then raised his hand. Ruben scuttled back as a flow of white energy rose up it and burst from his palm showering him. He felt the cold splash and instantly felt a little better. He went to again and stopped, he wouldn’t be able to heal it all, he had a will to him, enough people had told him that, but it didn’t take long before he just couldn’t pull any more magic from within. What needed it most?

The internal stuff. He’d got away with it but he wasn't even sure how bad that was and it was hurting more. That was sensible, but almost immediately he knew he wouldn’t. It could wait, they might be a little late to the river but the wound across his chest had time against it. If he’d got it immediately it would have been nigh on invisible, but a day left to mild infection and the inexpert machinations of nature was another matter. The sooner he got it the less it would show. Not that he didn’t see it for what it was.

Vanity. But where was the shame in that? He pulled off the filthy and torn shirt and put his hands over the long wound. It was a tight line under them, hot and angry. He reached for his magic. His mind followed the tricks he’d been taught, flowing in tracks worn by a thousand cuts and burns earned cooking up khajit juice. It was a thin line of power burning through the centre of his mind, a hot filament of power rushing ever skyward. He reached into it and drew, shaping the raw energy balancing it like a carnival plate spinner and letting it run from his fingers. He was at every point in the process. The burning face of the source and the cool shower from his fingers were one. Not just together but the same place and thing, all points at once as time stopped. Only then did the true healing start.

He reached through his fingers into the wound. He felt the first pockets of pus where the lavender had been spread thin. Tiny things for the moment, dwarfed by the hot anger of the surrounding flesh. He felt the coarse scarring which already formed across the rift in the skin. He manipulated, squeezing, diminishing and killing the poison, ultimately an act of destruction, while simultaneously reknittng the skin, the blood vessels in it, opening some, joining others. They laid new tissue down at an unnatural rate while he made sure it was smooth and controlled. The drew the wound shut.

Then time began to knock. The white force he was using slowed, he could no longer quite kill the pockets of matter, nor stop the growth going as it pleased. The concentration became hard. The process which made the healing balm faltered and as soon as he thought of it it was too much and the whole fell apart leaving him blinking in the late afternoon sun.

The wound was much diminished. Only the deep sections remained, and they looked better, not so much healed, for it was cleaner than that, closer to mended. The next session would finish them when he’d rested. Other sections of the wound were almost invisible, though some had left a puckered whitish pink line, especially where the pus had been worst. Ferir frowned. It would go or it wouldn’t, time would tell and the spell had spread enough that he felt better elsewhere.

His frown deepened when he looked at the shirt. With the clean feel of the magic, he’d heard some people describe it as minty, it looked foul, even if he was in need of a wash. He slung the blood stained thing over the back of his pack and stood. The casting was tiring, but he felt better for it. Psychologically as well as physically, now he was improving things as well as just running. He glanced at the black iron where it lay. However little he liked it leaving the other had been a mistake, he wanted nothing certain on the trail so he put it in his bag.

“Ready to continue. The country gets more interesting soon. Hillier so we should be able to find a stream to camp by because I’d welcome a wash.”

Ruben grunted. He seemed surprised. With his back turned Ferir grinned and led the way.

Posted by: SubRosa Nov 17 2011, 11:55 PM

bloody dark elves are all the same.
I loved this. She probably even asks everyone if the worship the Nine perhaps? And what good it ever did them? wink.gif

An interesting discussion about how Ferir learned to use magic. Not to mention how widespread the use of magic is, and a common Cyrodiilan's thoughts about it. Given what the Ayleids did to them, I have always pictured the Imperials as being more than little fearful and distrustful of magic. It is an elvish thing after all, so not only dangerous, but corrupt. That Ruben would blame the Oblivion Crisis on magicians was very believable.

A wonderful description of Ferir's use of magic to heal himself at the end as well. Now all he needs is a bath.




nits:
his thoughts had returned to the foothills of the Velas mountains
I am sure you meant Valus Mountains.


The world was laid bare before him, for now he was pushed, but soon it would he would be blind for choice.
Take a look at the end of this sentence, I think you had some leftovers of a previous edit jumbled in there.


Posted by: McBadgere Nov 18 2011, 05:35 AM

QUOTE
“Avoid the deep places. If you want a home choose a cave over a mine and a mine over a ruin. Stay clear of the forts of old and better to lie down in a grave than enter anything older.”


Oh hell yeah...I'm a sucker for a good quote...

Love that...Really enjoyed the section about the healing...Well thought out...Brilliant...

Nice one... biggrin.gif ...

Posted by: Grits Nov 20 2011, 12:58 AM

I don’t have a lore answer for life spans, but I do remember one argument that I read somewhere and liked. The opinion was that magicka is responsible for slowing the age process, and roughly elves live longer than humans. Bretons were the shortest-lived human race, due to their resistance to magicka. Altmer were the longest of the mer. Not really an answer, just something to think about.

I’m so glad to see an update to read, re-read, and savor. Ruben and Ferir have been popping into my mind for the last two months, semi-dormant or not. tongue.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Nov 20 2011, 01:17 AM

I forgot you asked. Lifespans depend on the game. Bethesda changes it every time, mainly to make the elves live shorter and shorter lifespans. Barenziah is 500 years old and this is http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Daggerfall:Barenziah. Doesn't look a day over 30. A game later and she suddenly http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Tribunal:Barenziah. By Oblivion all the elves in the game (though not necessarily in the lore) have the same 60-70 years as an ordinary human. Varel Morvayn says as much when you talk to him. "Been here thirty years, and I expect I'll last another ten or so." So it seems like he expects to be a working adult for 40 years, and then die of old age. When you look at the elves in the game, you will see the same basic spread of young, middle-aged, and old as you do with the round-ears. Where if they lived for centuries, they ought to almost all look like they are 20 or 30. I imagine in Skyrim elves live maybe a decade or two at the most. By Elder Scrolls 6 they will have to age backwards somehow.

So basically as usual Bethesda cannot make up their minds. So make them as long-lived as you want them to be. I tend to go with an average lifespan of at least 300 years for most elves living an active, but somewhat strenuous life. Working on a farm, etc... I tack on another century or so for someone living an easy life with good nutrition, like a noble, scribe, mages guild member, etc... And another century for Altmer, who are infamous for their eugenics.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Nov 21 2011, 04:41 AM

What a delight to meet Ruben and Ferir again. I really enjoyed this bit, especially as they were talking about magic and the aftereffects of the crisis on the empire.

One thing I noticed: you mentioned puss in relation to Ferir's wound. Puss (two 'esses') refers to a kitty cat. Pus refers to the disgusting foul fluid produced by certain infections. I believe you meant the latter, not that a little purr-motor was residing in Ferir's chest causing him trouble.

Posted by: Olen Nov 27 2011, 06:46 PM

SubRosa - Magic is likely to play a big part in this. I see it as having greater potential than waving your hands and something happening, but with more complex things becoming very rapidly more difficult. It should keep things more balanced while allowing me a bit more freedom. For lifespans that was about what I was working on. The lore is completely jumbled with dunmer lifespans covering two orders of magnitude (70 years for Morvayn and 4000 for Divayth Fyr).

Nit's are picked and one bath coming right up...

McBadgere - Glad you enjoyed. This will continue... slowly.

Grits - It's good to have so many readers still interested. The magic idea is a nice one, it fits with the Telvanni mages living for so long too so I might well hijack it to some extent.

Haute - I see the crisis having lasting effects well beyond he immediate. Houses are relatively simple to rebuild but something that large is going to leave a mark on the way a society thinks which won't fade for decades and probably never completely, especially as there is unlikely to be anyone particularly encouraging reconciliation.

Nit fixed... if English spelling was systematic my life would be easier...

All - In the last part Ferir managed to escape his black irons and so could do magic again. Some more of their past emerged. He healed and they continued east. This next part is the final instalment of the first chapter.


1.8 Fresh Water

The waters of the Reed River were quick and cool, fresh from their mountain headwaters. Ferir lay back against the rush and watched as the sun crept over the high peaks of the Valus mountains. New mountains, at least if the books were to be believed, they were sharp with spires untamed by the grinding wheel of time. He relished the tight chill of the water and half shivered. Repeated healing sessions the previous night had more or less mended his wounds. There was still the achy hangover which only time, or a fabulous talent far beyond his, could shift, but the water helped there.

He’d known people who thought the streams and forests of Cyrodiil were alive. Aedra, nymphs, spirits - the names varied but as he immersed his head in the soothing roar he could half believe them. Not that it mattered. Who cared? It might be fun to see one, in much the same way it was nice to watch the deer lek in the autumn, but people seemed to get so obsessive about them.

His feet curled for purchase on the smooth stones as he stood and splashed water in his face. He cupped another handful and drank it. That was one of the best things about it up here, the water was potable. At least it was upstream of where he’d washed. The sun broke through the trees and a ray reached down over his back to the shore. The eastern shore, would they be followed this far? Maybe, but not found. The area was huge and inhospitable, particularly to the law.

He stood naked in the blue morning sun, a stronger shiver ran though him. A towel would be nice. The packs lacked certain things. Damn it, while I’m at wishing a hackle-lo, mug of klah and flask of Mímisbrunnr would be nice. Or at least a beer.

For all that the packs contained what was necessary to survive they lacked what was needed to live. Instead they were weighed down with rubbish - who needed tent poles? Certainly they were useful, but for the weight a tree would do.

“You going to sun yourself all day like a lizard?”

Ferir stretched up extracting a crunch from somewhere in his back and turned. “We’re east of the Reed, this is real back country. Do you know who’s in control here?”

“Cheydinhal county ends there,” Ruben grunted as he sat stiffly up, his blanket still pulled around him, and pointed at the opposite shore “So any guard, or fighter’s guild member gods preserve us.”

Ferir gave him a half smile. “Really, I’d have been more inclined to say no one.” He walked back towards his pack and regarded the clothes there with distaste. He hadn’t been the first person to be issued the prison ones, and the standard issue guard kit smelt as bad as it looked. Ruben groaned as he stood. He’d struggled at the end of the previous day. Ferir had let him, not because he particularly disliked the man but when energy ran out pride could carry someone further than sympathy. As he’d guessed Ruben’s had been sufficient. “Should be easier today,” he said.

“Thank the nine for that. Why?”

“We’ve been going a couple of days,” Ferir shrugged, “unless you’ve got blisters it gets easier. And it’s not such a long day, we need supplies, and I want to be fresh in case dreck goes down when we buy them.”

“There’s no towns out here though…”

“Heard of Carbo? He was a legend, people still come and go through his camp.”

"I've heard of a Carbo, near legend in the legion. Served out in Vvardenfell in the blight."

"Not him. A smuggler turned bandit turned kingpin. He's dead but his camp isn't."

“Outlaws?”

“So are we,” Ferir pointed out.

Ruben frowned.

They set off soon after. Ferir was tempted to stay by the river for a little longer but a breakfast of hardtack was as well eaten on the move. They stayed close to the river anyway, it was months since he’d been there but he could remember the area well enough. Verdant forest sprawled to the waterside. There were trout in the river, if you could be bothered fishing, or knew a particularly powerful lightning spell. He’d only seen that done once, most mages powerful enough either had servants to buy fish for them or lived in remote castles, usually ruined and always with a tower. In spite of what they claimed Ferir had a feeling there was only so much boiling quicksilver that could still be considered healthy.

It was one of the reasons he’d never learnt more, that and the guild and it’s damned rules. Gone were the days where it controlled all trade in magic, and hence almost all mages. The weakened Empire helped, it was easier to set up a black market when there were few patrols but the real cause had been internal. It had bent under pressure and outlawed necromancy.

Ferir didn’t really see the problem, yes it was an interesting area no doubt, but there were others. If you’d spent your life pursuing it then you would be annoyed, but if you’d spent your life cutting up corpses and making them walk then you were crazy. Perhaps their definition was too broad but that begged more questions. Why necromancy? He’d only met two, both buying supplies fortunately, but they smelt weird, lived alone and in his opinion needed a stiff drink and a better hobby. And possibly a night out in Bravil.

It was the conjurers and daedra fanciers who posed the threat. It was they who had caused the crisis, and who had a force to unite them. They also practised in every guildhall in Tamriel as far as he knew. It was suspicious, but then so was so much when seen as an outsider. Presumably those who lived with it were just too close, like trying to look at your own eyelashes.

The walk along the river passed that way. He was lost in his thoughts, what should he do next? The first couple of times it stung, but he swept that away, it was a valid question. Save grieving for when there was time, and at the cave. That loomed on the horizon. He could learn more magic, or alchemy anyway. Though there was the axe, or maybe a bow. The idea appealed but from his limited experience it was best left. Too unreliable unless you were very good, and what could one do that a fireball couldn’t?

Tributaries joined the river as they went south. It grew, but the hilly country remained untamed and soon they walked by a crashing torrent. Ferir knew that it slowed as the hills ended, this was more a section of rapid than anything, but the roaring sound was like a physical presence within his head. The cold spray smelt slightly peaty and the churning white sinew of the water left its glory undimmed. It crashed down a steep section, not a waterfall, but close, and at the bottom stood the soom drukpa, three granite ovoids. Two were a good twenty feet across with the third lying under them a little longer. The waters surged against them.

