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Chorrol.com _ Fan Fiction _ Redemption, part 2

Posted by: jack cloudy Mar 6 2012, 08:29 PM

Click here for http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=3867


Alright, part 2. Still not much redeeming going on but whatever. Now instead of continuing the story, I figured I'd use this post for all the miscellaneous stuff. Things like a character list and the recap for part 1. So be warned that this post CONTAINS SPOILERS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!


RECAP FOR PART 1 Again SPOILERS!

One night, the palace is breached by unknown assailants. Following standard protocol for such events, the Emperor is secretly transported to the prison by his Blades. The Imperial Battlemage, Ocato, declines to join him, claiming that the situation is under control and that his services aren't needed.

Despite having reached the prison safely, the Emperor soon finds that he is still in danger. It is then that Uriel receives help from an unexpected ally. Angoril Bobardi reveals that the very cell he has inhabited for decades, contains a secret escape route that was built during the simulacrum at the order of Jagar Tharn. With this passage and the considerable magical prowess of Angoril, the Emperor manages to flee the deadly trap.

Also freed from the prison by Angoril is Maorlatta Orgnum, a young (by elf-standards) and somewhat naive girl who was arrested for the crime of sleeping in the park. Once free, she quickly makes herself scarce and eventually finds herself in the shack of an old fisherman who lives on an island in Lake Rumare. The fisherman seeks the help of the thieves guild to rid her of the manacles and prison outfit that would have every Legionnaire arrest her on sight. Unfortunately, the one assigned to pick the locks on the manacles informs Vicente Valtieri instead, who takes a personal interest in the girl’s talent for camouflage. Maorlatta is saved by the Redguard Sorian, a young and rather strange lad who keeps going on and on about something he calls an Ansei. The two team up to go treasure hunting in a nearby Ayleid ruin.

Meanwhile, Angoril returns to the prison. Pretending to be from the palace, he gets a vital clue from the Argonian private investigator Grey-Tongue. The Argonian sends him to Chorrol to find the source of the assassins distinctive red robes. To get to Chorrol, he summons a shiftgate, circumventing days travelling. From Chorrol the trail leads to Kvatch, a city whose precise location he does not know. Unable to summon another shiftgate with reasonable accuracy, Angoril seeks more mundane passage to Kvatch.

While Angoril is travelling, Maorlatta and Sorian hit the Ayleid ruin. After some trouble with a zombie, they strike gold and find an abandoned office with some intact artefacts. They attempt to sell the artefacts in the Imperial city, where they are intercepted by Grey-Tongue and then Vicente Valtieri. Sorian again makes the vampire flee. The next morning Maorlatta wakes up in the Imperial palace with no recollection on how she got there or what happened during her stay at Grey-Tongue’s house. Jauffre interrogates her in the garden at the top of the tower.







Redemption's persons of questionable importance

Main characters:
Angoril Bobardi: An Altmeri sorcerer who inhabited a cell in the Imperial prison, fully aware of the secret escape route. After leaving the prison, he makes it his task to track down the leaders behind the red-robed assassins.

Maorlatta Orgnum: A Maormer from Pyandonea, sent to Tamriel at the command of king Orgnum. Circumstances land her in the same prison as the Altmer. After escaping, she returns to the pursuit of her own goals, one of which is to become filthy rich.

Side characters:
Grey-Tongue: An Argonian private investigator. He is a friend of Hieronymous Lex and has been hired by the guard-captain in the past. Grey-Tongue is hired now as well by the city-guard to investigate the events at the prison and find Uriel’s corpse.
Guard-Captain Hieronymous Lex: Hieronymous Lex is the man put in charge of investigating the massacre at the Imperial Prison. Upon finding that Uriel Septim was seen entering the prison that night, he hires Grey-Tongue to help him uncover the truth.
Sorian: A Redguard who saves Maorlatta from Vicente Valtieri. A simple wandering swordsman with a slight Ansei-obsession.
Rajn Geydar: A Wood Elf who lives in Kvatch. At one point possessed a piece of the Balac-Thurm.

Others:
Guard-Captain Argelius: A colleague of Hieronymous Lex who describes him as the man to call when you need subtlety.
Bannon: A merchant who travelled with Angoril from Chorrol to Kvatch
Baleni: Daughter of Rajn Geydar
Doruk: The Bouncer who worked at Rajn Geydar's restaurant. Deceased.
Penald Baurus: Blade and bodyguard of Uriel Septim.
Berius: Lord Protector and Head of the palaceguard in the Imperial City.
Valen Dreth: A Dunmeri prisoner. Not the most pleasant sort.
Jennifer Renault: Blade, recently promoted to captain.
Glenroy: Blade and bodyguard of Uriel Septim.

Fenasim:
A member of the emperor's Palace guard.
Mankar Camoran: The father of both Raven and Ruma. He is the leader of the Mythic Dawn and its prophet.
Raven Camoran: The ‘Hand’ of the Mythic Dawn, an organization with an unknown purpose. What is certain however, is that the Dawn wants Uriel Septim dead.
Ruma Camoran: The sister of Raven, she serves the Mythic Dawn as Priestess. In the same night that the attempt on the emperor’s life is made, she infiltrates the vaults beneath the Imperial palace to steal two artefacts.
Harrow: A member of the Dawn, Harrow used to be an Armiger stationed in Vvardenfell.

Ludius Bester: Member of Bester and Bester, the Kvatch Hall of Mercantile Interests. He runs the office in lower Kvatch.
Aelwin Merowald: An old fisherman who lost most of his leg to Slaughterfish. Friend of Delmar Tunius.
Rajn Geydar: Owner of the Eight Provinces, a restaurant in Kvatch.
Ra’Jezhr: A Khajiiti lockpicker in the employ of the Thieves Guild, Ra’Jezhr is also coerced into serving the Dark Brotherhood’s interests.
Simanuel Rosendorf IV: The owner of a silk-plantation near Chorrol

Umbacano: An Altmer who lives in the capital city. A well-known collector of Ayleid artefacts.
Uriel Septim VII: The Emperor of Tamriel.
Brother Tanner: A priest who serves in the Kvatch-temple. Looks like a Septim.
Delmar Tunius: An old fisherman who lives on a small island in lake Nibenay.
Vicente Valtieri: A member of the Dark Brotherhood, he takes interest in Maorlatta’s talents at stealth, and desires to make her an assassin, with or without her cooperation.

Latta’s evergrowing list of people only she knows:
Levvelyn of Glashorn: The hero of a popular series who spends most of his books saving the world, slaying vicious monsters, duelling devious Altmeri warlords and chasing the girl.
Irrillys: A fictional princess of Pyandonea, she is Levvelyn’s love interest. Posesses an unfortunate talent for being kidnapped by devious Altmeri warlords.
Mettildi: The Maormer that taught Maorlatta how to fight, though his methods traumatized her to the point where she is mentally incapable of defending herself.
Master Zelthir: Another Maormer put in charge of educating Maorlatta. Master Zelthir is a well-known and highly respected healer.

Posted by: mALX Mar 7 2012, 01:14 AM

I love the recap, and the list of characters - that may help me a lot to keep up with what is going on. I have had too little free time lately to catch up on your story, and every time I get some and try to start I've had to go back and refresh my mind about what was going on.

@ EVERYONE - whether you read the recap or not - the story itself is well worth reading anyway. I have had trouble finding it at times because it is archived, but when found it is an Awesome read !!!

So glad you are posting down here again, where your story will be easier to find, lol.

Posted by: McBadgere Mar 7 2012, 05:17 AM

Yeah, why was it never down here?... huh.gif ...

*Makes note to go read it once he's done the others*...

Sounds cool though...

If vol 2 is here, then here I will be also...*Nods*...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds in admiration*... biggrin.gif ...

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Mar 8 2012, 05:31 PM

Good, a recap. Now I can read the entire tale from start to finish as it goes along!

Yuss! Those are a lot of characters by the way. The main ones look very interesting so far.

Posted by: jack cloudy Mar 20 2012, 10:30 PM

I just buried my father this morning. sad.gif I was hoping to do some proper planning, but that idea got left behind due to circumstances. I've got an idea for scenes much later in the story, but none for right now. So instead I'll be continuing on with simple improvisation. I'm sorry for the delay and my general lack of activity.

As for the character recap, most of them are either one-scene characters, or characters who only exist as part of Latta's background.


Chapter 7: North and South

Kvatch, Angoril Bobardi

Finding a caravan to travel with had been surprisingly easy. All he had to do was go to the wagon camp before Chorrol’s main gates and read the notices pinned to the wall of the nearby inn. There was no notification of caravans, but rather the time and day when Chorrol’s roadwatch set out and their destination. A quick askaround confirmed his suspicions that travellers were simply expected to travel with the patrol. It was almost identical to a plan he had once proposed in which each city would be allowed their own private force for securing their cities and roads. Their expenses would be regained through the increased trade revenue. His emperor had vetoed the plan, preferring to keep all military force in his own legions. But now the plan had been implemented. So the next day he simply showed up at the gates and followed the horsemen . A few uneventful days later he arrived at the village of low Kvatch.

He took in the settlement as he waited in line. There was no gate, just a simple barricade on the road that forced any passing wagons to zigzag. The place looked at once temporary and old. The buildings were simple squares made of wood, often with visible sections that had been replaced or expanded over the years. The only stone structure was a manhigh wall to the south but that one was still under construction. All things taken into consideration, low Kvatch was exactly what he had expected, an unofficial district placed solidly on the road between Anvil and Skingrad, primarily to extract toll from the many merchants travelling along this road. Kvatch itself was actually situated on the mountain to the north and its only access was via a winding path up the steep slope. Too steep for the heavier wagons and still a good two or three hours climb for everyone else. This permitted low Kvatch its second function and source of income as a waystation and market for weary travellers unable or unwilling to visit upper Kvatch.

“You’ve never actually told me why you’re going to Kvatch. The place is a bloody leech on us honest traders. No good products worth exporting, and a lot of taxes.” Bannon, the portly old Breton who had offered Angoril a ride on his wagon, remarked.
Angoril knew three reasons for visiting Kvatch. First was naturally the trail of the assassins, followed by an inspection of the temple. The list of regular donations he’d discovered in Ocato’s office had caught his eye and like most things that drew his attention once, he kept thinking about it. He knew from experience that Uriel liked funding temples of Tamriels prime faith, but rarely this much. Furthermore, discreet inquiries had revealed that none of his fellow travellers remembered any large-scale construction projects, which made the regular payments all the stranger. He doubted it was anything important but it wouldn’t take too much time and one never knew.

Finally there was the investigation in Rajn Treesap that he’d found in the same book. He had made use of the service of a young woman by that very name. Long ago, when he needed a good guide to Valenwood’s oldest trees. She had been good, cheap, and useful for his plans. If this was the same one, he would have to look into her and reassess if she still held value to him. The book mentioned she had been in Kvatch back in 3E 403 which had earned her a place on his to-do list. Perhaps people would still remember her or she was still here.

Those were his three reasons for visiting Kvatch and none of them he could tell Bannon.
“Kvatch was originally meant as a stronghold. Trade revenue or any source of livelihood for its occupants was not needed. If anyone, say the Camoran Usurper, invaded from Valenwood or Elsweyr, they would either be locked up in siege for months or leave themselves open for a rear assault by Kvatch’s garrison. It lies away from the main roads to improve its defensibility, but not so far that its army can’t strike out against nearby targets.” He explained and noticed with amusement that the lecture had come without thinking.
“Ease it, it has been many years since you last stood before a class. Just answer the man’s question instead of hoisting random trivia upon him.”
“An old friend of the family moved to Kvatch a while back. If figured I should look him up at least once before returning to Summerset.” Angoril answered after a short pause and the wagon moved ahead a few metres. Neither man said another word as they slowly drew closer to the barricade and the officials manning it. It was only when they passed the gate that Bannon talked again.



“There’s my next gain.” He said, waving at the wall.
“You wish to become a masoner?” Angoril asked and chuckled. Bannon grinned, shaking his head.
“If I were twenty years younger. No, I want to be a supplier. They take the bricks from old forts nobody but bandits use these days, then take them here. And Stendarr knows those poor sods need it. Leaches they may be, but I wouldn’t wish death by troll stampede on my worst enemies. So I figured I’d make some money hauling rocks. That, or maybe selling enchanted arrows to the foresters here. It depends on the price I can get at Skingrad for those.” The merchant’s voice drifted away at the last few words as he weighed his options.
“You would be cheapest if you went into Valenwood. They practically marry their bows there. You would get high quality and low prices. Back here you could double or even triple the price.” The Altmer suggested but Bannon shuddered at the thought.
“Valenwood? That’s where the trolls came from! I didn’t get this old by being suicidal.”

The wagon rolled up to the barricade and an official stepped up to inform them of the current going fare. Both men paid, a one-piece for Angoril and a five-piece for Bannon and his wagon. The portly merchant steered the wagon through the sharp bend and into the open area beyond. Once through, Angoril decided it was time to leave.
“It was a fool’s advice I gave you then. Fare thee well, Bannon. Perhaps we shall see each other again.” He said and was about to leap from the wagon when a hand on his shoulder made him pause.

“Tell you what, Tennil. If it doesn’t work out for you here in Kvatch, you can come along with me. The building folk would pay quite generously for your feather spells.” Bannon whispered. Somewhat confused at the sudden conspirational tone their conversation had taken, the Altmer lowered his voice as well.
“I’ll think about it. I can’t make any promises though.” He muttered. Bannon cast a quick glance around, either looking for a place to park his wagon or checking for any eavesdroppers. Angoril suspected the latter. No one was near them but the wagon behind them, whose owner only gave enough attention to prevent ramming them. Soon he slipped off to the left to a space under the shade of a tree. Bannon nodded to himself and whispered one more thing before lightly shoving the Altmer off the wagon.
“And one more thing. Keep your talents on the low. This ain’t Summerset. The mages guild down here doesn’t like independents, especially skilled ones. And they’re very good at getting rid of thorns in their side, if you get my drift.”
Angoril nodded in silent acknowledgement. No independent mages, another aspect of the more ordened and safer Empire he had envisioned. Unfortunately, he qualified as one at the moment.

He watched Bannon park his wagon near the southern wall and walked towards the center of the village. The merchant had told him that Kvatchians often hawked their own wares at the market here instead of the one in upper Kvatch, which made this the place to start.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 21 2012, 01:06 AM

Condolences on the loss of your father. sad.gif

I found this episode to be absorbing, entertaining and full of subtly presented plot thickening goodness.

“You would be cheapest if you went into Valenwood. They practically marry their bows there.”
I very much liked this!

Posted by: mALX Mar 21 2012, 01:59 AM

Oh Jack, I am so very sorry for your loss. Even with his extreme illness toward the end, there is no way to prepare yourself for the loss of a parent. My very deepest condolences go out to you and your family.


Posted by: McBadgere Mar 23 2012, 05:29 AM

So sorry about yer father... sad.gif ...

That you produced this excellence after that speaks much about you...

Nicely done...

Looking forward to more...

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Mar 23 2012, 05:36 AM

Terribly sorry about your father, my condolensces. I hope you feel better. Chin up, alright? I know it can be tough at times.


Posted by: jack cloudy Mar 30 2012, 08:53 PM

Thanks, everyone. Thank you.


Chapter 7.2


The market consisted of three different types of stalls. There were the simple tents erected by passing merchants such as Bannon, or more often local farmers coming to sell their harvest. Second were the slightly more durable stalls with a wooden or straw awning. Last were the vendors operating out of an actual building. It were these that held his interest. Only a large clothier could have provided the robes. Not so much because of the number but because of the material. Silk was expensive and not something given to any random peasant trying to make extra coin during winter. The robe had also possessed a certain feature he had only discovered when it literally turned to sand in seconds. Or more accurately, the sand which had been turned into a robe returned to its proper state. It was a magecopy which gave further weight to Rosendorf’s implications. There had never been robes. There had only been one, devoid of frills to cheapen its cost, then multiplied by a mage.

The magic holding his copy together had grown so weak by the time he got his hands on the cloth he hadn’t noticed it was there till it was too late. The mage in him derided the spell-use and his own failure to detect it as sloppy while the politician realized that it was exactly what he would have given his assassins to wear. Though the magic matrix would have made them stand out like a lighthouse, their plan had not involved much stealth during its critical phase. It was likely that the assassins had timed their attack to take place when the robes were near their limit, using them as a way to hide their appearance rather than their presence. And what better disguise than one that would cease to exist after its purpose had been served?
“If I hadn’t been there to provide some free samples, they might never have been found at all.”

He went into the only clothier he could find and looked around. Boxes with folded pants, shirts, vests, dresses and skirts were placed throughout the sole room in an efficient manner while a rather more disordened pile lay atop the counter. No red robes however.
“Of course not. That would have been too easy.” Angoril thought.
“Just a moment!” A voice called out from the back of the store. A young Breton came and added a pair of shirts to the pile. Angoril appraised the man with a single glance and concluded that he would find no helpful information here. The storeclerk was more a boy than a man and too untidy to have inherited the store. More likely he was a hired help, here to run the place for a day. But it was too late to run out now and he wasn’t going to gamble on being right. So when the boy asked how he could help, the Altmer retrieved a small scrap of red silk and held it up.
“Would you happen to sell anything like this? I bought it not too long ago but I require a replacement now.” He said, remembering that the robe had looked brand-new when he got it.
“Ah, you mean in that material?” The wipnosed Breton asked after the scarcest of inspections. Angoril nodded and decided to keep things simple.
“For starters. It used to be a robe I’d bought for our wedding’s anniversary. But the dog got to it before I could give it to my wife. Stupid mutt.” He grumbled.
“This was all I could save.”

To the part-time clerk’s credit, he did help Angoril sift through the boxes but neither found another robe matching his recollections or even colour. Further inquiries in who owned the place didn’t help much either, as the store was apparently ran by half the clothiers in Kvatch as a communal place to offload surplus stock.
“You could try Bester and Bester. Go out the door and turn left. Their place is built into the left wing of the barracks. If anyone knows the shops out here, its them.” The Breton finally offered. Seeing no other solution other than heading for upper Kvatch, Angoril decided to follow the advice. Once there, he knocked on the door and entered. A luxuriously moustached Imperial greeted him at the door.
“Hello there, sir Altmer. Welcome to the Kvatch Hall of Mercantile Interests. I’m Ludius Bester and that young lad minding the books over there is my son Antonius.” The words came out with the ease of something he’d said daily for years, but they had not been dulled to mindnumbing routine. Ludius Bester led him into a smaller office while Antonius excused himself.
“Hopefully he’ll join in a year or two and then we can rename ourselves into Bester, Bester and Bester. Try not to repeat it, you might bite your tongue. But have a seat! Thea?”

Angoril repeated the story about the dog and his irate wife. Bester asked a few questions but became quiter and less excited with each answer. Though Angoril did wonder if he’d made an error in his story, he pressed on. Correcting earlier details was the quickest way to make a bluff fail. At the end Bester sighed and held up a hand to cut off the description of the robe’s weave. The other hand plucked at his moustache.
“I know the guy you want, but there is a problem.” He admitted and elaborated when Angoril frowned.
“There was an accident not too long ago. He’s dead.”

The Altmer let the news sink in. The man who possibly sold the robes, or at least the original, to the assassins was recently killed in an accident. He didn’t buy it. It would be too much of an coincidence. There was another option which he believed more likely, but he needed more information to make sure.
“My condolences. What happened?” He asked.
“He had a flying loom, know what that is?” Bester responded, now plucking the other end of his facial hair. He stopped only after a sudden wince and pang of pain told him he’d pulled too hard. Angoril shook his head. He'd never heard of such a thing.
“It’s a fancy contraption some guy in High Rock invented a decade or two ago, lets a single man weave more than five. Lovely thing, but gives an unfair advantage over the competition so we removed a few key components. Not to mention the accidents we had when untrained personell used it. Lost fingers mostly, but bad enough to outlaw it. Father has the parts in his vault at upper. Guess poor Belgoth forgot and took his chances. He was found, strangled.”
Bester couldn’t give anymore details and Angoril wasn’t going to ask. His interest would be too suspicious for simple Tennil. But it seemed likely that this Belgoth did not have an accident at all.
“If I had to get a costume made for my intrepid band of kingslayers, I would make sure to silence the source. And that loom would be an awfully convenient excuse. Legion investigators wouldn’t know how it worked and after Bester explained to them its purpose and the removal of vital items, they would rule it out as an accident. Though if I needed a costume, I would have gone for something that could implicate my enemies, not something that stands apart. Their choice of garb didn’t seem so much pragmatism but rather a religious statement of some sort.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.” Bester apologized after they left the office.
“That’s alright. Have a nice day.” Angoril muttered with a smile, his thoughts already elsewhere. He decided to head for upper Kvatch and see if he could break into Belgoth’s store for further clues.
“I’ll ask Bester about the other stores. Knowing their locations would allow me to indirectly narrow down the place of Belgoth’s.” He told himself and turned to ask but the Imperial had been thinking as well and come up with a plan of his own.
“Wait, I got an idea. We’re holding an open sale at Belgoth’s place to get rid of any leftover stock. If you return here tomorrow, I’ll take you to upper and show you in. Perhaps you’ll find something that suits your wife’s tastes. Junior can mind the office for a day. It would be good practice for him.” He suggested, brightening up again. To Angoril this seemed perfect. It would save him a lot of trouble and allow him legal entry instead of being forced to sneak in during the night.
“I’ll do that, thank you. Till tomorrow then.”



OOC: Added Bannon and Ludius Bester to the character list.

Posted by: Zalphon Mar 31 2012, 03:14 AM

I like how well you describe the market, Jack--I feel like I'm walking through it.

Posted by: jack cloudy Apr 8 2012, 08:34 PM

So some other scenes before I take Angoril to Kvatch. I don't think there are any useful pictures or descriptions of Kvatch from before the Daedra came calling. In-game it only serves as the place to show this crisis is serious. (at which it fails because it is the only one, but whatever.) The ruins don't tell me much really, apart from it having a church and a castle with a moat. I wonder how they get the water up there anyhow? Perhaps with an Archimedean screw?

So anyway, first you get a tiny bit of Sorian. It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do with it and how not to turn the drat thing into two thousand words of him talking about nothing. Also, Rosendorf and Umbacano added to the character-list.


Chapter 7.3


Bruma county, Sorian

It had been a week since we tried to hawk our Ayleid junk. One week since Maorlatta got kidnapped. I had to give it to her. The girl had a greater talent for finding trouble than Tiber Septim. That and some very stubborn enemies. I’d gone through a third confrontation with the vampire and this time it had gone badly. The damned thing just busted through the open window, scooped up the elf and ran off again before I could even blink.

Of course the first thing I’d done was to go to the nearest guard and demand help. They just laughed me away the moment I mentioned the Dark Brotherhood. I was better off finding her last will or writing my own. The fighter’s guild made the same lousy joke, even after I’d offered all the money we’d made. That had been the end of it. I had no one left to run to and wasn’t eager to go after the Dark Brotherhood on my own, even moreso since I had no idea on where to go. I knew the stories. No, it was best and safest to just forget about her.

It had been a week since then. And three days since Guard-Captain Lex hired me on as a Special Service Officer, his last act before his forced leave of duty. It had a nice ring to it and paid well. My first task was to escort Grey-Tongue as he followed two thieves. I hadn’t known the Argonian did those things but the thieves must have taken something important. Maybe even something that belonged to the Emperor. So naturally I accepted the responsibility of keeping his friend safe.

It had been three days since we left. First we used horses, but had to abandon them when the trail went off the road and onto an unmarked wildtrail. I had to admit the thieves were good. They kept splitting up, vanishing into thin air and then somehow reuniting. But my client persistently dogged their every step like a bloodhound with scales. We’d followed them along the Niben, up north through the Heartlands and now onto the bare slopes of the Jerall.

“It appears to be a cabin. I believe our trail leads right to them.” Grey-Tongue muttered. I clambered over a rock and stopped beside him. In the distance I did make out something that could be a cabin. If so, it could be the end of our chase. There was nowhere else to go beyond it but straight up. I gave the sword at my waist a little tug. The weight was reassuring. If those thieves weren’t going to come without a fight, I’d give them one they’d remember.
“What is that over there? A wall of ice?” I asked and pointed at the white mass that bridged the gap between two mountain-peaks. The cabin was built an arrowshot away from it.

The Argonian growled and nodded.
“It is more like a frozen river, called Ysmir’s tongue. It originates from Skyrim and runs up to here before melting. Supposedly there is a path leading through the ice to Skyrim.” He hissed, then growled once more. I could understand his frustration. If there was a path, then it meant we weren’t done running. But a path running through a frozen river was hard to imagine.
“So you think the thieves have gone through there? What did they steal anyway?” I asked him.
“Something very valuable, Sorian. Something very valuable. Pray they didn’t brave the gletsjer, for that would mean they’ve taken the guide living in that cabin. I would ill advice chasing them on foot by ourselves. The ice may look solid, but it is weak and treacherous.”

Posted by: McBadgere Apr 9 2012, 06:26 AM

Excellent stuff... biggrin.gif ...

I can picture it perfectly!...Covers much ground quickly and efficiently...

Brilliantly done...

Love it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: mALX Apr 13 2012, 04:03 PM


QUOTE

It had been a week since we tried to hawk our Ayleid junk. One week since Maorlatta got kidnapped. I had to give it to her. The girl had a greater talent for finding trouble than Tiber Septim.


LOVED this line!

As always, your writing/story are spectacular. I'm still not caught up with the back chapters - just haven't had enough free time to do a lot of reading. Excellent Write!

Posted by: jack cloudy Apr 19 2012, 10:49 PM

Chapter 7.4


Maorlatta

A wave of pure cold hit me at the same time as one of darkness. I wanted to hug myself and light a flare for light and warmth, but the damned chain stopped me from doing that. So I had to be satisfied with shivering uncontrollably and the muttering of a few words unbecoming a lady. This whole ‘forced recall’ thing was something I could do without. It was humiliating, uncomfortable and oppressing. The worst part? I was actually getting used to it.

Running away till I took one step too far and ended up right back where I started. I wasn’t even sure if I had to flee. So far I hadn’t been harmed in a physical way, just generally mistreated and dragged around like a pet. It was more a matter of principals and general uncertainty that made me oppose the nasty old man. Jauffre could claim he was Lord Emperor Uriel Septim’s best friend as much as he liked, he still hadn’t given me any proof. Perhaps most importantly was the fact he simply rubbed me the wrong way. I wasn’t going to deny that my behaviour was influenced by my personal feelings in the matter.

“How do you feel?” That man now asked from somewhere in the darkness. How did I feel? I’d tell him how I felt!
“A purple bunny is snorting granite and using my ribs as harpstrings. Thank you for asking. I'd feel a lot better if you removed that magical chain around my neck.” I grumbled back at him as I pulled myself up from the ground.
“Good enough. Kort, you can head back now.” The fake priest declared and behind me something harrumphed, then shuffled away. I turned to look but saw of course nothing.
“Who is Kort?” I wondered out loud. Jauffre ignored the question like he ignored all of them. I could hear him shuffling away as well, in the opposite direction. Turning around again, I tried to make a flare but the sound wouldn’t come and I developed a splitting headache instantly.
“Bogbreath.” I hissed at my invisible tormentor as I followed him with one hand on a numbingly cold wall and my feet sliding across the slippery ground.



Onwards we went, turning left and right, up and down, the only sounds the shuffling of our feet and the chattering of our teeth. How I wished for a fire to warm myself with, to light the way and reveal what kind of place we were in now. It was too cold in here. Not even winternights were this cold. And then there was the smell. I could smell nothing at all. Just water. Very clean water.

“I know it’s cold, but we’re almost there. Stop complaining.” Jauffre said when I asked him, for the twentieth time, to remove my leash and let me make a flare. It was the last drop. I refused to take another step.
“And do you care to tell me where ‘there’ is? Of course you don’t. Just like you haven’t told me why we’re going and why I have to wear this thing around my neck. No, I think I’d rather stay here. Or better yet, I’ll turn around and go back the other way. It couldn't be any worse than sticking to your heels!” I snapped at him and turned to do just that.
“Follow me.” Without asking, my feet turned back 180 degrees and went after the old man. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t budge from the course he’d set me. At first I didn’t know what was going on, then I screamed in helpless rage.
“Falseblooded son of a falseblooded son! Get Bonewither, you dungshoveler! I’m not your dog!”

Jauffre shook his head, not even looking at me.
“By Talos, I am so fortunate that your elvish split off from Aldmeris millenniae ago. I don’t even want to know what you said this time.”



It became brighter, though the new light revealed nothing but dark rock, slick as if worn down by an ancient river. Finally we turned one last corner and found ourselves at a door flanked by two tiny lanterns. The door was featureless, except for a thin slit from behind which more light gleamed. The light was obscured for a second, then the door was thrown open and a man stepped through, weapon in hand. Naturally I stopped instead of getting closer but Jauffre kept moving. I noticed that he held his hands out, showing the man his empty palms. Then I felt the queasiness of a purple bunny emerging and I scrambled after him.

“Master Jauffre! We expected you days ago!” The doorkeeper exclaimed once we were within arm’s reach of him. I noticed that despite the warmth of his greeting, he still had a hand firmly on the hilt of the now sheathed sword and for a moment, a very big finger twitched. It was all I could see. Jauffre however didn’t notice, or didn’t mind. He stepped into the door and grabbed the stranger’s shoulder.
“I suffered a few delays, Captain Steffan. But I am here now.” He said and then pulled me in as well.
“And this is?” Steffan asked. I could feel his eyes on me, but mine were still on his sword. It was such a frail looking thing, thin like a blade of grass. But a sword was a sword. It was still designed with murder in mind. I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to say. Before I could answer, Jauffre’s hand went from the man’s shoulder to my mouth.
“A pain in the back end. I assume that he is here? I wish to see him at once.” He muttered dryly. The urge to bite those stinking fingers of his was overwhelming but I exercised restraint. I’d better wait till there weren’t any sharp murder instruments in the vicinity. Then I'd give him a pain in the back end to complain about.