There were all sorts of stories told about the soom drukpa, or the tres angeli, or three sisters, depending on who you asked. He always used the eastern name for no better reason than it was the first he’d heard. To the Argonians, who’d once lived even this far into Cyrodiil, they were the eggs of dragons. If they laid eggs like that Ferir was glad they were extinct, if they’d ever been real. Other legends spoke of gods, or aedra. The only credible one was that Sheogorath was behind them. The resemblance certain people, mainly imperials with too much of a fixation with the nine, or those in need of a good night in Bravil, saw supported the involvement of the god of madness.

Whatever they were was unimportant, they were the landmark he found Carbo’s Camp by. Turn away from the river, breast the ridge and it was in a deep gouge in the landscape which dwarfed the small stream which ran through the camp. He turned away from the river and started inland. Ruben followed, and glanced around uneasily. Ferir carried on into the bush ignoring Ruben’s confusion.

Why? The question came unbidden, though not wholly unexpected. Ruben was a bit of an oaf, but was he really? A few badly placed comments, but plenty of people were like that. He had been a guard, and Ferir was willing to bet that whatever went down was worse than they done him for. But he’d known enough criminals. Was it because he owed Ruben one, a large one? But he was paying, had paid probably.

“We’re headed for Carbo’s Camp.”

The former lawman stopped. He mouthed in shock for a moment before he managed to speak. “But that’s a bandit place, outlaws, smugglers, vagabonds… I didn't realise you were serious.”

“We need supplies, and to hear what the word on the wind is.”

“But they’re bandits.”

Ferir nodded, his upper lip rising a little. “Can’t say I like it, but we haven’t got much choice. Survival comes first. Always.” He paused then resumed walking. Ruben followed behind. “You’ll want to be careful there,” he said, “they won’t like guards. Don’t want you sneaking around, if anyone asks you’re my uncle, enough there will know me, though they might not welcome me…” Not after that last deal… this could be fun.

Posted by: SubRosa Nov 27 2011, 07:24 PM

First off, the title has me thinking of http://youtu.be/rU-KVObNEd4

untamed by the grinding wheel of time.
This was a wonderful description!

and flask of Mímisbrunnr
He may be an outlaw, but Pappy agrees with him on this! biggrin.gif

I liked the little discussion of the two Carbos. It shows the backgrounds of each men so well.

if you’d spent your life cutting up corpses and making them walk then you were crazy
Indeed. Like Ferir thought, there are much better hobbies. Like bathing, and women. Well, the living ones at least. wink.gif

and what could one do that a fireball couldn’t?
Build a lean-to, or a house? wink.gif Or chop up corpses that you can animate later! laugh.gif

Not after that last deal… this could be fun.
Uh oh. This was a delicious tease, promising all sorts of danger ahead!



nits:
most mages powerful enough either had {a} servant to buy fish for them or lived in remote castles
I think you either wanted an {a} where I inserted it above, or a plural servants.

Ruben was a bit a an oaf
I am sure you wanted of there.

Posted by: Grits Dec 6 2011, 03:56 AM

I love every word of this update, even the parts after Ferir puts his clothes on. tongue.gif I keep coming back to read it again.




...more, please? smile.gif

Posted by: mALX Dec 6 2011, 06:58 AM

GAAAAH, you have changed your writing style! As always, your descriptions and attention to detail are exceptional, that goes without saying. Great Write (!!!) - that also goes without saying.

The premise of your story is fascinating, and your characters (as I've come to expect from you) are earthy, interesting, natural, believable. Your writing (as always) is excellent.

The surprising change from your usual writing style just has me stymied, that's all. I meant to reread it from the beginning (again) to get used to this new change, and instead found myself re-reading "Burning Today." (I also re-read "A Final Embrace" while I was over there).

I love your writing, I just came into reading this with expectations for it to be one way and it was another - that is my fault. embarrased.gif

Posted by: Olen Dec 11 2011, 12:36 PM

Sorry all, another delay after an unusually crazy week.

SubRosa - when I was writing hmi wanting some whisky made me think of Mímisbrunnr, so I decided to steal borrow it.

Grits - I'm glad you liked it, and I'm sure there'll be more streams, though not in this chapter I'm afraid (at least not ones you'd want to wash in).

mALX - Yes I changed to third person. There's pros and cons, it's much easier to head hop between sections in third person than first which works better for the group based piece I have in mind here. Equally Ferir is definitely the main and we'll be seeing most of it from his head. I'm glad the characters work for you as they're the point of this piece.

All - In the last part Ferir and Ruben reached the deep backcountry and started towards Carbo's Camp to get supplies. Ferir has misgivings however.



2.1 Carbo's Camp

Carbo’s camp sat like a rotting fruit in the bowl valley. They approached up the stream which ran through it. Ruben noted the grey sludge which lay in its bed and the foul smell and wondered what you could catch from the mingled bandits, smugglers and vagabond scum which had used it. The Cheydinhal guard knew about the place, and could have found it easily enough. There was no point though, the occupants would scatter and men would be lost. Better to keep it out here, the wilds were already dangerous. The guard had better things to deal with.

Except he wasn’t one, not any more. But I’ve always been a guard. The fact was simple, they’d thrown him out, and he’d never be welcome back. Would he be welcome in Cheydinhal again? He shook his head hard in the hopes the thought would leave him alone. He had friends, they’d gotten him out but he doubted even they would want to see him again. Ever. His mind probed the thought like a tongue in a broken tooth.

The beginnings of a path had developed. He forced his attention to the present. Ferir was nervous, he’d even tried to smarten up though Ruben doubted the man would agree. He certainly wouldn’t admit how tense he was, but it was in his movements, years as a guard had taught Ruben to see that. They had also taught caution and the nerves were contagious.

Him, entering Carbo’s fetching Camp. He’d have laughed a week before. Ferir had remained silent on questioning, more so than Ruben had come to expect. Something rattled him, that bothered Ruben.

“They’re watching us,” Ferir said it quietly without turning. “See that tree ahead? Don’t do anything rash. Archers.”

Dreck. Ruben followed in silence and tried not to let his seething mind show.

Ferir was correct. As they approached the clearing, far from natural judging by the rotten stumps, a bosmer stepped out from behind a large beech. He wore a velvet smoking jacket which had seen better days and a hat with an outlandish feather wedged in the brim. Ruben might have laughed but the nord and orc who flanked him left any humour crying behind the nearest tree. They towered over the tree-hugger, each had bodies which looked like a construction team may have been involved. Or at least a damned good alchemist, thought Ruben.

It was a moment before Ferir spoke. He sounded surprised. “Squire Aengoth, a good day.”

“That, Ferir, is for me to decide." The bosmer had the whiny voice of his kind. "There’s been wholly too many stories and too little contact from you.”

“I doubt Relthas would let you decide. Things have happened.”

“We had a deal,” the nord stepped forward threateningly at Aengoth’s words. Ruben cursed inwardly but noticed Ferir didn’t seem bothered.

He nodded, “We did. Things change. I don’t like repeating myself so why don’t you take us to Relthas, let the gentlemen sort this out.” The bosmer had turned an unhealthy colour. Ruben wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam when Ferir gave him a smile.

“When I was in Vvardenfell-“

“Spare me. If you want a drink I’ll be in Tashba’s later, but it appears you want to talk business. Poor show I must say.”

Ruben noticed the mockery of the bosmer’s tone but doubted Aengoth did. Surely it was deliberate. Either way it had the desired effect, the bosmer nodded. “Fine, follow me.”

They did. The trees on the far side of the clearing were just thick enough to obscure the camp, an expanse of tented structures which all looked like they had been temporary long ago with the occasional hut or cabin which looked a little more solid. They were arranged in a hodgepodge of colours, mainly faded and dirtied to shades of brown, and shapes which clustered around cooking fires or the stream. In the centre there was a peculiar building which looked like the lovechild of a privy, grown beyond any sane proportion, and a marquee, with a ship’s rigging thrown in for good measure. It was towards this they headed.

Their path through the mingled dwellings was a tortuous and often olfactory experience. Ruben wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything quite like it. A pocket of what he assumed to be whores stood smoking outside one tent while the smell of skooma drifted from the next. A dozen musics mingled though the canvas - guitars, drums, lutes and dunmer singing. Unless someone was skinning a cat and had forgotten to kill it first. The effect was similar. Just as suddenly they were passing some scarred and armed men, still wearing battered armour, sharing out clothes and jewellery.

His lawman’s eye, developed by years on the beat, was overwhelmed in a deluge of crime. Drunk and disorderly vied with dealing and in at least two places soliciting. He thought a few counts of conspiring to corrupt public morals wouldn’t go amiss either. But this was Carbo’s Camp, this was where the criminals, the bandits, the nutters and the pushers mixed. The down and out rubbed shoulders with those running, and if the rumours were true no one much cared what from. But the rumours hadn’t held a hundredth part of what he saw. How much pain spread like an infection from this place? How far did it’s groping lines of malignancy reach like mould from a festering peach?

They never got to the central structure, the peculiar bosmer instead led them to a low wooden house. He nodded to the orc who threw the door open with a flourish. The nord stepped in and Aengoth followed.

“Serjo Relthas, I have brought Ferir and his escort.” He swept his hat off and bowed in a clatter of gold chain.

Ruben followed Ferir in and looked around the plain interior. Cheap wall hangings, a few chests and a thick rug by the fire. He could see a large bed through a crooked door opposite. A dunmer, the room’s only occupant, sat in an easy chair in the light of the window smoking a calabash pipe sized like a small incinerator. Otherwise he seemed normal, for the camp and particularly next to Aengoth. He could pass as a minor noble easily.

He surveyed them for a moment and raised an eyebrow, “I should hope not.”

Ferir shook his head. The eyebrow returned to its accustomed position.

“Well done Aegnoth. I have some hot gems I’ve cut a good deal for with the black bows, but I want them checked.”

“My pleasure. Have my shoes come back from the cobbler?” Only then did Ruben notice that the bosmer was barefoot.

“No, I believe the gilt parts are proving tricky. Now I must speak with my guests,” Relthas turned his attention firmly away from Aengoth.

He looked at Ferir for a time, Ruben suppressed the urge to shuffle. The place made him uneasy, and he didn’t know what was going on. Not enough. Then the gaze turned on him. The red eyes were unusually intense, almost penetrating. He held them, but was glad then the dunmer looked back to Ferir.

“I’ve heard disturbing rumours.”

“About?”

“Raj’arn’s company have vanished, I’m not sure what yet. Might be trading with the Commona, or the Altmer. I assume that’s why you didn’t deliver the goods.”

“Supply was part of it.”

“We’ll need compensation obviously." Relthas gave a half shrug, "But I know you well enough that I'd be willing to negotiate another deal.”

“You won’t get either.”

“Really?” Ruben didn’t like the mixture of curiosity and threat in the dunmer’s voice.

“You haven’t heard the latest.”

Relthas made a circle motion with his hand.

“We were shut down. Imperial agents stormed Sundew.”

Supirse flickered over the dunmer’s face. Ruben had the idea that it wasn't often found there. “Damn..." He paused, "I didn't know. What’s the damage?”

“That I know? Total. Except Teemva and maybe Torvas they’re all dead. The cave will be scoured. I’m double murder and jailbreak high on the wanted list. It’s done. We’re done, gone.” It came out in a torrent of words like bile the morning after.

Relthas was silent for a moment, he blinked and put the pipe down. It fell over spilling the smouldering contents, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Arvyn?”

Ferir opened his mouth then shut it and shook his head once. His eyes flickered to the floor.

“Sorry." The dunmer was quiet for a moment. "Look, don’t worry about us troubling you.” He stood and walked over to a chest and pulled out a sack. “I don’t mean to be insensitive but I know you need it. For old times if you must.” Ferir caught it with a clink. “That offer of a job still stands...”

"Cooking for you? The answer's still no, sorry."

Relthas frowned but didn't look surprised. "Think of the cash as an advance then, let me know if you start elsewhere or need a hand. I might be able to help. Anything else you need?"

“Just a drink.”

“You going to Tashba’s?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll let Senril know.”

“Thanks. And thanks for this,” Ferir held up the bag, “and well… everything.”

“That’s fine, if you ever need work you know where I am, oblivion, if you need a chat even. Now if you’ll excuse me a certain khajit needs dealt with.”

Posted by: McBadgere Dec 11 2011, 05:17 PM

Helloo!!...*Waves*...

I like your story...Most excellent...Flows brilliantly...

QUOTE
Ruben might have laughed but the nord and orc who flanked him left any humour crying behind the nearest tree


Lol... laugh.gif ...

Loving it...*Applauds*...

Nice one... biggrin.gif ...

Ooooh...One nit towards the end...

QUOTE
Now if you’ll excuse me a certain khajit needs dealt with.


It makes my eyes ache... biggrin.gif ...Should that be "dealing with"?...Or "to be dealt with"?...

Posted by: SubRosa Dec 11 2011, 07:01 PM

Carbo’s camp sat like a rotting fruit in the bowl valley.
Well now, isn't that nice? wink.gif

The showdown with the trio at the edge of the camp was interesting. As the last episode promised, Ferir clearly has unfinished business with some of the denizens. The camp itself - as befitting of one of your stories - is fetid sore upon the hide of Nirn.

I see Ferir obviously has a lot of history with Relthas as well. This time of the better kind. They seem to have been quite close, considering how quick the Dunmer was to give Ferir that traveling money. Not to mention what seemed like genuine sympathy over the death of Arvyn. Not the kind of things one normally associates with ruthless drug lords.

So next it looks like we are going to the bar, which I imagine is that big dreckhouse in the middle of the camp. And probably a showdown with the Bosmer Basil Rathbone.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Dec 11 2011, 07:16 PM

And so we enter the squalor that is Carbo's Camp.

But where is Carbo? blink.gif wink.gif

Loved the confrontation with the barefoot Bosmer in the dandy's outfit.

One nit (really, the same thing multiple times): It's its when possessive, and it's when contracted from it is.

I really enjoyed seeing this from Ruben's standpoint. It's nice for a change to see a different POV. That's the problem with first-person POV stories.

Posted by: Olen Dec 20 2011, 09:49 PM

McBadgere - Thanks for reading, glad you're enjoying it. The nit - I agree the grammar is wrong but as it was in dialogue and I think it's closer to how people talk (here at least) I've left it. Thanks for making me try to remember why I left that though.

SubRosa - Aegnoth was a throw away character really. He appeared in Morrowind but comes across as out if his depth, I just imagined that things got too hot for him and he ran. He might reappear later, or not. And yes there is history with Relthas.

HER - Nit is fixed, it's probably a typo as its/it's is grammar which I can do, it's spelling which bothers me. Glad the PoV hopping is working, that's the reason why I abandoned 1st person for this piece, as good as it is for immediacy and focus it makes it harder to build other characters. Back to Ferir for this bit though.

All - A longer part this time, but there wasn't a convenient place to cut it.

The last part saw them enter Carbo's Camp to a not wholly friendly welcome. Ferir had enough history with the man he owed to smooth it over and shift blame elsewhere though.

2.2 Tashba's

Ferir stepped out of Relthas’s house and looked around. Carbo’s camp was the same as ever. People came and went, shelters were dismantled and rebuilt. But between the few old stalwarts, like Relthas, nothing ever really changed. You could get anything here. Anything. If it wasn’t available someone could source it, or knew who could. In many ways he liked it, it was freedom, but in others it bothered him. Much in the way Relthas had always bothered him. The dunmer was unpredictable. He would be true to his word and would put a hit out on Raj’arn, he’d had enough killed, but it could have been them. Ferir supposed you didn’t get to his position any other way.

Where would he buy the hit? Ferir didn’t much care, but there were some things he thought money shouldn’t buy. All of them were available in the camp, and if you went digging there was plenty he hadn’t imagined no doubt.

“What was that all about?” Ruben stepped alongside him. The former guard’s gaze hopped around like a strung-out khajit.

He might have seen near everything as a guard, and done enough most likely. But he looks green here, thought Ferir. “Stop looking around so much, you’ll attract attention you don’t want.” Ruben’s gaze slowed, but he continued waiting. Ferir filled the silence. “We... go back I suppose, but things change. People age, well some do. More recently he was our main buyer. We had a big deal with him but our supplier vanished, I suspect to the commona.”

“Not the guard? We catch some people you know.”

Ferir winced and glanced around. It was early evening and quiet, here at least. “Make that slip up again and you might not survive,” he said it plainly. If Ruben was too stupid to hide who he’d been he’d get what was coming. “And no, I asked someone who knows what goes on in the guard and it wasn’t them. He wanted his first payment back but he's being okay, and as I said we go back a fair way.”

“He deals in death happily enough.”

Ferir nodded, “He does. I didn’t say he was nice and I wouldn’t get on his bad side. But he also gave us some money which we desperately need.”

Ruben opened his mouth then closed it for which Ferir was glad. The former guard frowned then said, “Alright, what’s the plan?”

“I’m going for a drink with some acquaintances-"

“That crazy bark biter?”

Ferir snorted, “No.”

“You told him where you were going.”

“And Ulgaf, his guard, overheard. He’s got the brain of a tree but he’ll let his sister know.”

“Ah.” Ruben nodded in a way Ferir couldn’t be bothered to correct.

He dug into the coin bag and pulled out a couple of handfuls. “I need a strong drink, and to find out what’s going on. In that order.” He passed the coins to Ruben. “Go do whatever you do and try not to get killed.”

The man looked taken aback. The surprise made a scar which ran across his right cheek stand out like a plough track. “Oh… right.”

“Shouldn’t be hard to have fun. Just remember two things, don’t let anyone know what you were, no one here will ask much anyway, and don’t frek with Jerine.”

“Jerine?”

Ferir shook his head. “She only runs the place. See the big house in the middle? It’s hers. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

“But where are we staying?”

Ferir gave a shrug and wandered off into the labyrinthine streets.

***

Tashba’s was one of the few constants in Carbo’s ever-changing camp in much the same way as a bone in a maggot filled corpse. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but compared to some of the other bits there it was fantastic. Ferir hurried towards it. Usually he would drink the atmosphere in with a sort of fascination. Here in this place where people could do more or less anything it was fascinating that it ended closer to a cesspit than utopia. But it was a glittering cesspit of wonders.

There were a couple of men in loose jackets wandering in seemingly aimless circles. Dealers. He was half tempted, but nothing flirted with his mood, it was morbid, all the pleasures his mind could imagine, and many he wished he hadn't, were available. But they were grey ashes, pointless fleeting things more akin to butterflies to be smashed apart in a hurricane. They were tragic in their brevity. In a land where one portion of the populace measured their lives in decades and the other centuries wasn’t that always the case?

He shook the thought away. Drinking in this mood was a terrible idea. He knew it fine, but he also knew it would help in the long run. He could feel the loss pushing at the walls his mind had erected round it, a pressure waiting to burst. Alcohol eroded those walls, and dulled the pain when the miasma behind escaped. More correctly it dulled the memory of the pain, but he didn’t care.

Neither did he care for the occasional person who recognised him and waved, or the imperial recruiting for something. The noisy display, complete with scantily clad woman, was an art-form in persuasion. He walked past it, his eyes trying to find somewhere to look and avoid the unpleasant gazes of the whores who would be clustering in the rose glow of the brothel on the corner. As always their heavy perfume failed to quite disguise the stench from within.

What’s wrong with me, he thought. Normally he liked the camp for its deranged freedom which flapped wildly to the four winds. I don’t know who I am now. It wasn’t quite right. He was still who he’d been, but the anchors were torn. Tomorrow didn’t know and as much as he longed for it when direction was taken away it was disconcerting until he had the tiller again. Like being in a ship drifting blindly in a rocky bay.

The coloured awnings of Tashba’s brightened his mood a shade. But as he passed through the batwing doors into the marquee which housed the tavern he still had one intention. He saw Senril at the bar, the dunmer had his usual herbal liqueur, the bright green twinkled in the multitude of lanterns. He was dragging on a rollie with smoke just a little too white.

“I thought you’d given that stuff up,” said Ferir as he approached.

Senril shrugged. “Have a drink,” he gestured to a very generous measure of something dark and cloudy which sat by an empty barstool. Ferir took a sip and sat. It tasted of aniseed and fire, the water added had been enough to make it louche and no more. Senril met his eye. “Are you alright?” His tone told that he’d heard.

“I’m alive.” It came out bitterer than Ferir intended. “You?”

“Yeah," Senril shrugged, a lump of ash fell from the rollie, "money comes money goes. Bit of a rough patch but it’ll pass.”

“Don’t know why you stay,” Ferir took a generous gulp of the spirit and winced.

The dunmer man shrugged, then grinned. “I like being in one place, we’re not all like you. What will you do now?”

Ferir took another swig. “Drift I suppose. Even here might not be safe enough, and I’ve no intention of staying anyway.”

“You’re going back to Sundew.”

Ferir shrugged. The accusation had been in the tone, and yes it was stupid. But he needed to. The deaths sat heavy, not crushing like they had been but when he considered them... He turned away from the thought’s sting. It was a thousand times more bitter than the spirit he washed it away with.

“They’ll expect it.”

“I know.”

“Then why go? What draws you back there above anywhere else? Above here?”

“I need to see it.”

Senril shook his head. Ferir noticed that he’d made a greater then usual effort with his hair, it was cut into a stripe again. Freshly too. He was not the only one drawn to a dead past.

He drained his glass then thumped it down on the bar and nodded to the khajit serving it. She raised her ears.

“A whisky,” said a voice behind him, “Make that two. Doubles.”

“Holga,” he said turning. “How are you?”

She nodded and gave a half smile. “Alright,” the smile melted. “More to the point how are you?”

Ferir shrugged. “Not great. Not dead. I’m coming to be glad of that much.”

Holga nodded and took two glasses from the khajit. “Here, you need spirits at a time like this.”

“Thanks,” Ferir took a sip. It was cheap stuff, but they didn’t water them at Tashba’s which was more than plenty of places in Carbo’s Camp could claim.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not much.”

“Well if you change your mind after a few drinks, or tomorrow I’m here.”

“Likewise,” said Senril pushing himself back in.

“Thanks.”

A silence opened. Ferir filled it with a sip which went on slightly longer than was pleasant. The stuff wasn’t smoky enough for his tastes. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but under the gaze of companionship a chasm yawned.

“Been some strange stuff going down here recently,” said Senril.

Ferir caught the glance which passed between him and Holga. “Yes," the nord woman continued, “rumours of rogue mages and sightings of zombies to the east.”

“And the lights.”

“The lights?” asked Ferir. Carbo’s Camp was always full of tall tales, but this one wasn’t like most.

“We see them from camp,” said Senril. “At night when Masser is just past half full, there’s a violet glow to the east. I went to take a look the second time it happened, over a month ago now. Got scared though,” he gave a laugh that tried to be self mocking but ended unpleasant, “and turned back.”

Ferir’s interest was piqued. The sip he took before speaking was cursory. “What is it?”

“No one knows. No one’s found anything, well no one who’s returned anyway.”

Holga made a hissing sound and rolled her eyes. “Yes, there’s no chance a few disappearances, at night, in the backcountry, from Carbo's weren’t something unnatural. I’d be more surprised if they had all returned.”

There was more gossip, Ferir could see it dancing in Senril’s red eyes. “What else?” he obliged.

“There was a damned strange woman passed through here day before yesterday. The sort who puts you a bit on edge you know. A mage I reckon.”

“Off to join whatever cult is responsible for the lights?”

“Who knows.”

“Men,” Holga shook her head. “You’re no better than a sewing circle. All dramatic stories. Now you know Elsen Roleen down by the southstream?”

Ferir let the mingled gossip wash over him. They were friendly faces, and by the gods he’d needed some. The following day would bring what came, for now there was company. And there was drink.

The company I want though?

Posted by: mALX Dec 21 2011, 03:29 AM

The dialogue rules this chapter, Great Write !!

Posted by: McBadgere Dec 21 2011, 05:35 AM

Fair enough!... biggrin.gif ...

Most excellent chapter...

I remember this feeling very well...

QUOTE
What’s wrong with me, he thought. Normally he liked the camp for its deranged freedom which flapped wildly to the four winds. I don’t know who I am now. It wasn’t quite right. He was still who he’d been, but the anchors were torn. Tomorrow didn’t know and as much as he longed for it when direction was taken away it was disconcerting until he had the tiller again. Like being in a ship drifting blindly in a rocky bay.


So I think that was my fave lines of the whole thing so far...

Oh, and this line...
QUOTE

“Men,” Holga shook her head. “You’re no better than a sewing circle.


laugh.gif ...Most excellent...*Applauds*...

Nice one... biggrin.gif ...

Posted by: Fawkes Dec 21 2011, 07:13 AM

Oh, I really enjoy this! Really great write!

More specifically this,

What’s wrong with me, he thought. Normally he liked the camp for its deranged freedom which flapped wildly to the four winds. I don’t know who I am now. It wasn’t quite right. He was still who he’d been, but the anchors were torn. Tomorrow didn’t know and as much as he longed for it when direction was taken away it was disconcerting until he had the tiller again. Like being in a ship drifting blindly in a rocky bay.

and

Senril shook his head. Ferir noticed that he’d made a greater then usual effort with his hair, it was cut into a stripe again. Freshly too. He was not the only one drawn to a dead past.

looking forward for more! biggrin.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Dec 21 2011, 05:56 PM

“That crazy bark biter?”
Teresa is one of his old acquaintances? laugh.gif Oh, I guess not.

in much the same way as a bone in a maggot filled corpse. It wasn’t exactly pleasant
Not exactly pleasant? wacko.gif I would hate to see what Ferir considers unpleasant!

I loved Ferir's grim musings in the bar, about how the lack of constraints leads to ruin rather than utopia, and especially the balance of lifespans, between centuries and decades.

I also enjoyed his lack of ease caused by being in a transitional state. He is neither one thing, or another right now. His old life is gone, and his new one -whatever that might be - has yet to begin. Rather he is in between. That is a very difficult place for most people to be in.