Steffan closed the door and gave us one last discomforting warning before returning to his post.
“Of course, master. You know where to look. There is however one thing you should know. At the moment, we trust no one. Not even you. But Renault and her team can explain things better than I can.”



Jauffre took off down an empty corridor till he stopped before one particular door. It was as featureless than the others, but I knew it was different. It was the smell, like an alchemy-lab. No, not that. Like a pharmacy, selling only the refined products and none of the ingredients. Also perfumes, of the kind spread by scented candles.
“You stay in the corner and keep your mouth shut.” The bald tyrant told me.
I mimicked his words silently, then added: “The magic word is please, oh great exalted master of refined wordchoice.”
Jauffre opened the door, letting out a welcome wave of heat, and stepped through. I followed and did as he asked, find the nearest corner from where I could see everything and everyone, then sulk there. The fact that it was near the burning fireplace was a complete coincidence.

There were four others in the room. Three men or women in the same steel shell as the doorkeeper’s, sitting by the bed of the most ancient elder I’d ever met. All the armoured ones began talking at once.
“Master Jauffre! You made it!”
“Sir, good to see you.”
“You’re looking healthy, master.”
“You’ve come.”

I got a good look at their armour as they swarmed around Jauffre like kids around the candywoman. The armour was…strange. Not the simple singlepiece of the cityguard, but a series of overlapping belts. It looked more sophisticated and oddly familiar.
“Yes, it is truly a blessing to see you all in fine health. But are you…everyone? I learned much at the palace I didn’t ask for and little I did. No one had actually seen what happened.”
They kept rattling on, Jauffre now as well though I didn’t pay any real attention to who was speaking or what they were saying.
“There is Fenasim down in the training hall. But yes, master. We are the only ones left.”



No, my eyes had drifted back to the elder in his bed who stared back at me. He was so frail it made my heart hurt. There was no flesh on his bones, just pale skin and two deep-sunken eyes. With each breath I could hear his lungs struggle and smell the sickly scent of someone whose insides are liquifing. His mouth opened and closed, but I could actually hear him talk. He closed his eyes, licked his lips and tried again. This time I heard him, barely.
“Come closer. Let me see your face.”

I stepped closer, close enough to count every single vein standing out against the skin.
“Yes, I’ve seen you before. You were at the prison, weren’t you?” The dying man whispered. I froze, shocked. The prison? Then this man was Uriel Septim! The man I’d been looking for! He looked even weaker and frailer than back then but yes, I now recognized that nose. The slope of his brow, the heavy jewel resting on his heart. The same jewel his statue in the palace had borne. If this was the Emperor, then those three were the same guards from that night.

I bowed as deep as I could, my nose almost brushing my knee. I stammered incoherently before I refound my voice.
“I was, Lord-Emperor Uriel Septim the Seventh, ruler of Tamriel. It is with great regret that I failed to follow formal etiquette that time. Please forgive my failings.” I said slowly and with the most dignity I could muster, hoping I didn’t mutilate the words somehow. The Emperor grimaced. Had I said something wrong? Then he spasmed as he coughed madly with all the force his flesh could muster.

I leapt to his side, forgetting all I’d learned about court protocol in that moment. My hand already moved in to remove that heavy stone that had to be torturing him. I stopped when I realized the epic blunder I’d made. Not only had I thrown aside diplomatic respect in favour of care for his health and comfort, I’d also earned the tips of three terrifyingly sharp things prodding my throat.
“Are you alright…Lord-Emperor Uriel Septim the Seventh, ruler of Tamriel?” I giggled nervously, though I wanted to scream. That I was just trying to help, that I didn’t want to get killed over something as stupid as this. What was a sick man doing in a cold place like this in the first place?! What kind of idiots where they to take him here?! And why wasn’t there a shorter form of address I was permitted to use?!

A silent gesture from the ancient ruler made the killers withdraw their arms and step back. Again he tried to talk, so soft it was more lipreading than listening that I did.
“It matters not. No, more important is you. The gloom did you no justice. Now that I see you clearly, I know why you’re here. Orgnum Maorlatta, I should have known you would come.”

If the sudden deathtreaths hadn’t knocked away what remained of my composure, then this did. How did the Emperor know my name? Jauffre hadn’t told him and there was no other way he could have found out. More than that! He didn’t just know my name, he even used it in the proper context! Familial bond first, then my personal name. What sorcery had he used to learn this much?
“That’s…quite…” I stammered but the Lord Emperor was plagued by more coughing. I waited till the attack ceased, terrified for his health and terrified for my own if I tried to help.

One of the guards cleared her throat when the last attack ceased. It was a woman, the only one other than me in the room.
“Master Jauffre, I think I should explain to you what transpired that night. The part before we entered the Imperial prison. The important part.”


OOC: The next update will be all flashback I believe. Because I don't think it is ever explained quite why or how the Emperor get's to the player's prison cell.

Posted by: McBadgere Apr 20 2012, 06:10 AM

Excellent stuff!!!...

Loving the whole attitude thing whilst following Jauffre... biggrin.gif ...Made I laugh that did... biggrin.gif ...

Definately a cool chapter, and then the rest of the Blades turned up...And...Right...And Uriel Septim!!...EXCELLENT!!... laugh.gif ...

Most brilliant chapter...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Apr 27 2012, 08:45 PM

I just couldn't decide how I wanted to write the next chapter. Should I do a quick summary, have captain Renault tell it in first person or third person. Or should I use the omnipresent narrator I use for the Angoril portions? I decided on the latter.

After that, the big question was basically how I could get the Emperor out of his home without making everybody involved look like incompetent idiots. And how could I make Ocato brush the whole thing off as 'doesn't need my help'? Heck, I'd never really thought about it much myself and I've got the feeling that the writers didn't at all. The Oblivion script probably started with "Emperor get's murdered, player is a prisoner, find a way to put those two together."

It would have made more sense I think if the game had started with the player in court, right when Uriel is about to give his verdict (no need to explain the crime that way.) Then BOOM! In come the Mythic Dawn! That way there is no need for an old man to run through half the city, across a bridge, into a prison and down a supposedly secret passage...while leaving the door open for pursuers.

But we didn't get that and I started my story in the stock prison, passage and everything. I think I have it now though.

So anyway, here's the start I'm going with. Next up will be a fight-scene, something I haven't done properly in ages.



Chapter 8: Night of disaster

Berius was a tall man and built like an ogre, though he only counted Imperials among his ancestors. Medals covered his broad chest like the glittering scales of a dragon. There was the crowned dragonhead that marked him as a member of the Emperor’s elite bodyguards. Other marks linked him to the Blades, the first Legion and the mage’s guild. There were medals of valor from campaigns in Skyrim and High Rock. There was the crossed sword and sceptre of the battlemage. One emblem he gave more care than all the others, always wearing it prominently at the center.
It was a small and shattered mask, a reward that had been given to less than a dozen men and women in all Tamriel and only issued once. Though Uriel Septim himself had given each of the masks, there had been no grand ceremony. Instead it had been conducted in a small room away from the public eye. If asked, he would not be able to reveal who else had received that same reward. But he could speak of why he had received it and so he often did with pride.

He had been there, wielding the sword, that day when the traitor Tharn and his demonic horde was defeated by the Eternal Champion.



Now older, balding and head of the palace-guard, he had lain aside his armour and sword. The fighting was something he left to his younger subordinates, such as the two that flanked the door leading to the Emperor’s suite. Berius stopped before them and silently appraised the two silverclad guardsmen. Being equals in length and weight, the two could have passed for identical twins or statues. Only the slow synchronized rising and falling of their chest revealed the life within the armour. Berius judged their stance, the condition of the ceremonial halberd in their hands and the more functional katana at their waists. He paid exceptional attention to the condition of their armour, noticing that no errant scratch, dent or speck of dust marred the polished facets. Finally when he was satisfied, he spoke.

“Wulfharth, you’re a bit jittery tonight. Nervous you’re going to emberass yourself in front of your new colleagues?” He laughed. One guard tipped his head and shrugged.
“No sir. I’m nervous that they will emberass us. Have you seen how young they are? That Redguard isn’t even close to hitting thirty!”
Berius shook his head. He understood the Nord’s problem. The palace guard were the elite of the elite, handpicked from the Blades like the Blades recruited among those with years of proven ability in war. Yet the only grand conflict in the last two decades had been a single battle in Morrowind.
“We recruit for skill, not age. Reserve your opinions till after observing their response to the mock intrusion I have planned. We’ll start shortly after they’ve arrived. For now I shall go in and prepare our lord.” He said.


He pressed his fingers against the bronze door and chanted the spell of release. With a soft click, the internal mechanism unlocked and the door sank downwards. He passed through the opening into a short corridor that hummed and warped under the influence of countless wards placed upon it. Wards that sapped his magicka, wards that held off the undead, that revealed the invisible, prevented conjurations and spells of destruction. A second door lay at the other side, sealed with the same mechanism as before though requiring a different chant to unlock. Berius opened it and entered the first room of the Imperial residence. There, seated amongst the furs of mammoths and the fragrance of Argonian incense, was Uriel Septim.

The man was asleep as he often was these days. Tired from the day’s politics and hard to wake. Berius shook the emperor gently till he stirred and began to rouse from his slumber. He knew from experience that it would take time for Uriel to fully awaken and that he was swift to drift away again. To help the former and counteract the latter, he moved to the bar that was nestled in one corner of the room.
“I shall pour you something hot, lord.” He muttered and reached out for a bottle of mead. His hand stopped in midair as he stared intently at the glass. The liquid inside sloshed around gently and he became aware of a vibration in the air, just beyond the edge of his hearing.
“What is going on?” Berius asked himself and turned towards the door he’d entered from.

The door clicked and sank beneath the carpet.

Posted by: McBadgere Apr 28 2012, 04:28 AM

I'm going with the tunnel running straight from the palace to the prison, under the city... biggrin.gif ...

Love the chapter...Always like a good Blade section...And this was one!...

The magic door was excellently done...With all the magic wards...Brilliant!...

Loved the sound of Berius...Very cool character...

An excellent chapter indeed...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...





Posted by: jack cloudy May 20 2012, 10:23 PM

I'm not using a direct passage, but there will be a reason for why he goes to the prison instead of any of the two dozen safehouses the Blades keep in the IC. Or ya know, the Legion barracks.




Chapter 8.2


Through came one of the guards, all the wards rolling off his armour like water. He didn’t stop at the door or utter a single word regarding his reason for entry. He kept moving on a straight line for Uriel, red-tainted sword drawn and raised. Berius noted for himself that this was not the script he had prepared for the exercise, nor were the young Blades here to see it. Then all thought ceased and instinct took control. Honed by many years of service and more than one confrontation with a would-be assassin, it made him throw the glass in his hand at the running man. He did not expect an empty snifter to injure the intruder, even when aimed straight at the eyeslits of his helmet. But it made the palaceguard duck and slow for just half a step. In that half a step Berius began his own sprint to intercept the man before he could reach the Emperor.
Berius’ instinct held no illusions regarding his odds against a member of the palace-guard in full armour. The other man was younger, stronger, far better equipped and just as skilled. Berius had no sword, no armour, only the slimmest sliver of magicka in his veins and most importantly, a person to protect. No, a protracted engagement would only end badly for him and his charge. He knew he had to strike fast and decisively.

There was but one advantage he possessed. If the other was a traitor, then he was as aware of the situation as Berius himself was. Though constantly drilled not to, overconfidence would cloud his judgement. If the man was merely disguised as a palace-guard, then he would be even more ready to underestimate an older man whose muscles were making way for fat.
The two men crashed together at the center of the room like mountains. Ducking inside, Berius managed to avoid injury from the first swordswing by making the assassin’s arm hit him, rather than the weapon it wielded. He hooked a foot around an ankle where the other couldn’t see and used the residual momentum to throw the man to the ground.

On the floor they fought, both trying to gain even the slightest advantage. Berius worked his fists across the sides and joints, seeking nonexistent openings in the armour. If he’d had the stamina for it, he would have cursed how even the chain underlayer was guarded with a shielding spell. The blade’s blunt edge struck him across the back repeatedly, Failing to cut the vest but sending a lance of pain up his spine with each blow. Berius changed tactics and pinned the swordarm with a knee. Now the two men were at a temporary impasse and stared each other in the eyes. Suddenly the guard threw out his free hand which burned with a hungry flame and Berius reared back. Too late.



Berius threw himself forward, smashing his head against the helmet and then, with his foe momentarily disorientated, he struck the fatal blow. His hand thrust through the narrow gap exposing the traitor’s eyes. Then he called upon all the magicka he could muster, manifesting it as a torrent of lightning. It wouldn’t draw the envy of even the least proficient apprentice but it was enough. Passed the protective wards permeating the helmet and sunken into vulnerable tissue, the electricity pouring from his fingers burned out the man’s brain almost instantly.
Too tired to speak, Berius crawled off the corpse. The armour began to shudder and the old man forced himself back into a combative stance. Surely the other could not have survived his spell? Steel shrieked, bolts flung themselves across the room, richochetting off the walls and shattering an expensive vase. The chestpiece split in two as the body occupying it began to change. Muscles coiled like living snakes, bones creaked and twisted. A fur, not of hair but of bronzed barbs, burst from the skin. The face, recognizable for a single second as it burst through the helmet, distorted. Distorted into a terrifying maw filled with fleshtearing teeth. It began to sizzle and smoke, then burst into flames.

Berius shook his head, stunned by the sight. He knew that face, both of them.
“Wulfharth, you….By Talos I thought we got all of you bastards. What’s next, Tharn walks in and apologizes for not going to our meetings in the last thirty years?” He growled to himself and a chilling realization came upon him. If one guard had been a monster in disguise, then how many others were there? Did he even have a palaceguard, or were they all inhuman beasts? The thought drove the rising fear back beneath the surface.
“No time to complain about fate. I’ve got to get ready for the next one. No goblin raids alone.” He told himself and carefully edged towards the burning corpse to pick up the katana with his right hand. Exposed bone glistened where the flesh had been stripped away from his fingers. With a mental shrug, he picked up the glass sword with his left hand.



“What was it?” The elderly man behind him asked. Adrenaline at the sudden threat had expediated his awakening. He now stood before his chair leaning heavily on his walking stick. Uriel’s favourite carpet burned away before his feet and a vile smog destroyed the painting on the ceiling but he paid it no heed. His eyes, untouched by fear, were fixated solely on the door as he repeated his question.
“That was a simulacrum. We’d better get out of sight of the door.” Berius sighed, his own eyes also watching the door. It had not rose back up on its own as it should.
The attack had not unnerved Uriel Septim, not even when the assassin burst out of the armour and burned away. But the mention of a single word was enough to make him tremble and speak a prayer.
“Simulacrum? As in the Imperial Simulacrum?” He whispered, referring to that infamous period when, betrayed by his most trusted advisor, he had been imprisoned in another realm and the throne taken by a copy. He held no memories of the event, as he had more then once sworn. But there were the dreams, always haunting him in the night since that day.

Berius gently led him to the cover of a few potted trees before he answered.
“Yes, and no. If that had been Tharn, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. But that thing was one of his tools. Replaced most of the palaceguard with its ilk during the nineties when you were…you know. Course, there wasn’t a palaceguard left by the time we rescued you.” He shook his head at the end. To this day he still wondered if some of the men he killed that day had simply been unaware of the truth and tried to protect the palace from what they believed to be an out of control riot. But it had been necessary.
“It seems to me that you missed some.” Uriel pointed out. He kept his voice low as not to draw attention from anyone who might come investigate the opened door, or the dead man he suspected to lie just outside. Again Berius shook his head.

“Could be, but I doubt it. I remember asking the wood elf and she said we got them all. I’m inclined to believe her on that one. Only some general staff were spared and they were reassigned to less essential positions as a precaution. No, this wasn’t a survivor of that day. But Tharn could have deployed simulacra all across Tamriel without us knowing. Wulfharth, or the monster that took his form, must have been one of them.” He said. With the adrenaline of the fight fading, he became aware of his injuries. The harsh burning of his hand, the stiff ache of his bruised back. It wasn’t anything fatal or debilitating, but he definitely would need medical attention if he survived the night. For now, a simple spell to stop the bleeding would have to suffice.


“Didn’t Jauffre install a system to ferret out any infiltrants?” The emperor asked him after a short period of silence. From time to time the tower still trembled, but the cause of those vibrations seemed to go further and further away. Neither man knew what was going on, but both were convinced it could be nothing good.
“If Wulfharth had been replaced recently, we would know. You can claim the flesh, but you can’t just walk the walk and talk the talk. No, I think Wulfharth was already a simulacrum by the time he first entered our sights.” Berius replied and Uriel finished the thought.
“In other words, the simulacrum played the long game. Join the legion, show valor and prowess in battle. Become a Blade, show some more, be appointed here. It would take patience, skill and display of all the desired morals and values both in public and private.”

Uriel sighed. It was regrettable, but he had to admit that Wulfharth had been very thorough in eluding all the loyalty investigations that one received in a Legion and Blade career. It was even more regrettable that the tremors suggested he was not working alone.
“To the matter at hand, Berius. What do we do now?” He asked then and received a grim answer of his bodyguard.
“Now? Now we wait for the only ones we can still trust. The recruits. Pray they’re good, because if simulacra are involved, this will be far more dangerous than any test I could have come up with.”





OOC: Ok, maybe he switched a bit too fast from 'Hey dude, what's up?' to 'Kill Rage Murder". Meh, instinctive handwaves. Also, how come it's always two and a half pages in word but such a short piece of text on the forum? huh.gif

Posted by: McBadgere May 22 2012, 03:23 AM

That was just brilliant... biggrin.gif ...

Fair dues...

From this...

QUOTE
Berius’ instinct held no illusions regarding his odds against a member of the palace-guard in full armour. The other man was younger, stronger, far better equipped and just as skilled. Berius had no sword, no armour, only the slimmest sliver of magicka in his veins and most importantly, a person to protect. No, a protracted engagement would only end badly for him and his charge. He knew he had to strike fast and decisively.


To the lightning to the eyeballs end was brilliantly done...

Not familiar with the ealrier story as in the Jargar Tharn thing, but nicely done bringing the earler story into Oblivion...*Applauds*...Loved the way the armour shot the rivets out as the body changed back to its original form... biggrin.gif ...

Fantastic stuff Jack...

More!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy May 30 2012, 10:31 PM

My idea of how Blades and by extension, their even more dangerous elite, fight is simply to kill as quickly and efficient as possible. Also, I was rereading the first chapter and noticed three things. One, my style back then was different, with a better way of getting the feel for the environment down. Two, the characters were different back then. Things like proto-Maorlatta actually threatening someone with violence like it's no big deal and showing none of her Altmer-issues.

The third is that the Emperor mentions sending a messenger to Ocato. Obviously my idea back then was of Mythic Dawn elite assaulting the palace instead of my current idea involving traitors. Anyway, let's get some commanding done.



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 8.3


The young Blades, all five of them, arrived at the exact moment of their meeting. Berius watched them spread through the room, efficiently covering every angle simultaneously, leaving no place to hide or sneak up on them. Even the door they’d come through was kept under close watch. It was therefore no great surprise when Berius and the emperor were discovered.
“Keep your hands, Sir! My lord Emperor!” The Redguard man who had first seen them shouted then sprang to attention as he recognized them. Having cleared her side of the sweep, a woman put a hand on his shoulder and whispered urgently.
“Keep your voice down, Baurus. Can you tell us what is going on, Lord Protector?”

Berius motioned for Uriel to remain knelt and stepped out from among the plants. He examined the two Blades in turn, then his gaze drifted to another man who had just declared the bathroom to be safe. He nodded to himself and looked the woman that had questioned him in the eye.
“In a moment, Sister Renault. This morning when we met in the Tiber Septim hotel you seemed rather amused. Please tell me why.” He asked her and almost shook his head at the surprise he read on her face.
“Because Glenroy nearly jumped out the window when he heard the fly buzzing around the ceiling.” Jennifer Renault answered, pointing at the man who’d walked from the bathroom to one of the windows.
“I told you, I served a tour in face-eating Argonia. The flies are worse than the crocodiles there. You High Rock pampered boys and girls could never understand what that place does to a man.” Glenroy called back, rolling his eyes.
“Good answer on both accounts. It will have to do for now.” Berius decided. If they still had the memories of this morning, then they hadn´t been replaced. There was still the chance that they´d been simulacra for years like Wulfharth but he doubted it. If that had been the case, it would have been far easier for them to have the assassination be performed by the new blades rather than the old guard.
“Six against one would have been a foregone conclusion.”

The Redguard who’d first found them caught on the hidden meaning behind his superior’s question when no one else did.
“You don’t trust us, sir.” He muttered then nearly flinched when Berius drilled him with his stare.
“Brother Baurus, right now I’m debating whether I can trust myself. Now, before entering you came across a dead member of the guard, correct?” He told the young man. Prompted, Baurus shot straight up, as if he was singled out by his Legionnaire captain during inspection.
“Yes, Lord Protector. Slain by a blade that penetrated the lungs and heart via the armpit. The melting of the chain suggest that the weapon was enchanted with armor-eater.” He barked, chin raised. The older man nodded to himself and looked at the pommel of his sword. Like Baurus had claimed, the exchangeable pommel was indeed the armor-eater.
“Quite perceptive of you. I want you and Glenroy to drag him in here. Meanwhile…” He ordered and looked at each Blade individually once more. His next decision was a painful one, but it had to be done. The Lord Protector recalled all the reports as he walked to a window, then picked the two Blades who had least impressed him.
“Brother Merric and Sister Eaglewood. You will go to respectively the coordination centers on the tenth and the twentieth floor. Tell the staff present to announce and execute protocol 4G. Follow their orders once you’ve done that.”
“Yes, Lord Protector! At once!” Merric and Eaglewood snapped and jogged out of the room. Berius watched them go with a heavy heart.


“Sir. 4G is not listed among today’s potential protocols.” Renault’s words pleased him. He’d read about that perfectionist streak of hers in most of the reports that had been written during her career. It was good to see that she’d already gone through and memorized the protocols his staff used.
Captain Renault, let me tell you that the guidebook you were given was scrambled. 4G is possible today. Still, you are correct in the assumption that 4G will not be used.”
He paused to think over what protocol they should use. In the end, he had to assume that the enemy knew all of the manoeuvres he’d drilled over the years as well as who was on station today and where. Which meant all the usual safehouses were compromised. He came to the conclusion they’d have to use a plan which didn’t exist.
“I want you to take Lord Uriel Septim to the Imperial prison isle instead.” He said slowly as he knelt beside the window and pulled out a pair of bricks. Behind them, lay a small dustcovered pouch.
“The prison? But there’s no plan that includes that location. Besides, it seems…illogical.” Renault objected. The sound of footsteps made her turn to the door and raise her sword but she relaxed upon seeing it was merely Baurus and Glenroy, carrying the armoured form of Wulfharth’s partner between them.
“I know. I scratched it from the books when I became head of the guard here. Call it insurance. Most important is the fact that the only records of that plan now reside in my head. The enemy won’t know of or expect it because as you said, that would be madness. And the guards there get rotated frequently. So go to the isle and hide.”


Berius took the pouch from its resting place but made a point of not putting the bricks back.
“Good. And you won’t be using the stairs. I want you to leave through this window, circumventing the palace interior entirely.”
“You want us to jump, sir? But that’s impossible. We’re not birds. We’d die the moment we hit the ground. Or well, I could do it, but I doubt Baurus here could. And what about the Emperor?” Glenroy objected with a handwave towards the old man that still sat among the plants.
“That’s what these are for.” Lord Protector Berius replied and opened the dirty pouch.
“These rings are enchanted with slowfall. With them, dropping down is no problem.” He explained. Glenroy and Baurus nodded, but Renault was not yet convinced.
“Wouldn’t the Ayleid barrier around the fifth floor destroy them?” She wondered out loud.
“Again you impress me with your knowledge, captain. The barrier can be beaten. An assassin of the Dark Brotherhood managed it first. He had two rings of levitation. The barrier drained the first, but the second ring was sealed in a dampened pouch and survived. He simply had to switch rings in midair. Simple yet effective.” Berius elaborated and gave her one of the dusty copper bands.

“Now these are a new thing from Morrowind. Same trick basically, but no need to switch rings in midair. They’re one use only, but that use will get you through the old field and to the ground.” He finished with a shrug. At that moment Uriel grunted as he pushed himself off the floor, cursing his creaking joints and the frailty of his breath.
“Berius, you never told me of this. Are you certain it will work?” He asked his friend and loyal defender, who handed out the rest of the rings.
“The math is sound. And I’ve tested it on bricks, cats and even a mannequin. Just keep your feet down and you’ll be fine, emperor.”

Jennifer Renault fingered the ring in her hand. Though her Breton blood pulsed in reaction to the magic in the copper band, she had never received the kind of education that would let her tell what kind of magic it was. And Berius had implied he couldn’t trust himself. It hadn’t seemed like a joke to her. Renault realized that she needed to see it work rather than be told it would. She pocketed the ring and turned to the others. Then with a deep breath, she took charge for the first time as the captain she’d informally been promoted to.
“Glenroy, you are experienced at Alteration, yes?” She inquired of the Imperial. The man scratched his chin, not sure why she wanted to know.
“In Argonia, you need at least a basic expertise in…” He began but she cut him off with a simple wave of a hand.
“Yes or no would suffice. Can you slow your own fall without these rings?” She asked him next and Glenroy nodded.
“Yes, captain.”
“Good, then you get the honour to test them. You will jump and try the ring. If it doesn’t work beyond the barrier, stabilize your fall yourself. Afterwards…” Captain Renault leaned over and whispered her last order into his ear.
“See you on the ground, captain.”

They watched Glenroy vault over the windowsill and plummet to the plaza below. The air visibly distorted in a series of small sparks as he crashed through the barrier. But the Blade survived the erupting magic and drifted to the white cobblestones light as a feather. He waved up to the window once, then rushed for cover. Up in the Emperor’s suite, captain Renault let out a breath she didn’t knew she’d been holding. Then she straightened herself and led Uriel and her remaining subordinate out of the room.
“Follow me, milord. We’ll use a different window in case this one was being observed. I don’t like the lightshow Glenroy made on his way down.” She said and shivered as the corridor’s wards washed over her. Behind her, Berius gave her a grim warning.
“Don’t forget to remove the barrierbrick first, captain. And remember this above all. We will not meet again. We won’t. If you see me, your orders are to stab me, then stab me again just to make sure I’m really dead. Don’t even think about asking questions first.”

Neither the Blades or the Emperor gave a sign they’d heard him, but he knew they’d take his words to heart. He knelt down beside the dead guard and carefully began to remove his armour.
“Now then. Berius old boy, time to make some chaos. It’s your last day on Tamriel, make it a good one.”

Posted by: McBadgere Jun 1 2012, 03:31 AM

Fantastic stuff!!... biggrin.gif ...

Love it...

Poor old Berius...Gotta love him...Improvising the saving of the Emperor and not being part of it!...

Nice way of getting Uriel to the prison though...Nice one!!...

You made Renault well hot...Simply with the name Jennifer... biggrin.gif ...Wow...

Brilliant stuff Jack...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 12 2012, 08:06 PM

Over two months. I really am losing it, ain't I? The good news I guess is that I have half a blade piece ready as well. The bad news is that I'm not sure if I should use it or skip ahead and do it more gradually in another flashback.

Going back to the last part. Giving Renault a first name, as well as having her not be a captain already, was a simple and barebones attempt at giving her more characterization than 'woman that dies first'. It also explains a bit more on how the Blades could be blindsided like they were in the game.
But for now, let's change perspectives again. Oh, and a small rant at the end.

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Chapter 8.4

Imperial City

With a hard pat! the brewing storm announced its arrival over Cyrodiil. A man watched from a balcony as the last patch of crimson twilight was devoured by the clouds and his robes became soaked with cold water. It was good weather, he decided. The harsh downpour drowned out the voices of men and drove the regular patrols to any cover they could find. That left the streets open for others. He winced as lightning blinded his eyes for a moment and the roar of thunder overwhelmed even the clatter of rain on stone and metal. Then his lips curled upwards in a smile. Yes, it was excellent weather, better than any he could have wished for.

More lightning tore the sky asunder. They were silent bolts, of the wrong colour and too short to connect with either cloud or ground. The man recognized that what he looked at was no lightning but just as that realization had dawned upon him, his sight was blocked by the arms and bodies of his comrades. They jostled for a place at the balcony, all dressed in robes identical to his own, the red darkening as it soaked to a rusty brown. The man scowled at the sudden crowding and raised his voice over the storm.
“Compose yourselves! Are you heralds of the Dawn, or mere children?!”

With a chorus of “Forgive us, master Camoran!”, the men stepped back and fell to a knee, leaving the balcony once more to him alone. Camoran squinted into the rain and hoped to find the eerie lights again but the glimmer had already vanished.
“It’s gone.” He muttered to himself.
“It came from the palace, master.” One of his companions shouted.
“I know, acolyte! Be silent!” The master bellowed back at the men, not knowing who had spoken and not caring.

The building they’d occupied, a large mansion within a walled-off garden, provided a perfect view of the Imperial residence. Tonight however, that visibility was all but gone. Even moreso than the encroaching darkness, the rain’s haze reduced the Imperial spire into a vague shadow. Only at the crack of lightning, did it stand out. But after days of observation in better weather, he knew exactly where to look. So he mentally retraced the unnatural light and swore under his breath. It had occurred directly beneath the Emperor’s suite.
“Pah, it’s just a little riot over there. I don’t see what it’s got you all riled up for.” An acolyte declared. This time he turned to see who had spoken. Even over the hammering rain he had heard the lack of reverence and the arrogance. His eyes sparked fire and his followers shrinked back, drifted aside from his gaze. All but one.