Hmm, it sounds like the necromancers from the Dark Fissure are restless. Zombies, the Necromancer's Moon, disappearances.




nits:
Ferir gave a shrug and wondered off into the labyrinthine streets.
That is wandered.

There were a couple of men in loose jackets wondering in seemingly aimless circles.
Again in this sentence too.

Posted by: Grits Dec 28 2011, 01:56 AM

I love your decision to show the meeting with Relthas from Ruben’s point of view. We have to infer things from Ruben’s observations and the minimal explanation that Ferir offers in the next section. Very engaging.

Nearby necromancers and Ferir’s desire to return to Sundew add up to an uncomfortable possibility. blink.gif

Posted by: Olen Jan 29 2012, 10:37 PM

Sorry for being slow. RL is devouring me just now. I have chapter three finished though so there will be more updates now.

mALX - glad the dialogue worked for you. Just as well seeing as this story seems rather dialogue heavy.

McBadgere - glad you like it. The line you quoted was an important one, so I'm glad that worked. Also thanks for prodding me into polishing another part for posting...

Fawkes - I'm glad you like it. Good eye with the quotes too.

Subrosa - Nits were fixed. I think I've found everything in this piece (though probably haven't). You seem to have picked up on all the foreshadowings, there's no sneaking anything past wink.gif

And yes I've stolen the odd phrase from the TF world, it's just so much more real to me than the game world now, though there are some differences.

Grits - I'm glad the PoV hops are working. It's easier to avoid bogging things down with back story with the odd head hop. And Ruben is quite fun to write.

This part begins the morning after Ferir met a couple fo old aquaintances for a drink in Carbo's Camp.


2.3 Shopping

"No poppy, I need to be awake today." Ferir's voice was hoarse and his tongue felt like a strip of leather. How can I be so thirsty when I drank so much last night? It was one of life's mysteries.

The trader smiled, "I can give you something for that too."

Ferir shook his head. The stall claimed to be an alchemists but the decent potions looked stolen and the rest was a mixture of wortcraft and snakeoil. "Just the willow bark one with syrup and liver salts please."

"It's your hangover."

Don't I know it, thought Ferir as he handed the coin across. He downed the flask and tried to ignore the nauseating taste, a cheap healing and stamina draught followed it. It was probably unnecessary but at least it felt like he was doing something.

"Thanks," he muttered and carried on to the next stall to catch up with Holga.

"Feeling any better?"

"Nope."

"Me neither," she said. "Still having seen the rubbish in your pack I think more shopping should distract us."

"True, I need soap, and a towel. Guards are disgusting."

"I was more thinking some armour, and a decent weapon."

"That too," Ferir stopped at a large stall. Several tables were laid out with a bizarre range of items. A large and ornate claymore nestled among a mountain of chipped crockery. Books half eaten by mice lay next to soul gems, alchemy equipment in varying states and an unusually tasteless statuette of a ballerina. "I'll get you that if you're not careful," he muttered pointing it out to Holga.

"Please don't," she said. "This can be a good place, it's cheap and stuff moves quickly but sometimes they have something worthwhile. Just don't ask where it came from."

Ferir smiled. "There's shops enough like that everywhere." He turned his attention back towards the clutter. A few mortars and pestles had caught his eye. There was other equipment too but he ignored it. A saucepan would do calcine ingredients in the few occasions that was necessary and distilling was too difficult without a proper bench.

He glanced up and suppressed a grin as the store owner appeared. He couldn't have imagined a more likely candidate. The redguard wore a confused mixture of Cyrodiilic clothing and that of Hammerfell from where he clearly originated. His curly hair stood almost straight up from his head and showed the first signs of grey.

"Ah, what are you looking for?" The stall owner's eyes darted around, "I have the finest silks from Elswer," a yellow scarf emerged from nowhere. "Just your colour and feel the quality."

"No thanks," said Ferir.

"But feel the quality!" There was a manic energy in the man's voice, but the smell emanating from the scarf was even more unsettling. "This silk is the finest. Only the khajit know who to make it so fine from the worm's bottom!"

Ferir could only imagine something had been lost in translation. "No thanks. Do you have any armour? Light stuff and decent quality."

The man put the scarf down and scratched his head. "I have some mail," he rooted through a trunk under a table and pulled out a rusted heap of junk.

"No thanks, too rusty." The seller went to reply and Ferir cut across him, "I don't have time to clean it, I want it to wear now. Mail is too heavy too." It was better to agree with people like this and manipulate them. Arguing was like banging your face against a tree, but less satisfying.

"Leather offers less protection."

"I know."

"Have a look." With unexpected strength the man lifted the trunk onto the table sending pots and pans scattering with a clatter which made Ferir's brain grate the inside of his skull. Before Ferir could look a second trunk joined the first and the seller had pulled a suit of leather armour out. The cut was poor and the build looked shoddy to Ferir.

He grunted and began to look ignoring the seller's spiel. A suit of dark cuir bouillie caught his eye. He lifted it out and was surprised to find it in reasonable condition.

"Ah," the seller sounded almost regretful, "an excellent piece. Very good, feel the waxiness. This piece was made with beeswax, that gives a good waterproofing you know."

Ferir nodded. You haven't got a clue have you? The question was how much did the man know about price? "How much?"

"For you? Fifty drakes."

"Hmmm," Ferir wobbled his head. The rest of the box was musty and foul smelling. As he raked his hand through another piece caught his attention. It was the studded leather the Imperials used in some provinces, how it had come to be in Carbo's was a mystery. It's condition was okay but not great. It needed a waxing that much was certain. So why had it caught his eye?

It hadn't. That was the simple answer, it had caught his attention. He picked it up and felt it again. Enchantment, but there wasn't the characteristic glitter and it was hard to detect. A decent pawnbroker would know, and know exactly what it was worth. But the man was a lunatic.

"I'm not sure that cuirass will fit me, this one will though. The quality isn't quite the same but I didn't really want to spend that much."

"But it's not a set then."

"You're left with a better cuirass though," said Ferir. Will you disagree? If he did that was an excuse to pull the price down, and the man might believe him anyway. "How does twenty five sound?"

"No no. This is worth much more. With this cuirass forty five."

"I only wanted to spend thirty. Sorry." Ferir started putting the armour back.

The man blocked him. "Thirty five. My final offer."

Ferir made a show of looking at the suit again. "I need to get other things though. I wanted a mortar and pestle from somewhere."

"I have many mortar and pestles," the man threw his arms wide to indicate just how many. Coupled with his beard the frantic gesticulation made him look like one of the strange men who spent their time on street corners alternately damning passers by and soiling themselves.

"Put in a cheap one and we call it thirty five."

The seller smiled and raked in another pile which seemed mainly to consist of over-stuffed dead furry things and plaster busts of past emperors. The smile was still evident when he put down a slightly battered and very thin mortar and pestle. As Ferir picked it up the seller spoke. "For another three I give you a better one. That one very thin." He pronounced it 'theen' with a slight screech.

As Ferir looked at it it was his turn to smile. The man hadn't got a clue. "No no. This one will do, I'm only starting anyway." He counted out the coins, three larger gold ones and a smaller one. The sellers eyes darted to them the back to the merchandise with a sort of longing. "I assume you will throw in some neats wax, the leather needs it and you'd have to do it soon if I wasn't buying."

The seller paused then threw his hands up. "Fine. Yes." He scooped up the money and pulled a small bottle from yet another case. "Good bye, unless you're interested in-"

Ferir shook his head and smiled. He met Holga's eye and raised his brows. She grinned. He wandered a short way away to look at the wares of another merchant, by the range a fence, before he spoke. "He doesn't have a clue does he?"

"No, he pulls prices out the air. You did alright, well except for that mortar and pestle which looks like junk."

Ferir raised his eyebrows.

"It's not is it," Holga said, "I know that look."

"It certainly isn't. I'm not sure exactly what it's made from but it's strong. Mithril doesn't work, but there are other unusual materials. Either way it's definitely light." He spun it between his fingers to demonstrate.

"I saw the same look when you switched the cuirass."

Ferir nodded and drifted on to the next stall. It was a lizard place, all scale polish and tail oil. There was a stand of the musty stuff which passed for perfume between them too. "You did," he said. He glanced back to check the seller wasn't too close but saw something quite different. It took him a moment to notice the hulk of a man bustling through the crowd at speed but then he did. Ruben.

He was red faced and wheezing slightly. "We need to leave," he said.

Posted by: McBadgere Jan 30 2012, 06:12 AM

YAY!!... biggrin.gif ...

A pleasure...*Bows*...

Love this story...It's ace!!... biggrin.gif ...

Brilliant chapter...I laughed at the way he played the Redguard...

Loved it!!...

Nice one...Glad it's back... biggrin.gif ...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 30 2012, 07:22 PM

Ferir is perusing the priceless treasures junkpile for something useful. At least he came away with what looks like some decent armor and a mortar & pestle.

It was a lizard place, all scale polish and tail oil.
I loved this!

Uh oh, what did Ruben do? I get the feeling he opened his big mouth about being with the city guard...

nits:
He wondered a short way away to look at the wares of another merchant
Ferir is wondering when he should be wandering again. wink.gif

Posted by: mALX Jan 30 2012, 08:11 PM

*

QUOTE

but the smell emanating from the scarf was even more unsettling. "This silk is the finest. Only the khajit know who to make it so fine from the worm's bottom!"

Ferir could only imagine something had been lost in translation.


ROFL !!!

QUOTE

You haven't got a clue have you?


Love that line !!!

*

QUOTE

Coupled with his beard the frantic gesticulation made him look like one of the strange men who spent their time on street corners alternately damning passers by and soiling themselves.


ROFL !!


SubRosa already quoted this, but I had to anyway - Loved this line !!

QUOTE

Ferir nodded and drifted on to the next stall. It was a lizard place, all scale polish and tail oil.



Really great chapter - now this has the feel of your old stories, where you can take a shopping expedition and keep the reader rapt and unable to tear themselves from it !!! This is Olen !!! Loved it !!

*

Posted by: Grits Feb 3 2012, 12:27 AM

No ballerina for Holga? So close! biggrin.gif

It was great to see Ferir relatively untroubled and getting ready for the future, even with a blistering hangover. I guess that shows how rough things have been for him lately.

It took him a moment to notice the hulk of a man bustling through the crowd at speed but then he did. Ruben.

He was red faced and wheezing slightly. "We need to leave," he said.


Uh oh. So much for the Carbo’s Camp version of brunch.

As mALX said, I was deeply absorbed in Ferir's shopping trip. goodjob.gif

Posted by: Olen Feb 11 2012, 07:39 PM

McBadgere - Glad you're enjoying it. Here's another part.

SubRosa - Thanks for picking up on the nit, I do try! I just can't see the difference between them until someone points it out. The 'tail oil' line just came to me as I was writing. As for what Ruben did, well...

mALX - It's good to know that this piece is growing on you. Glad you liked the lines.

Grits - Shopping trips are great, I find writing normal stuff just as fun as the magic/ action etc.

The last part saw Ferir doing some hangover shopping before Ruben appeared looking flustered.


2.4 Fortune

"What?" Ferir looked at Ruben with mixed confusion and irritation.

"Dreck went down badly last night." Ruben glanced behind him, there was nothing but other shoppers perusing the stalls, "people are trying to kill me."

Azura's balls, what is his problem, thought Ferir. "It happens sometimes. Kill them back, better." The distraught look didn't shift. He waited a moment before continuing with a sigh. "Details?"

"I had a few drinks, chatted with a few people. Kept it safe and close like, everyone here seems to. Anyway I got a buy in on a poker table-"

Ferir groaned, that was rarely a good start. "Who with, where?"

"A dingy hole over the other side. Called itself the Caravan Club-"

"Dreck," Ferir cut him off, "Frek." He spat. "Any mention of the Orum gang? Walker camp perhaps?"

Ruben's face told him all he needed to know.

He shook his head. "You only hooked up with the frekking Camonna you plank. What happened?"

Ruben swallowed and glanced around again. He looked more rattled than before. "There were a few. They were playing Low Bravil, that should have warned me. It was a big table to start with but I'm good, and I know the tricks. A couple of the dark elf scum were daubing, once you see the system it works for you too, or you can wipe them..." He coughed. "The dealer started double duking. Anyway once you're know they're cheating you can piggy back. I won five hundred drakes."

The terms meant little to Ferir but he understood numbers. "So you cheated."

"No," Ruben held up his hands. "I wouldn't do that. Not here anyway. They cheated, I just made sure it worked to my advantage."

"So you wandered away from a game the Camonna had rigged with half a grand? And that didn't seem like a bad idea?"

"They tried to kill me! I managed to escape into a crowd and hide in a logpile for the night." His voice was almost whining.

Ferir paused. It was bad, but he'd dealt with bad before. He could send Ruben on his way and be rid of the man, but he already knew he wouldn't. Friends were few and far between, Carbo's Camp probably wasn't safe for him and certainly wasn't for Ruben. Ruben would follow him too and bad company was better than none, especially company who could handle himself.

There was always Relthas. He could go crawling back - the five hundred would almost cover the debt. Never. That was one vow he had no intention of breaking. The five hundred might be enough to convince a suitably large, and insane, group to sort out the Camonna problem. It was attractive but other than the issue with dealing with marauders there was politics to be thought of. Hitting the Camonna, even in Carbo's, would upset the balance and if it led back to him his life expectancy would suffer.

He sighed. "We run," he said. Ruben nodded and Ferir continued, "it would be too hard to sort out here, and frankly keeping the money sounds better."

"Good," Ruben nodded, his gaze hadn't stopped roving. He was breathing hard too. "I have my pack... Do you need to collect yours?" He added it as an afterthought.

"No," Ferir snorted, "I wouldn’t let anything out of my sight in this place, I've grabbed most of the supplies we need too." He turned to Holga, "Looks like I need to bounce," he gave a half grin, "I'll stop by next time I'm in the area."

"And cause chaos again no doubt. If I'm not here I'll leave word with someone."

"You're thinking of leaving?"

She made a face. "What is there here really? I was going to talk about it but-"

A shout cut her off. Ruben almost spun he turned so fast, Ferir was only an instant behind. "Oi, there he is."

Three imperials pushed their way through the crowds towards them. Ruben already had his sword out, Ferir reached for his axe but kept the head down for the moment. Instead he freed his right hand for casting and let a smile flicker around the edge of his lips.

The three stopped just out of lunging range. Each had the brown hair and sharp features of a Colovian and wore mismatched armour. The man in the centre had the best of it, a face like a rotten apple rose from a battered steel cuirass. It was more scarred than even his equipment. But it was the woman on the right who spoke first. Her hair was long, but in need of care and her nose had a kink where it had been broken.

When she spoke her voice had the gritty sound left by smoking heavily for a long time, or taking the cheap stuff too often. Ferir shuddered. "We hear there's a hit out on you," she said to Ruben in the cocky tone of someone who was used to bullying others.

"Yes," the man in the centre took over, "but we also hear you have coin. We might be willing to let you live." He tipped his head.

"I might be willing to let you live," said Ferir. Holga had dropped back into the onlookers - nothing attracted a crowd like a promise of death - and was working her way behind them. Ferir allowed the smile to linger, "but I'm not sure about my friend."

Ruben made a big show of lifting the coin bag and looking at it. Then he tossed it halfway between him and the leader and met the leader's eye, "I'm willing to die picking that up," he said with with a calm certainty. "Are you?"

For a moment the leader looked uncertain under the fury of the nord's gaze then the woman shouted, "Frekking get them!"

Ruben sprung into action. The leader scarcely blocked a thunderous swing which sent his sword arm back as it passed then whipped round at his leg.

Ferir looked away and back to the woman who was surging forward at Ruben. He called on the thread of magic inside and let it form in a torrent to his fingers. It glowed and he threw the flame. It was weak though and did little more than scorch her dry dandruffy hair. It was enough distraction though as he swung in with his axe. There was a male scream, not Ruben. It was all his attention bothered with as the axe was deflected by a sword and scratched other the edge of the woman's armour getting a snarl from her. As the weight carried him on she flicked her sword into his arm.

He felt the flesh open and dampness pour out. He jumped back but her blade was up to defend and she didn't press. He shifted the axe to his left hand and she stalked forward. He needed a moment to stop the blood. Pain blossomed in the arm, he couldn't feel where exactly, as he threw it forward. She flinched back expecting a fireball. He took the moment to cast a frenzied healing spell, the biting cold of it burned in the wound for a flash then the pain was less. He swapped the axe back as she pressed again. He blocked the first then as she returned with the back swing he leapt forward with a speed she couldn’t match in her armour and was behind her. He left hand raked at her face finding eyes and he dug his fingers in and pulled back. Her head tipped as the swing carried her round and off balance. A firm stamp through her knee felled her. Ferir didn't waste an instant in delivering a solid axe blow to her gut. The narrow blade struck plumb and went though the armour effortlessly. He twisted it and pulled it out in a torrent of red.

He turned to see the leader in a pool of blood with his face caved in and Ruben pressing the final mercenary hard. He stepped back then a large figure in a checked shirt stepped from the crowd with a bottle. Holga. She broke it over his head and swore viscously as she drove the broken end into his side. He fell dropping his sword as he did.

Ruben stepped up to finish the job.

"Don't," said Holga, "Jerine doesn't like fights in the streets. Says it lacks decorum, whatever that is. She'll want words with this." She prodded the writhing man. "You boys had best run before more come," she gave half a smile then turned to the stall keeper behind her. "And so had you worm. Sheen jars aren't meant to break when you hit people with them. That was full."

Ruben scooped up the coin bag and Ferir grabbed his arm and headed for the edge of the camp.

Posted by: McBadgere Feb 11 2012, 08:37 PM

Likee!!!... biggrin.gif ...

An excellent chapter...Most excellent!!...

Loved the fight, and yet again, made me laugh all the way through...

Excellent writing that person there!!!... biggrin.gif ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 12 2012, 06:46 PM

"It happens sometimes. Kill them back, better."
Sounds like good advice!

"Frek." He spat.
I like the addition of the new swear word.

I liked Ferir's internal monologue as the weighed his options, whether or not to cut Ruben loose, whether or not to give to money to Relthas, or try to pay off some marauders to deal with the Tong, and finally, to run. The last seems like the best choice to me as well.

But I see some bounty hunters got to them first! If nothing else, Ruben is certainly good in a fight. He more then carried his weight there. And a wonderful end assist by Holga with the bottle. Now they are not only on the run from the law, but from the criminals as well! biggrin.gif

Posted by: Grits Feb 13 2012, 02:38 AM

QUOTE
"Dreck went down badly last night." Ruben glanced behind him, there was nothing but other shoppers perusing the stalls, "people are trying to kill me."

Azura's balls, what is his problem, thought Ferir.


laugh.gif Do not come crying to Ferir about a minor death threat. This makes me laugh every time I read it.

Ruben screwed up but showed his worth. Now Ferir has chosen to stay in his company. I’m relieved!

I loved the fight, fast and furious. Holga was a riot at the end, mad about her spilled liquor. I really enjoyed this part!


Maybe I imagined it but was that a little Malcolm Reynolds tribute in there? biggrin.gif

Posted by: Olen Feb 28 2012, 12:58 AM

Sorry for the delay again... a mixture of uni and RL dramas.

McBadgere - glad you're enjoying, things should speed up a bit for a while now (in pacing of the story that is, posting is likely to remain erratic to be honest).

SubRosa - The 'new' swear words are nesecary really, when I write dialogue I try to let it flow as people talk, and people swear. There's only so many ways of conveying the same intent as @#$&! It's good to know Ferir staying with Ruben is making sense too.

Grits - Thanks for the comment, it's always good to know the piece is going over well. Not sure who the Malcolm Reynolds tribute is... I certainly am a massive Firefly fan though and on thinking of smugglers he would spring to mind so there's probably a bit thrown in.


3.1 Western Glow

Ferir hummed a snatch of a tune as he stretched in the late afternoon sun. His cloak was spread under him over the dry leaves at the base of a large beech tree, his newly oiled armour next to it along with their gear. Perhaps later there could be a fire, but for now it was warm enough and he didn't want the smoke. A stream babbled a short way from him. The spot was just too perfect to pass up even if there was a couple of hours of good light left.

They would be followed, he was certain of that much. You didn't leave Carbo's without protection and with that much money unnoticed, and there would be commotion over the Camonna. Jerine was going to be annoyed, that tended to end badly for someone. None of it mattered though. He'd kept to the wilds mainly using the tracks cut by animals rather than those laid by men. He was a pathfinder, and knew how to track and more importantly how to avoid being followed. Avoiding the Legion Foresters was part of smuggling, and they were far more skilled than any bandit was likely to be.

So he wasn't worried and the sun was shining and the day was clear. Words joined the hummed tune and soon he was singing softly to himself looking at nothing and thinking of less. Ruben had wandered downstream to wash. Ferir had done so by the camp but the Nord sought privacy. It seemed unlikely that Ruben had anything Ferir hadn't seen before, but he supposed it was possible and didn't care either way. He paused his singing until the first line of the next verse came to him then started again.

Ruben emerged from the trees with his blond hair plastered to his head. He wore a checked shirt Ferir assumed he'd picked up at Carbo's with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and had a bundle of firewood under one arm.

"Don't stop on my account," he said.

Ferir shrugged. He presumed Ruben hadn't heard the words, or that the innuendo had gone clean over his head.

After a brief pause Ruben continued, "I didn't know you sang anyway."

"Doesn't everyone?"

Ferir stretched back into the soft loam as Ruben frowned slightly. "Well I don't."

"Fair enough." The sun was bloated and red above the western sky, the river a ribbon of fire amid the ancient oaks and lengthening shadows. Soon the air would cool so Ferir drank the last of the sunlight.

When Ruben spoke again he turned and saw the nord's gaze was also on the westering sun. "What else do you do? I know precious little about you."

Ferir paused with the thought it brought then voiced it. Why not? "More than I know about you."

"What?"

"You know plenty about me. You know I was cooking skooma and running it. You know I killed two Imperial Legionaries, in self defence as much as anything. I think the story more or less fills itself in. All I know is you were a guard and you killed and Imperial Agent, then others in the guard sprung you."

There was a long pause. "Things went awry. I made some bad decisions." There was a rustle of leaves as he fidgeted.

"I figured we'd get into the wilds then you'd head your own way, if you're following me I'd know more. What led to the guard's death?"

A heavy sigh. "I said," a pause, "I made some bad decisions. Dug a hole." The second pause was longer. Ferir said nothing and hoped the truth would be drawn into the vacuum. Eventually Ruben spoke again. "You know why I'm following." It wasn't a question. "I have nothing else, but where are you heading?"

Ferir took a moment before answering. The night was a pleasant one and if he evaded it would be awkward. He didn't have any reason to anyway. "Where the wind blows. I'll drift, but for now that's towards Sundew."

"Sundew?"

"The cave I lived in. I need to see."

Ruben nodded. "I had wondered. You know it's risky so I won't tell you that, but I will tell you this: it'll hurt."

"So does pulling an arrow, it doesn't make it any less necessary."

"And after that?"

Ferir smiled and let out a half laugh. "I haven't even begun to think about it."

"Oh."

Ferir stood and stretched. There was a hollow pop from between his shoulder blades and another as he pulled his neck. The sun was melting into the hills of the western skyline and the temperature was dropping. He picked up his cloak and the firewood. "Do you want to get some food from the packs? I'll lay the fire." Ruben stood. "There's a couple of bottles in there too," added Ferir.

He'd piled the logs in a circle of stones and was about to put light to them as Ruben dropped some sausage, lard and a bag of oatmeal. An onion and a flint and steel joined them.

"No need for the flint," said Ferir with a grin and raised his hand. Ruben crashed backward as he thrust it towards the wood. The little fireball happened almost by itself. He'd used it so many times there was no need to catch the magic and form it. If it had been a physical action Ferir supposed he would have called it muscle memory, and he'd read books which compared the mind to a muscle.

Ruben picked himself up, "Warn me before you do things like that."

Ferir shook his head, "I assure you it's safe. I assume you're planning on cooking, I have no idea what I'd do with that."

"Skirlie and sausage. An excellent combination. The wine should cut through the grease well."


Ruben was right, Ferir decided, as he washed the last of the lard from his mouth with the wine. It was cheap stuff but that worked, the harsh tannin seemed to lift the layer of grease left by the fried oatmeal and it had enough body to overcome the taste of onion and pepper. It wasn't what he'd usually eat, but the energy was exactly what he needed. He lay back with a satisfied groan.

Ruben's bottle glugged as he tipped it back. He prodded the fire and sent a shower of sparks skyward to join the first stars which were appearing in the night sky.

"You seem to like plans," Ferir broke the silence, "What are yours?"

Another glug from the bottle. Ferir heard a rustle which might have been a fidget and might have been a shrug, his eyes were on the low fire. After another moment Ruben spoke, "I don't know. Maybe see if I can start in another town with a new name after this has blown over a bit. Kvatch perhaps, there's work there and it's on the move, not dead like Skingrad and Chorrol. Or I suppose I could get a job on some caravan in some backwater and skip Cyrodiil, though I'm not sure I'd want to live in the other provinces."

"Morrowind might be okay."

"Are you joking? It's the worst of the lot, full of dark elves and madness."

Ferir shrugged, "Each to their own." He threw another stick onto the fire.

"Anyway there's the Camonna."

"They're nasty fetchers," said Ferir, "but not so much worse than others. Why them."

"History." Ferir stayed silent and the poison started to ooze from the wound. "You know the Orum Gang?"

Ferir nodded. Inefficient, brutal, bunglers, but the best the Camonna had in Cheydinhal.

"When I was young, probably before you were born, I moved with a rough crowd. Got out of it in time mind but kept some contacts after I started training as a guardsman. My wife settled me a bit I suppose, about all the wench ever did except moan."

Ferir left the pause which opened.

"She never liked the gambling, well not when I lost. It was fine if I won of course. Then there was the patrol..." He grimaced. "I'd hardly got my uniform and I was selected for a job into the wilds. They all died. And..." his tongue snaked over dry lips. He sighed, "I saw things." He opened his mouth to say more and paused, "No." He shook his head.

Ferir took a slow draught from his much diminished bottle. Ruben's matched his in length but was far from slow. There were only dregs left once he was done.