He settled his sight on the lone Dunmer that dared face his wrath. As he recognized the weathered face before him, he could barely hide his disgust.
“Just a little riot, you say. Your stupidity astounds me, Initiate. Since when do you declare yourself learned in the arts of the arcane? A riot you believe? It may be the right time for one, but why would a riot occur in midair outside the palace? Care to answer that?” He said and stepped closer to the man, carefully swerving around the books stacked in disorderly piles on the floor. He approached till the Dunmer was forced to look up, using his Altmeri stature to his advantage. The smaller man said nothing, but neither did he flinch under the angry stare.
“So silence is your answer. Fine then, I shall answer for you. Every year at coronation-day, rose petals are thrown from White-Gold Tower and light the air aglow.”
“It’s not coronation-day, Camoran.” The Altmer’s eyes narrowed further at the casual response.
“Indeed it isn’t, Harrow. But flowers are not the only thing that stir the Ayleid wonder. Someone just jumped. From Uriel’s room.” He whispered slowly, his words almost lost to the storm raging outside.

Harrow cheered, throwing his fist towards the ceiling.
“Hah! Then we are done here! Let us go now and celebrate our victory!”
Some of the other robed men, mostly Bosmer, raised their own fists. But all, even Harrow, lowered them when they saw the growing displeasure on Camoran’s face. Then, his fury exploded.
“You fool! Is your head only there for bragging?! Do you truly believe that such a fall would kill him? You were an Armiger, you must have encountered more than a few that could survive such in your homeland. Or did you spend your time in taverns playing with the women instead of performing your duty?” Though his words were harsh, they had the opposite result from what he’d intended. Now angered himself by the insult, Harrow snapped back at him.
“This is not Morrowind, Raven. Levitation is outlawed here. You should use your own head before critiscizing others.”
“Cease your tongue lest I cut it out and force it down your throat! This is the Septim we are speaking about. A law he made himself would not stop him when it came to preserving his life!” The Altmer shouted in anger. He saw Harrow’s hands fall to the slit that hid the knife beneath his robe. Though he held no fear for the Dunmer and relished the excuse to burn him to ashes, he remembered that Harrow was a murderer and his father would be displeased to hear that his son had disposed of the fetcher. It was far better to keep him around to take blame for any unpopular but necessary acts than to waste him on a mere whim.

The scent of charred flesh spread through the room and a mad cackling could be heard coming from no distinct direction. With forced calm, Camoran spoke. With each word, he drew his portal open further.
“The Prophet is not here, Harrow. And neither is the Priestess. If it is your desire to lay a hand on the son and brother of those who protect your miserable life, remember this. For whether you would succeed or fail, you will meet our lord. As the defecation of his beasts.”
An inhuman eye blinked and a toothfilled maw large enough to swallow a man whole strained to push through the tear between worlds Camoran had created.
“My apologies…master. I meant no disrespect.”

Raven scoffed at the apology. He doubted the sincerity of it but also knew that pressing further would cause him to lose face before his group. He couldn’t keep his portal open for much longer either, though he hid the strain it placed upon him. Already the corpsegod squirmed and fought his intrusion. So he dropped both the issue and the portal without a further word.
“Leave me. All of you.”
“One of these days, I really will kill the honoured user. And neither father nor Ruma will be able to stop me.”
Turning his back on them, Raven shook his head, angry both at the Dunmer’s insolence and his own failure to control his anger.

He realized that he’d wasted too much time dealing with Harrow. Knowing that he had to move quickly if the Emperor had managed to escape, he reached within the folds of his robe and drew out an eyepatch. He settled it before one eye, closed the other and looked again. To his covered eye, the rain, the stone walls and even the very land seemed to have vanished. What was left on the other hand, shone with a light of its own. The tower rose up towards infinity before him. Its walls were sheathed in dancing rainbows, so bright it hurt. He slipped his gaze down to the streets and scanned the buildings near the palace. Nothing. The only light that was not cast by the tower came from the few magical knickknacks collected by the various noblemen and other wealthy folk that lived nearby. He knew them all and nothing was where it shouldn’t be.
“The Septim would never abandon the symbols of his power. He knows the political ramifications if he did. So that means it was not the Emperor who fell. Good.”

If it hadn’t been the emperor then there was only one answer left. The assassination plan had been defeated. If so, an alarm would be raised.
“Which means that our main operation is at risk as well. Should I be frustrated, or happy?” He thought to himself and for a moment a sharp self-loathing took hold of him. He had hoped the intervention of him and his men wasn’t necessary, but he also knew he hated to stand idly while others performed acts of glory. He struggled with this inner dilemma for a long breath, then he sighed and again dug a hand into the folds of his robe. This time, he retrieved a small ebony rod. It was irregular in both shape and texture, smooth and damp like glass in one place and sharp like tiny knives in another.

Gripping it as if he was holding a dagger, he called upon the powers hidden within the artefact, envisioned a place and thrust at the air before him. Upon drawing back, the punctured air was not the cold of the stormy outdoors, but hot like a furnace and reeking of old wax and burnished copper. He placed his eye before the tiny portal and peered through. Like always, he compared it to peering through a keyhole. The resemblance was there, though keyholes wouldn’t cause bodily harm if its edge was carelessly touched while a portal would. He saw an empty corridor that spiralled downwards out of sight. It wasn’t what he desired. Camoran calculated where the corridor led and stabbed again. And again.

Pure blackness, a gate of diamonds woven like string. A hand, lying amidst bloodsoaked silk, its owner crushed beneath a housesized block of white stone. He flinched and sweat burst from his skin despite the chilling rain. His heart pounded against his ribs and his own hand trembled. With effort, and subconsciously grateful he had sent his troops away, he forced his thought back to reason and studied the hand closer. It was an ugly hand, thick and calloused like a miner’s, one finger missing from an earlier accident. His hand stopped trembling and his heart relaxed as he knew that this bloodied appendage wasn’t hers. It was a sacrifice to the Dawn, not a loss.
“If I’d sent Harrow into the vaults, that might have been him. Hah, only if everyone else had fallen before him. This is no time to daydream, Raven. Now then, where are you, sister dear?”

The dead follower was practically forgotten already as he moved his portal again. Snakes of clicking blades writhe and crawl all over the walls and floor of a long hall. A bridge of clouds cast over a bottomless pit. Eight women in red gathered before a blank wall. One of them is working a spell, muttering in the arcane tongues. Raven changes the angle so he can see her face and smiles. The woman possesses a face much like his own, though finer and lacking the harshness of his brow. He doesn’t speak till she finishes the spell and the wall flows aside like water.
“How fare thee, Priestess?”

The woman in red halted her followers with a gesture. She looked about till she saw the pinprick of rain in the otherwise dry corridor. Then she spoke, slowly and deliberate as each word was chosen with care.
“Several persons of valor have sacrificed their flesh to the Dawn and their names shall forever be remembered in the Prophet’s scrolls. The Septim’s traps are cunning, but they will not hold us in our quest. The first object is already ours and soon we shall come upon the second.”
She raised something and showed it to him, but the portal was too small to give him a good view. All he could make was that the item scattered the light as if made from glass and silver.
“So that is the famed coffer. Its shell is priceless, but the true treasure lies within. It is smaller than I expected though.” He thought to himself.

“I have come upon you with grim tidings. The servants of our Lord, who have waited so many years in the Dragon’s den for the Prophet, have fallen to treachery and betrayal. Pure were their souls, but their flesh has been corrupted.”
Raven picked his words with just as much care. Had it been a more informal setting, had they been alone, he would have called names. But he could not when others were listening. Even if they professed their faith in the Dawn, the men and women of the robes had been born and bred in an empire that reviled the allies his father once had and whose minions they now used. The Dawn would fall apart as minds corrupted by the Septim’s words and teachings would instinctively move away from their betters. So he hid his words and thoughts behind symbolism.
“Priestess and those who were chosen worthy to bring the new Dawn, know this. They are tainted through their proximity with the Septim. Their flesh has grown weak and their masks frozen. Even now the Septim guards his throne and sends his demons among us. Be on guard.”

The Priestess’ blinked, then scowled, then she lost herself to anger and shouted.
“Failed?! How dare they betray father’s trust! They said we could rely on them! That we wouldn’t have to lift a finger! What do you mean, failed?!” Raven cringed at the outburst. As the Dawn’s Priestess, she was not supposed to let her emotions rule her. Especially when they would make her imply that the Camoran’s were fallible. He knew he had to calm her down before she said too much but did not know how to begin. So he answered her question instead and buyed himself time to think.
“Berius. It must be him.”

“That lardfaced relic? Impossible! He’s still trapped in the fourth century.” Despite the seriousness of her continuing indiscretion and the nervous fidgeting of her followers, Raven let out a soft chuckle. She had just given him the key to dealing with the situation.
“That word is not to be used lightly, blessed Priestess. Do not forget that it was this ‘relic’ who defeated the Usurper. His bones may be old, his swordarm sluggish, but his mind is yet sharp. We would do well to remember that. We shall remember, and through remembrance the Dawn shall prevail. None shall speak words of weakness for we shall triumph!”

The woman’s features smoothed as his voice struck home. His words had sounded like a declaration of confidence to her followers but she knew what he’d really said. He saw her let go of her fury and grasp the calculation their father had fostered. She would make sure that those who had witnessed her momentary lapse would be silent, one way or another. None would speak of weakness.
“As always, the wisdom of your words cannot be denied. I shall double my rear guard. Do you require our aid? We can’t let the Septim escape.”
The offer was tempting. If she sent two or three of her followers, then he could find ways to silence them. Place them in the path of a guardsman, or perhaps even a Blade and claim their own incompetence and lack of faith as the cause. But he could not accept it. The Dawn’s hands were few, and growing fewer tonight. The vaults the Priestess had assaulted were murderous and there was no telling how many more sacrifices she would have to make to obtain the most important relic. They could deal with the survivors later.
“Your commitment to the cause is without equal, but we follow our Prophet’s will. The Priestess shall present the gifts, the Hand shall take the blood. Stay with your task as I shall stay with mine.”

She bowed to him and turned back to the opened wall.
“Of course. Your words are as ever true. I shall finish my task and gather the fallen. Once I am done, know that whoever I can spare will be yours to command. Good hunting, Hand.” She said before stepping into the darkness, her acolytes following like rubies on a chain.
“And to you, Priestess.” Raven replied and let the portal cease to be.

He went downstairs to the dining room where his own followers were waiting. They had closed the curtains and were gathered around a large map that had been spread out on the table. Coins were scattered on it. Tenth-pieces for guard-posts, half-pieces for their own observation-posts and a full septim marked each safe-house the Blades maintained in the city. He was glad to see they had not been wasting their time and had been going over the details of the various plans one last time, even though none of those plans would see use. Harrow stood in a corner away from the others. He had no ear for the murmurings and his eyes were focussed on the sharpening of his knife, not the map. But he looked up when he heard Raven Camoran step into the room and stepped forward with an eagerness to please that disgusted the Altmer.
“What is your desire, master?” He crooned with a voice dripping of poisonous honey.
“For you to die, treacherous snake. If you believe a little toelicking will make me trust you, you will find I am wiser than that.”

Raven said nothing and walked over to the bookshelves that lined a wall. From there he picked an old book and leafed through it. Behind him Harrow grit his teeth angrily and eventually went back to his corner and his knife. Raven read the pertinent sections quickly and then addressed the men.
“Unseal the armory. We’re moving out now.”
“You are right, sister. Berius is stuck in the fourth century and knows he can’t trust in the present. So I shall counter him in the same way. With fourth century information, not fifth.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


OOC random words of randomness follow. Also, spoilers to the game.

So yeah, the Mythic Dawn. They're the bad guys of Oblivion and generally exist to be evil and get stabbed, burned and pincushioned by the heroic deliveryman. Now it's been a few years since I actually last played Oblivion beyond Kvatch and I only ever finished the game once, so I could be missing a lot of characterization that is actually in the game. The problem is, I don't know of that characterization so I'm basically improvising here.

To me, the Dawn never made much sense. They worship the lord of Destruction, while at the same time believing in a happy funtime paradise. The paradise of course turns out to be false because seriously, you're worshipping the lord of Destruction, not the lord of pleasant picnics amidst flowers and cute little bunnies of the non-vorpal kind. What did you expect?

They also don't do much onscreen outside the tutorial, recruit every hobbyist willing to buy their books regardless of the moral requirements they have and have a hideout whose presence is glowingly pointed out on a old monument. Which implies that this hideout has been around for a while (making you wonder why it is still a barebones cave instead of something more comfortable), or the Camoran's don't know the meaning of the words 'secret organization'. Oh, and when they do something, it is in the frontal attack by cannon-fodder way while loudly proclaiming your affiliation.

Back to the recruiting. They have one moral test that I am aware of. This is fine in itself since if the participant fails they get murdered and problem solved. But the test takes place in the secret hideout! What if said recruit decided to tell his families, neighbours and the 'Intelectual society of Daedric studies' where he went beforehand?


The same problems basically exist with the Blades. (watch Baurus' detectiveskills that basically amount to telling everyone he is a Blade then see who attacks him.) I guess in their case it can be summed up however as the requirement to keep the player relevant and front seats for the hero-role. That and I'm not supposed to think about it so much.




So, what do I plan to do with my version of the Mythic Dawn? That's a good question and one I'm not ready to answer. For starters however, I decided to raise up the religious part, give each Camoran a role in the pyramid and make them not be responsible for everything bad. I also want to adress the lord of Destruction and lovely my-little-pony paradise dilemma, but that must wait till later.

Other things include ditching the summonable armour. In the game it served no other role but to point out that this person is an evil Dawn loony and you could totally kill them without remorse. But for indentification purposes, I think the robes were good enough. The armour is redundant and I don't like it myself. It makes them too survivable (even though in-game I think it had as much armour-value as wet paper). The elite can have their bound armour (generic bound armour), but the grunts will have to do with simply not getting stabbed. The way a secret cult without infinite resources and who recruits from criminals and sociopaths might work.

Posted by: McBadgere Aug 13 2012, 06:09 AM

Ooooh, that was good!!... biggrin.gif ...

Liked that...Falling short of moustache twiddling and BWAHAHAA, but obvioulsy they's in the anti-Septim line of things... biggrin.gif ...

I really did enjoy that...

Loved the Ebony wand thing...Brilliant idea...There was loads of brilliant imagination going on there...

Well done that man!!...

Oh, and on yer rant...Go for it!!...I can't remember the characterisation meself...And really, what does it matter?...There is flaws in both the writing and the voice acting, which means that any fan could rewrite what was done before...In fact, I think it's almost mandatory to rewrite the damned thing!...

As I've mentioned several times...We're all multiversing here...What happened in the game is just one universe...mALX's is happening waaay differently...Mine was somewhat different...Your universe is yours...No one can tell you that it's wrong...It's fiction...

Whatever you do with the various agencies (good or bad), I'm sure it will be brilliant, you seem to have a knack for improvement so far...I look forward to each episode...Every time...Brilliant stuff...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds most heartily*...


Oh, two teenie nits that I noticed...You fell foul of the censor with b@stard at one point (One of these days, I really will kill the honoured user. And neither...)

and

...imply that the Camoran’s were fallible...Don't think it needs an apostrophe...Pretty sure anyways...

Brilliant stuff Jack...

Posted by: mALX Aug 13 2012, 06:10 PM

Actually, my story is depicting the last year of Uriel Septim's life before he was killed in that tunnel system escaping at the beginning of the Oblivion game.

I totally agree with what both you and McB said. The game is just the palette, what you paint is what makes the story exciting.

Stories like SubRosa's take place in Cyrodiil and have the familiar names and characters from the game, but the story is totally her own imagination and creativity. It is exciting to read because we can't anticipate where the story will go next. It develops a few new characters into the game that grew out of her own inspiration. Acadian's story is the same way. They take place in the familiar setting, but the story is their own.

I'd rather read what you dream up in the TES realm than just read a replay of the game itself anytime.

Your imagination and the changes you made in your earlier stories kept me on my toes reading, intrigued and interested. The early chapters of your last story, guessing the characters before you revealed who it was - that was genius, huge fun for the reader.

You have a very creative mind and imagination that comes across in anything you write, that is what makes your stories great.

Posted by: Zalphon Aug 13 2012, 06:17 PM

I really like how you're developing Camaron's character. He wasn't exactly memorable in Oblivion, but you're making him more-and-more interesting.

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 16 2012, 09:13 PM

Curse you, autocensor! Curse you! mad.gif

And just after I went around it the last time I tried to use the word honoured user. (This get's censored again.) It was when Latta was throwing insults at Jauffre. I first considered just the word itself, or bastarde (I think Taillus or Agent Griff used that to get around the censor), but then I figured that the average reader would interpret it as 'generic curse'. In reality, she was literally claiming that Jauffre was an illegitimate child and his father likewise. So I switched to falseblooded son. Think of it as calling someone's mother a mother of mine (curse you, censor! mad.gif ), only more serious.

As for Raven, I didn't even remember him till I'd read about him in the UESP. Turns out that he's the one who tries to recruit the player or Baurus ingame. Funny, I guess the guy died so fast he never registered with me. And I'd just like to say that we haven't actually seen Mankar himself yet. I don't know how to make his personality, but I do have a barebones plan prepared as well as an excuse for why he isn't around right now.


And I like the multiverse idea. It's a good way to look at things. Anyway, back to the Blades and I'll get to updating the character list in a bit. But first, the recap! Cause it has been a few months.


In the same night that Raven Camoran is watching the tower but a bit earlier, the Lord Protector Berius (head of the palace-guard) went to Uriel Septim to prepare him for a meeting with the new Blades. In turn that meeting was to be preparation for an official knighting ceremony but I digress. Before the Blades could arrive, a member of the palace-guard tried to kill Uriel. Berius fought the man off and discovered that the guard had been a shapeshifting monster. To be more specific, the same kind of monster he believed he'd personally wiped out the same day that Jagar Tharn was slain by the Eternal Champion.

When the Blades arrive on the scene, Berius instructs them to escape with the emperor by jumping out the window and also promotes one of them to captain. He tells them to take Uriel to the prison and hide there. We rejoin our Blades as they make their way to a suitable window.

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Chapter 8.5


Imperial Palace

There was a small storeroom, not quite on the spire’s opposite side. Unremarkable in both place and name, it would seem to be an odd place to go. But Uriel was resolute in his choice and the two Blades followed his command unquestioningly. After all, as Jennifer Renault reasoned with herself, if she couldn’t trust the man she was sworn to protect, then what was she doing here in the first place?

She led the way in silence, Uriel following behind her and Baurus bringing up the rear. Despite her best efforts, her mind kept following random thoughts and more than once she realized she’d lost awareness of her surroundings entirely.
She shook her head and chastised herself for lacking discipline. But the thoughts would soon return.

They were questions and doubts. What was happening? What did the Lord Protector plan to do after he’d sent them off? Would Glenroy make it safely to the rendezvous, or would he fall to an ambush by their mystery assailants? Just what had burned Uriel’s suite? And above all, could she rise to the task? The Lord Protector had promoted her, a necessity for establishing a chain of command. But while she thought of herself as competent, she could not consider herself a fighting Blade. That was Glenroy’s place, who had learned to survive where the very land tried to kill all that approached. Or Baurus, who even now walked backwards with unnatural fluidity, never stumbling, always aware of the distance between them, though he never turned his head to look her way.

The late hour combined with Uriel’s preference for solitude was a blessing in disguise. There was no staff at this level to ask questions or….She shuddered though the thought wouldn’t form clear words. Just what had the Lord Protector so worried? He’d looked as if he’d found himself in a living nightmare.
“He wasn’t supposed to be like that. He should have been confident, dignified, strong. Like he was in the stories. Or even this morning. He was all I’d expected him to be back then.”

“This is the one.” Uriel said and gestured at the simple door which some painter had made to resemble the white walls. Renault shook herself once more to the here and now. She made to open the door but stopped her hand before it could touch the handle. Following the others into the emperor’s suite had been easy, but she felt in no condition to lead an entry-and-clearing procedure herself. The Divines knew she had trouble enough getting around her lab at times. A dark and unfamiliar storeroom was definitely beyond her expertise.

She raised a finger to her mouth in the universal sign for silence, then drew out a message with the same hand.
[Check it out]
Before she’d even finished the first word, Baurus had already stepped passed her and placed his hand on the doorhandle.
“You already knew, didn’t you? Or did you just assume you were the best man for the job?” Renault thought and shook her head. Of course he was the best, she told herself. The man had at first come across as easygoing to her, but his perception had been simply frightening from the moment they’d come across the dead guard. It had been Baurus who noted the tiny entry-wound, it had been Baurus who found the Emperor and the Lord Protector. Baurus, who seemed to have the eyes and ears of five men.

The Redguard repeated the silence sign, loosened a trio of thin throwing knifes from its sheath with one hand and counted down from three with the other, then kicked the door open. The knives followed in an instant, whistling through the shadows left right and straight ahead, the places where an unsubtle assassin was most likely to be positioned. They clattered on stone and thunked into wood. Baurus listened closely but could not hear any response to his actions. After a moment he peered into the room and willed his eyes to acclimatize to the darkness faster.

Rapidly, the dark blotches resolved themselves into crates, rolled up carpets and various other decorations or pieces of furniture that filled the room till there was barely enough room to stand or move between them. At the far end he could make out a small part of the tower’s bare outer wall. There was no window, but the Blade easily pushed the questions it raised from his mind while holding on to the thoughts that mattered. He noticed plenty of hiding spaces for the small and limber assassin but no one foolish enough to stand or crouch in the open. The Redguard would have to step inside to make certain it was truly safe. So silently he laid both sword and shield beside the doorway before entering and drew the curved knife kept on his hip. Within these cramped confines, he reasoned it would serve him better than the more cumbersome weapon.

He moved slowly, holding his breath and straining his ears after each step. He quickly but effectively inspected every nook and cranny, first by sweeping through with his knife, then his eye. No one challenged him and he made it to the bare wall without incident. Again the question came to his mind and again he pushed it aside.
“Clear.” He spoke softly as he worked his way backwards to the door.

Uriel entered the room, leaning heavily on his stick and breathing as if he’d ran a marathon. Renault looked at him with troubled eyes. Even just circumnavigating one floor of the spire was enough to push the emperor to his limits. She did not see how he could walk to the city prison. Not without aid.
“Sit on that crate and rest, my liege. Brother, seal the door behind us. We’re not going back that way.” She said. While the other Blade began to shift the furniture, she took her time to look at the room. The outside wall was completely bare safe for the knife sticking into it. There was no window or anything that suggested there had been one. Renault paused and took a second look.
“That knife shouldn’t stick into the wall like that. It’s stone bricks and Baurus didn’t hit a crack.”

She pulled the knife free and shook her head with an amused smile.
“It’s wood. They’ve boarded up the window and then painted it to look like stone.” The Breton muttered to herself, not knowing whether it had been done for the sake of paranoia or aesthetics. In any case, she could see that it would increase their chances of surprising any observers on the ground. No one ever expected someone to jump from a window that didn’t exist.
She felt for the ensorcelled brick beneath the planks and pulled it out. Behind it she found another pouch of rings which she pocketed.

“My liege, it is my professional opinion that you are in no shape to make it to the prison, especially in this weather. Is there any other place you know to go?” She asked over her shoulder as she continued to free up the window. Behind her the old man sighed and clutched the jewel that hung from his chest. He could feel his spine complain from having keep his back straight and his lungs burned with an intensity that nearly robbed him of his voice.
“None, we go to the prison. Captain, you studied under…the former court healer. I assume you are capable of fortifying.” He wheezed. The woman ceased her activities to walk up to the emperor and watch the symptons that were written in his posture clear as day. Baurus didn’t wait for the order and continued where she’d left off.
“I could.” Renault decided after a moment. “But the kick afterwards will be too much. I estimate that you would be bedridden for days, and that’s the best case scenario. Worst case, you will die. It’s not worth it.”

Uriel coughed and whipped the dribble of saliva that had freed itself from his throat.
“But it is, captain. I can’t…explain. Staying here is…death.” He coughed again and forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply. It was hard to keep his body from spasming and gasping uncontrollably, but he managed. In return, he regained his voice.
“If you will not do it on your authority as a healer, then I shall order you as a Blade.” He spoke and looked her in the eye.

She couldn’t withstand the gaze that had united a continent and forced countless would-be kings and queens to their knees. The Blade saluted and looked away.
“Understood, my emperor. I shall cast a spell the moment we hit streetlevel.”
“Good, then I won’t be needing my cane.”

It was then that Baurus interrupted them and waved for their attention.
“Sister, emperor. If I may? Someone is emptying baskets below us. The whole sky is lit up.” He said and indeed his face was lit by an unnatural glow coming from beyond the opening he’d made. Renault observed that the gap was wide enough for them all to pass through easily now and decided that now was their best chance to leave.
“That must be the Lord Protector rallying the staff. No telling how long he can keep it up. Brother! Jump now and secure our landing. We’ll be right behind you.” She ordered briskly and lifted Uriel onto her shoulder.
“Hold on tight, sir. It’s a long way down. Try not to blink. We can’t have you stumble on landing and breaking a leg.” She said.

They jumped.

Posted by: McBadgere Aug 17 2012, 06:15 PM

Autocensor - I just subtitute characters...B@stard, $hit, b!tch...etc... tongue.gif ...My personal faves are where it changes a$s to boat and ar$e to British boat...Oh, and the Thermos one... laugh.gif ...

Raven - I don't remember Raven in the game at all biggrin.gif ...Is he the one in Luthor Broad's place?...So anyways, I found his character as you portrayed him as excellent as all your others...

Recap - I'd remembered all that...See, I'm good me... wink.gif laugh.gif ...

Aaaamywho...

Loved this chapter muchly...Renault and Baurus work well together...Loved the way that Baurus just put himself in front...Absolutely brilliant characterisation...I also loved that Renault felt she was way too inexperienced for the task...Yet was determined to do it properly and all that...

Uriel was brilliant...Loved his appearance here hugely....

Amazing chapter Jack...

Loved it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds most heartily*...

Posted by: mALX Aug 28 2012, 06:06 AM

You are doing an amazing job with Uriel Septim in this, and I am absolutely Loving that you are giving us this glimpse of him before that dreaded day! Awesome Write!

Posted by: jack cloudy Oct 1 2012, 08:24 PM

The guy at the tavern who attacks Baurus? Nah, I think that was just a random Dawnie. Raven is the interviewer in the sewers, the one that carries the last book you need to figure out where the Mythic Dawn's base is.

For today's bit, we're going to do a little jumping back and forth. I don't tell which viewpoint is which as I think they explain themselves well enough. Besides, the breaks are indicated by the dotted line. Can't miss them.


Chapter 8.6


Outside

He didn’t like it, didn’t like it at all. For the past two minutes or so the barrier that spanned the city had been lighting up in all directions, its glow spreading till it reached the far walls. It had made magicka-enhanced sight mostly useless and even the mundane eyes were discomforted by the light. People pushed their heads out of windows and craned their necks to see while Raven led his troops by them in the hope that no one would have the wit to report his heavily armed group.
“It is a small blessing that everyone is watching the skies instead of the streets. But I wished there had been no reason for them to look beyond their windows in the first place.”

Worse perhaps was that he’d been forced to put away the eyepatch. While bright enough on its own, the light he now saw was merely a fraction of the blinding radiance on the Arcane plane. As such, he could not keep the palace under observation as they jogged towards it. He did risk the patch once, to scan the streets on groundlevel. There were a great number of signatures scurrying about. Far too many for any day and too many to track them all down, even if he did split up his group into lone individuals.
And that was something he would not do. Apart from himself, he doubted that anyone on his team could subdue even a single guard. And guardsmen never worked alone.
“I know the man’s got doubles, but he can’t have that many. Perhaps they are trained animals, small birds and cats.”



They stopped before the gates to the palace district. Raven thought that he’d rather avoid going up to the front door as the guards would never shirk their duty this close to the Septim’s eye, weather or no weather.
“Where would he flee to? Well, I doubt the man would be stupid enough to leave by the front door, or anywhere on the same side of the building for that matter. The Imperial Suites are too obvious as well. So…that leaves east or north?”
He looked both ways. Circling right through the arena would be the shorter path. However, a sizable portion of the city’s watch was stationed in that district to keep an eye on the gladiators. Or anyone else going that way. He did not want to lose his acolytes to a fight which he could just as easily avoid by going left instead.
“The man is old, we are on an island and I already have the bridge and the waterfront under watch. Really, I think we can afford to waste some time.”

“We go clockwise. Keep an eye out!”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though for Raven the possibility of a citizen noticing his group was merely a grave concern, for Uriel Septim it was a reality. The simplicity of the matter was that he stood out with the shining jewel on his chest that pulsed in rhytm with the waves overhead. To that the official escort and his awfully out of place sleeping-gown were merely an afterthough. Oh, the citizenry’s attention was initially focused on the barrier, but no one watching at street-level could ignore him.

“Look mum! It’s the Emperor!” One young child yelled into the night and the man held back a sigh.
“Everyone will know where I am.” He thought and when Renault steered him to the cover of an awning, he resisted her gentle hand.
“No. No rest till we get there.” He whispered. His voice was lost in the storm but the meaning was not.
“Baurus! Double-time!”


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


“I warned you not to look up!” Raven snarled when an agonized cry disturbed his thoughts. The group came to a halt as he wheeled to face the Bosmer that had shouted. The mer was clutching his eye with one hand, and a smoking patch in the other.
“Forgive me, master Camoran.” He squealed inbetween his sobs. “Something came from…I think it was the Battlemage’s mansion. It went straight up. Like an arrow.”
At once Raven Camoran’s anger was gone. This was a new development and his mind set to work on how to exploit it.
“So Ocato sent a whisp. Did you see where it landed?” He asked the smaller man who shook his head.
“I didn’t, master Camoran. My will wasn’t strong enough. Please forgive my weakness.”

The Altmer waved for everyone to continue moving.
“Save those words. Your perception is to be praised, not shamed.”
“Whisps are patterns of semi-intelligent magicka. With the barrier agitated like this, it is effectively trapped within the city. So the recipient of the message must be close.”
As they ran, he looked around with enhanced sight himself. Though his skull itched and his eye watered, he stuck with it. Even as his own eyepatch began to burn away and singed his flesh, he still looked.
“Now who would be important enough for Ocato to send a whisp at this hour? They’re too rare and valuable to be expended in frivolity. Given the night, it can only be one man.”



The Altmer nearly missed it. Moving so fast it’s body appeared as a thin line, the whisp came down again next to a cluster of spell-signatures. There it reshaped its nonphysical form to draw a message in the air before promptly vanishing back up towards the rainbow umbrella.
“We got him.” Raven said as he stepped into an alcove and threw aside the now useless eyepatch. Out of the rain, he took out the book he’d taken earlier and opened it.
“The Septim and two of his shields are north-east of us, about three blocks away and moving slowly. Given their current location and heading, I think they are headed…for the prison.” He frowned and reread the paragraph again. The prison had not been in their plans for interception, though they had hidden their boats at an old pier nearby for the evacuation. If the Emperor was headed the same way, he wouldn’t let the opportunity slip him by. And then there was a loose scrap of paper which he just now found had been slipped into the book.
“Listen closely. There is a tunnel leading from the prison to the undercity. And from there they have a straight path to the dock we left our boats.” He held up a hand to hold off the questions. Like his compatriots, this was the first he’d heard of a tunnel leading from the prison. One would suspect the Thieves guild to be very interested in it if such a thing did exist. But their contacts in the guild had never spoken a word of it. Even his father had never spoken of it, though he evidently knew given the small piece of paper. That he’d not informed either of his children was testament to how unlikely he’d expected the information to be of use.
“So does the emperor even know of it? He is heading that way though. Damn that Berius. Damn us for underestimating him.” He thought and then wondered about the exit.

The pier they used wasn’t a secret, though this time of the year it was deserted. Come harvest-season, farmers who could not afford the Waterfront’s exorbitant fees would land their boats there. Such being as it was, he was surprised no one had discovered that exit. There was a barred entry to the sewersystem, but the undercity lay further below.

He remembered the steep hill that rose up from that pier to the prison itself. Never before had Raven given the overgrown dirt and the rough path any thought, but now he realized that the hill was the end-result of centuries of mud sloughing down from the top, fixed by the roots of trees and smaller plants.
“Hah! Of course that’s the answer. The exit has been buried for ages. That makes our job easier, but let’s see if we can’t get it done before we have to resort to dirtying our hands.”



“Harrow! Take the parallel road and block the entry to Justice-street. Under no circumstance are you to engage! You are only to seal off the Septim’s escape while I destroy his allies. You, you and you. Go with him. The rest comes with me.”


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



He was the first who noticed. A singular purpose moving to obstruct their path. Exactly what had given him the first clue, he didn’t know. It could have been a misty shadow up ahead, the obscuring of a lantern’s reflection in the windows or the tremor of running feet being carried up through the cobbles.

Baurus grimaced. The unknown assailants had appeared before them instead of chasing from behind.
“They know exactly where we’re going.” He noted and ran in front of the Captain and their charge.
“Hold up! They’re in front of us.” The Redguard called out with a nod towards the still unseen nemace.
“Front? How many?” Uriel asked him.

“I don’t know. Three…five. No more.” He replied as he tried to determine what exactly had set off his instinct. For a moment he held hope he’d merely seen shadows, but that hope was dashed by a voice calling for them through the rain.
“Cease running Septim, and you may not die tired! The days of you and your empire are at an end!”
“Definitely hostile.” Renault muttered even as her eyes searched for potential escape routes. There weren’t many. The alleys here were thin and looped back to the main street right before the gates of Justice district. For a moment she inspected the building walls and nearby clutter for a way up to the rooftops, but then she realized that neither her armour or the Emperor would permit a climb.
“Think we could take them?” She asked.

Baurus looked at her for a moment and saw how she was practically carrying the old man by plain strength now. Though he lacked the training to tell, it was clear to him that her spell was running out.
“Forgive me for being frank, captain. I’ve run escorts before and believe me, you do not keep your charge near a battle if you can help it. They’re packed tight though. If we could keep them that way…”
He did not say what was more obvious to her than it was to him. With a gentle push, Baurus sent her and the emperor to a nearby alley that his instinct told him was still safe.
Renault carried the emperor down the alley as fast as she could, which was unfortunately about the pace of a standard march.
“Keep going.” The Redguard muttered at their receding backs and turned around. He drew his sword and waited.





Baurus observed the figures as they appeared trough the thick mist. There were four of them, all wearing the same rusty brown robes. They came at him unhurried with three hatchets kept loosely in their hand and one short sword, still sheathed. Even more evident of their confidence were the hoods drawn deep over their face. They seemed to consider the weather a greater adversary than a man bearing steel.
“Four to one, the numbers alone would justify their confidence.”

The strangers stopped barely within his sight. For a moment they looked around as if they expected the Emperor to be hiding behind a window. But all that showed were the faces of confused and curious citizens. The one with the sword, far taller than the other three, was the first to give up the search and the first to speak.
“Look, the Septim leaves a little dog to play with us. You picked the wrong street to patrol, lawslave. I dearly hope you weren’t planning on ever collecting that retirement fund.”
Taking the hint, heads were hurriedly pulled back and windows were shut tight.



The Blade’s eyes narrowed. In a way, it was good to finally put a face to the nebulous threat the Lord Protector and Uriel Septim had hinted at. But he didn’t see how a trio of Bosmer and one of other descendance could constitute such a threat. Their hatchets looked like they’d been stolen from a forestry camp, not the kind of weapon he’d gamble on against solid plate.
“Then you must be the one who was shouting just then. I take it you have an issue with our emperor. Who are you anyway?” The Redguard responded.
The robed swordsman barked a laugh and swung his arms wide dramatically.
“I have no name to give to you. Call me, Death. It is a name that fits me well.”
“Quite the ego on that one.”

Again the tall one barked his laugh, but one of his companions seemed less confident.
“Is he really a guardsman? He looks kind of different.” He wondered to himself out loud. The swordsman called Death barked his laugh again.
“Well, he’s dressed too pretty to be a mercenary, isn’t he? And I do not care what he’s wearing. There is four of us, one of him. Surely you have enough fingers to count that far.”

They all began to yell at him now.
“Get out of our way or bleed in the gutter. It’s not a hard choice!”
“I’d love to run. And come back with reinforcements. But I swore an oath.” Baurus thought and began to whisper. His words were blown away by the thunder, the howling winds and the pattering rain. But his soul heard. And that was enough.

“I am Penald Baurus. Shehai Shen She Ru. The sword is the master, the man is the tool. Shehai Shen She Ru. We are Ra Gada. The wave that drowns the land, that cuts rock. Shehai Shen She Ru.”


While the robed men lost their tongues in taunts and threats, Baurus lost himself. Where once had stood a Redguard from the halls of Skaven, now stood two. One was the poet, always attentive to the words of men, both spoken and those kept in silence. The other was the warrior, silent and stoic. A wiseman in the lore of flesh and murder. Both shared the same form, though it was only the warrior that could move its bones and the poet that moved its tongue.
The two stood in silence as the robed strangers threw insults. The words rolled off the warrior’s skin as easily as the rain and passed through the poet’s ears like whispers. The warrior felt the weight of the ill-fitted armour and the slick water coating the street beneath his feet. He made an inventory of the weapons in his possession and those of his enemies. The warrior considered the likely motions the actors in the upcoming conflict were to take, drawing heavily on similar encounters in the past.

Meanwhile, the poet had been forced to listen to a story about a future meeting between the thugs and any females sharing his blood. Unlikely, he considered, since those women were either dead or likely to cut them down as well as the warrior planned to do right now. In fact, their mannerisms revealed a barely constrained anxiety. In other words, they were trying their best not to be afraid. When the warrior and the poet took one step forwards, their demeanor changed entirely.
“Stay back! Didn’t you hear us?! We’ll gut you, we really will!” They cried, waving their hatchets wildly at the air that separated them. The tall one with the sword was the only one who seemed filled with confidence to the point of arrogance.
“Shut up! Did the dummies make you into cowards? Cut and run!” He spat in anger.



They ran, and cut. The poet filtered out the disbelief that the warrior felt at the tactic being used. He’d expected something more elaborate, something better. The first two came in shoulder to shoulder and swung their axe straight down where he’d stood. They were good swings, basic but efficient. It was everything else which was wrong.
They did not accommodate for the shift in posture the warrior performed, nor the placement of his shield or the area threatened by his sword. Yes, they were both so focussed on that strike they were even unaware of their partner’s position. As one, their arms jerked back again as they stumbled into each other’s path and the warrior merely had to lean aside to dodge the attack and destroy their balance.

Left swung the shield, crushing ribs. Right went the sword to cut across the other’s arm then up the assassin’s chest, parting the robe like water, splitting flesh and following the curve of bone to the throat. Before either man had the chance to fall or even scream he stepped between them and cracked the rim of his shield on the left-side man’s skull.
“Two down.” The warrior thought and the existence of the two left him as they crumbled. Only the awareness of two low obstacles remained, for in the event he had to move backwards.
“Two to go.” Thought the poet.



The third cried as he slipped to a halt on the wet cobbles, just beyond the reach of the advancing warrior’s sword. Rather than moving in recklessly, the warrior slipped one of his knives into his shieldhand and prepared to throw it. As the clatter of a falling hatchet joined the clatter of the rain, the third turned and fled back passed the last of the robed assassins.
“Stand your ground, damn you.” The tall one growled but the frightened man paid him no heed. He kept running and vanished within the fog.
“Uriel isn’t that way. Let him go.”

“Tsk, when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”
The last said, pulled back his hood and drew his blade. Both actions gave the split entity that used to be Baurus valuable clues. The ashbitten face was Dunmeri, the sword like a hewn piece of stone, black and glossy as only Ebony could be. On their own they would have only given a general hint to the mer’s background but together it wasn’t so much a hint as a blazing sign. The poet put his conclusions into words.
“A Dunmer. Let me guess. Vvardenfell, ashlands? You must have been an Armiger, stationed at Ghostgate. A high ranking one at that.”

The Dunmer was stunned, just as the poet had planned. People that thrived on mystery were often unnerved when that mystery was dismissed. He regathered himself in moments however.
“False Incarnate!” He yelled, his features twisted in fury. He gestured, thumb and ringfnger touched, drew a jagged line in the rain. Then he charged. The black sword cut the air where the Blade had just been, its tip gouging a deep groove in the shield. The warrior retaliated, but the mer was already gone. With unnaturally powerful strides, he circled around to keep the shield between them. Again the sword claimed a piece from the steel disc and again the Dunmer dashed away before the counterblow.



The warrior began to retreat, zigging and sagging with the Dunmer. As if by coincidence, he stepped between the dead and the dying. This broke up the relentless assault. Fast as he was, the Armiger could not step onto the two bodies and he couldn’t reach across. As long as the Blade stayed where he was, he could only be attacked directly from the front or rear.
He could easily turn either way in the time it took the Dunmer to get around his beaten compatriots.

It was an impasse, one that suited the warrior well. With every breath Renault was carrying the emperor closer to safety. All he needed to do now was to keep his enemies attention.
“Ebony weapons are unparalleled in mass and their ability to keep an edge. Unfortunately, a weapon is only as good as the mind that wields it. And your perception is lacking.” The poet laughed, raising the ire of the Armiger once more.
“Ancestors take you!” The dark elf cursed but did not attack.

It happened a heartbeat later. A cold pierced the warrior’s guts, an ethereal hand closed around his spine. He swung his shield at the ghost that had appeared behind him. His arm was gripped by the killing chill and fell lifeless to his side. In that instant, the Dunmer attacked


“N’wah…” He croaked.


He looked down.


The ghost was no more, its incorporeal flesh cut.


His blood washed away in the rain.


The Redguard’s katana was buried deep in his gut.


Something whizzed by them.

The Blade pulled back his sword and ran.
“Damn I feel weak.” Baurus thought.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Raven Camoran had only seen the aftermath. One fighter had swiped his shield behind him while simultaneously thrusting his sword forward where the other fighter obligingly impaled himself upon it.
“Archers, fire!” Raven had ordered. One fighter had ran off, the other fell down next to two lumps.

They had drawn closer where Raven saw one of the worst situations he could think off. The fallen fighter was Harrow, the lumps were two of the men he’d sent with him.


“My commands to you were clear. You were not to engage!” The Altmer growled to the wounded Dunmer, who gasped a reply between gritted teeth.
“Shut it Raven. I’m dying.” Harrow said.
Raven threw his head back and laughed loudly. It was a haunting laugh, one that made those around him shiver. He looked down again at the Dunmer.
“Yes. It is a mortal wound. To think that faith smiles upon me so. It has taken the leech from my sister. This is glorious!” He thought to himself. Then another thought came to him and he smiled.

He could let Harrow die, but it would be better if he saved his life. He pulled both of his hands from their sleeves and began to draw the arcane signs of healing over the mer.
“You won’t die, Harrow.” He said as he casted spells that mended the flesh and revitalized the blood. He was not concerned with removing the pain however, or sealing the wound in a way that would get the man back on his feet. Harrow cried out as his guts bent, as torn muscle flexed.
“Oh no. I am going to give you your greatest desire. The continuation of your worthless life. You think that is a mercy?"
"I shall do more for you.I won’t tell the prophet of what you’ve done. I won’t tell him how you charged ahead like a fool, got two of the faitful killed and stole the heart of a third."
"I won’t tell the Prophet of your phenomenal failure.”
The healing was complete now, as far as Raven cared. His smile grew wider, like the hungry grin of a predatorial beast.
“You get to do that yourself.”

He liked the terror he saw in Harrow’s eyes. That alone made it worth it.



A glint on the street, between the two dead Bosmer, caught his attention. Raven knelt down to see it was some sort of knife. It wasn’t like any kind he’d seen before, very thin, flat on one side and rounded on the other. The metal was like layer upon layer of steel and silver. Instead of a leatherwrapped grip, the blade simply narrowed down into a narrow strip. He picked it up and turned it in his hands but could not find a craftman’s signature. What he could tell was that this knife was not a guardman’s weapon. Neither was it part of the palace guard’s toolset. Which left only one answer.
”We picked today because we saw the inauguration of the Blades as a weakening of security. But it seems that the new hands of the Septim were skilled enough to compensate. Well played, Berius.”

He rose and waved his arm at the two martyrs laying side by side.
“Look around you! This is a Blade! When in the future you come upon one, remember this scene! Perhaps it will temper your lust for glory and let wisdom have its tongue.”
He shouted. He looked at Harrow and spat upon the ground.
“Take that cretin, that heretic, to the boats! You can all go guard that passage I told you about. I’ll chase down the Septim myself!”

Posted by: jack cloudy Oct 2 2012, 08:31 PM

Just a quickie.



Chapter 8.7



Blades hideout



The story had wandered on, taking up life and going places. I heard how the young Lord Emperor’s statue had been thrown out of the highest window of the highest tower by his protectors. It had landed in the deepest basin of the splintered sea where he’d sunk to its depths, to the study that was mine. I followed on the wings of a little bird, the tail of a fish.

On and on the statue ran, passed all the places I knew. Passed the lighthouse, the marketplace. Passed the singing galleon stuck on the reef. It danced upon the floors of Orgnum’s palace and presented a broken head to the throne.
“Fear not, child. This is a regret I must take. You shall be the king’s now. So it was promised.” The head whispered and smiled at the empty throne. Shadows leaped at the statue, with spears and malevolent spellsong.
“Foullness! This land isn’t yours!” The statue yelled at them as it jumped around to dodge the deadly assaults. knocking over a lantern, setting fire to the sea. It took me in its arms, spun me around in its wild dance. Then Kelth was there, all radiant like the sun, calling out to the statue.
“You do not belong here, marble man. Why do you take my beloved, steal her in fargone lands?” He said.

Master Zelthir was there as well, tutting about my failings in that brusque yet gentle manner of his.
“Healer third grade, have you forgotten your vows? Why do you stand there? Look, an old man requires your talents. Have you not given your oath?” He asked me, pointing at the Lord Emperor. The statue burned, the elegantly curling beard crackled and laughed.
“Help me. Give me flesh. Give, me, time!” The marble face wailed. It was shriveled now, like a dried corpse ready for the sealing.
I drew back, told it that I was only a second grade, that I didn’t know what to do. It grabbed me, melted, turned to ash.
“HELP ME!”
“No!”

The study burned down, Kelth and Zelthir went away till nothing was left. Just me floating amidst coral and an inky cloud near my hand.
“Child.” The cloud whispered.
“Child.” The inky face whispered. I watched it, couldn’t tell who it was. It changed colour, into the sun like Kelth. But it wasn’t the Kelth I knew. Wrinkles carved his smooth brow, blood colour his eyes red.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“A ghost. Wake up, child.”

My eyes opened.




I was surprised to find I’d nodded off into sleep. I was less surprised that my dreams had been the stuff of nightmares. They’d been that way the last few days, though I rarely remembered them so vividly. At least this one had ended mildly unnerving rather than horrifying.

I rubbed my eyes and tried to remedy the soreness in my back. Around me, the candles were now far shorted and the fire burned less hot.
“Wake up. I need to put some more wood in the furnace.” One of the armoured ones said to me. It was the older guy, the one….I couldn’t help but stare.
“Yeah, looks pretty nasty. Anyway, the emperor needs to rest now. Follow captain Renault. She’ll take you to a room where you can stay.” He answered of his own, making me feel embarrassed for being too curious. I dragged myself onto my feet and walked to the door while trying not to think. How did someone breathe without a nose? The steel woman was waiting for me. Ugly old Jauffre too, looked like he was readying himself to leave. He pushed the both of us through the doorway and then followed.


“Wait!” The emperor hissed, his voice stronger than I’d ever heard it before. We stopped and turned.
“You haven’t heard…the most important thing.” Jauffre shoved us into the hall and closed the door behind us.
“So this isn’t meant for Pyandonean ears. Oh, now I simply have to know!” I muttered to myself. Curiosity had always been one of my vices and I lingered at the door even as the armourlady stomped off.
Before she noticed and came back to drag me along, I managed to pick up two words.



“Tharn…lives.”

Posted by: jack cloudy Oct 7 2012, 08:41 PM

It was about time we checked up on how the other protagonist is doing. Last time we saw the Altmeri sorcerer, Angoril Bobardi, he was trying to find the assassins in the red robes. His search took him to Chorrol and then Kvatch. While in Low Kvatch, which is a 'temporary' and unofficial district located on the road between the cities of Anvil and Skingrad, he found his next clue. Ludius Bester, of the Kvatch Hall of Mercantile Interests, told him which Bosmer could have made the robe. Unfortunately, said mer got caught in a fatal accident not too long ago. Angoril still wants to inspect the store however and uses a coverstory to get in.

In his cover identity he is Tennil, a much simpler Altmer who is frantically looking for a dress for his wife after the last one got devoured by their dog.





Chapter 9: Ghosts of the Past

Low Kvatch

Ludius Bester had come to collect him long before sunrise.
“Best eat hearty.” He’d said. “The climb to Upper isn’t to be done on an empty stomach.”

It was no exaggeration. Like a stairway made for giants, the road to upper Kvatch looped its way up the mountain. Though the sun had not yet risen when they stepped upon the first tile, a good score of carts were ascending already. Each cart was pulled along the sideramps by as many as eight of the muscled beasts and carried food, lumber, stone, luxuries and a wide variety of other goods that had been brought to Low Kvatch by the caravans. Up above, Angoril Bobardi saw a trail of ants making their way downhill. More carts, this time with goods to be sold and taken to Skingrad or Anvil.
When Magnus rose in the east, it baked the path in its light and the temperature rose exponentially. To the Altmer the heat was a forgettable discomfort but to Bester it was a formidable foe that sapped him of his strength and breath. He had to rest often on benches that stood in the shade of a few lonely trees. It was therefore more due to the physique of his companion than the length of the climb that Angoril arrived at Kvatch proper several hours later.

He looked upon the massive walls, higher than ten men and thicker than Valenwood’s oldest trees. They were dark, pitted and scorched with the scars of many sieges long ago. Within the shadow of those walls, Kvatch was laid out like a maze of tiny alleyways and hovels as more and more people had to make use of the limited living space behind the stone ring. Only along the main streets did there seem to be any room to breathe or build spacious dwellings. Even that space however, was limited. The inner keep claimed Kvatch’s heart and the Divines mandated grand gardens around their temples. There was little doubt in the Altmer’s mind that the landprizes were as massive as the citywalls.



The portly Imperial brought him to a medium-sized building, two floors high, just off the main street. Its owner looked to be well-off, where it not for the fact that he was dead. There was a sign mounted above the front door.
‘Belgoth’s on demand fabrics’ it said in golden lettering. Bester produced a large keychain with a flourish and with almost excessive delicacy selected one of the barbed rods which he inserted into the door’s lock.
“I thought he sold clothing. Why does the sign not mention this?” Angoril mentioned when the door came unlocked. Bester shrugged in response.
“Belgoth sold both. Fabrics were his main product but if you wanted them stitched into something, he was always willing to set some local lasses on the job. Course, that cost extra.” He pushed open the gilded door and waved the Altmer in.
“We’re still looking for any heirs he may have had, but until someone steps forward who can make his or her claims stick, Mercantile Interests is going to sell off everything that isn’t nailed down.”


The Altmer looked around and let the first impressions wash over him. Belgoth’s store was a single room, quite spacious. On the right side, he saw a counter and racks filled with rolls of fabrics in all colours, including the elusive red. On his left, was a bizarre contraption of crisscrossing treads, levers, copper tubes and wooden frames.
“Was that, the loom?” He asked the heavy-set man he was with.
“Aye, that’s the cursed thing.” Bester answered. “Strung him right up, like a moth in the spider’s web. Feet reached for the ceiling, his eyes studied the floor. It was a dreadful sight, sir Tennil. Very dreadful.” He crossed his hands to ward off evil and then shook his head. Angoril also shook his head in what Bester took to be pity and empatic sorrow for the dead Bosmer. In reality, it was sceptiscism the Altmer felt. The machine looked like a fragile thing to him and he doubted it could have taken the weight of a man, even one as light as most wood folk were, and continue to function long enough to wrap up the poor soul.
“There are a few articles of clothing upstairs. Call me when you find anything of interest. I’ll be in the office. I just can’t stand being in this room, you see.” The merchant said as he walked away.

As soon as the Imperial’s shoes vanished up the stairs, Angoril began to investigate. He ignored the fabrics for now. Instead he focused his attention on the machine, or the flying loom as Bester had called it. The Altmer knew little of mechanical devices and the spinningmachine’s complexity was far beyond him. He didn’t dare guess at what each part did and the device wasn’t even complete.
“But would this Belgoth really forget that the Besters had stripped out some ‘vital components’? And say he had, then what of it? Given this store’s expense, I’d take him for a manager, not someone who gets his hands dirty on the workfloor.”
He told himself and let a finger run across one of the madly twirling pipes. When he pulled his hand back, the tip was covered in a fine layer of dust.
“It hasn’t been used in a while…wait.” Again he reached out to touch a section of the machine but this time, his finger was clean when he pulled it back.

He looked over his shoulder and listened for any noise coming from above. After some time, he made out the sound of paper rustling. Concluding that Ludius Bester was busy with paperwork of some sort and wouldn’t interupt, he returned to his investigation. A closer look of the clean section revealed ragged screw holes in the wood, as if whatever had been attached to it had been crudely torn free rather than unscrewed first. He found more screw holes when he looked further, most old and clean but some fresh and damaged.
“So assuming for the moment that the old holes are from when the Hall of Mercantile Interests removed the key parts, then someone has taken more components at a later date. And he was in a hurry.”
He listened for more activity from the Imperial upstairs before lowering himself to the floor and looking at the thick dust that covered the floor beneath the device. Spying a squarish bit of metal, he drew it towards him and turned it over in his hands. Two bent screws were sticking to it, and one side of the plate bore stenciled writing. It was a set of instructions for the use of the flying loom. The plate only contained a subset, but it was enough to reveal to him that the contraption could not work without constant activity of its operator. Every single movement required the handling of one or more levers and wheels. Even if Belgoth had fallen into the strings and gotten himself tangled up, the machine would have stopped instantly.
“That does it. Belgoth was definitely murdered. The perpetrator must have taken the instructions to keep the guards from realizing how impossible the accident was.”


He pocketed the plate and turned to the rolls of fabric that were lined up on the other side of the room. He was content to leave Kvatch in its misconception regarding this incident. It was far better than letting them know and in doing so, reopen the investigation. The red-robed men might learn of this and go underground. That was something he didn’t want to happen.
“They came too close to killing Uriel last time, even with me there. I’m not going to give them the chance to prepare a second strike. Anyway, I won’t find anything else down here. The weave is right, but there’s no silk.”

Angoril took a random roll of linen and tucked it under his arm before going upstairs. The second floor of Belgoth’s fabrics was smaller than the first. The area dedicated to the store was only the size of a small walk-in closet and held only three shirts. All the other rooms Angoril surmised to be the general living facilities. Bedroom, kitchen and the like.
“Sir Bester?” The Altmer called and heard the Imperial reply from behind one of the doors. He found the man sitting in a luxurious office, reading a document with one hand and plucking his dark moustache with the other.
“Sir Tennil. Did you find anything?” The man asked him. Angoril let his eyes casually wander across the room, seemingly without focusing on anything in particular. In that casual look however, he read the titles of several volumes, discovered the corner of a wallsafe peeking from behind a deershead, and noticed the deskdrawer from which Bester had taken the document.
“I found some linen. My wife would like a colour and I’ll look into a place to have it sewn up.” He answered while still looking. The other man put the file back in the drawer which he locked with a key. He then lead the Altmer out of the building while they discussed his other plans for the day.

“I was thinking of visiting the temple. It has been some while since I gave the Divines their proper due. The roads aren’t a place for worship.” Angoril told the man.
“You do that. Me, I’m going to visit my pop for lunch while I’m here in Upper. By the time I got back down, it would be far passed noon. Good day to you then, sir Tennil.”

He took one last look at the building as they parted and he turned for the spire of Kvatch’s temple.
“I’ll come back after nightfall. If Belgoth kept a copy of his accounting, it will be in that safe.”

Posted by: Grits Oct 8 2012, 03:54 AM

I’ve just spent a very enjoyable rainy evening catching up with your story. This is outstanding! I love the originality, and the way you have portrayed game characters brings them to new life. Jennifer! Who knew that Renault was a hottie? (She must be with that name! tongue.gif)

I must mention how much I enjoyed Baurus’ badassery against ‘Call Me Death’ Harrow and the three Bosmer ex-woodcutters. That whole part was a beautiful thing to read.

I love this, cloudy!

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Oct 9 2012, 02:17 AM

Just stopping by to say I will catch up to this! I thought you abandoned it and left the forums! blink.gif

Posted by: jack cloudy Oct 15 2012, 07:12 PM

Nah, I'm just slower than the drat gletsjer that swallowed Cloud Ruler Temple. (Is that even possible? Meh, I guess the Akaviri built things tough.)


Chapter 9.2


Mythic Dawn Temple

After the fiasco at the Imperial City, Raven Camoran and two others had travelled as fast as they could to the Dawn’s hideout. Carved out of stone and dirt by scamps, it was a temple to the glory of Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of Destruction, and his foremost servants, the Camorans. What Raven didn’t like about the place was how far removed from civilization it was. He hated how it sat in a northeastern corner of the province like the hiding hole of a common bandit. He hated how the nearest city was Cheydinhall, infested with too many Dunmer. He hated how the secrecy of the place had made it impossible to bring decent furniture. All they had was roughly hewn from local wood and a few small luxuries they’d sneaked in over the years.

He had made his own room, actually a large alcove walled off with timbers and a spell of silence to ensure some measure of privacy, in the deepest part of the tunnel-complex. There he simmered and stewed all day, angry at just about anything. At having to sacrifice his comfort here, at his worthless underlings, at his own failure and that stranger who had so easily thwarted his plans. He hoped that Ruma had done better, yet he feared having to explain to his father why he had failed what was supposed to be the easier task.
“This almost makes me believe in the existence of Talos. Who else but an apeothisized Septim could have so skillfully outmanipulated me?”




“Raven! I know you’re in here!” A familiar voice called at the same time the door was thrown open. In came the sister he’d just been thinking about, dressed up like an Imperial Forester in leathers and a chain undershirt. She held a small jewelry box made of misted glass which she slammed down on the table before him with enough force that he feared it would crack.
“When I speak to father, he,” She continued but he jumped up from his seat and cut her off.
“Father has been delayed!” He said.
The Altmeri woman blinked while she processed the new information. By the original plan, Raven and she would perform their respective tasks in the Imperial City, at the same time that other arms of the Dawn would strike at the Septims throughout the province. Their father meanwhile, would personally undertake another vital operation in the land of the Dunmer. He’d left a month or two ago but did promise to return for the fateful day. Yet he had neither visited or contacted her.
“What did he say?” She asked her brother.
“Nothing. We can only assume that something of import had him extent his stay in that land. Now that I have your attention. From the beginning please.”


“It is about Harrow. I want him out of that cell! The Dunmer you put on guard-duty actually had the guts to ignore my commands! I would have burned him to a cinder, were it not for our need to display unity.” He didn’t doubt for a moment she would. She had often demanded the right to cast capital punishment upon the unworthy. But their father had possessed the wisdom to deny her wishes in that, for their grip on their followers was tenuous as it was. If their acolytes would ever fear their masters would kill them, they might make foolish plots to escape or murder the Camorans first. So their father had decreed to his children that all the unworthy were to be cast off through accidents and ‘plots of the Septim’.