"Open another," said Ferir. "They were the necromancers you mentioned?"

"Yeah," said Ruben as he rummaged in the packs. "Only I returned, things weren't the same. The wench never understood why I drank. You know the drill. I made some bad decisions. She left."

"Dreck." Ferir finished his bottle, Ruben was well into the second.

"I gambled more, and more often, and hit the bars harder. A guards salary ain't much and I never did get promoted. Same old story I suppose. Owe the wrong people the wrong drakes. I couldn't pay so I hit up some contacts."

"How long ago?"

"Four years. It was small stuff at first, just info. Then just a small thing, a record erased or some evidence lost. Nothing major."

"To start with." Ferir didn't much care if he insulted Ruben, the man needed it. The story seemed to repeat like a mill horse in its worn circle.

"Yeah. It got bigger, there were more of us in it, more leaks and harder to cover all our tracks. We sprung a few people. Someone noticed and the Imperials were called in."

"How did you end up killing one?"

"He got too close. Enough evidence to send us all down so I paid him a visit."

Ferir was stunned for a moment. He knew Ruben wasn't that bright, the last few minutes had confirmed that, but to think that murdering someone investigating you in cold blood could ever go well. He shook his head, the man really was a wolf. There was something hard in there, a rock of psychotic self interest hidden like a cat's claw. There were nutters in the skooma trade, but Ruben held is own among them.

Ferir held out his hand for the bottle and took a drink until he thought he was steady again. "Damn," was all he could manage.

"I know it sounds silly now, but I felt trapped." Ruben took the bottle back, "Anyway it's hardly different than you."

"He was doing his job and you killed him to try to cover it up."

"And the two legionaries you killed?"

"Yours didn't burst into your home in the early morning and set about butchering your friends with similar intentions for you."

"Near enough. If we escaped the gallows how well do you think prison goes for a guard?"

"No, it's diff-" Ferir didn't get further. His eyes were on the northern skyline.

Ruben said it first. "What in oblivion is that?"

Posted by: McBadgere Feb 28 2012, 04:29 AM

Ooooh, that's nice that is!!...

Love it...

Bit o'history there!!...Nicely done...Much darkness to our tale there is...Mmm!!...

The campfire meal and drink has made me all hungry now... laugh.gif ...

Nice one!!... biggrin.gif ...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 28 2012, 07:47 PM

I made some bad decisions.
I am thinking that is an understatement of English proportions.

It was good to learn more of Ruben's past. His slow and stead slide down to the wrong side of the law was delightful, at least in the fact that it was so wholly understandable. I was nodding my head the entire time thinking, "yep, no surprise there."

But now, what in Oblivion is that on the horizon? Something to do with those rumors of foul things issuing from the Dark Fissure perhaps?


nits:
Ruben had wondered downstream
The old wander/wonder got you again. Wandered this time, or perhaps just went?

"You know the Ourum Gang?"
If you changed it on purpose, no worries. But in the game they are the Orum gang.

Posted by: Grits Mar 6 2012, 02:36 AM

It was just a line that made me think of Mal. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2YSn4pXwkk smile.gif


I love that Ferir’s reaction to Ruben’s cold-blooded murder announcement was to reach for the bottle and then argue with him. blink.gif It makes me think that he has the nerves to deal with whatever remains at Sundew as well as whatever is visible at the skyline.

Another thoroughly enjoyable update. I love this story.



Posted by: Athynae Mar 12 2012, 01:23 AM

The story, the characters, the color of the writing absolutely do not disappoint. I like Ferir and Ruben, I get the feeling I'm supposed to and at some point I'm going to say to myself "wow, I didn't see that coming". I am looking forward to more very soon.

Your writing is simplicity on the surface but the undercurrent, the feel, is deep and profound if I am not reading it wrong. Loving it.

Posted by: Olen Mar 27 2012, 09:35 PM

And another delay... This will progress albeit slowly. More RL, uni and a failing hard drive to blame this time.

McBadgere - Glad you like it, and yeah there is darkness. It tends to creep into things I write, and trust me this gets darker.

SubRosa - Good catch on the nits, both fixed. I'm glad Ruben's past makes sense there will be more at some point I should imagine.

Grits - Passing a bottle can be a good way to subdue bad memories, and it takes about 20 minutes so regardless it's probably more convenient to have him drunker... As for what's on the horizon, well we meet some if it in this chapter.

Athynae - I glad you enjoyed it, welcome to the slowest moving story here... It's good to know that you like Ferir and Ruben too, it was my intention to make them likeable protagonists even if they are a bit morally questionable at times, it's a fun thing to play with.

Where we were: Having fled Carbo's Camp they are now in the wilds. Ruben told a bit of his past then they were distracted.

3.2 Old Secrets

A purple glow blazed on the northern horizon. It flashed into being like exploding lamp oil. The light seemed greasy against the moonlit cloud, shimmering and ethereal like a mirage. As they watched a burning filament reached down. Or up, thought Ferir, it was hard to focus on it as if his eyes were afraid to see. When he stared it hardly seemed there, but when he looked away it blazed like a column of eldritch fire connecting heaven and Nirn. And whatever lies beneath. The thought came unbidden.

"Its like nothing I've seen before. Magical I'll bet though."

"It looks evil," muttered Ruben; his tone did not make light of the words. "Every time I look away I half see a column of light as well as the glow."

Ferir paused. "You don't see it all the time? It's clearer if I don't look at it..."

"What? How..."

"No idea," Ferir shrugged, "I can do a few spells but I'm no mage." He paused. There was no sound, the still night had fallen silent but for the rustle of the fire and Ruben's heavy breathing. "What do you think it is?"

Ruben didn't answer.

"Doesn't it make you curious?"

Still no answer. Ruben glared into the darkness.

He knew it was foolish, but risk had never stopped him before. It was only later he wondered how much the wine stilled his nerve and filled his soul with Leyawin courage. Ruben had drank all but a mouthful of the third bottle too. Curiosity had its claws in him, he couldn't quite imagine what foggy ruin might have awoken or what ancient ritual might be happening. Treasures lost to time fleeted through his mind replaced by old secrets and arcane knowledge. Chanting elven figures robed, or better without robes...

Wild conjecture. "We should have a look," he said.

Ruben looked at him. "Sounds crazy."

"Why not?"

"We don't know what it is?"

"Exactly, and what else are we going to do?"

"Stay here? Sleep?"

"Really," Ferir flowed up onto his haunches, "With every shadow staring at us, ever whisper a breath of darkness? Better to be out hunting than waiting by this fire."

Ruben's gaze flickered to him than went back to darting around the trees. Ferir stood. "Gather the stuff in case we don't want to retrace ourselves."

A few minutes later Ferir was picking his way through the moonlit forest on a northerly path towards the light. Ruben followed. The man was trying to be silent but without much success. Ferir had suggested that Ruben watch his own movements as a crash course in sneaking. Light was not a problem in the trees, they were sparser here where rocks jutted from the ground like broken teeth. The two moons and the weird glow cast shadows tinted with blood and madness.

A feeling was growing in his gut. It coiled his nerves like a spring. He had felt similar and generally sought the comfort of his bed in Sundew with its other distractions until the morning sun brought peace. Tonight was different though, there was a dark undertone to it. But Sundew was gone, many things seemed dark now, and after the preceding days was it any wonder he felt odd? He returned his focus to the night while his fingers sought the loop from which he had hung his axe.

There was a crash from behind him as Ruben fell over. The nord swore as he picked himself up. "Bloody tree root or summin," he muttered.

Ferir glared and nodded. "Shhh," he hissed.

He was about to continue when he half heard something in the darkness ahead. He froze and held up his hand. A foot crunched down then Ruben was silent. Ferir strained into the trees but the wild shadows confused and twisted his gaze. The purple glow covered most of the northern horizon now. Either it was close or truly vast.

A crack. Not from behind but to his right.

Tension thrilled through him, his left hand found soft loam and his gut drew in ready to spring. His eyes tried to penetrate the darkness and bored into shadows. Was there the sense of a more open space there?

"Probably nothing." The voice was muffled. Even so the bottom dropped from Ferir's stomach. An instant of nausea passed as feet crunched to his right receding away.

With infinite care Ferir twisted on the spot. He held his hand flat at Ruben. Wait. The nord nodded. His pupils were huge and made his eyes eerie in the gloom.

Ferir kept low and used his hands to steady himself as he slipped into the shadow of a tree. It was hard. The wine isn't helping, he thought. Walking on a bottle was fine, but sneaking required speed and dexterity. He wanted to fall back, but not without knowing who might be following. His mind was sharpened, but not to the fine point it usually would. He felt sickness return as he crept further forward.

There was a clearing and they had been only paces from it but the confused shadows of overlapping red, white and violet had concealed it. He stopped and looked, not staring this time, just letting his eyes wander. Sometimes not looking worked better than glaring at the dark. Sure enough three figures resolved in the shadows. The first was given away by its slow swaying movement. The second stood still next to it. The final one, that he could see at least, was barely visible sitting on a rock behind. As he looked the second figure turned towards him.

Ferir's heart lurched. He was suddenly acutely aware of its pounding like a drum in the dark, of his breathing and the noise it made. The air was hot in his lungs. Stifling. He knew no more of who these people were, but they were three and in the wilds and whatever the purple light was they didn't seem to be giving it much attention. Dreck. He wanted out and away from the place. Could they sneak it? He hoped so. Why had this seemed like a good idea?

He steeled himself to ease back into the shadows when there was a definite crack of a branch breaking from across the clearing.

"What is this," the sitting figure stood, it's voice a breathless growl. A hand shot out from a deep sleeve and suddenly a blazing light illuminated the scene.

Ferir blinked the burning from his eyes. Three figures, two wore black robes the third... rotting flesh. There wasn't time to think. The nearer robed figure turned to him as the bushes on the other side of the clearing exploded. Ferir's distraction was matched by the figure who half turned. A woman burst for them with a scream and levelled a staff. Lightning erupted from it and arced between the zombie and other mage. The zombie staggered back, flames licking it but the mage didn't move. His hand flew out and there was a ripple in the air. It lifted the woman from her feet and she landed backward.

Ferir tore his attention back to himself, it had only been an instant. "Ruben!" he screamed. The second figure's hands were moving. Mage. Ferir stepped from the trees and the hands flew towards him, a purple light flew towards him. He dived sideways.

Too slow. Too clumsy. He should have dodged but he took it in the abdomen. A weird feeling suffused him, he felt oddly disconnected and pulled. It was deeply wrong. The mage frantically wove another spell. He was already moving when this one came. Fire. The mage was trained and the ball tight and hot, it brushed his side and under his arm before vanishing behind. The clothing was consumed, there was an instant of empty still then the white pain burst in. A scream escaped him and he glanced and saw black charred flesh.

Glancing back up he saw the mage working again, more slowly this time. The face under the cowl was that of a young man and was contorted in effort. Ferir knew he wouldn't survive another. How long did he have before his injuries incapacitated him? The spell couldn't finish. He charged.

It was a risk. But the gamble was the best one. One step, two, each bound he pushed into the earth as hard as he could gaining all the speed and momentum he could. At two yards he threw himself headlong. The mage was distracted, his spellweaving, whatever it might be, slowed. The magic dissipated as a flicker of awful light as Ferir hit him shoulder first in the gut. They both went backward in a heap.

There was no pain. No time or light or clearing. Ferir's world narrowed to him and the mage and the bare ground around. The mage flailed a feeble punch into Ferir's face. The fist hovered where it had hit above his jaw. Ferir saw it and sunk his teeth in. He bit without thought and closed his teeth until he heard the crunch of bone through his head and released. The mage wailed as his other hand made its way down. Ferir brought his elbow across the man's face and followed it. His burnt arm was useless now. The mage was going for a dagger. They reached it at the same time but while the mage went for the dagger Ferir grabbed his hand. It slipped leaving him two fingers. He broke them both backward grabbed the knife and drove it into the mage's gut.

Ferir knew screams, but even the darkest moments had never held anything like the one he heard now. It was agony. He could almost feel it himself, a burning in the gut, spreading in clawing lines of malignancy. He glanced down and saw the flesh around the wound was decaying, black tendrils crawled under the man's flesh at an unnatural rate. Then the burning began, his scorched side and arm started to burn, they felt sickly wet. He couldn't see the mage as his eyes watered for a moment they screamed as one then the mage gurgled to silence. A moment later the pain faded to an ache, then nothing.

Ferir gasped and pushed himself upright. The he realised he'd used his injured arm. There wasn't time to think. He was dimly aware of commotion behind but it paled to nothing compared to the walking nightmare which approached. The zombie staggered, half its face had burnt away under the lighting, the blacked flesh and bone still smouldered in places, its other eye rolled at him with with a milky gaze. One side of its chest was a nest of maggots writhing like a sea creature.