With a sigh Raven picked up the box she’d brought in. It was of a simple design, with rounded edges and light as a feather. He focused his eyes upon the patterns that were cast into its smooth shell, like milk that had been frozen in mid-stir. It was the focus he needed to keep his calm and not yell back at her.
“Speak to me not of him. I’ve had it with that sickening psychopath. Do you have any idea how many lives he spilled that night just for his amusement? Do you? I left this blasted cave with a dozen men. I returned with only two.” He spoke softly, yet unable to entirely hide the hatred he felt for the Dunmer.
“He did what he had to. Sacrifice the lesser for the Dawn. You are being a hypocrite, brother. I sacrifice, you sacrifice, father sacrifices. We all spend the lives of our followers like precious coin. What makes his so much worse?”

Raven let out a sigh again and placed the coffer upon the soft pillow he usually rested his head upon in the night. As for Ruma’s question, he knew the answer.
“The way he’s wrapped you around his finger. The way he will kill you, father, me, all of us the moment he believed he could and would gain from it.” He’d said those words or a variation upon them a hundred times, and she’d never once believed them. So he gave her another answer, just as true but not quite as important.
“We sacrifice because we must, not because we can. He claimed three for no other reason than because he thought it amusing to watch them fight a Blade. A Blade!” His self-control was slipping and he gripped the edge of the table till his knuckles turned white. But Ruma dismissed his argument with a dainty wave of her hand. There were no callouses on that hand or even the lightest speck of dust under her nails, Raven suddenly realized. It quite ruined the disguise.

The woman talked, unaware of her brother’s untimely distraction.
“And? He told me it was a mistake. He thought it was a man of the city watch. Anyone could have made that error. Also, you miscounted. One still lives though I do not know if he has returned.” She said. Raven tried to remember the Bosmer that fled. Neither his name or face came to him, though he was certain he’d written down both on some paper. He searched in his pockets, then remembered that he’d gave the scrap away.
“He hasn’t, and won’t have the chance to beg my forgiveness. The Brotherhood does not ask questions.” He finally said as he shook his head to himself. If the mer from Valenwood had rejoined that night, at the boats perhaps, he would have been in the mind to forgive him. After all, it was that mer alone who remembered his orders or had the wisdom to know when he was outmatched. But it was too late for any of that now. The Camoran’s were not generous with second chances.
“As for Harrow, my dear sister. You know this as well as I do. Better even, for no doubt he has regaled you with endless tales of his valour during the long nights. You know how he spent decades fighting the ashen hordes at Red Mountain. He knows the difference that training and proper weapons make. He knows that despite whatever faults the Septim may have, foregoing the training and arming of his men in his city is not one of them. Faith does not save the amateur from the professional. Even if it was just a man of the watch, the outcome would have been the same. Yes, Harrow probably would have slain the man in that case, but the three Bosmer would be just as dead.”


For a while they locked eyes, Raven somehow trying to will his sister to see things his ways through sheer force of will. At the end the woman threw her arms up in defeat.
“Alright, enough! I admit your point holds merit. Some. But you can’t blame him for drowning the men in the undercity. That was entirely beyond our expectations.” She said exasperated. Though savoring his small victory, Raven found himself forced to admit that her argument held some merit of its own. Harrow was not the only one at fault, much as he’d like to think that way.
“True, the blame for that is not his alone. I blame them just as much for following the orders of a man I’d deemed unfit to lead.” He admitted. One of his fingers began to idly play with the latch of the jewelrybox as he continued.
“What’s done, is done.The bigger issue with that incident is the stranger that caused the flooding in the first place. We were unaware that a sorcerer of noteworthy skill was imprisoned there, with his magicka unbound.”

It was the first Ruma had heard of it. All she’d known up to this point was Harrow’s view of affairs, which had focused on her brother’s failure to catch and kill the Septim, as well as his irritable mood on the long journey back to their sanctuary. If he’d mentioned an encounter between Raven and some sorcerer, it had slipped her mind.
“A sorcerer that can give him pause? I can’t think of many. Archmage Traven perhaps, but he never leaves the university these days. A troublesome matter.” She thought and decided to inquire directly.
“Who was he?”



“We never met face to face. I took some time to finish off the prison-guards while my Daedroth ventured down below. I figured that a beast like that should even give the mighty Blades a worthy challenge.” Raven muttered with his eyes on the ceiling as his thoughts returned to his one-man assault on the prison. It had begun easy enough. The weather had driven the outside guards inside and the locked gate could not resist his magics. A clerk had been in the entry-hall, one whose face and throat he’d burned away with an almost dismissive gesture. Still simple.


It had been afterwards that things became mildly difficult. Uriel Septim had warned the prison guards and every single one of them had been in the following room, swords drawn and facing the door from which he entered. The first one had nearly managed to strike a blow at him before he’d managed to draw the Daedroth from its outerworldly realm. Things became easy again as the beast torn the Imperials apart in that brutal way only an animal could. Oh, they’d shown courage resisting the great beast, he admitted that. Their swords had bent on its hide and they’d never yielded, never allowed access to the cells until the last had been tossed aside like a broken doll.
He’d sent the Daedroth ahead and taken a generous amount of time to finish off the mangled survivors. There were none whose wounds weren’t fatal, but the close encounter had retaught him to be ever careful and never allow even the slightest chance for his plans to be defeated.

But when he carefully descended the steps, he didn’t find the Emperor, or his Blades. He found his Daedroth standing in the corridor, immobilized by magic he’d never seen before or heard of. Bands of coloured light that tightened around each joint like a leash. And the cell, with the secret escape route, was wide open.
“I followed immediately, of course. But the undercity was flooded even as I crawled through the narrow tunnel that led to it. I nearly drowned myself.”
He’d been forced to turn back, with his confidence shaken. Coming back, he found that the cells were not as empty as he’d first believed. There was a prisoner on the opposite side of the corridor. He’d been quiet up to this point and Raven had entirely missed him on his way in. The beast naturally tried to eat the grimy mer the moment it managed to free itself from its bonds, but Raven had called it back. He needed answers.
“He told me that the sorcerer was an Altmer like us, and had been in that cell already at the time of his imprisonment. That’s all I know, actually. They did not exchange their autobiographies. But I do believe we may find more if we look into the guild’s records. A mage of that caliber doesn’t operate alone, nor does his education come from a vacuum.”

The prisoner had told him more, but none which he felt like telling Ruma. He definitely wasn’t going to tell her how he’d brought the filthy animal with him. That mer, what was his name? Dreth, was now his very own Harrow. A man who he owned completely, who could take the blame for him if he needed. Besides, he had been somewhat impressed at the mer’s tale of how he bested a Blade and held the emperor hostage, even if just for a minute. It sounded like bragging, but the Dunmer vowed it was the truth.
“Like I’d believe a natural liar. But there is a kernel of truth to his tales. There must be.”
They changed topics to lighter subjects, mostly about what Ruma had done and idle wondering about what could have detained their father. Finally, the woman stood up and walked to the door.
“I must prepare for the service. What will be done with Harrow?” She asked with her hand on the doorbolt. Raven covered his eyes and wished she’d forgotten about that. He knew she would not accept what he really wanted to be done. And the Camorans could never appear disunited.
“You may ensure he does not suffer discomfort. But that is all. He stays there till father says otherwise.”



She left Raven alone in his room. The man looked again at the little box she’d left behind. Finally he flipped the lid to see what was inside. Coins, each a full septim minted in some far corner of the empire, were stacked densely to the point of spilling, and the weight of this fortune pressed the coffer deeply into its pillow. He took one and turned it in his hand before flicking it contemptuously back onto the pile and closing the lid.
“Why is it that the moment one of our problems is solved, two more rear their head?”

Posted by: jack cloudy Oct 21 2012, 06:24 PM

Chapter 9.3

Blades’ Hideout


That short little nap I took next to the fireplace wound up being just about the only sleep I caught that night. The ‘room’ I was given turned out not to be very conductive towards revitalizing one’s body, mostly due to the lack of a fire. Granted, I was not familiar with the logistics of ones fueled by wood, or large-scale flames in general, but I couldn’t see why it was so hard to have one in the guest room. Just cut up a tree, right?
I say guest room, but even that was subject to a rather generous interpretation of the word. By using guest, one would expect to receive a certain form of hospitality. I certainly did, after the Lord Emperor had officially noticed and accepted my presence. He was the most important and powerful man on the continent, so I assumed that everyone lower on the rankings would follow his word. And yet they still threw me in a cell cold enough to store meats with no light or any furniture beyond a pile of dusty furs lying in a corner. I had a lot left to learn about Tamrielic court policy it seemed.

By the time morning came, or what passed for morning in a place with no windows and good clean sunlight, I was just about ready to be hung and boiled in a pot. I heard the door open, but it took me some time to free myself from the furs I’d curled up in.
“Skin is slick, white with no visible veins. Zero bodyhair. Flat toes, barbs between fingers of two to three millimeters in length.” My reply to that is not worthy of mention. Let it be known that my brain was as chilled as my toes and my nose felt like someone had jammed a piece of stonewater into it. I got out of the pile just in time to see the torchbearing figure toss something at me and almost smacking me in the face with it. It was a tome, heavy leather plated with goldleaf lettering and some artist’s impression of the world. Mostly out of habit, I flipped it open to a random page. I landed on a detailed treatise on the differences between meric and mannish development during pregnancies. Fascinating, though the drawing held some serious errors. Our ears don’t become pointy because they’re stretched out in the womb by bony hooks.
“Lexicum Sapiens Tamrielis, the most accurate and comprehensive list of all thinking beings in the world.” The figure continued. “I suppose you’re not hairy, but that’s hardly a distinctive trait and nothing else matches. Hell, you’ve got enough of a tan to claim Redguard ancestry. Uriel may believe he has recognized you but I need a very good explanation for why you don’t match the description.”

Slowly, my thoughts began to resemble those of the living again and I felt an anger taking hold. Put simply, this woman had decided that court policy didn’t apply because she read something in a book and real life didn’t agree with it. And there were all things wrong with it. It had Tamriel butchered into the title and I wasn’t even from there. And where did they get the bright idea to describe us by starting with our colour? The rest wasn’t too far off, but the colour? That’s the last thing one would bother to mention about a healthy Maormer. I mentally kicked myself in the head. There was the answer, all too obvious.
“I’m not dead.” I told her. She cocked her head to one side and chewed on it for a long, long time before giving a wonderfully intelligent reply. It was truly the magnificent display of which only a well-educated mind could conceive.
“Oh.”


She waved me on into the corridor and bade me to follow as she stomped off.
“Now tell me why you’re here. Somehow, I doubt you’re just a tourist.” She said, still suspicious for no reason. I wondered if this was the same woman who had thrown me in that cell last night. These roundears all looked the same, especially when they’re wearing helmets.
“That, is none of your concern. I am Maorlatta Orgnum, princess-heir and designated representative to lord Thras Orgnum, Lord Eternal of Pyandonea. My reasons are mine, to be shared solely with the Lord Emperor Uriel Septim the seventh, ruler of Tamriel.” Now be quiet and take me somewhere warm.
“And I’m, Jennifer Renault, his shield. His concerns are my concerns.” Which was a polite way of saying that it would really be in my best interests to tell her, lest I might receive hands-on instruction in the use and advantages of a metal sword. I giggled nervously for a bit and then let out a long drawn-out sigh. The day it was me bullying harmless kitchenmaidens again simply couldn’t come soon enough.
“The Imperial dynasty of Tamriel entered into a covenant with the house of Orgnum, in the year…” I paused. What year was it in Tamriel reckoning again?
“Now seventy-eight years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday.” That was actually quite a while ago now that I thought about it. I don’t think I’d even lost my babyteeth then.


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My aunt had woken me up around midnight, then unleashed her maidens on me. By the time the sun rose and we’d boarded her yacht, I’d been bathed, perfumed, dressed, polished, bejeweled and instructed till my ears bled. The summary of those lessons were shut up and don’t stare too much. I managed the first one pretty well, though that was mostly because I was struggling not to fall asleep on my feet again. The other, not so much.

Orgnum Thras, the ageless king of Pyandonea, did not reside in one place. Or rather he did, but that place swam freely among the countless islands of our realm. His palace happened to be near today and my dear aunt had decided it was time she presented me to grandfather and the other immortals. His estate, if it could be called such, was of the species commonly referred to as the king’s beetle. No doubt because of its oldest, greatest specimen. And huge it was, larger than anything I’d seen, including auntie’s island. On its back rose towers of spellspun glass,banners of all colours, shapes and sizes. A flock of firebirds weaved among the flying gardens and above it all the living island’s manycoloured wings waved to carry a soft breeze over the palace and its grounds. Beneath, a hundred legs walked across the seabed and a second pair of wings sweeped water into its cavernous mouth. Auntie had to tell me to pick up my chin.

I could go on for hours on everything and everyone I saw, but most of it was unimportant in the grand scheme of things. What was important happened in the night. A stranger came into the palace, despite the best efforts of the king’s men to remove him. I remember being scared of him. He was too tall, dressed in black like some demon, with eyes the colour of blood. He strode in there as if he was greater than the immortals around him. Perhaps he was, he didn’t seem to be having any trouble with the best duelists in Pyandonea. I don’t know what the man said once he’d reached the throne, but the king removed his mask for him. Well, nobody left standing was going to try and hurt the stranger after that. Not after receiving the greatest honour a Maormer could get.

It was five years ago that I finally learned who that man was and why he’d come. So now I was here, as one of the main actors in the second part of this play.


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In the time I’d spent reminiscing, Renault had brought us to a kitchen. There a pot was bubbling and steaming away over a set of glowing rocks, big cleavers, ladles and spoons hung on one wall and racks filled with urns lined the others. There was also a spiraling staircase going down in the center and some doors leading to other places. Best of all, it was deliciously warm in here so naturally I flowed to the source of it next to the pot.
The woman took the biggest cleaver and opened one of the doors. A wave of new cold came from the other chamber which seemed to be made entirely of stonewater, and contained a single piece of hung meat. Well, so much for the heat. She started hacking away at the carcass while grunting words inbetween swings.
“Pelagius Septim the fourth held the throne back then. Treaties by tradition fall upon the passing of the ruling emperor. If you’re here to renew it, you’re rather late.”

I hadn’t heard about that, but I could see them coming up with this. I remembered the long row of portraits that had lined my room in the Cyrodiil palace. If Tiber was the first emperor, and only four centuries (Aha, so I did remember the year!) had passed, then that line was far too long. Uriel must have been his son, or his grandson if the Tamrielics are sickly and old before their time. To have this many emperors between them, the only answer could be violent upheaval. Murder of the last Lord Emperor by the next and so on. I could see why some usurper didn’t like the idea of upholding the agreements with the allies of his enemy. But that had nothing to do with me.
“The covenant was sealed and done by the envoy of the Lord Emperor…then prince Uriel Septim, specifically in the name of the Septim house. As long as the bloodline remains intact so will the agreement. Moreover, the original signatories still live so I disagree with your assessment.”

I could see on her face she didn’t buy it, but she kept quiet till she’d finished chopping off a large piece of meat and carried it out to the kitchentable. I was happy to close the door behind her.
“I’m no politician so I’ll take your word for it. For now. And, what is this agreement?” She asked me in the end.
“That is,” I began automatically but caught myself. It really was none of her concern. This was between the Houses Orgnum and Septim, not Orgnum and an overzealous guard-and-cook. Then I noticed that she was still holding the cleaver. I let out a long sigh. I really wanted to get home and away from all these metalbearing murderers.
“It was a loan.”

She laughed, a loud and thoroughly unpleasant guffawing that made my head hurt. She actually had to put down the cleaver before she hurt herself, so funny was apparently my joke.
“A loan?” She spurted, gasping for breath. Then she began to laugh uncontrollably again.
“Centuries of no contact, your whole people reduced to some fairy tale I never even heard of, and now you swing by to ask for money? That’s ridiculous!”
I shook my head and let out another sigh. Of course it was ridiculous. That’s the thing I said, five years ago.


“Pyandonea was approached by Tamriel. You swung by to ask us for money.”

Posted by: jack cloudy Nov 1 2012, 11:05 PM

Chapter 9.4

Upper Kvatch, Temple gardens


He approached the question of Uriel’s regular ‘gifts’ as methodically as he could. Angoril began from the outside of the temple grounds and would gradually work his way in as he sought some material eveidence of large-scale spending. First was the park that marked the temple-grounds. He saw tiny hump-trees that normally grew within the canopies of their far larger Valenwood cousins. Each had been groomed into the representation of a person, animal, structure or some part of a mythical scene. There were also flowers of many kinds and marble statues of the temple’s long succession of head-priests. While impressive, the Altmer had to conclude that there was nothing to warrant a yearly donation from the emperor. The statues were commissioned only rarely, the flowers were standard and as for the hump-trees – well, he could see Valenwood’s border the moment he stepped outside the main gates. They were not imported from some far away place.

He walked on paths of crisping gravel and circled the gardens twice before shifting his attention to the main temple itself. Like all Cyrodiilic temples built in the early third era, back when Reman Septim possessed the throne and his conquering armies swept the continent, the Kvatch temple did not fit in any clear architectural style. It was crafted from heavy stone, smooth bricks greater than a man assembled into a square groundplan and thick foundations as found in the High Rock style. It reached for the skies and was built to look light in spite of the gray bricks, with coloured glass spanning the vacuous gaps. This he knew to be an attempt at emulating the glass cities of Summerset, though there were no spells infused into its walls which limited the height that could be reached. To support the high ceiling there was both an internal and external framework of arcs and beams, patterned after the skeletal interiors of the Vvardenfell crab-shells. Finally there were figurines of beasts and saints that walked across the frame in an endless parade, reminding one of Skyrim from which the first Septim hailed.

His first thought had been that the temple was undertaking some grand renovation-project, since that was how Uriel’s annual gift had been listed in the book. But no one whom he’d asked had mentioned such a thing. Still, his questions had by necessity been rather roundabound and secretive. He had not asked them directly as much as he had tried to steer them towards the subject. So he’d still held out hopes.
But though there were all the discolorations that indicated newer sections and recent repair-work, it all looked like it had been done piecemeal. A piece of a flying wing here, a new arm on St. Pelinal there. Expensive, but still far from the 5000 septims Uriel donated each year.

The Altmer shook his head and walked up to the double-doors that were opened wide to permit entry for the believers. Once through, he knew that his movements would be more restricted by the unwritten laws of behavior and pietous humility. It was somewhat of an irony that the temples prided themselves on the lavish decorations of their interiors, the whiteness of their altars, yet at the same time considered it to be rude for anyone to actually look up and see. His best option would be to keep his head respectfully lowered. It was a good thing that one of the demands the Divines made was for their floors to be clean and as reflective as a mirror.



He moved slowly yet deliberate, both to maximize his opportunity to study the floor and to avoid suspicion. Through the reflections he noted that the ceiling revealed no new clues. That left but three reasons for Uriel’s anomalous donations. The first was that the emperor had nothing to do with the monetary gifts. There were more than a few persons who enjoyed the Imperial privilege to use money in the emperor’s name. While it was considered good grace to inform their liege of the spending, this was not necessary. The Imperial Battlemage, Ocato, was one of them and Angoril could name a dozen others. Or rather, he could name the positions these individuals kept. His knowledge of who kept the stations was embarrassingly out of date and he had not yet found the time or means to rectify this weakness.
“Add one more thing to do to my list then. Ah, things are never as simple as the chroniclers would have you believe.”

The second hypothesis could go hand in hand with the first, but was not bound by it. This one was simply that someone somewhere was skimming from the temple’s income. Perhaps a priest with a gambling-addiction, or a desire for more luxury than Divine doctrine allowed. Unlikely though, especially over a timeframe as large as the one he was working with. The donations had begun almost immediately after Jagar Tharn’s death and the return of the true emperor to his throne. Someone should have noticed by now.

The third and last hypothesis turned around the idea of donations. Ocato had written them down as such, but politicians lived in a world of metaphors, hyperboles and half-truths. It was possible for the annual gift to not be aimed at the temple, but at a person or persons instead who held connections to this place. Blackmail was one answer that fit this idea, though again the long years it had been continued made this unlikely. The other was a form of gratitude for some service rendered to the Uriel Septim or one of his subjects, a service the man considered valuable enough for this neverending gift.
“In any case, I am unlikely to see it by just walking around in the public areas. Ah well, it was an unimportant goose-chase anyway.”



With the matter closed as far as the Altmer was concerned and since he was here anyway, he wondered if he should take the opportunity to pray for real instead of merely pretending. It wasn’t a habit of his, but it had been more than thirty years. Now would be as good a time as any. But to which entity should he direct his prayers? He did not know who the patron deity of Kvatch was, though he doubted it mattered much. Should he pray to Akatosh, ask the dragon to rewind time on his account?
“I’ve asked the lizard to merely slow it down and it never answered. I doubt it would be willing to go through the extra effort.”
Julianos, for wisdom and insight to help him along? Or to Arkay, for the sake of all those whose lives he’d brought to an early end. Angoril scoffed at the last idea. Arkay would care not for his actions, even if he felt it had been for the good of Tamriel. In fact, most of the Divines would refuse to hear him for that reason. If they ever listened in the first place.
“May I help you?”
He turned ready to politely yet resolutely brush off the eager priest. Any such thoughts he entertained were blown away when he found himself looking right in the eyes of Geldall Septim, first prince of Tamriel.



It all whirled through his head. Why was Geldall here? Did he recognize the sorcerer? Wasn’t he supposed to be dead? He looked younger than he should.
It was that last thought that let Angoril grip the reins on his mind once more. Time had always been kind to the Septims, but Geldall Septim was pushing sixty by now. The white-robed man before him looked like he was still in his mid-twenties. Too young to be the prince. Besides, with the synchronized wave of assassinations, the last thing Geldall would do was to publically serve as a priest. Especially not in a bustling temple as this one. He had to be a mere lookalike.
“I was just wondering who the patron deity of this temple was, brother.” Angoril said and bowed lightly. The man who looked like a Septim nodded.
“Our patron would be Talos, though all the divines are praised in equal measure here. You may speak to whomever you wish, I am certain your prayers shall be heard.” He said and chuckled.
“I do look like him, don’t I?”

Ever since the first shock, Angoril had kept the tightest control of his expression and posture. As such, looking down on the priest was the befuddled and apologetic Tennil. Inside, Angoril again reviewed the man that stood before him. He was cunning. Was it a mind meant for intrigue, or simply the people-skills all good priests would learn sooner or later?
“Was I that obvious? Forgive me, I did not mean to stare.” He babbled. The man shook his head and chuckled softly.
“You and half Cyrodiil, my friend. And why not? That’s my father over there.” He said and waved at a buste located to the left of the main altar. URIEL SEPTIM VII, 3E 412, the plaque said. With the marble head to compare against, the Altmer realized that this priest really looked like a son of Uriel. They carried the same hard chin and aggressive forward thrust of their brow.
“When the count commissioned a buste of the emperor, he couldn’t arrange to have the emperor model so he went to my old man. Folk have always said that we Tanner men have a pinch of the dragon in us. My father used to joke, that if the stories about Tharn replacing the emperor’s sons were true, I should become the new prince. Of course, it’s only a story.” The young priest continued, oblivious to Angoril’s eyes and mind who thought differently.
“With you, it is more than a pinch.” Everything, the payments, the timing, it all fell into place.
He decided to take a gamble. He had to know where the man stood and what he was willing to do.
“But the Septims are all dead now. It said so in the courier. What is going to happen to us next?... Perhaps you should take the throne. The council does its best surely, but we need a face to look up to.”

Tanner’s generous smile froze on his face. For a split-second, he looked angry, though not at Angoril.
“Oh no. Not me, not ever.” He whispered, “This temple is big enough for me. I’m not the man you or anyone should want as their emperor. Besides, you shouldn’t believe everything the courier says. They’re still searching the rubble and Septims don’t die easily. And lord Uriel has been emperor since before I was born. That is a long time to rule a continent. He’s done well, never complaining and never faltering in his duty. When the Divines finally grant him the rest he must desire, it will come to him through peace, not an assassin’s blade.” The words weren’t special, they lacked the elegance of a prepared speech. But the conviction with which the man spoke was contagious. The Altmeri sorcerer realized that the emperor’s voice, that almost supernatural charisma all Septims possessed, was strong with him. He tried to match that conviction in his answer, though he felt he came far short of it.
“You are right, brother. We mustn’t give up hope. The Divines will guide us.” He just wished he believed it.

Brother Tanner guided him in a prayer for the well-being of Uriel Septim. They whispered the old phrases, clasped their hands and lit the candle. Angoril even added two full golden septims to the offerings on the altar. When afterwards the young Imperial bid him farewell and turned to seek for others that would need his aid and guidance, Angoril begged his attention.
“Ah, permit me to ask you one more thing, brother Tanner.” He said and continued after the priest nodded.
“Would there be a Rajn Treesap among your flock? She’s a Bosmeri woman and related to an old friend of mine.” He was somewhat startled by his own admission, and realized that he’d spoken the truth. He did once have a friend who shared family-ties with the woman.
The priest scratched his chin as he thought.
“Treesap…Treesap. I don’t think I’ve heard the name. Rajn Treesap - Oh, but I do know a Rajn Geydar. Bosmeri through and through. She owns an eatery not too far from here. The Eight Provinces, it’s near the south gate.” Angoril made the connection in an instant.



Aran Geydar and Rajn Treesap. Both had been mentioned in Ocato’s book. The Emperor had ordered an investigation into them in 403, for a considerable but not overwhelming sum of 531 septims. The same year there was an investigation costing over ten times as much into a ‘Cluson Alkad’, and the year after that was the first mention of a ‘Luper Alkad’. Over the years the Alkad-case had snowballed into a minor economic and political crisis it seemed, though he was unsure of how this was connected with Treesap and Geydar, if at all. The price-points were too dissimilar, hinting at a difference in priorities. In any case, he wasn’t too surprised to find that the two had stepped into marriage. It had been thirty years and few people remained single for that time.
“Thank you, brother. I will head there then. I am becoming rather hungry.” Angoril said and bowed.
For a moment, the humor Tanner had displayed when he first approached the Altmer returned.
“One last word of advice, my friend. Don’t ask what’s in the ‘Argonian surprise’.” He said with a wink and a smile.

Posted by: McBadgere Nov 9 2012, 05:48 AM

Reet, I'm so nearly caught up...I'm starting the last part next...

This is simply an amazing story, and I'm absolutely loving it...

That bit with Pydonea was fantastic...Simply amazing...

I'm loving so much the way this is different to the game, and how you're weaving other parts of the "Lore" (*Shudders*) into it...Absolutely brilliant...

I also admire your persistance...I'm sorry I wasn't around to encourage more...

But hey, I'm back now... biggrin.gif ...

Well done, I shall finish this very soon...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...


EDIT!!!...Oooh!! Oooh!! Should I read Brother Tanner with a particularly Sheffield-ish accent?... biggrin.gif ...(Sean Bean is from Sheffield btw... laugh.gif )...

Excellent stuff matey!!...

Nice one!!...

Posted by: jack cloudy Nov 11 2012, 08:44 PM

Well, the lore of Pyandonea I am aware of is rather limited. I'll have a rant on that and something else later. As for Sean Bean/Brother Tanner, you can use any accent you like. Heavens know I can't tell one accent from the other anyway.



Chapter 9.5


Blades’ hideout



I was back in the Lord Emperor’s quarters. The venerable elder did look better than last night, if not choking on one’s own lungs could be considered an improvement. Speaking as a healer and using Maormeri anatomy as a guide, I wasn’t going to give him more than another week or two in here. The air was too stuffy, it was either too hot or cold and the scented candles while a nice touch, only worsened the air problem. There was nothing I could do about that however and given his womanguard’s beliefs, it would be best for me to finish my duties and get out before then. It was a horrible thing to contemplate, but I told myself that my loyalty to Pyandonea had to weigh heavier than the respect due to one man in his final days. Besides, I didn’t want to be here when all the prospective candidates began to fight for who got to sit on the throne next. If they hadn’t already started. It did seem to be the tradition here. Sure, he had sons and daughters, but how much would that deter the other hopefuls?

“The covenant stated that we, House Orgnum, would provide the House Septim, with the possession and free use of an object.” Renault didn’t know how fast she could finish cooking and hurry me through all the paperwork and formalities that were necessary before one could have an audience with the Lord Emperor. Jauffre had not filled out any of the two dozen forms she sped me through, but I was wise enough not to mention that. I did however make a mental note that the Tamrielics didn’t seem to care much for diplomacy unless a great deal of wealth was involved. At that point you could just see them reshuffle the priorities in their thoughts.
“Object. You will tell me what that is.”
The man himself. He and two of the guards had insisted on remaining when I tried to send them away. The guards I was willing to tolerate, not in the least because they were armed and I wasn’t. Bald Jauffre however, him I’d rather thrown out beyond the outer reefs. Like the guards, I couldn’t get him out of the room, but I could ignore him.
“In return, the house Septim, or any person granted authority to act in its name, would give a payment of blood.”

Faces of confusion and even disgust all around. Even without the aid of colours I could tell. I wondered how much of what I was telling here was unneeded. Surely the Lord Emperor had to remember the articles of the treaty? Wouldn’t it just be easier and quicker to skip to the relevant part and ask for him to uphold his end? Wasn’t I implying that the Tamrielics couldn’t remember their promises and were untrustworthy as a result? That was how I thought about it, but my mentor had explained that I was thinking in reverse. The idea was not that the other party couldn’t be trusted to know what they’d signed, but that one’s own party remembered and wasn’t trying to sneak in new articles that had never been agreed upon.
“Blood is family, mother to child to grandchild.” I explained. What did they think I’d meant?
“The head of House Septim or any appointed representative of such that meets the House Orgnum’s needs, would father a male child with a woman of Pyandonea. This son would then be wed to a woman of House Orgnum.” Where the blood could be kept nicely on a leash.

More disgust. Why? Weren’t marriages and bloodlines a known and well-spread political tool? I’d been told that it was as true for the Tamrielics as it was for us. Renault shook her head.
“And you’re the one they sent for that. My liege, I must remind you that you are in no condition to sire any heirs. I know it is of the utmost importance right now, but it simply won’t happen.” She said. Important? I had to think about that for a moment before I remembered that the Lord Emperor had fled here despite his health. What happened to his sons and daughters? Perhaps they hadn’t been so lucky. I then realized what else she’d said. Did she think I was here to collect a son? The thought made me wish I’d been wearing a mask. I had a nice one, but they took it before tossing me into the dungeon. It would have made it so much easier to hide the colours of my face.
“Come on, captain. Let’s be honest here. This is a matter of age more than health.” The other guard, the mudman, said. Jauffre and the Emperor said nothing however. The fake monk looked as if he was chewing a sour flatworm while the old man in the bed merely seemed too tired to let anything show.
“Brother! Please, remember your manners.” Renault admonished and the mudman shrugged.
“It’s true though.” He muttered. His attempt at humor was ill-timed, but at least it showed he wasn’t stressed out and likely to put his iron at my throat.



I cleared my throat to draw the attention back to where it belonged and continued.
“The son was sown the night after the covenant was sealed. It’s done.” I said as lightly as I could. I did wonder however. What if the Lord Emperor had offered that alternate arrangement? His age and status would make him a desirable father. But it would also mean breaking my own oaths and voiding the covenant I was here for. Which was the greater accomplishment? Sealing the foreign blood that had already been obtained, or trying to bring in some more? It didn’t matter I suppose. I wasn’t going to get any from the Lord Emperor and he really was the only eligible individual I knew of. Besides, my lack of expertise would just lead to embarrassment and a taint on my House.
“I hope to get back on him later, but for now let us discuss the last article of the covenant.”
“No, no! We’re getting back on this now. Who is this heir and where is he? There is no way I’m going to let any Septim marry some backwoods fish-eating mother of mine when I need him on the throne right here!” Jauffre barked. I couldn’t ignore that. Acting in general like a self-obsessed jerk? Fine, I’m used to it. But I would not accept anyone insulting my House or my personal honour. I faced him and though my heart was beating madly and my face blazing, I kept my voice cool and level.
“For starters, I take offence at being called both backwoods and unable to observe my familial duties. Secondly, I do not care for the opinion of a liar and an oathbreaker. This treaty was made only seventy-eight years ago between the Houses Septim and Orgnum. One so young does not get broken at mere convenience, especially when someone who is not of either House calls for it. Now I demand for all interruptions to be withheld until I have said my words.”

The bald monster opened his mouth to scream again but three whispered words made him clam shut as if he’d been punched in the face.
“Jauffre, back down.” It was the Emperor, the first time he’d spoken since his greeting when I was brought in.
“Thank you, your Grace.” I added a another thank you, a silent one, to lady Renault. The form of address she’d suggested was much easier than saying ‘Lord Emperor Uriel Septim the Seventh, ruler of Tamriel’ all the time. And that had been about the shortest form I’d been given before I left home. I took a deep breath to both calm me down and prepare for the next mouthful in my rehearsed and probably still rather simple speech.
“When a full hundred has gone, measured in years from the moment of signing, the object shall be returned to house Orgnum. The head of House Septim, whomever he may be, shall personally deliver it from his hands to the hands of House Orgnum’s representative. I am aware that time has not yet passed, but my father the king requests an earlier return. In exchange, we brought many riches…”
My voice faltered. Many riches, our ship’s belly had been filled to the limit with them. The handlers had to process and inject nutrition directly into its bloodstream since it couldn’t eat for itself. And now I had nothing to give but the clothes I was wearing and even they were borrowed. I swallowed. What I had to say next was the stuff of nightmares but it had to be done. House Orgnum always upheld their end of a promise, no matter the cost.



I spread my arms and bend forward till my nose brushed my knees. I kept that pose and bit back the tears.
“Those riches have been lost.” To betrayal of my own people no less. “As is customary in these situations, considering the inability of House Orgnum to repay the House Septim through material wealth, as the nearest Maormer able to represent House Orgnum in financial matters, I hereby place myself at the service of House Septim till the debt of my House has been repaid, or till the original time as mandated by the covenant has come to pass.” If only I could be air and fly.





Rant time:

Ok, let's get started on Pyandonea. Using solely my recollections for the moment, here's what I know. Pyandonea is an island kingdom surrounded by fog and also the home of big snakes and water spirits. They've had wars with Summerset Isle. Their king, Orgnum Thras is described as ageless and possibly immortal. The Maormer themselves are described as having skin that is white like pallid jelly (I'm not sure what to imagine here so I just think of it as white pudding). I've also come across a reference of chameleon-powers. Their ships are described as membraneous in the wolf-queen books I think.

Now let's extrapolate that a bit. The islands, the fog and even the wars with Summerset where easy enough. There was no real need to add anything to that right away. But the skin and chameleon ability where a bigger issue. If the Maormer had been in a game, their chameleon would have probably been turned into a greater power for game balancing reasons. But I don't like that. I can understand the need to balance the races so one isn't objectively superior (too much) to another, but the games are compressed as well. Days go by in a matter of minutes so even if you can turn invisible only once a day, the cooldown isn't too bad.

But what if we kept it like that in the lore? Things become all kinds of messed up then. Redguards can go into murder-mode once a day. Orcs can get angry once a day. Bosmer can talk to a single animal once a day, Imperials can charm your shoes off once a day, Khajiit can look crazy once a day etc.

It doesn't make much sense to me so I had to look at the choice of making it a skill that could be toggled at will. And at first that was just what I did. I turned the chameleon from what was probably intended to be magic into a feature of their skin. Latta could go invisible when she was scared with an instinctive shift of her hues (which incidentally makes the clothes she wears a bit of a hazard when the threat is real but let's skip over that). Later on I pushed it even further. If the Maormer could change their skin-tone on instinct, what if they learned to control it? What would they use this ability for? Hunting perhaps, or even communication. Like the peacock spreads its feathers, different colours and marks could mean different things in Pyandonean society.



Moving on to the king, Orgnum Thras. You may have noticed that I called him king Orgnum up till now. That is how he's most commonly referred as when I did my first research and the name stuck. When I found out it was his first name and so he should have been of House Thras, not House Orgnum, well I felt a bit silly. I blame the habit of the naration to use first names too much. Uriel is way too often referred to as Uriel instead of lord Septim. It's too informal. Fortunately, there was an easy way out. Just have the Maormer value the House over the individual to the point the House is mentioned first and we're done. So in Tamrielic it would be 'Thras of House Orgnum', and in Pyandonean it is 'of House Orgnum, Thras'.

One other thing often mentioned about Orgnum is how he is immortal. Again extrapolating from that, I decided that the Maormer put great value on one's age and by extention see immortality as a great achievement. All the greatest Maormer are immortal. There are easier ways to immortality than the one enjoyed by the king and his inner circle, but those are silently mocked and seen as less pure. The mask-thing that was mentioned in Latta's flashback and again here, is another random idea related to this. With the mask, there remains some doubt over whether or not there really are immortals. And well, if your face is likely to broadcast your inner feelings to anyone with eyes, it might help to put on something to cover it when you're playing at politics. The upper class all tend to wear concealing clothing and elaborate masks for that purpose. To have someone remove his or her mask is by extension then, a sign of honesty and great trust.


With the Maormer out of the way, let's go to Brother Tanner. People who have played Oblivion for more than an hour probably know who I'm talking about. Angoril let slip that he's figured it out as well but for those who haven't, I won't spoil it any further. We'll hear plenty about him and maybe I'll have another rant when his place in the story has become clear. For now, let me just say two things.

One, I think that having Jauffre literally explain the entire plot to the player five minutes after the tutorial dungeon was a huge mistake. As a Morrowindophile, I still have to admit that the third Tes game was too slow to get its plot going, but Oblivion went too far into the other extreme. We get to learn just who the bad guy is, who his minions are, why they are a threat now and not before and what we need to do to stop them. And this is coming from a guy who literally didn't know the bad guy could possibly be a threat before you marched in and repeated Uriel's vague one-liner to him.

Two, that scene with Angoril and Brother Tanner was solely there for Tanner's sake.

Posted by: McBadgere Nov 13 2012, 06:09 AM

Um...I hope that rant wasn't aimed at me... biggrin.gif ...

Aaaamywho, I know what you mean...And I really thought the whole Pydonea thing was brilliant...I do genuinely love what you're doing with it...

As for the name thing with House Thras thing...I did much the same with the Knights thing...I know that it's the first name that comes after the Sir, so Sir Areldur, Sir Thedret, their names are Areldur and Thedret, but they felt more like Surnames to me, so I changed them...It's all down to what you want to do I think...

As for the Jauffre thing, I do agree with you...If he knows so much, why the hell didn't he guard better, and why hide himself out there if he's head of the order?...Bit far away from the action no?...

Aaaamywho...

As ever...Absolutely brilliant stuff...Love the idea of the living ship thing being so full they have to feed it I.V. style...

I also love the idea that she's confused by the briefness of the human span of life...That's brilliantly done...

Absolutely well done Jack...Keep it up!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: mALX Nov 14 2012, 05:04 PM




Re-reading all to get re-oriented to the story, then catching up the chapters I've missed in Part 2:

Part 2 - Chapter 7 - This chapter is huge in detail! This glimpse into the workings of Angoril Bobardi's mind is very revealing - would not want to be this man's enemy, his mind is like a steel trap!

Absolutely love this chapter, from his plan being turned down and then implemented (one of those details I loved so much in this chapter) - to the descriptions/workings of Kvatch/lower Kvatch!

My favorite line in this chapter that tells so much in one sentence is this one:

QUOTE

The list of regular donations he’d discovered in Ocato’s office had caught his eye and like most things that drew his attention once, he kept thinking about it.



***

Absolutely loved the explanation for the disappearing mages robes - Awesome world building!

***

QUOTE

How did I feel? I’d tell him how I felt!


ROFL!!!

Latta and the Emperor - Loved this whole chapter, but the section where she is surprised he knew her name and said it properly - a wonderful detail! (I was comparing it to (Example: Dagoth Ur).

Sorian's personality shined through this whole chapter - his descriptive phrases were perfect! (and funny!)

***
Loved the lore and history of Berius brought in here, the reminders of Tharn and the Imperial Simulacrum! This scene between Berius and Wulfharth was absolutely perfect, easily visualized. GAAAH! A cliffhanger!

***
The delay to act instantly by Berius was a sensational touch of realism - I am in awe of what you did with this entire scene from the cliffhanger end of that last chapter till the end of this one - that split second of hesitation in Berius manipulated the tension of that scene to the NTH power - Huge Write on this sequence, HUGE! This was stunning, I am in awe after reading this!

Not sure if you've ever read Alexander's "Cyrodiil" (the Administrator of this site) - but you just matched him in his ability to throw a curve to the reader and knock them off their feet - LOVED this chapter!

And then Holy Crap, what a fight - then what a result! That was freaky! Awesome creativity on this, I absolutely love what you are doing with this story! It just keeps getting better!

You can't say you haven't done a fight scene properly in ages now, every bit of it had me at the edge of my seat, you had the tension ratcheted up hugely before the assassin even entered - and that killing move was brilliant! I need the "I'm not worthy" emoticon on this whole chapter!

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QUOTE

The third is that the Emperor mentions sending a messenger to Ocato. Obviously my idea back then was of Mythic Dawn elite assaulting the palace instead of my current idea involving traitors. Anyway, let's get some commanding done.


Oh, please don't change from what you are doing now - this is coming to life and inspired, that is felt powerfully in the read!

OMG, another cliffhanger! Since you introduced Berius, this story has picked up momentum like a juggernaut, relentless force pushing the story and reader along to what we think may happen but aren't sure because you are a master of throwing curves where least expected! This is hugely immersive!

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"I'll be back..." (said in Arnold's voice)




Posted by: mALX Nov 18 2012, 12:18 AM

Sorry, had a busy few days. Adding this:


Your portrayal of Camoran is perfection, you have captured his arrogance and personality traits well! The scene with his initiates had me rolling! This line in particular sums Camoran up:

QUOTE

"Your stupidity astounds me, Initiate...Why would a riot occur in midair outside the palace?"


Then enter Harrow's statement and I completely lost it!

QUOTE

Harrow cheered, throwing his fist towards the ceiling. "Hah! Then we are done here! Let us go now and celebrate our victory!”


QUOTE

...He compared it to peering through a keyhole. The resemblance was there, though keyholes wouldn’t cause bodily harm if its edge was carelessly touched while a portal would.


Amazing detail in this whole paragraph, the rod itself and casting of the portal - huge detail!

Part 1 made the reader love the characters, and stay interested in the story - but Part 2 brings the story to a life of its own. The momentum has picked up and the pieces beginning to come together - this is a huge write, Jack! I am loving it!

Back to reading!




Posted by: mALX Nov 18 2012, 08:47 AM

*

Your censor woes: ROFL !!! I have seriously thought about writing myself a PM with every curse word imaginable on it just to see how it would be altered - can never think of any but the basics when I get the blank page in front of me, lol.

As far as not getting Mankar's personality down, I had erroneously thought you were getting him down to a T (everyone was even calling the Camoran in your story "Master") - Then someone mentioned his name, and I realized it was Raven being portrayed, lol. Oops, sorry. Still, the personality was fitting of Raven as well.

The inner dialogue of Renault is outstandingly done here, fine time to realize she isn't fit when Uriel's life is in her hands! Loved that, and her perceptions of Baurus.

Oh crap, what a cliffhanger ending to this chapter! AWESOME Write !!! Loved this chapter!


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Posted by: mALX Nov 18 2012, 09:11 AM

*

QUOTE

"Damn that Berius. Damn us for underestimating him.”


HA! LOVED this whole section!

QUOTE

He replied as he tried to determine what exactly had set off his instinct. For a moment he held hope he’d merely seen shadows, but that hope was dashed by a voice calling for them through the rain.

“Cease running Septim, and you may not die tired! The days of you and your empire are at an end!”


This whole section gave me chills! I have been riveted to this page from the time the chapter opened!

QUOTE

Shehai Shen She Ru


This is AWESOME! Baurus is a Sword-singer! What a huge surprise you tucked in here! AWESOME! I got goose-bumps on my arm from this!


*


Posted by: jack cloudy Nov 18 2012, 07:47 PM

McBadgere: Heh, maybe just a little. To be honest, I like to just vent about random things from time to time. The only problem is that my rants end up competing with the actual update in length.

And perhaps it is about time that someone tells Latta their age. I did some math and (if the emperor didn't age those ten years he was banished by Tharn), she stands a good chance of actually being older than Uriel Septim. bluewizardsmile.gif Which is kind of ironic, given how she measures the respect someone is due by how much older than her they are.

mALX:
I'll stop using excuses. biggrin.gif Glad you like it at least. And you're not the only one who at first thought that Raven was Mankar. I admit that I aimed for that by not giving his name right of the bat. emot-ninja1.gif


The hardest part of the flash-back chapter was probably figuring out how to play the Blades and the Dawn against each other. Both had to look competent, but I couldn't have them guess each other's plans so perfectly you'd think they're reading the story. Also hard were the fight....OK, no excuses! I just want to say that writing a fight between 'normal' people is different than writing one with vastly 'superhuman' combatants. For one, any real injury turns into an instant fight-stopper and movement is restricted much more by obstacles, the relative placement of the fighters and even plain old gravity.

Anyway, back to more Latta.




Chapter 9.6


The proceedings entered the proverbial rapids at that point. As the Tamrielics were obviously unaware of all the intricacies of Pyandonean customs regarding debt bondage and there was no real point in teaching them, we agreed to leave the matter for now and have Jauffre draw up a contract later. I didn’t argue, but I was planning to read it very carefully and not miss even the smallest accidental blotch of ink. To be honest, I just wanted it to be over and done quickly. Not just because of the mental anguish I’d put myself in, but also because the bow I was supposed to maintain throughout the ceremony was far from comfortable. Held too loose, and I’d be insulting the man in the bed. Held too tight, and I would be tearing my muscles. Of the two, ruining my legs was the preferable option. And sometimes, my own thoughts scared me.

“Lady Princess Orgnum, heir to the throne of Pyandonea, are you willing to travel the land on behalf of the Tamriel crown?” The elder asked me. It was a stupid question, even if he couldn’t know. I belonged to him now, in mind and body. If he bade me to walk to Summerset, I would do so. Even if it killed me. My throat squeezed shut and I tried not to think too hard on the knots I’d just pulled.
“If that is Your Grace’s desire, I shall follow all four winds. Though I would request the removal of this leash first.” I said and tapped the cursed band that was strapped to my neck. Still bent over, I craned my head back to look at him. That was permitted, though it only made my stance even more trying.
“It is my desire.” The Septim king answered to me. I was surprised at the strength of his voice. Others might not have noticed, but my eyes shifted across the signs on his body by habit. All of last night’s convulsions were still there, but he forced them down with a self-control I could do nothing but respect. What he was doing wasn’t healthy, but ten lesser men and women couldn’t have done it.
“There are many deeds that must be done and only you, the promised envoy of Pyandonea, can accomplish them.” He continued. More tears tried to break free but I blinked till they went away.
“Don’t think it, Latta. Not now.” I told myself.

“Your Grace, would you permit me knowledge of these deeds?” If I was going to do his bidding, it would be best if I knew exactly what he wanted of me. His House was now my House. I would not bring dishonor to its name.
“In due time.” He said with a slight tremble in his voice. A hand shook beneath the bedcover. That was not a good sign. Yes, it would definitely be for the best if this session was ended as soon as possible.
“I grant you the title of Agent. My Blades will hear my words through your voice. Their ears and eyes are yours, their hands move at your command. You will have need of them.” I couldn’t hide my confusion. What was an agent, and why would I need weapons? Or a private army, if I got the context right. Whatever it was, for the moment I forgot the strain the man was putting himself under.

“Baurus!” The Emperor called. His voice was weakening, but still strong. Beside me, the mudman straightened his back abruptly. I couldn’t help but think I’d already failed him. Did I not bow deeply enough? I tried to make my nose touch my knees again, despite my body’s protests. Little gasps entered his words, but what drew my attention more was the change in tone. It was still recognizably Tamriellic, but different as if it borrowed the intonation of another language.
“My Agent’s journey shall be a dangerous one. Will you be a shield that stands between her and spell and sword?”
“Unto my last breath and beyond I do swear I shall.”
“I have heard your vow, Penald Baurus. May the Divines bear witness and grant you strength and honour in equal measure.”
The back and forth had been quick, obviously rehearsed, and hard to follow, not in the least because the Lord Emperor’s voice broke more and more now. What I did get I didn’t like. I knew I needed a bodyguard and it seemed like I got one. But the open talk about danger made me flush. It had to be a figure of speech, I told myself. Part of this traditional bodyguard ceremony they just performed.

Next up was some business between Uriel and Jauffre about teaching me the symbols of something. But we were at the end now and in the span of a hundred heartbeats the man whispered the words we’d both been waiting for.
“Rise, my hand and voice. Go now and prepare.” Every muscle in my body trembled with relief and I heard the elder sigh as he sank back in his bed.



“We’ll eat first.” My new bodyguard muttered. I’d sneaked in a few bites of half-raw meats and vegetables while cooking, but was still hungry myself. Renault had put me on finishing breakfast so she could go do the paperwork. It had been a lot though, enough for a dozen or more men. The man took me to a large hall I hadn’t seen yet. A fire blazed on both ends of a long table and swords were hung up on the wall like some obscene decoration. I tried to count the curved pieces of metal and estimate their value, but gave up after I lost count a few times.

The meal I’d prepared was mostly gone already. All that remained of the juicy meatstrips and boiled red and green plantstuff were dirty plates. The dark man spread what was left on two clean plates and had us sit down close to one of the fires. He also poured from a karaff a golden liquid. It was like that mead-drink Sorian bought me. Sweet and lightly alcoholic.
“I’m not sure what exactly I was given, but I take it was something important? The false priest didn’t look happy about it.” I said while we ate. No matter how much I thought on it, I still had no idea just what it meant to be an agent. Only that Jauffre didn’t like it.
“Jauffre? Umm, what should I call you?” He was chewing even while talking. Disgusting.
“Lady Princess Orgnum….No, you may use lady Orgnum instead. From what I was taught that is a neutral form acceptable to most stations and situations.” I said. Lady Princess felt rather short and informal to me, but I knew better than letting him proclaim who I was to everyone on the street. So like I allowed Sorian, I would let my new bodyguard simply address me as lady. Maybe I should change my name as well. Didn’t Levvelyn do that when he infiltrated the staff of maester Braxxin, in ‘Levvelyn and the Iron Mines of Yokuda’?”
“Lady Orgnum it is then. I’m Penald Baurus, just call me Penald or call me Baurus. Whatever you like.” He told me. I still had to tell myself that they did things backwards. So I would have to use Baurus. Using Penald would be far too intimate.

He still had his mouth full while explaining. I looked away cause it made me feel sick.
“And of course the Grandmaster was upset. He’s not used to being overruled, even by the emperor. And as Agent, well you basically just got given carte blanche over all the spies.” Spies? I didn’t know that word either. If I had been taught, I couldn’t remember it right now. So I simply asked him.
“Pardon me, but what is a spies? Are you one?”

“A spy is a…well how to explain. The Blades are made up of two branches. There is the arms-bearing one of which I’m a member. We protect the emperor and his chosen dignitaries, such as you, from any that would wish them harm. The other branch sits in the shadows. They serve as emperor Uriel’s eyes and ears, and sometimes his poison. Jauffre is their grandmaster and Lord Protector Berius is mine. Was that clear?” He mumbled amidst bits of roasted meat. His explanation could have been clearer, but I thought I understood the core of it.
“The spies learn what the Lord Emperor must know, but Jauffre decides what he hears. Am I right?” Which would make him arguably the most powerful man on the continent. And of course he didn’t like me.
“You got it in one. Now as Agent, you are a special kind of spy. Jauffre holds no authority over either your actions or your goals. You are completely free to pursue your mission in any way you see fit. Blackmail, trespassing, thievery and even murder are the tools which you are permitted to use.” Four tools I did not want to use, ever. Actually, I was relieved and quite sure I didn’t have to. Who would trust me, a stranger from far away lands, with such powers? It was really just a ploy to get me out of Jauffre’s grasp. And for that, I was grateful.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cyrodiil

Since the departure of Grey-Tongue, the investigation in the Imperial city had ground to a halt. The lost of the Argonian’s razorsharp mind wasn’t the only cause. Another was active opposition from his superiors. They didn’t admit it of course, but Heironymous Lex saw the words of the Elder Council echoed in them. And he bet the Council was parroting the wishes of the Blades who had refused to tell him what had happened at the vaults. Which reminded him of what his friend had said. Something had been stolen from the vaults and the Blades were now torn between the need to apprehend the suspects and retrieve whatever they’d taken, and the desire to not let anyone know they’d failed in their duties.

The investigation was further crippled when the guard-captain himself was attacked. The healer’s guild sent inquiry after inquiry and demand after demand his way. The law obligated him to admit that he’d allowed an unregistered healer to practice on him and law obligated him to help apprehend this rogue healer. An unregistered healer was an uneducated one and therefore a direct threat to anyone he or she chose to administer, so said the guild. To Hieronymous it was just another unneeded distraction. He’d argued that his injuries had been treated to satisfaction, and that the healer had been educated outside Tamriel. Impossible, the guild claimed. Only the education and certificates given by the guild were suitable proof of expertise. Anything given by an outsider was by definition inferior. Hieronymous had given up at that point. Hearing about the very real of family-trained and effective healers found in every small settlement was the last thing the guild wanted.

Their complaints were so severe and forceful that he saw the hand of the Blades in it again. No, the Guard-Captain decided it would be an exercize in futility to further fight the demands. He went through the motions of searching for the hedgehealer in his district, despite already knowing that she was nowhere near the city. After a few days of that and ever further setbacks and obstructions to his real mission, he’d had enough. He formally requested leave for an undetermined period, using his knee as an excuse. As quick as the guild of healers had been to protest when he continued his duties, so quick was it now to suggest to his superiors that leave and fresh air were indeed what he needed.




He’d begun to pack for his wagon-ride the next day. Now clothing, a few books and personal effects were strewn across his office. His sword also lay ready to be packed, though he opted to leave his armour behind. If he did have to perform his duties as an officer of the guard, he would use the brocaded desk-uniform instead. It was far more comfortable to travel in.
The door behind him opened and someone spoke.
“This place is a mess. You definitely need a woman.”
Hieronymous sighed but did not turn around. “Julius, you shouldn’t be here.” He said.
“I am a grown man now. It is my right to choose who to see.” Julius protested.
“And what profession to follow. I know. Ah, I would be a poor father and a liar if I said I wasn’t happy to see you, my son.” Hieronymous said and embraced the younger man. They didn’t look much alike. Julius took more after Martha, sharing her brown locks and wide ears. But he was like his father in other ways, more than his mother liked.

“I heard you were injured, but my mentors wouldn’t let me leave before week’s end. I even took it up with Hannibal.” His son explained. He was still wearing the smudged apprentice-robes students at the Arcane University wore, showing that he’d come the minute he’d finished his lessons. Hieronymous shook his head at that. Yes, Julius was like him in some ways. He had that same stubborn streak to do what he felt was right, though the talent in magic could not be attributed to either parent.
“And darn right he was. The profession of a mage isn’t an easy one. If the students could go out whoring whenever they pleased, not that I accuse you of that, it would take attention away from their studies. You may resent them now, but nobody likes a sloppy mage.” He scolded his son, only half-serious. Julius laughed. The day he’d visit the Dibellans would be the day he gave up on his future as a battlemage in the legions and from there slip into the city-watch. And a Lex never gave up.
“So I’ve been told a thousand times.”

For a short moment both men were silent. Hieronymous picked up stray pair of pants and tried to fit them in a trunk while his son watched, unsuccessfully. Julius tried not to laugh, and broke the silence before he could.
“But enough about me. I heard rumors, the next worse than the last. But if I see you now, you look to be in perfect health.” He observed with a wry grin. The pants were balled up and tossed into a corner.
“Which is just what I’ve had to say to the damn healers a thousand times. But no, all they care for is that someone threatened their monopoly. Do you want to hear all about the troubles of a lawman?” The older Lex said and chuckled despite his earlier frustrations. Looking at it from an outsider’s point of view, it was sort of funny. Julius did not answer, but the look in his eyes said enough.
“Alright, I’ll tell you. It’s better that you know before you sneak yourself into the footsteps of your old man, thinking its all glory and grateful maidens. But under one condition. You help me pack all this junk.”
“Deal.”

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 1 2012, 10:04 PM

My laptop is making strange noises and I've had a few blue-screens this week. Maybe it's time to look for a replacement. kvleft.gif

However, that is not the reason for my continued slowness. No, the reason is the repeated rewriting of the chapter, the cutting out of bits and the re-adding of them. That, and plain old laziness.

In other news, I came across an image of Pyandonea. There were two things of interest to me. First was its location, which placed it to the south of Summerset. Secondly there was its nature as one big solid continent, with placenames that didn't make any sense to me and looked rather static. Maormer-landing? The whole continent is solely populated by Maormer, so why refer to your race in a place? If its the location where they first arrived, it might work. But in that case, I would personally prefer to attach it to an individual.

Fortunately for me, I discovered that image was from a mod for Oblivion, which also looks a bit dead. So I get to keep my Pyandonea, composed of lots of tiny islands, its silly moving palace and its location North-west of Summerset! Yay! laugh.gif

Ok, enough rambling. Back to business.



Chapter 9.7



“Pour me a drink, Brother. Gods, I need one.” I recognized that voice. It was the man who had been guarding the entrance to this place. While Baurus refilled his mug and slid it over to the doorkeeper, I studied his face. He’d left his helmet somewhere though he still wore the rest of his armour. What was his name again? Captain Stef something. The respect he received marked him as a high-ranking Blade. His face though, I felt for him. He was older than Baurus going by what was left of it. But mostly his features were a crisscrossing of scartissue from all kinds of sources. Cuts, broken bone, burns and some injuries whose cause I couldn’t determine. He’d seen war firsthand and paid for it dearly. Whether all the scarring meant he was a lousy swordsman or a good one, I couldn’t tell.
“ It’s been one thing after another since you showed up.” The man sighed after throwing back the mug in one huge gulp. “First the emperor comes to hide, then his sons die. Now Jauffre brought a w…ahem, elven dignitary. And this morning? First Sim flies off the handle, then Kort comes running carrying big news. Sealed envelope and everything. I passed it on to Jauffre and boy, he looked even more pissed than he usually does.” This Kort again. Was he some kind of messenger?

Baurus walked down the length of the table to get the karaff on the other end.
“What happened to Brother Fenasim?” He asked along the way, leading to another sigh from the devastated man. There were just so many scars on him. I had to look away in order to stop thinking of ways to fix the damage. Master Zelthir had demonstrated more than one method to heal such severe wounds but none of them were available to me even if I had all my tools at hand. It was just too depressing. So instead of following the lines and pits of ruined flesh my eyes followed the direction of his own.

He’d been looking at a particular set of swords ever since coming into the room. To me they looked unremarkable beyond the materials used, just one more shattered blade mounted on the wall. I blinked. Most of the swords were damaged in some way or another. They were warped or fragmented, most of them still tainted with old blood and some even looked like half-melted butter. Unremarkable had been the wrong word to describe them. Worn-down was a better word.
“Fenasim, what didn’t happen to him? It turns out that he…Ah forget it, there’s no way to say this nicely. The moment he learned the lady here was a mama.” My mind was only half there as I was now gripped by a morbid curiosity in the murdertools. So I corrected him without really knowing what he’d been saying.
“Maormer.” There seemed to be an order in which the blades were hung. On the one side the grips had rotten away to a few strips of leather but on the other they looked fresh from the workshop, apart from the damage. There was also a small blank space on the walls on this end. A place reserved for more swords?
“Maormer, thank you. Well, he was very eager to cause an intercontinental incident, if you get my drift. I had to talk him down, even though it would likely end with me on his sword.” That brought my intention back in a hurry. If this Fenasim had a personal interest in me, then what did he want? Raise his own social standing through close affiliation with House Orgnum? It wouldn’t be the first time. The name sounded elvish, so was he a Maormer? But there weren’t supposed to be any. Other than warslaves the Altmer caught in their raids, and those wouldn’t be walking around here. Baurus was as dismissive as I was, given his response.
“compassion.”
Captain Stef looked at his empty mug.
“Indeed. That’s the problem with duty, sometimes it makes you do things you just know are stupid.” He muttered.
“I think I need another drink.”