Ferir staggered back and let the rage he'd felt moments before back in. The thing advanced, its jaw hung limp. Rotten gasses farted from splits in its yellowed skin. He felt for the magic and found an inferno. Fear drove any question from his mind, he seized it. All of it. The power blazed through him like a tempest, his thoughts clung to the spell like a drowning man to a barrel. The magic twisted and rolled as he wrought it, melded it with his rage and fear. The raw emotion opened more. Sundew. The legion. The Empire, how he hated the Empire. The devouring self serving beast which chewed lives and crushed people into their place. He could barely hold the magic, his rage and will stretched paper-thin under its onslaught and still he fed it. Prejudice. Hatred. Hypocrisy. Everything the Empire stood for.

The creature was almost on him when he let the spell out. It burst forth in a torrent of flame. It erupted over the creature blackening it and scorching the earth behind. It fell back and Ferir stepped forward holding the blaze on it. He realised he was shouting incoherently, spittle flying from his mouth and running down his chin. He didn't care. The black yet slightly porky stench of burning flesh rose into the air. Where bones were exposed they had started to crumble, any sharp edge glowed like iron in a forge.

The spell petered out and Ferir staggered back slightly slumped. The corpse was a burnt ruin with steam and smoke still rising from it. The ground around was blackened and scorched bare and dead. Sound from behind permeated and he turned. Ruben stood over the final figure plunging his sword in and out of its back in splashes of red. Ferir assumed it was excessive until he realised the figure was still struggling. A final huge sweep made the muscles in the nord's back stand out and the sword crashed into the mage's neck taking the head half off.

Only then did Ferir notice that the mysterious woman had her hand pointed at Ruben while mouthing a spell. He grabbed his axe and ran at her. She dropped her hand and collapsed down to one knee. "No," she was breathless, "I'm not with them. Stop."

Posted by: McBadgere Mar 28 2012, 01:08 PM

That was just brilliant!!!...Incredible stuff...

Shockingly enough, I loved it!!...

The fight!!...The zombie!!...The absorb health/healing thing...

Absolutely fantastically done there!!...That really was some amazing writing, right there...

Nice one!!... biggrin.gif ...

*Applauds most heartily!!*...

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 28 2012, 11:19 PM

The Necromancer's Moon! I loved your description of the weekly corpselit event.

the wine stilled his nerve and filled his soul with Leyawin courage.
I love the ES-ized version of liquid courage! goodjob.gif

The two moons and the weird glow cast shadows tinted with blood and madness.
This was a wonderful description. After that, I haif expect to see Nyarlathotep, or Cthulhu, make an appearance in his macabre tale. Considering what they met in the clearing, it looks like I was not far off!

Why had this seemed like a good idea?
biggrin.gif

The wrestling between Ferir and the mage was excellently done. Nothing graceful, skilled, or practiced here. Just a primal, ugly fight for survival where there are no rules, except that the loser dies.

Then a wonderfully disgusting description of the char-broiled and maggoty zombie advancing upon Ferir. Poor guy just does not get a break!




"It looks evil," muttered Ruben his tone did not make light of the words.
I think you mean to have a period after Ruben, and then capitalize His?

He stopped and looked, not staring this time, just letting his eyes wonder.
I think you meant wander?

A women burst for them with a scream and levelled a staff
I am sure you wanted the singular, of woman.

The second figure's hands were moving.
Figure's needs an apostrophe where I added it, as it is possessive.

Posted by: Grits Mar 30 2012, 05:18 AM

"Really," Ferir flowed up onto his haunches, "With every shadow staring at us, ever whisper a breath of darkness? Better to be out hunting than waiting by this fire."

I love the image of Ferir galvanized and impulsive, sort of fueled by curiosity and his own imagination. It’s a glimpse of what he must have been before the legionaries raided Sundew. Wow.

The two moons and the weird glow cast shadows tinted with blood and madness.

This was a beautiful way to show the night and Ferir’s state of mind. Double wow.

From the time Ruben fell over making me snort, the tension and then explosive action had me as breathless as the surviving mage. The magic was particularly awesome. I have been thinking about glowing bone-ends at otherwise lovely spring moments. Ruben’s struggle with his mage was scary even for only seeing the end of it. It took two of them to survive this fight. Or three, as the mystery woman seems to be on their side.

This whole update was a joy to read, even the dribbling maggoty parts. I love it!!

Posted by: Olen Apr 11 2012, 06:45 PM

McBadgere - Thanks for the comment, it's good to know the action sequence worked. Thanks for pointing out those nits too...

SubRosa - I'm glad you enjoyed that section, it was fun to write. Thanks for pointing out the nits, I do proof read these, several times, but there are certain errors I just don't see...

Talking of writing... any news on TotFS? *puppy eyes*

Grits - Thanks, less dribbling maggots this time and more mystery mage.

All - Less of a delay this time but still a rather glacial pace. Might pick up a bit now most of uni is done as I look for things to do which aren't revise... Also, to forestall any mobs with pitchforks, I wrote this section prior to reading Jerric's Story so certain parallels drawn between healing (or absorb life more specifically) and necromancy weren't lifted from there. However as Grits did it rather better than I did I have changed various terms to differentiate them (mine applies only to absorb health as of the moment, though I'm not promising I won't steal borrow from Grits' idea)...

Where we were - Ferir and Ruben have stumbled across some necromancers on the night of the shade and got into a fight involving a mysterious third party...

3.3 Hedge Magic

Ferir slowed.

"She's alright," said Ruben.

Ferir lowered the sword and she spoke again, "I thought you intervened to save me. Who are you, I didn't realise the guild was involved."

"I could ask you the same question," Ferir could feel that shakes starting. They did after a fight. "And guild?"

"You're not mages guild, or with them?" She took a breath and sat up straighter. Her cloak, dappled in leafy shades of green, fell from where it had puddled on her shoulder. "That was quite a spell." She shook her head, "I'm Adriel."

"Ferir."

"Thank you for saving me."

Ruben spoke then. His face was white and he looked ill, "I think perhaps I should be thanking you but we need to leave this place."

Ferir paused. It was unfair to keep him there and most questions could wait but one he thought couldn't. "You're a mage."

"Of sorts," replied Adriel.

"Take a look at this corpse, I've never seen anything like it." He walked to the man he had killed. Now the rage had passed he noticed how young the man was, probably little older than himself. Messy blonde hair showed under the hood and the face which peaked out was fine featured. Slim too, Ferir shook his head, fetcher still tried to kill me though. He bent and pulled the robe open revealing an oily mass around the wound which stretched like dark tentacles grasping the creamy skin around.

Adreil appeared behind him. He wrinkled his nose at the soft floral smell of whatever she washed with. "Looks like direct magical damage to life," she said and squinted at him with a confused look, "powerful too. Though by the way it spread... You were hit by a fireball."

"Yes but it healed."

"Then this was absorb life," she sounded confused now. "An unpleasant spell, not quite like healing."

"It hurt."

"Yes it's very harsh. Do you know the difference between healing the resurrection of flesh?"

"What?"

"I'll take that as a no. Just know that this spell is like a storm, the absorbed health restored flesh to what it should be as well as simply helping it heal. But it does so as an onslaught. Now we should leave."

"Oh," Ferir frowned.

She shrugged, "He made his choice and got what he deserved."

Ferir looked at the ruined body. "I suppose," he muttered. "Let me get my pack then we leave. I've no desire to meet more."


Adriel had the easy grace of one accustomed to the wild places. She moved through the darkened trees much like Ferir did. No magic was needed, it was a rare night that there wasn't enough light to walk by, but only if you trusted your instinct. His wry smile was hidden in the gloom. Who am I fooling? She moves far better than I do. Ruben crashed along behind them.

"My camp is near, but it should be far enough that they will not find us," she said. The arrogance in her voice mirrored her movements.

"Good," he replied. "How did you come to be there?"

"They are organising, I caught the first signs well over a year ago and have been tracking them since." She stopped at the crest of a low rise and turned. Ferir saw a smile he didn't wholly like. Then she dropped down out of sight.

Ferir followed and saw her camp. There was already a natural gouge in the landscape but a fallen tree had carved it deeper and the tangled roots obscured it from one side. Unless you fell into it it was more or less invisible. He climbed down to find it dry and surprisingly homely. The thick loam was a softer carpet than that of any noble hall and at some point someone had dragged a pair of logs in. Their bark was polished to a sheen by successive trousers. He dropped his pack and took a seat on a log.

Her smile was less disconcerting this time. "The question is more who are you?" She paused but not long enough for him to reply. "I thought guild mages to start with but that's not the case. You smell of wine, yet you dealt with those three handily. You can cast fire like that, but don't know about damaging life-force. Who stalks dark artists on a night of the shade?"

Ferir blinked in the torrent. She sounded almost angry. "We saw the light, we went to investigate."

"That doesn't tell me who you are."

"Perhaps we like going for walks in the wilds."

She tipped her head. "Very well. Most out here value privacy," she paused for a moment, "and are running from the past." Ferir frowned slightly then cursed as she nodded. "I don't understand you though. Most would retreat when a soultrap was set, especially given those present."

Ferir paused in confusion and glanced to Ruben who stared at his hands. It was impossible to know if the nord was present in more than body. Then the memory of the first spell which had hit him returned. It's apparent lack of effect beyond the deeply wrong feeling. He felt the colour drain from him. "That was a soultrap?"

Her mouth opened slightly and she glared as if seeking the lie. "Yes," she said as if it was obvious. "How can you not know that but be trained enough to cast the inferno which immolated that zombie?"

"My casting is unreliable, but that might have been the biggest. I was angry, and the magic just kept coming."

"Interesting," she said and then rummaged in her pack. "Hackle-lo?"

"Thanks," Ferir took one, "Any chance of a light? I don't trust myself not to incinerate it just now."

Adriel lit hers with a casual flick of a finger and passed it across. "Perhaps the soultrap fed your magic when you killed him. Who can truly say, you don't hear much about people killing their trapper."

Ferir coughed out a mouthful of the pungent smoke. "Wait what? I was using his soul?"

She shrugged. "Possibly."

"But..." Ferir didn't know what to say. It was too wrong, unclean somehow.

"What do you think powers the trinket you took from him?"

Ferir paused, he didn't understand enchantment.

"It's powerful, I doubt it's wielder would have worried about using a human soul to get that power."

"So someone's soul is in this?"

She smiled and chuckled. The sound made his hackles rise. "Do you know what a soul is?"

"It's... what lives beyond..." Ferir paused, did he know? "What makes you alive."

"Meaningless. You do not know what a soul is. Neither do I, nor anyone else and those who say otherwise are lying. Is there anything beyond death? Who knows, perhaps the soul holds the answer. What is known is that there is energy released upon death, whether that essence of a person dissolves into nirn to the countless aedra who form it, or becomes a ghost, or continues onward?" She shrugged, "Who knows, but if it is stolen in a soul trap whatever eternal fate awaited that person is done."

"Are they aware?"

"Ghosts often are. But in truth I know not. The guild mages do not study this area, at least not openly, and those who might know," the black smirk returned, "are not free with their information."

Ferir took the dagger and looked at it. What poor soul was in there? No, who was in there, imprisoned. Trapped from ending their voyage.

"Do not look so grim. Power comes at a cost, and that is a powerful artefact."

"A blade forged with someone's soul, with the purpose of consuming life and gifting it to the wielder? That must be wrong."

"It saved you did it not. Without it you would be facing that same fate, and the necromancer free to continue."

Ruben sat up slowly. His voice was heavy when it came. "Such tools want to be used. Give a man a hammer and he hits things, what will that make of you?"

"Better than the case without. You kill an enemy, what of it if you benefit from his death?"

"A dangerous path."

"You chose to meddle in the affairs of wizards," she spoke to Ferir not Ruben, "You need all the advantage you can get. Do not throw it away idly."

Ferir nodded. "Perhaps, I would not be worried if it consumed them with fire, so why worry if it heals me?"

Adriel's unnerving smile answered him.

"You said the necromancers are gathering."

"The guild outlawed them, even you must know that. The logical step was to form their own guild, outwith the constraints of morality and the law."

"Sounds charming."

The smile flickered over her features again. "I suspect there is more, however it is hard to find out much and those who watch them are few and disorganised."

Silence fell. Ruben glared at the ground. Ferir was slightly surprised at the urge to comfort the man, whatever had happened those years ago he knew he hadn't heard all of it. He was just as sure that there would be no getting through to it while Adriel was around. There was something unsettling about her. Something he didn't understand, or like entirely.

"So what about you? You're not guild, but you track them."

"I track them because someone has to. It used to be a few in old ruins. If some fool thought they could handle them and went in too deep they got what they deserved. But the cult is different, they hunt, and disturb the balance. Perhaps I am too caring, perhaps those who live in the backcountry deserve to die if they cannot manage there. But many have no choice, and it is not always death which finds them."

"What of you?"

"What of me?"

"Who are you? It's clear enough you know magic, and you're not guild."

"You know well enough they don't control it." Scorn. That was what was layered into the smile, the steel edge Ferir had half noticed in her tone. "What am I? The guild would say a hedge mage, and true enough I practise and study without their remit, but do not be fooled into thinking I lack power. Some might say I'm a witch but that term has just as little meaning, or perhaps too many. A wise woman? Or am I too young? A soothsayer, for I watch the augers." She paused the smile was fuller this time, she was enjoying it. "Perhaps I am just a woman who is too fond of her own voice."

Ferir nodded and yawned. The adrenaline had worn off and exhaustion had replaced it.