The man excused himself a little while later and went back to his post. Baurus decided that we would go to the armory next and when I asked him what would happen to the filthy tableware, he shrugged. Someone would clean up eventually. I didn’t like what that told me about the priorities here.
“Why did you bring that searat here?!”

I’d ducked behind Baurus at that first outburst and tried to become as small and unnoticeable as possible.
“Hands off, Fenasim. She’s under Uriel’s guard. And mine.” The man spoke with a hand on his sword. After that, silence. Eventually I gained the courage to peek beyond his back only to duck away again with a new panic. It was an Altmer, a real one!
“So I’ve been told.” The badmer spat. “Well I assure you that this is one matter I intend to take up with him. You mainlanders have no idea what you let into your backyard. These mist-elves are treacherous. They can’t be trusted!” He was going to kill me! That’s what the doorkeeper meant! Then why did Baurus move away from me? He was supposed to protect me!
“Save your arguments for the man, not me. I’m here on orders and until told otherwise, I aim to carry them out.” His actions didn’t match his words. The Altmer was right there in front of me! I couldn’t back away through a wall. I was stuck!

He turned away. Thoughts that had been frozen now resumed with the immediate threat gone. I knew I should just vanish and edge to the door.
“What do you need from me?” Good, keep looking at Baurus. Just a few more steps.
“First of all, the princess here has a slave-collar that needs to be removed.” No! Don’t point at me!

I froze again and tried to blend in with the stones. But the Altmer just kept looking right at me and in my frightened state, I couldn’t figure out how he did it.
“You’re not joking. The little witch is actual royalty. We should use her as a hostage to buy off the damn navy.” He said and turned away again, this time to rummage through his desk. Thoughts came back. I continued to move ever so slowly to the door, and safety.
“As I said, save it for him.” Baurus rumbled. Good, keep talking.
The mer tossed something and the man catched.
“Here’s the key. Believe me that it would be best for all of us if you do it yourself. My hand might slip. What else do you need?”
“I’m gearing up. The emperor has sent us on a mission.”
“Us?” The mer repeated and looked at me again. Why?! Though I trembled with fear again, I did manage to squeek out an answer. Barely.
“I..swore a-an oath. Of service.” If the words did anything to persuade him, they failed. But they did provide a foothold to my mind. I did swear an oath. And Altmer or not, I would not run from seeing it fulfilled.
“An oath, riiiight.” The tall one sneered but miraculously, he turned his attention back towards Baurus. “What level of gearing up are we looking at?” I swear, his words were almost business-like.

Baurus looked left and right and answered.
“Hope peace, assume war. Discreet, but not stealthy.”
“Fighter’s guild it is then. Weapons, armour, papers, all of it should be where you left it. Ask Renault for general supplies. She got dismissed from duty earlier.” The golden one said and I wondered. Fighter’s guild?
“Thanks.”
“See if you still feel like thanking me later.”
They both ignored me then. For a bit longer I kept watching the Altmer but even that didn’t last. Stupid as it was, my fear made way for an entirely different kind of emotion. Boredom.

At first still hesitating, I began to walk around myself. The Altmer’s eyes swept to me whenever my feet brought me close to a sword, an axe or a spear. But if I avoided any of those, he focused on a forge instead, on which he was hammering a piece of metal. Well, if that was the case, it was fine by me. I wasn’t that interested in deathdealing tools anyway. There were plenty of other items that did interest me. Armours for example. Unlike weapons, these aimed to preserve life, not end it. It was only a pity one was often used to help do the other.

I saw animal skins, treated, dried and thickened layer upon layer. These I knew. There were armours made from chains upon chains of iron. I knew the form, but not the material. Most common were the bands of steel like what Baurus wore. And finally there was the armour of the Altmer himself. It was a mirror melded to his form like water. And there were gaps in it, ugly ones like a turtle’s shell that had been pried open by a crab.

There were helmets that followed the same pattern. Skins, chains and steel. Most were plain, made to serve their purpose and nothing more. But others were more ornate, like the seashell mask with embedded pearls tracing out the symbols of Yokuda-watch, head of the tower. I blinked and did a double-take. It did say Yokuda-watch. That was my mask!
“Your papers were already brought to an associate” Jauffre had said that at the top of the Imperial palace. Evidently they’d taken more than just my papers. Now that I knew what to look for, I saw more of my own possessions. The traditional riding crop made from a firebird’s tailfeathers. My sandals with the springy soles of thrice-folded leaves and foam. The silverthread belt and attached to it my storing pouch, both things I quickly took and put on. There was my dress, its limbs frozen in rigor and wings torn to shreds. I picked it up, brushed away some of the dirt. Poor thing, it had been so well-trained too. Then it was snatched from my hands.
“Hey! That’s mine!” I said and wheeled around to grab it back. My hands never reached higher than my chest. It was the Altmer who’d taken the garment and looked at it with keen interest. He mumbled something in Altmeri, too quick for me to catch it. Then he rudely shoved something else into my arms.
This, is yours.” He said and walked back to his forge while shaking his head. I looked at what he’d given me and mumbled something of my own. It was a staff as weathered as the swords in the main hall. Its shaft of golden wood was cracked, warped and blackened and capped with a small sphere of polished glass. A large crack had nearly split the ball in two.

The thing was broken and probably seen as junk by the mer, but I could still feel the magic in the glass. It buzzed and ached in my skull like my own spellsong, but fortunately not as bad. I wondered what it did? Was it crafted to burn people, or cut them from afar? Did it soften walls, shatter arms? I swallowed and summoned my courage.
“Ah, what does it do?” I asked him even though I didn’t expect an answer. His hammer rose and fell heavily on the steel armourpiece he was working.
“It glows.”

I looked at the staff, then at the mer and then at the staff again.
“Maormer. I will be giving your goods a very thorough inspection. I will find the evil you are planning. And how you bypassed our patrols.” What little was left of my fear for him was driven aside by anger over his words. I was not evil nor did I plan it! Almost I’d blurted out exactly how easy it had been for the ship to go around the wooden vessels of Tamriel. Almost. It was a convenient shred of common sense, bolstered by the knowledge that telling would leave Pyandonea open to a new invasion from the Altmer, that made me keep my mouth.

Baurus came and tapped my shoulder, gestured at the door.
“I don’t trust him.” I grumbled once we were back in one of the corridors and out of earshot. Baurus laughed which made me angry. I had not forgotten how he’d basically left me at the mercy of the badmer.
“Well now there’s a big surprise. But let me tell you one thing. If there is a single person here who can be absolutely trusted, it is Brother Fenasim.” He said. It was ridiculous of him, and I told him.
“But he tried to kill me!”
“And yet he didn’t. Love or hate, they don’t guide his sword.”




My next meeting with Renault was less heartstopping than the armory-visit, but no less important. The woman turned out to be a healer, one with a cluttered lab that gave me an instant bout of homesickness. Oh, Master Zelthir would have things to say on her workplace, but this was one of the few things were I disagreed with him. A disorderly lab, as long as the tools were kept clean and functional, the ingredients unsoiled, just meant its owner used it as more than a bragging-tool. I admit that Baurus’ surprise and subsequent confusion over our conversation amused me. He stepped outside in the end. It was only too soon that the woman handed us two parcels of restoratives and sent us on our way again.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“There are four tasks I need you to perform. The first two are absolutely necessary, the other two are pursued at your discretion.” The Lord Emperor’s voice was strong and he sat near the fire in a comfortable seat rather than lying in bed. If I knew better, I would have called it a miracle and be glad he seemed to be the healthiest I’d ever seen him. But I did know. The antidote in my hand made sure of that.
“The vital information is on this note. Memorize and burn it before you leave the room.” He continued and eagerly shoved a piece of paper in my free hand. His grip was firm and stable, but the skin felt feverish to the touch.
“Oh Jennifer, I know now how you feel. How do you protect a man like that from himself?” I thought to myself as I took the paper and asked him politely to sit down again.

Uriel Septim began to explain to us and I looked at the letter he’d written. Why he couldn’t tell us everything was beyond me. He certainly didn’t seem to be in too much of a rush to end his current, well, rush.
“The first and second task share a goal. Under no circumstance are you to return with task one unless you also deliver task two.” I looked at the first line that was written on it. It had been jotted down with a shaky hand and a script that was as ligible as it was short. It seemed to me that the venerated elder had chosen to write it down himself instead of asking someone else to do it.
Martin Tanner Kvatch temple Imperial male 180cm 30yrs
First thing that caught me was the age. Thirty years would make this Martin Tanner Kvatch a child. The first question in my mind was how were we supposed to take him away from his parents,but then I idly did the math to translate his height into something more familiar. My estimates made him about a hand taller than me, if my math was right and I was pretty sure I didn’t miss a finger. Just what did they feed their sons here?
Rajn Geydar Kvatch Eight Provinces wood elf female 146cm 57yrs
I did the math again. This one had a more reasonable height. A tad too short actually considering her age, but nothing that made me question her health and dietary background. But again, a child? At least she was at the age were you could motivate them through reason. For a few days.
“I brag about my well-rounded education, but I haven’t been tutored on motherhood yet.” How was I supposed to placate a thirtier? That was right at the point they get rebellious. Too old for sweets and toys, too young for logic. Maybe I could use the older sister to control the young man.

I’d been given a moment to think about it, and memorize what it had said before His Grace babbled on again.
“The third task, I doubt you will succeed. But if you do come across a way to achieve it, do so. I suggest you start by buying a biography in any bookstore.” Biographies? I read the third line and it only brought more answers.
Nerevarine
That was it, just one word. Was it a name, a title? It was hard to say, but the word contained the aspects of birth and child. I hoped this wouldn’t be a youngster. But I’d been adviced to look in at a bookstore. Biographies weren’t written on children, usually. I would ask Baurus about it later.
“Finally, the fourth task. The attempt on my life was not the only incident that night. There was another. See the note.” Uriel Septim said and I read.
The item, you know what it looks like.
My head ran aground. He couldn’t. No, no!
“The ones that posess the fourth task are the same who attacked me. Be careful and avoid taking risks. Use your Blades for this.”

“That sniveling discarded skin of a worm! All this time I’d been worried sick about breaking the covenenant and how to explain it, when he had gone and done it first! By losing the cursed thing! I attached myself to his House for nothing!”

“Permit me a question, your grace. Why send me? I am ignorant of both your people and your maps.” I didn’t keep the poison from my words. To be honest, I didn’t try very hard.
“Because Pyandonea has nothing to gain or lose.” The Lord Emperor answered and looked at me not with anger as I’d expected for my breach of etiquette, but sadness.
“Your isolation goes both ways. You cannot attack Tamriel in force, and no faction has the means to strike at Pyandonea. It is in Pyandonea’s interests to maintain the current state. Furthermore, from what I have been told, and seen, the Maormer greatly value and act to preserve their honorable conduct, a rare thing nowadays.My envoy believed that the static nature and absolute might of its ruler is the cause. Noone has been able to dethrone your king for so long that the political maneouvering has all but ceased.”

“Your assessment is based on few observations.” I said and this time I did control my voice even though I was still furious. He’d lost it! And insinuating that anyone would plan of dishonoring lord Orgnum? It was unthinkable!
“True, but look at yourself. You know now that I broke the treaty but won’t let it affect your actions. “Even if he breaks his word, I will not break mine.” Those are your thoughts. You may hate me now, but you will not willingly see me come to harm.”

That was it. I had to admit he knew me better than I did myself. I hadn’t actually thought it yet, but I could see the truth in his words. From the moment I’d learned my subjugation was based on betrayal and error, I’d thought of all the things I was justified to do. I could have demanded reparations, or simply left at the earliest convenience. The conditions upon which I’d given my vow did not exist and so it was null and void. I’d thought that, but the Lord Emperor had spoken the truth. Even if I could prove breaking my word had been just to others, to me it would still feel like a lie and betrayal.
“I belong to my House. I will not shame its name for my own convenience, nor will I give excuses or justifications. The honour of my House wills me to voice my displeasure with your inability to safeguard that what was lent to you in good faith. The honour of myself wills me to protect your House as if it were my own.”

“Thank you and though it makes no difference, I truly regret placing you in this position. If there was anyone else I could trust, I would send him.”

There was nothing left to say. Baurus read the note for himself, shredded it, sprinkled it into the fire and then added more wood to the leaping flames. In the meantime I let the Lord Emperor breather the antidote and settled him in his bed. Then we were done and left.

Posted by: Lycanthropic-Legend Dec 2 2012, 02:19 PM

Man, this story is awesome! You paint a good picture of what happened during the Oblivion Crisis and some new places, too!

Just a thing, I think seperating the sentences would be better and have a good space between dialogue. The paragraphs all seem close together and it can be a bit distracting wink.gif

Posted by: mALX Dec 3 2012, 04:45 AM

Still not caught up. I'm still in Florida spending time with my mom, and trying to read while she naps. I should be back mid week (this) and will try to be totally caught up by this weekend. This year has been hell-hectic, but December should be a time to relax and catch up reading (if nothing else goes wrong, lol). - Cindy.

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 8 2012, 07:59 PM

Best wishes to you and your mum, Malx. sad.gif

And I'll have to think about my spacing a bit more. While it looks neat and tidy all packed together, it can be a pain to keep track on where you were reading.

In other news:
Got my new lappy. I'm currently in the process of moving things and finding out where Word went on Windows 8, so no update yet. Still, I did finish up the main thrust of the next bit so it shouldn't take too long to get it done once I've got everything set up.

Also, there is this
IPB Image
I believe the observer said something along the lines of the following.
"Oh, not again! Can't this world go ten years without me having to save its sorry hide? Get lost ratface, before I put my foot up your flying Scrib-butt and boot you back to Vvardenfell!" mad.gif


(No, I'm not going to write a story on it. I've got three that still need to be finished already. One at a time.)

Posted by: mALX Dec 9 2012, 08:18 AM

QUOTE(jack cloudy @ Dec 8 2012, 01:59 PM) *

Best wishes to you and your mum, Malx. sad.gif

And I'll have to think about my spacing a bit more. While it looks neat and tidy all packed together, it can be a pain to keep track on where you were reading.



This actually has been a problem for me too (as a reader). With no numeration or title to the chapters I have found myself having to reread chapters searching out where I left off each time I restart reading - hinders catching up when free time is limited. (Although I do love rereading many of the chapters, and on at least two occasions have come across scenes I didn't get the full effect of on the first read - usually due to the zoo of noise and distractions in the background here while I read).



Posted by: McBadgere Dec 14 2012, 07:29 PM

Fair dues...That last chapter was both epic and brilliant...

Loved the bit in the armoury, brilliant stuff...

Excellent!!...Looking forward to much more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 27 2012, 09:34 PM

Ok, I doubled the spacing for now so tell me how that works. I also added a chapter-number to the top and will retroactively add it to the previous ones. (I hope I haven't miscounted) And if there is any character who still needs to go in the list on the first page, please tell me.

The last time we saw the Mythic Dawn they were sitting in their cave doing a grand total of nothing. Today we return to see them sitting in their cave....doing a grand total of nothing!




Chapter 9.8


Mythic Dawn Sanctuary


The 'temple' of the Mythic Dawn posessed an elegance that couldn't be seen from its crude appearance. It was the largest chamber in the sanctuary, blasted out of the rock through the combined efforts of all three Camoran's. But they had employed more than mere brute force. Every casting, every bubbling stream of fire, every crackling blade of thunder, had been tailored to carve out the essentials of a place of worship, making it seem as if the mountain itself had grown the shrine within its heart. They'd coaxed the still halfmolten rock into an elevated platform and upon it an altar. They'd made rows of kneerests for the worshippers to kneel upon, pillars that held pools of slow-burning oil. They'd made all of that and most important of all was the representation of the temple's deity. A statue of Mehrunes Dagon over five metres tall, its four hands reaching over the altar, its brow brushing the ceiling. None of the Camorans were sculptors and the stone figure bore only the vaguest resemblance to the Daedric Prince, but they'd taken care that none of the Dawn were knowledgable enough to point out the flaws.


It was now almost an hour since the last service had ended. The faitful had left to tend to their duties and sacrificial blood cooled and coagulated in the groove running from the altar to the statue. And yet the priestess remained, dagger still in hand. Words repeated themselves in her mind and she shivered at the memory of her tongue moving on its own.
"Do not deny me!"
She reflected that it had been a good thing she'd sent the acolytes away before actually summoning the Daedric prince. The brutish and indiscriminate nature of the real Dagon was not in any way like what the prophet had made them believe.


Do not deny me. The words were the last in a long series of similar threats Dagon had made her speak all the times she had summoned him. But today they held more meaning than before. Today their father wasn't around to placate him and Uriel yet lived. Their plans were unravelling before her eyes and she couldn't think of anything to save them.


She remembered the dagger in her hand and laid it down on the the altar, next to the Khajiit she'd killed and whose heart she'd offered for the summoning.
"At least we no longer have to turn over every tenthpiece to buy the furballs. That should please my brother." She thought, and then, "He must hear this."




Raven was exactly where she'd left him. If he'd moved at all, it hadn't been much. He was still buried in the same stack of books, scrolls and loose pages which he read and reread over and over. Occasionally he rubbed his tired eyes, or reached for the cold coffee at his side. Even his thoughts were still the same, as evidenced by the absentminded greeting he gave her.
"I have said all I intend to say, Ruma. Please, don't bother me any further. I am quite busy."

The Altmeri woman bristled at the idea that Raven still believed she only cared about Harrow. While the man was important to her, as a rare source of comfort and companionship, she was a true Camoran. If needed, she could and would leave him to do her part in securing the family's future. She shoved aside most of the clutter on his desk and put her fists down on it.
“Don't ignore me! Dagon says he’s tired of our pitiful sacrifices and wants to see if we are as good as we say.” She yelled at him, making him reel back. He looked at her, then at the bloody palm prints she'd left all over his desk and documents. Then he sighed.


“In other words, he wants more blood and more screaming. What else is new? If he wasn’t so easy to manipulate, I would have spoken against aligning ourselves with the Prince of Destruction.”


Ruma wondered if she'd gone too far. Raven needed to be told, but was it worth destroying whatever he'd been working on? No, she decided. She had done the right thing. Raven was like their father, Mankar Camoran, with his desire to have everything planned out and written in paper before he did anything. But sometimes one had to forego planning and play it by ear. Such as now.
"Pay attention, brother. We can't cage his nature with pretty words forever. The honoured user called our bluff. We have to act now." She warned but the other mer reacted as she'd feared, true to his nature.
"Give it some time." He answered her. When she sneered at him, he raised his hand and continued in the same exhausted and disinterested tone of voice.
"One day, Ruma. That is all I ask. If father hasn't returned by then, we’ll make our own choice.”


Ruma was silent as she tried to figure out how she could make him see her way. Raven was a good mer. He was exceedingly smart and driven. Though they'd both been honed by their father into nigh superhuman creatures, masters of many skills that would be considered a lifetime pursuit on their own by lesser beings, they had not profited from this education in equal measure. Her brother had been superior to her in the ways Mankar valued the most. And he knew it. It made persuading him nearly impossible.





She moved to turn away but then the paper she'd rested her hands on drew her attention. Whatever it told, it was now too obscured by Khajiit blood to tell, but the few words she could still see had not been written by her brother, or her father. Raven who had noticed her pause, answered the unasked question.
"Do you remember the simulacra I made and inserted into Cloud Ruler?” He said with a nod to the stained letter.
She remembered only vaguely. All of the shapechanging monsters had been put in their positions years ago, before the Dawn existed. But there was one who had infiltrated the Blades' secret base, putting it right at the heart of the Imperial intelligence network. Meanwhile, Raven continued.
“It chanced to send us word. The emperor arrived at Cloud Ruler a few days before the writing of this letter. First, the general things are as we already expected them to be. The Emperor is paranoid, rightly so. He is always guarded by one and often two of the four he still trusts. Fenasim of the palace guard, and three of the fighting Blades who were being inducted that night"


The Blades. Warriors of almost legendary prowess, each worth as much as the complement of an entire fort. Under the right circumstances, and the Blades were masters at making the right circumstances. Even the simulacra would need the advantage of surprise or superior equipment to overcome one. The thought of having the monster kill the emperor died with Raven's news. She knew that this had been the first thing Raven had considered himself. Given the situation, he would choose to keep the doppelganger as a source of information rather than risk it in another assassination. Besides, the Septim was mostly harmless as long as he was trapped beneath the gletsjer.
“Including the one who nearly murdered Harrow.” Ruma growled. The emperor could stay, but she wanted that man. She wanted him on her altar so that for once, she could enjoy plunging down the ceremonial dagger and tearing out a still beating heart.


“The very same. The other thing we guessed is that the Grandmaster himself has given up his usual carefulness and stormed to Cloud Ruler for answers. What we did not guess however, is that he didn't arrive alone.” She instantly forgot about Harrow. Raven didn't need to elaborate on why this was important. Jauffre rarely went to Cloud Ruler and he always went alone. Even his most trusted bodyguards were left behind. For him to break his own rule could only mean that his mystery companions were now the Dawn's utmost priority. More important than Uriel in any case, who wasn't going to leave the Blade's hideout any time soon. Who were they?


Raven pinched his nose, then admitted that he'd told her everything the letter had said.
“She, actually. And I don’t know. Jauffre’s companion is only described as an elf, most likely wood elf.”
“Most likely?” Ruma repeated the words to herself. The three species of mer in Tamriel were almost impossible to mix up by mistake. The Dunmer were grey and red-eyed, the Altmer universally tall and with a golden tan mere sunlight could not produce. The wood elves, were short and backwards barbarians. That Raven’s simulacra actually harbored doubt was to say the least, troubling. Its mind might be less stable than they’d foreseen. Perhaps it would be best to spend it on an assassination before it degraded entirely.
“Apart from the gender, this woman is one large question-mark. Name, profession, background, age. It’s all a blank. Worst of all, she came carrying nothing but the clothes on her back. Who travels like that?” Raven said and threw up his hands in disgust.


“Someone very confident, brother. Or desperate. Peasants and mighty mages.” Ruma answered. The man shook his head.
"Scratch the peasants. Jauffre makes for a good spymaster, but he doesn't do charity."



Ruma could think of few kinds of people who travelled unencumbered, and even fewer who would be connected to the Blades' Grandmaster. She supposed the woman could be another Blade, someone trusted by Jauffre and brought in to help guard the emperor. Four people was too small a guard detail to maintain for an extended period. But the flaws with that idea were self evident. The only Blades that were beyond suspicion were those who had been stationed far away in other provinces, the ones who had been ignored by the Dawn for being too far from the emperor. But that same remoteness that prevented their replacement with simulacra, now kept them away from where the action was. There simply had not been enough time for Jauffre to summon him or her. And there were no women at the old Breton's usual base of operations.
“Then who, brother?" She asked him, "Have you any idea, or even a guess?”


Raven waved at the bloodied notes scattered on his desk.
“Several," He said, "each more unlikely than the last. The best I can give is that this woman is an up till now unrecognized heir of the big man. I'm sure you see the problems with that hypothesis.”


“A woman, and a wood elf at that? These Cyrodiliics are supremacists. They want their emperors to be Imperial like they are. Of course I see the problems!” Ruma laughed and shook her head. The idea was simply beyond ridiculous, even if it was the best they could come up with.
Even if the Septim claimed the woman took her mother’s features, as was often the case with mixed blood, and even if he managed to sell the Elder Council on accepting his elvish daughter. If! The counts and all the common folk would never accept such a heir.
“And there, Ruma. There you have my problem. She wouldn't function as a heir. Besides, a political pawn is the last thing he needs right now. For the moment Ocato is competant enough to keep the Empire whole and running.”





The woman began to pace back and forth through the room. Her brother was right again. Bringing someone whose value was measured in connections or gold to the remote temple would be counterproductive. What the Septim needed now was a strong arm. But why directly contact this woman? And why only one? Why not hire an entire hall of fighters?
"The question isn't who Jauffre's friend is, but what the Emperor knows." Ruma muttered to herself. The plan had not been for the emperor to survive. But he had and with that survival, came a certain amount of knowledge. Now what did the old man know and what would he do with that knowledge?
"He survived a direct encounter with a simulacrum. And Jauffre has gone to the palace first. So he also knows what you took from the vaults. But other than that, I doubt he knows anything." Raven said with a shrug.


He picked up the stained letter to see if he could save it. When it turned out he couldn't, he began to transcribe it onto a fresh leaflet from memory. In doing so, he gave Ruma more time to think. Time she spend well. Time enough to reach an answer that satisfied her fully.
“Aha! The Eternal Champion!” The sorceress exclaimed at once. Her eyes glittered with pride at having solved a problem her brother could not. Raven however, merely glanced up for a moment before he returned to his work.
“Pray tell, what of the Champion? He has been dead for thirty years. There’s a big mausoleum and annual procession in his honour. We were there at the burial. They even opened the coffin!” He muttered.


It had been the first day of the fifth century, supposedly one day after the defeat of Jagar Tharn the usurper and the restoration of the real Uriel Septim to the throne. The Black Courier had been as efficient as usual at delivering the news throughout the province and even beyond while the mages' transportation services had worked throughout the night to teleport tens of thousands of people from all Tamriel to the capital. It had been a fantastic procession. A thousand bards singing in perfect unison, the entire first legion marching in full ceremonial gear. The coffin, carried on the Septim's golden wagon, was a slab of solid ebony crafted into a seagoing galleon. Figures of gold and silver manned the rigging. At its prow, greater than the others, was one carved from emerald glass. A figure whose features where concealed by a robe, striking a heroic pose. A sword made of diamonds pointed ahead in one hand, the other cradled a staff. There was no room left on the wagon besides the coffin and rather than riding in a second vehicle, the Imperial family, as well as the Elder Council, all walked behind it. If the grandness of the preceding elements hadn't convinced any onlooker of the importance of whoever lay withing the coffin, the humility Tamriel's elite showed by walking through the dust scattered in its wake left no room for doubt.


When they'd actually displayed the fallen hero amidst respectful silence, Ruma had to admit she was dissapointed. The scorched body was smaller than she'd expected and burned to the point it was impossible to tell whether it had been a man or a woman, elf or human. She did think she saw what might have been the base of a tail once. But that had to be an illusion played on her by the distance from which she looked upon it. No beast would ever amount to anything, especially not the greatest hero in history since Tiber Septim.


“I thought the Hand was supposed to be smart." Ruma said, "Tell me, my clever brother. How hard would it be for the Septim to obtain a random corpse and declare it to be the Eternal Champion?”


Raven sighed and put aside his pen. He looked at her for a long time before answering.
“It would have been as simple for him as ordering bread from the baker. But I must warn you, my dearest sister. There is a line between conjecture and wild fantasy, one which you are about to cross. Even assuming that the Eternal Champion lived, why now? Why wasn’t he…she, why wasn’t she involved with the miracle of peace? Or with that business in Vvardenfell recently?”


Ruma let out a sigh of her own. Both incidents where still mostly mysteries, even after all the money and connections their father had thrown at them. The Eternal Champion could have been involved, she may not have been. For all they knew, the Nerevarine and the Champion were the same person, though overwhelming evidence from Morrowind had fixed the reincarnated Dunmeri hero as a Redguard man, not a female mer.


"Uriel has been chased out of his own palace, at the hands of his personal guard no less." She began to explain, "He needs someone who he can send back out into Tamriel. Someone who he knows won't betray him and someone who can't be stopped by any opposition. The Septim will be looking for top-ranked knights, peerless sorcerers and uncatchable thieves. Heroes. Someone who is to a Blade what the Blade is to the regular bread-and-butter thug. And as you said, he knows what we're after.” Ruma grinned and patted the pocket in her robe where she kept an knobbly rod like Raven's. One of the two world-pieces they now posessed.
“So who better to call in than the Eternal Champion? After all, no one has as much experience with the simulacra and the world-pieces as she does. It would also explain your informant’s confusion. Berkman theorized in his treatise that the Champion developed the arts of illusion in response to Tharn’s own. Even today she must be maintaining a veil to hide in obscurity.”




Raven heared her out and presented questions to test her theory but Ruma remained convinced of her theory. In the end the Hand of the Dawn made his verdict.
“I see no flaw with your logic, but it remains farfetched. I think you see connections where there are none. With that said, I learned what we get from underestimating our enemies. It can't do any harm to overestimate the Septim's allies for a change." He said and gestured towards the door, bidding for her to leave and let him work.
"We will proceed with the assumption that the Eternal Champion does indeed still live and has come into play. I’ll have to sketch up some plans for dealing with her. Not to mention find a way to appease Mehrunes Dagon. We simply can't afford to play our hand yet.”


Ruma turned in the dooropening and looked back where Raven was already stacking his endless papers, oblivious to her presence.
“You do that, brother." She whispered with a grimace.
"You fool. You plan and plan. Every minute you spend now, thinking up counters to counters, is a minute the Septim spends acting! I know what must be done and by the Aedra, I will do it."

Posted by: Lycanthropic-Legend Dec 27 2012, 11:11 PM

What a lenghty chapter indeed! One full of descriptions, too. The fact that the three Cameron's made the shrine of Dagon within the cavern shows their artistic talent! I like how you wrote that here.

What truly captures my attention aside from your storytelling gifts and knack for writing descriptions is that you wrote some of it in the point of view of the characters in the Mythic Dawn. Ruma, for example. This was all on her perspective. I like how you took us on the Mythic Dawn side. Most stories here are during the time of Oblivion and that's good and all, but they are almost always anti-Daedra or anti-Dagon. It's good to see you changed this a little and offer us a humorous and yet darker side of the story!