"Quite, it is time for rest. It would be unwise to tarry tomorrow." Without another word she rose and made her way to a bedroll.

With her back turned Ferir allowed himself his own wry grin. He was going to sleep with one eye open that night.

Posted by: McBadgere Apr 12 2012, 03:35 AM

Brilliant!! As ever!... wink.gif biggrin.gif ...

This Adriel sounds cool, also she sounds ambiguous...Like we still don't really know if she's good or not... biggrin.gif ...Brilliant!!...

The whole magic thing is most excellently done...Loving the whole "massive magics by untrained instinct" type of thing...*Applauds*...

Glacial pace or not...When it appears it's an absolute joy... biggrin.gif ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: Athynae Apr 12 2012, 12:00 PM

Yep, yep, yep, joy it is as always. Somewhere while RL was happening I missed the last post but that's all resolved now. smile.gif

The magic, the imagery of the use of it and the way it works was wonderful, any descriptions like that are more than appreciated as it gives me a bit more insight into world Bathesda as I am still a new arrival to the games. I've played through Oblivion, very quickly, once, and have now started on the second go at a much more adventurous pace. Also playing Morrowind, one on PC the other Xbox 360...interesting differences...anyway, I'm rambling, sorry.

I do like Adriel, seems to me she is not good or evil she is there for her own reasons and has no intention yet of sharing. I get the feeling if and when we find out 'who' she is we will also know 'what' she is, not that it matters. I like the way she handles herself, not quite likeable but not altogether dislikeable either.

Nice one Olen, and glad to hear about the letting up of study pressure as it will hopefully bring more of your writing to our hungry eyes.

More please.

Posted by: SubRosa Apr 12 2012, 08:26 PM

No worries about the nits. That is why every professional author has an editor after all. Sometimes it takes a new set of eyes to see things.

Ferir could feel that shakes starting. They did after a fight.
This was a good nod to the reality of adrenaline that has nowhere to go.

"You chose to meddle in the affairs of wizards,"
And they are subtle, and quick to anger. wink.gif Sorry, The LOTR in me could not resist. biggrin.gif

"Perhaps I am just a woman who is too fond of her own voice."
Is there any woman who is not? laugh.gif Another I could not help. Adriel is a fascinating character. Certainly well versed in magic, and no stranger to killing. I wonder if there is something personal driving her to hunt necromancers? In any case, I believe it was wise of Ferir not to completely let his guard down around her.

btw. I have about 20,000 words written for the next chapter of the TF. But that is only about halfway through it. So it will be a while yet before I post anything. I have written some little pieces about other characters in the Skyrim section's "Today in Skyrim" topics, both the general and spoiler versions.


nits:
outwith the constraints of morality and the law.
I think you meant without?

Posted by: ghastley Apr 12 2012, 10:07 PM

QUOTE(SubRosa @ Apr 12 2012, 03:26 PM) *

outwith the constraints of morality and the law.
I think you meant without?


I actually like the use of "outwith" here better, as both meanings of "without" would make sense of the sentence, and this variant makes it clearer which one applies - i.e outside or beyond.

Outwith is synonymous with without in being the opposite of within, without being the opposite of with. wacko.gif

Posted by: Grits Apr 16 2012, 04:11 AM

I liked that first shaky moment while they all confirmed that the fight was over.

As usual I was completely swept up in the moment, and then Adreil said the resurrection of flesh. That made remember Ferir’s early thoughts about returning to Sundew, and the idea that he moved away from before he actually articulated it. I could be completely wrong, but what a deeply chilling thought!

The whole discussion at the sunken camp was fascinating, especially Ferir dancing along the edge of how wrong he was willing to be with Ruben on one side and Adreil on the other, at least on this issue. I love that she is another shade of grey.

Ferir’s concern for Ruben also caught my attention along with Adreil’s disregard of him. I hope that Ruben also sleeps with one eye open. I can’t guess what Adreil wants with them, but it’s probably not all nice. blink.gif

As McB said, this story is an absolute joy. I’m savoring the details, fascinated by the magic, and impatient for more, while the characters keep coming back to mind when I should be thinking of other things. smile.gif

Posted by: haute ecole rider May 9 2012, 09:16 PM

Thank you for your glacial pace!! It allowed me to catch up on this story fairly easily (compared to certain others) indifferent.gif

I continue to enjoy the trip through what I consider to be one of the most beautiful areas to be found in Oblivion. And I really like how "Necromancer's Moon" starts here, not as a go-and-see-what's-going-on-because-we're-too-frecking-lazy-to-do-it-ourselves quest as we have in game. I am interested to see what happens next.

And as you continue to develop Ferir and Ruben's characters, I continue to be awed by how you can take characters that are neither heroic or evil and make them into people I care about.

Posted by: Lady Saga May 10 2012, 10:17 PM

Hey Olen, I'm Renee. This thread bounced up so I just started reading it. I think I'm reading something like 10 stories now here. I had a little trouble in the OP understanding what's going on, but once I "got" what it's about, wow, am I hooked.

Early on when I showed up at Bethsoft forums a couple years back, I wrote a thread that was supposed to be seen through the eyes of a typical Cyrodiilic enemy. I wrote about what a bandit, a necromancer, and other typical NPC's actually feel and witness when one of my adventuring characters discovers their lair, or camp, or whatever. Sadly, Bethsoft has a habit of "cleaning up" its forums, and this particular thread got lost.

...What I'm trying to say is this story reminds me a lot of that thread I started, and Bethsoft destroyed. sad.gif

Also, as a struggling (I hate the word 'recovering') drug-addict myself, I can certainly relate to the early skooma scenes! Take care and I'll be reading up as time permits. goodjob.gif

Bookmark: P26

Posted by: Olen May 25 2012, 10:39 PM

Sorry for the massive delay in posting. As it turns out a few of my exams were a bit hard. Posting should resume it's sporadic pace now though, there's still a small amount unposted too. This part is very short I'm afriad but the next one has no obvious break for quite a long section and I didn't want to make a monster by attaching this to it. This also serves to get things going again before the next bit which is a biggy.

McBadgere - Glad you like Adriel, to be honest I'm not exactly sure who's good in this piece either.

Athynae - I wouldn't take my view of TES as anywhere near cannon, I'm quite willing to modify it for fiction and fill in blanks. Where there is lore I try to useit as a foundation but in places there either isn't or it makes no sense...

SubRosa - Goos to know you're enjoying, and yes that little reference was waiting to be picked up.

In this case I did mean outwith, that meaning of without isn't one I would ever use. I think it's a dialect thing.

Ghastley - Without meaning to confuse things wink.gif

Grits - Your comments are always very much appricited, I can guage whether half saidthings are noticed and that the characters are going the right way from them. I'm so glad you picked up on that half formed thought, and as awful as it is who wouldn't think it? The dagger is another shade of grey to play with, there will be more.

Haute - I always aim to create characters who people can sympathise with while they do often questionable or even just wrong things so I'm glad I have people liking them. It makes the whole moral thing more fun to play with. The mages guild quest line is going to be very loosely interpreted in this piece, as you may have guessed.

Renee - Confusion in the OP, I suppose I agree. I like to start in media res and explain after, I glad the hook worked smile.gif

Where we were: Ruben and Ferir had gone to investigate a purple light (the Shade of the Revenant), been attacked by a pair of necromancers and a zombie before they got to it and then escaped with the mysterious Adreil. We join them, all still alive, in the morning.


3.4 Old Ways

"So where are you headed?" asked Ferir. The sun still lurked below the jagged peaks of the Valus mountains. The pre-dawn light washed the forest in blood.

Adriel gave a short laugh. It was shrill like a weird echo to the absent birdsong. Ferir felt the hair on his neck prickle. "Where the wind blows. We are few, and disorganised."

Ferir let a half smile creep onto his features. Where the wind blows. The phrase could mean a thousand things but Adriel lived it. It took one to know one, and he saw the signs. Ruben was quiet and it wasn't just his obvious malaise. It had been close the night before, had there been another, had luck been against them, had the wine been stronger. Had any of a thousand things happened differently they would be dead, or worse.

But they weren't and the sun was rising and the wind was blowing under the free sky. "How long have you stalked them?"

Adriel went to her pack and started filling it before she replied. "Hard to say. I've noted where they are for years now but never taken much interest. They are changing though. Even so I still walk the wilds more than I watch them. And you? What brings a vagabond and a..." she paused. "I'd say mercenary, but I'm almost tempted by guard..." Ruben looked with a scowl. "It's in your movements, if you don't want people to know don't make it blatant. What brings you here?"

"The wind," answered Ferir as he started on his own pack.

She smiled, this time it reached beyond her mouth, but was no less unsettling. "And you're following it?"

"We're headed for a cave, my former home."

She paused at his tone. "I may follow for a bit, with you if I am welcome."

Ferir looked sidelong at her. "Why?"

"Don't worry I mean you no ill, but you interest me. The timing, the circumstance, you. Can it all be chance?"

***

The trail had been laid by men of some description but had seen no traffic in a long time. Briars and vines crawled over the rounded cobbles. The fingers of nature scratching an old scar. In places tree roots ripped up the surface, in others water had torn trenches though it, the dead grass and dried scum the only remains of the power of winter's floods. Ruben watched the witch jump one where she walked ahead of them. He'd motioned Ferir back almost half and hour before and was grateful the man had kept his silence. His face almost ached from the scowl etched on it, she was out of earshot now surely?

Even so he whispered, "I don't like her."

"I'd noticed." Ferir's tone was dry as ever. At first Ruben had taken him as odd, then unfriendly but there'd been enough chinks in that façade now. True it was probably his way, but it was holding a lot back and Ruben was worried what might happen at the cave. That in itself was a surprise.

He snorted a dry laugh. "There's something weird about her."

"Something you're not used to you mean? She might well have followed anyway so might as well have someone else to gather wood."

Ruben snorted. "At least she's easy on the eye before she kills us."

"If you say so. I doubt she wants to harm us though, she already could have done."

"Fine comfort," said Ruben. A silence stretched between them. What had happened at the cave? What would happen? There was afterward too, what then? Too many questions filled his mind but at least they helped obscure the memories of the previous night. Necromancers. Like before. "Are there many necromancers in the wilds?" he asked.

"Not if you avoid obvious places," replied Ferir, "Ayleid ruins often harbour them but I've never heard of anyone coming across them like that. Though I suppose you wouldn't."

Ruben winced at the half jest.

Ferir glanced then returned his gaze to the road. "Sorry," he said after a moment. Ruben said nothing. "I don't really know about..."

"About my squad being wiped out?" Why wouldn't he drop it?

Ferir didn't reply.

"There were a couple of skeletons, barely anything we smashed them. The place was a maze, all dancing shadows and ancient magic. The stones whisper you know. Then they sealed the door behind us. Picked us off, played their games. Only I escaped." He still felt the fear, like the echo of a shadow and even so it was dreadful. Not quite helpless, but futile. That was the crux of it. And the deaths, and blood. Awake or asleep they occasionally returned.

"And you can't escape things, but a deep enough bottle gives brief relief."

Ruben nodded.

"She's waiting for us."

Ruben glanced up along the long disused track.

Posted by: SubRosa May 26 2012, 01:18 AM

The pre-dawn light washed the forest in blood.
It seems not just the light that is doing that... wink.gif

It looks like Adriel is taken with Ferir. I wonder if that is a good thing, or a bad one? She is more than a little creepy.

And a little scene from Ruben's pov, and a little more insight into what makes him tick. A sole survivor thanks to necromancers.

So far your tale seems to be sending us in a distinctly necomantic direction. I expect we have not run across the last thing that goes bump in the night by far.


nits:
Ferir felt eh hair on his neck prickle.
I suspect that was meant to be a the?

Posted by: haute ecole rider May 26 2012, 01:45 AM

So Ruben isn't so certain about Adriel, is he now? Honestly, I don't blame him. It's good to see him developing a sense of paranoia, because that's what keeps one alive in uncertain times. And with necromancers all about, it's a good thing. Just as long as Ruben doesn't take it too far . . . wacko.gif

Posted by: Grits May 27 2012, 02:26 PM

Adriel (or as Ruben thinks of her, “the witch” biggrin.gif) may be easy on Ruben’s eye, but she is definitely creepy! Especially when she said “we are few.” I get a feeling that she might be considering a new recruit.

But they weren't and the sun was rising and the wind was blowing under the free sky.

That says a lot about how Ferir copes, even as he is drawn back to Sundew.

Funny how while Ruben was wondering what happened at the cave, Ferir was wondering what happened with Ruben’s squad. Adreil’s new strangeness sort of emphasizes how much Ruben and Ferir are getting used to one another. Ruben is surprised by his own concerns about Ferir’s crumbling reserve, and then Ferir shows his perception with the deep bottle remark. A lot in a short episode. smile.gif

Posted by: McBadgere May 29 2012, 04:44 AM

QUOTE
Even so he whispered, "I don't like her."


Well I do...Mysterious, powerful, hot...Cryptic to the point of confusedness...Sounds like the wife... tongue.gif ...

Excellently done...Loved the heart to heart the lads had...

Looking forward to the giant next post...*Rubs hands with glee*... biggrin.gif ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...


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