I wonder what awaits Ruma and Raven next! Ruma has a change of heart while Raven is still much like his father. I do wonder what filial conflicts will arise from this! Juicy story!

Posted by: McBadgere Dec 28 2012, 05:29 AM

QUOTE(The Werewolf of Note... biggrin.gif ...)
Most stories here are during the time of Oblivion and that's good and all, but they are almost always anti-Daedra or anti-Dagon.


*Must...Restrain...Self...*...

Nope, not getting into it today... biggrin.gif ...

Aaaamywho...

Brilliant stuff matey!!...

It is a brilliant thing to be showing both sides of the story, I am loving how you're doing that...

That the characters are wonderfully interesting is also a fantastic bonus!!... biggrin.gif ...

Oooh, the much history contained in this post is so well done...Speaks of a good long think about things...I like that a lot too!...

Fantastic writing...An excellent tale...

Oh, and I went and looked at the Dramatis Personae at the start, the only ones that stood out as being missing are Jennifer Renaud and that cool Altmer from the CRT armoury...I identify with grumpy older characters for some reason... biggrin.gif ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: mALX Jan 16 2013, 02:05 AM

Only two more chapters to catch up, but my PC keeps crashing and losing the notes I was making to comment. Really frustrating. You are doing an excellent job with the characters of the Blades, especially Baurus - what an interesting character you have developed here!

Another place you've excelled is with the Mythic Dawn, the personalities and subtle skewering is hugely entertaining. I'm loving seeing the two factions written out as separates and watching as they slowly converge. Your storyline is so in depth for this, I am loving it! Great Writing, all of it!

Posted by: jack cloudy Jan 16 2013, 10:47 PM

This took way longer than it should have. So another Angoril part next.


Lycanthropic-Legend: This story still is mostly anti-Daedra and anti-Dagon. I mean, the guy is called Prince of Destruction. I honestly can't think of a way to portray him in a neutral or positive light. But yeah, I wanted to make the Mythic Dawn into more of a mindless horde of cardboard targets for the hero to cleave through. I think I'm managing that well so far.


McBadgere: Renault and Fenasim? Thanks, I'll add them to the list. And I also kinda identify with grumpy old characters. It must be the beards. (Do Altmer even have facial hair?)

mALX: Ah, computer crashes always suck. Even if there is nothing lost and no damage done, you just keep worrying it's gonna break for good!


Anyway, onto Angoril getting some lunchtime.



Chapter 9.9

Kvatch


He missed the eatery at first, even with the sign hanging outside the door. It was one of the guard-towers along the wall, looking identical to its sisters on each side. The same foreboding grey stones stacked atop each other in a massive cylinder and even the banners shared the same wolf's head that was Kvatch's code of arms. The only features that set them apart were the aforementioned sign, the glasscovered firingslits and smoking chimney on the one, and the elevator that supplied the catapult atop the others. It told him both of the wealth the Geydars posessed, and the peace Kvatch had known for quite some time. Any other combination, and the count or his commander of the guard would never have permitted a guard tower to be turned into a diner, especially one so near the main gate.


The inside of the tower was a different story. Though the thick walls made any large alterations impossible, its owners had seen fit to cover up the unsightly stone with fine woodpanelling, lanterns and carvings of the Cyrodiilic landscape. Vines writhed along the ceiling whose flowers spread a nauseatingly sweet smell. It was as if someone had transplanted a part of Fallinesti, the living and mobile treecity of Valenwood, to Kvatch. In fact, that was likely the case, Angoril reflected when the floor reached out with a hundred tendrils to scrub and polish his shoes. He hadn't seen a trained plant like this anywhere else.
"This must be what Tanner meant when he said Bosmeri through and through."


He followed the goldplated signs through the narrow corridor and out a door on the other side of the tower. The actual dining area was a balcony just outside the city walls. There commoner and highborn alike dined around tables, though there seemed to be an invisible divide between the classes. Angoril paid them no significant interest. There were no familiar faces from the old days, and he knew nothing of the new.
"A stranger? I love strangers!" Something tiny rushed in, grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him to one of the empty tables with more force than he would have believed possible.
"Just plop your shiny butt down here and forget about all your worries! Taendril, this big fella is your type! Give the hunk some fun, would you?!" It yappered and was gone. In its place came an Altmeri woman who sat down opposite him.




He did give the mer the attention she deserved. Garbed in the traditional dress of central Summerset, her face etched just right and her poise nothing short of perfect elegance. Angoril held no illusions regarding her role. She was part of the service, a hostess, there to entertain and make sure the customers kept coming back to spend their coin. She was a professional in acting just the way the customer wanted. He discarded the idea of using simpleminded Tennil on her. She might just see through it. And being in the proverbial den of the wolf, he wasn't going to pull the 'old friend of a relative' card either.
"That was?" He merely asked and pointed at the little Bosmer who ran from one table to another with nary a pause, holding what looked to be three different conversations at the same time.
"That," Taendril remarked with a sweet smile that made his heart flutter for an instant. He pushed down that feeling. "little whirlwind of boundless energy is the lady Geydar, proprietess of this here fine establishment."


He watched the Bosmer, who he now knew was Rajn Treesap/Geydar, rush to an alcove, grab a plate and then dash up to deliver it at the same speed. Was she always this wild? She looked older now that she was in her sixties, with a few graying hairs, but physically she seemed to have the energy of a young child. Even for a Bosmer, it was a bit much.
"And here is your menu, sir. Please ask me anything. And I mean, anything." His own hostess giggled and produced a booklet from somewhere. Angoril idly flipped through the pages without reading it. He doubted he could get anything substantial out of the target herself. Just from this first observation he could see that there was no way, barring obvious magic use, to hold her attention long enough for an indepth conversation. All he could say for now was that she looked happy, and that prying her away from this place would be difficult. And he didn't have a reason for prying her away from anything. Having the wood elf search for the emperor's assassins was an exercise in futility as only a fool would keep wearing a disguise used in a crime once already. And they got too close to success to be fools.


"Alright, I'll bite." He said to the Altmeri in front of him. "What's the secret behind the little one's success? I very much doubt it was her reasoned and well-educated econimical planning."


"A sizable starting capital," Taendril said with the slightest lift of her shoulders. "enough to survive all beginner's mistakes such as taking a loan from the wrong people. How she got that money is anyone's guess. She would tell you she got everything from Uriel Septim's own treasury. Well, most of it."
The page with Argonian meals. From experience, recipes from the Black Marsh were more focussed on removing or neutralizing poisonous ingredients for the health of anyone who wasn't an Argonian with their extra strong stomach-acid, than they were on presenting something edible. He moved on.
"And you don't believe that version." He muttered over the menu.


"Haha, I believe half of it. It is obvious that before this she'd never done an honest day's work in her life. I mean, you should have been here in the beginning. Plenty of nice-sounding ideas, but no idea on how to do anything from cooking to cleaning to drawing in guests. Her husband isn't any better. But that she stole her money from the emperor? No, I don't believe that. She says a lot of things."
That was his key. Taendril loved to gossip, and not because it was her job. He let her talk freely, prodding her only when she trailed off and pretending to weigh each meal offered as if he was an Altmer of the most delicate Summerset bloodlines. What was he looking for? He didn't know himself. Probably nothing, or merely a hint at the past that had gone by him while he meditated in his cell.


"Like that dragon-shaped clasp she keeps over the fireplace. Looks like it's been shoved down an Atronach's throat." He remembered that. It had been his after all.
"Always keep this on you, my students. The Spire guards its heart with neither rest nor mercy. Hold the mark of its master, or perish at its hands."


"Have you seen her man? Looks like a thug, one of those dark elves." He vaguely remembered Aran Geydar. A tall imposing figure, forged by the storms of Red Mountain and battle. With his spear, he knew few equals and in a different time he would have been a Blade. Or a primitive hunter in his tent. Perhaps he had been the one who assembled the Vvardenfell section of the menu, offering ash yams and Kwama eggs stewed in Scrib yelly.


"The plants are wonderful, don't you think? The Bosmer can weave it like a carpet, or train it like a dog. Give them the right carrot, like that crystal ball mounted over the door there..." Her mouth snapped shut as he jumped up, toppling his chair in the process. Angoril stormed to where Rajn Geydar was pirouetting with a full plate. A wave of his hand, and the plate and its dishes went flying towards the horizon.




"You unbelievable idiot! Are you out of your mind?!" The Altmer screamed at her. The air around him crackled and shivered and the viny carpet fled from the murderous heat.
"What in the Nine possessed you to do this?! Did you even care to think first?! Did you stop and think about all the people who bled for it, or did you just see it as a shiny trinket! And for what? Because it is incomplete it is now a harmless piece of junk? Did nobody teach you how to be responsible?! Ten years! Ten years it took me, ten years of trudging through the damndest places! And you treat it like some ornament! You goddamned Pillow!"


His words sputtered in his throat as he had to draw his breath. At this point everyone had scattered as far away from the raging sorceror as they could, either leaning against the railing, or squeezing through the former guard-tower's door. All, that was, but the very target of his anger. Only the Bosmer, who looked positively like a midget to him, had stood her ground. Only the Bosmer seemed unimpressed with the magic that ran out of control before her eyes. Only the Bosmer had the courage to speak in that moment his lungs lacked the capacity to form further rebuke.
"Out. Get out of my home and get lost."


Angoril fellt a hand tighten around his shoulder. Instantly the man's flesh began to sizzle and smoke, but the hand was not withdrawn. He gritted his teeth. How dare anyone interupt him! This was a matter of life and death! He didn't have time for wannabe heroes!
"Come along, sir." The man slurred around the two fangs that protruded from his lower jaw. "Ye can sober up outside. Ya don wan to let ya'r guild hear 'bout dis."


For a moment Angoril's fury subsided enough for his caution to return. He realized that he'd made a massive mistake. Not only had he potentially exposed himself to Rajn, who had all the reason to recognize him and shout it off the rooftops, and not only had he drawn everyone's attention to him. Not only had he possibly brought the mage's guild down on his head with his blatant display of sorcery, but he had also drawn attention to the artifact the little elf had been stupid enough to keep on display as a souvenir. The fact that it was still there suggested that no one had seen it for what it truly was. But now...


Angoril let the bouncer lead him away without putting up any resistance. He was almost, but not quite, thrown out onto the streets. Even the Orc, brave and apparantly immune to pain as he had been, was of a mind to give any reason for the Altmer's anger to reignite. Standing on the streets and aware that he should make himself scarce before the gossip left the Eight Provinces, Angoril's stomach found the time right to remind him that he hadn't ordered anything in the end.
"Bosmer!"

Posted by: McBadgere Jan 19 2013, 06:14 AM

Temper temper!!... biggrin.gif ...

Love it!...Brilliant stuff...

Sounds like a brilliant place to eat!!...

Absolute brilliance in the character department, loved them all...

Looking forward to more, as ever...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: mALX Jan 25 2013, 12:31 AM

WOO HOO! Numbered chapters! I haven't reached them yet, just read the last chapter before the numbering starts, lol.

*

I didn't take notes on what I read at my Mom's, but now that I'm back I've got my JC comment pad access again, lol.

I absolutely loved this line:

QUOTE
Cuts, broken bone, burns and some injuries whose cause I couldn’t determine. He’d seen war firsthand and paid for it dearly. Whether all the scarring meant he was a lousy swordsman or a good one, I couldn’t tell.


Your attention to detail is always spot on perfect, never too heavy so it is intrusive. It is ambient so you (we, the reader) absorb the details without them being a part of the storyline - really excellent!

Talking about the Spellsong reminded me of the Sixth House/the Poison Song/Tay (Dagoth-Tython) - I don't know why, but that is how it hit me in this chapter.

This chapter was excellent, really showcased your ability to take raw emotions and run them as an undercurrent in your characters, hatred/anger/defensiveness/defeat/distraction - really huge talent! Awesome Write!






Posted by: mALX Feb 8 2013, 09:20 AM

Chapter 9.8:

QUOTE

Words repeated themselves in her mind and she shivered at the memory of her tongue moving on its own.

"Do not deny me!"

…the real Dagon was not in any way like what the prophet had made them believe.


This whole segment was bone-chilling! The implications that Dagon was more involved with the Mythic Dawn than the figurehead shown in game is an immensely powerful idea I have never seen in any fic before - extraordinary thinking here!

You have really upped the level of intrigue in this chapter! I have to number this up there among my top favorite chapters in the whole story, Awesome Write!

Will be back to catch up the last chapter!


*

Chapter 9.9 - GAAAAH! He should have just grabbed it and run out the door with it, urk! Oh no, there will definitely be repercussions from drawing notice to it, and now he can't get back inside and remove it ... GAAAAAH! Awesome Write ... and portentious for unfortunate consequences. Urk!




Posted by: jack cloudy Feb 13 2013, 09:42 PM

Ugh, I'm finally done with this part. This also means that chapter 9 is now officially over! (Angoril needs to do some breaking and entering, but that's a small piece I'll tag onto chapter 10.) Speaking of which, he really should have kept his cool and swiped the thingy of doom in the middle of the night.


As for the spellsong thing, I wanted to give Pyandonean magic a slightly different feel. Singing was the first thing that came to mind and why not? Dagoth Ur and his ilk had sound-based magic so it wasn't as if there's no precedent for it. Of course, I don't actually do anything with the Maormer spellsong beyond mentioning it because Latta sucks at it.



And now for the update. Sorian the Redguard and Grey-Tongue the Argonian investigator have chased some 'thieves' to the slopes north of Bruma.


Chapter 9.10

Ysmir's Tongue


We'd taken up residence in the gletsjer-guide's shack while we waited for him to return. It wasn't going to win any prizes. Fireplace, bed, table, two chairs and a beaten book that was two reads away from falling apart. Still, the shack was the best place to stay. Wickedly cold winds streamed in from Skyrim and without the cover offered by the building, we would have frozen to death in the night.


I heard them before I saw them. The sound of snow and ice being crushed underfoot were unmistakable. It almost made not lighting a fire worth it. Almost.


I crept to the window and gripped my sword with one hand and the black knife with the other. The argonian rapped his tail on the floor and waved at the blank wall behind him.
"They're coming from the gletsjer." He hissed. As if I didn't know that. It's where he sent the Skyrim brute after all. I just hadn't expected him back this soon. Actually, I hadn't expected him back at all. It made no sense anyway. Why would a thief come back with its tail tucked between its legs because someone sent it a letter and asked nicely? And speaking of the gletsjer, wasn't the other side at least a full day away just getting there? It hadn't even been that long. This stank like a setup to be honest.
Grey-Tongue looked at the sword and gestured me to leave it sheathed. Was there any furniture by the door? No, fine then. I could probably draw in time if needed.
"This had better not be a trap." I muttered.


The crunching passed behind the shack to the front and then there was the rattling of the key in the lock. I pinched my nose and swallowed. The moment of truth.




Kort, the Nord guide, came in with his hands held up and horns of ice hanging down his beard. He had been under the gletsjer. Was Skyrim closer than I thought? I waved him to the side of the door where I could see him. But he hadn't come alone. An old legion scout followed him in. And then a Redguard, and a shorter man covered top to bottom in thick furs. I looked from one to the other. They were all coated in the ice that told me they'd ventured through the tunnels of Ysmir's Tongue. But who were they? The legion man, looking crossly at Grey-Tongue and me, he was too old for the job. Legion men and women passed their fighting prime were either moved to a desk or command.


The Redguard though was far more worrysome than an old grump too incompetent to get promoted. He was like a walking arsenal, two swords, a bandolier full of knives and dressed in a patchwork armour of leather, a few bits of plate and some chain. A sellsword if there had ever been one, and a good one at that.
"Ok, stay there." I told the lot of them and decided to keep my distance from the mercenary. He gave me the chills. With the way he kept his arms, he could draw either sword or a knive with only a slight movement. Definitely not an amateur.

"Hello. I was hoping you would come. Please have a seat. I made some tea." Grey-Tongue said behind me. The furmummy made muffled noises behind his scarf as he stared right at me with his pure white eyes. Oh, crap.




The Dark Brotherhood had come to kill me! My fingers felt like wax as I fumbled for my sword. Maorlatta pulled down her scarf. I finally managed to get the Shamshir out. She was going to kill me! She and that sellsword! How was I going to fight against elf-magic?!
"Seriously, I go away for a few days and you get your face bashed in? Do you like picking fights you can't win or something?" Wait, what?


Before I could even get over the surprise, the sellsword had gotten his own sword out. The Shamshir flew out through the window and the back of my head smashed into the floor. I blinked at stars and looked at the sword that was terrifyingly close to my throat. It was a simple type found in any legion of Tamriel. Double-edged, no decoration, triangle-tip. Good for hacking and stabbing, though not perfect for either. It's almost funny how one's mind becomes occupied with the stupidest details when looking death in the eye.
"Baurus! Step back! He is not an enemy!" The Wood-elf yelled. So she wasn't brainwashed afterall. I suppose I should be happy. That didn't make what she said next any better.
"He's a friend, though he's also a total idiot with the self-preservation instincts of a generic masked underling. Seriously, sir Redguard. What did you do this time?"
Well excuse me for worrying about you. And did no one ever tell you that throwing stools at people is cheating? I heard Kort laugh. The honoured user.

At least the sellsword listened to her and pointed his sword somewhere else. Was he on her payroll and if so, where did she get the money? I was still carrying all the coin we'd made from the Ayleid haul.


I held up my hand in the hope that the Redguard would help me back on my feet, but no such luck. Instead it was Maorlatta who pushed me back down, scolding me about trying to get up before she'd checked my injuries. Meeting her here, unmolested even, was an incredible coincidence. The kind that didn't happen without the hand of a Divine to help it along. Was this what it was? The Divines telling me my fate was with her?
"Well, one thing is for sure. Life hasn't been boring ever since I let myself get dragged into her problems. Wished she actually did something about my wounds other than poking them though."



While the pale-eyed wood-elf poked and fussed, while the Redguard hovered behind her like a particularly frightening scarecrow, while Kort was the only one to help himself to tea, Grey-Tongue and the forester had pegged each other as the brains of their respective outfits and begun negotiations of some sort. I quickly lost what they were talking about as they threw too many technical terms back and forth. In the end I asked Maorlatta. Maybe she knew. It didn't seem like Grey-Tongue was interrogating the thieves. Where these people even thieves? Surely the little elf-girl would never let herself in with criminal scum.
"Sir Grey-tongue is arguing why you and he should not be executed right now."
He's what?!


Arguing why we shouldn't be killed? What kind of situation were we in?! We hadn't done anything wrong. Why would that forester want us dead? I don't even know how to hunt, I couldn't possibly poach anything! Maorlatta clasped her hands against the sides of her head and recoiled.
"Don't yell in my ears! I think he's winning. He just used pragmatism as an argument. That's always hard to beat." She screeched.
"But still, why?" I asked. The girl sniffed and for a moment she looked as if she'd swallowed a sour lemon.
"Because Jauffre is an ill-mannered controlling person with extra-legal privileges and responsibilities. Now shut up and stop wiggling your nose so much."


She continued looking at me from all angles and tapping with her finger till I had enough. Asking me to not sniff was one thing, but whatever she was doing wasn't working. There had to be an easier way to fix things. I remembered the last time she had tried to heal someone and did not look forward to being filetted like a fish. I was keenly aware that the knife she'd used for that now rested in its makeshift sheathe on my sash. It was definitely better to distract her before she worked herself up to Maorlatta the Ripper.
"Can't you cast a spell and actually do something about it? It would save time. Or are you some pointy-eared freak of nature who can't?" I asked her. It seemed to light a match.





She put her hands on her hips and pouted with trembling lips. Then, she burst.
"Well unlike someone whose name I shall not mention, I know my limits and don't go stepping over them at every opportunity. First the living corpse, and now a fight in a tavern? What are you, an overly excited fiftier who thinks he's immortal and has something to prove to his childhood sweetheart? Grow up already instead of swinging that metal weedwhacker of yours!!" I may have touched a sore point, but no way was I going to let an insult to all Redguard's prowess stand.
"Hey! Don't forget the vampire. I kicked his butt!" I yelled back at the wood elf.

She blinked, frowned and silently mouthed the word vampire over and over.
"What vampire?" She mumbled in the end. At this point, I was as confused as she was. Where was the vampire anyway? The Dark Brotherhood was as tenacious in keeping its recruits as it was at killing people. So why was she here now, as huffy as always and with a complete hatred of fighting? It made no sense.
"The one that you know, took you and all. I saw it, he saw it too!" I stammered, waving in the Argonian's direction and began to think again that this may be a trap.


"Sir Sorian, " The girl started, "there was no vampire. I am quite convinced I would remember such an occurence."


But it had happened. How could it not? I'd been there, I'd seen it! I looked to Grey-Tongue for help, but found none. When the Argonian did stop his argument with the forester, he only did it to back up Maorlatta.
"The princess is indeed correct. The fire curtain was ineffective the second time around, there was no sugar next to my tea and there were no footprints all over the carpet. A memory is an unreliable thing next to the truth of the world, Sorian. Especially a fabricated one. Ergo, what we both saw was something the Blades planted in our minds so they could steal a most important witness from me. I do however have a question. Princess, may I have a moment your time?" I broke my head on his explanation. It made sense if magic could do that, but why would the Blades of all people want her? And wait, did the lizard just call her princess? That had to be a joke.




She turned to him with an air of 'anything's better than talking to this idiot'.
"Certainly. How may I be of assistance?" How she did not pick up on the obvious sarcasm was beyond me. Where was her castle? Her crown and faithful manservant with a sword of silver? She was as far away from being a princess as you could get.
"When we first met, you asked me to bring you somewhere. Are my services still required?" Heck, when I first met her, she was dressed in rags! She was a delusional and strangely smart beggar!
"No, that matter has been resolved. But I thank you for your concern."
"Excellent." The Argonian hissed with one of his bare-toothed smiles. "I apologize for not recognizing the name before, princess. The university's librarian was most forthcoming in resolving this failing of mine however. It won't happen again." SHE WAS NOT A....but the Arcane University knew her name. That place was the biggest vault of knowledge for the sake of knowledge in all Tamriel. So did that mean, it was all real?

Grey-Tongue nodded and turned his attention back to the forester. The balding man gestured to the door.
"What are you still doing here?" He barked. "You have your mission, now go undertake it!"
Kort was laughing again when we left.



"Wait, you are really a princess?" I asked her as I followed her outside the shack. I was stunned. Meeting an actual princess? No, fix that. Meeting an actual princess and saving her life as the first thing you do? That was the kind of thing heroic songs were all about! I'd gotten myself half a kingdom and the king's favorite daughter's hand in marriage without even knowing about it!
"Did I ever say I wasn't?" I looked at her with new eyes. It explained so much. Her general haughty attitude, her fussiness over getting dirt on her, her general uselessness in anything that wasn't brain-stuff. Yes, she was princessy now that I thought about it.


"Well," I began. She'd said she was a merchant. Royalty did not trade, it was beneath them. But I wasn't going to say that to the face of one, especially when she had a Redguard bodyguard at her beck and call.
"I didn't know. I thought that at the gate when you told that guard. I thought you were lying, bluffing." What else was I supposed to believe when the elf you found in an alley starts talking down the guards like that? She looked at me sharply before answering.
"I wasn't. The only lie I told then was that you were part of my official entourage. I am Maorlatta Orgnum, of the House Orgnum, of the ruling family of Pyandonea. My g, father is the king so yes, I am a princess. I own land, a kelp farm, a fishery, collect taxation, speak law and if I find the time for it, I do charity. Any other questions?"


I tried to think of anything, but couldn't think of something to say without setting her off again.
"Err, no. Not really. No, I am completely without questions, your highness." I said and tried my best bow.
"Good, now don't mention it ever again." Know what? I'd take the kingdom, but I'd pass on the king's daughter's hand.




She suddenly dug into a satchel on her belt and took out what looked like a fishhook and a tweezer. I looked at the two tiny instruments in her hand and felt my eyes grow big. The ripper had come out.
"Oh, and speaking of favours." She said in an innocent voice that didn't fit her intentions. "Please hold still for a moment, I wish to do something. It's not magic, but I do have a few ideas on how to fix your face." Yes, I really should settle on just the kingdom.
"Err...I think I'll pass. Yes, definitely. There is no need to concern yourself with your humble servant. It is but a scratch."


The elven princess rolled her eyes.
"Humble, you? Auri-El have mercy upon me. I think the world might be ending." She groaned but to my relief, she didn't press the issue. I could feel the sellswords eyes on my back. He was obviously not happy with her decision to bring me along, but couldn't speak against her. As for me, I did feel kind of bad for abandoning Grey-Tongue, but the Argonian was a tough one and escorting real royalty was definitely the bigger job.
"Fine, it's your body and as far as I can tell, not fatal. But don't blame me when you can't win over any free women with it. Now come along. I'm not letting you out of my sight again." Maorlatta said and turned down the path towards Bruma, still muttering. "You would probably try to wrestle a flying tree the moment I turn around."

Posted by: mALX Feb 15 2013, 12:12 AM

Your description of the Redguard was spectacularly visual, I pictured him armed to the teeth but cool as ice - in control of himself and whatever situation may arise - especially with this next addition to it:

QUOTE

With the way he kept his arms, he could draw either sword or a knive with only a slight movement. Definitely not an amateur.

I found myself holding my breath wondering what would happen next! Awesome writing here!

My suspicion was it being Baurus - you have done such a tremendous job with his character in this story! I am green with envy over it, he is exactly how I would imagine he should be as the Emperor’s Dragonguard!

Also loved this little detail - even with no experience in this, I’m sure this is true:
QUOTE

It's almost funny how one's mind becomes occupied with the stupidest details when lookin death in the eye.


Surprisingly (because I’ve never found them in your writing before) - a few words had letters missing - I suspect your keyboard has a key or two that have just started sticking, mine does the same thing lately.

The auto-censor ran you ragged in this chapter, but I knew what it should have said so it didn’t hurt the immersion at all. (It would have taken a heck of a lot to break the immersion in this chapter).

Very tense and wonderful write, then the relief and humor Latta brought was priceless!

To have Latta and Angoril brought together again gives the feeling of a circle closing - I have to go back to the beginning in the Archives and re-read the prison cell/tutorial dungeon scenes again and look back on how far they’ve come since then - Loving this story, you are an amazingly immersive writer!
QUOTE

I held up my hand in the hope that the Redguard would help me back on my feet, but no such luck. Instead it was Maorlatta who pushed me back down...Wished she actually did something about my wounds other than poking them though."

I was already laughing at Angoril trying to get a hand up, then saw that Latta pushed him back down and rolled! You have given her so much personality that I could easily picture that! Then Angoril’s inner dialogue - you nailed that paragraph for so much more than just the humor. You managed to display both their personalities plus the back and forth between them that marked their interactions in the past - and was so much fun to read!

Loved this whole chapter, and it left off feeling like things are about to start happening in a big way now that they have re-met! Awesome Write (as always!)




*

Posted by: jack cloudy Feb 15 2013, 08:45 PM

Keys missing? Could you point out where? My lappy is practically factory-fresh. It would be a shame if anything was wrong with it already. kvleft.gif

Oh, and I think you made a mistake. Angoril is down south in Kvatch. Maorlatta is still north of frosty Bruma. This update was about Sorian, the ansei-worshipping hero-wannabe. wink.gif

Posted by: mALX Feb 16 2013, 01:38 AM

QUOTE(jack cloudy @ Feb 15 2013, 02:45 PM) *

Keys missing? Could you point out where? My lappy is practically factory-fresh. It would be a shame if anything was wrong with it already. kvleft.gif

Oh, and I think you made a mistake. Angoril is down south in Kvatch. Maorlatta is still north of frosty Bruma. This update was about Sorian, the ansei-worshipping hero-wannabe. wink.gif




Oh, (Doh!) I actually did wonder how Angoril got there, even scanned back to the last chapter to see if I had missed something!

I read the heading where it said Sorian and Grey-Tongue chased some "thieves;" knew Angoril was in Kvatch last chapter - then (like a total idiot) saw the first person POV and thought it must be Angoril anyway.

So (thinking it was Angoril) I thought Sorian was the Redguard that came in with Latta, (till she called him Baurus). Urk.

Latta did have that easy give and take chatter with Sorian too, and I did remember her filleting him in the Ayleid ruin too, Gaaaah!

My bad. I am so sorry, I will reread that chapter from Sorian's POV - mea culpa.


*


The elided letters - if the laptop is new it could just be a question of finger pressure or positioning on the keyboard being different than what you are accustomed to. Like I said, you've never had anything like this in the entire story, so I knew it had to be a keyboard issue.


"They're coming from the gletsjer." He hissed. As if I didn't know that. It's were he sent the Skyrim brute after all. (where)

It's almost funny how one's mind becomes occupied with the stupidest details when lookin death in the eye. (looking or lookin')

"Please hold stilll for a moment (still)


As you can see, these are all obviously keyboard slips (either not enough pressure or not used to the new finger positioning on the first two. The last one - either a sticking key or the keyboard is too sensitive to direct pressure.


On this next one it is keyboard dyslexia:

I quickly lost what they were talking about as they threw too many techincal terms back and forth. (technical)


The last two were probably just missed in the edit:

"Sir Grey-tongue is argueing why you and he should not be executed right now." (arguing)

"there was no vampire. I am quite convinced I would remember such an occurance."
(occurrence)


In over a year of reading your story you've never had any error pop up on my radar, so I was absolutely sure you had either spilled something on your keyboard and it was sticking (or a different keyboard than you are used to).

I'll go back and re-read the chapter from Sorian's POV this weekend. I'm really sorry I messed up on that, Jack. embarrased.gif


*

Posted by: jack cloudy Feb 16 2013, 04:16 PM

Thanks. I've went over it again. I also discovered I'd turned off spell-check in word. That doesn't help. embarrased.gif

Posted by: mALX Feb 16 2013, 06:50 PM

QUOTE(jack cloudy @ Feb 16 2013, 10:16 AM) *

Thanks. I've went over it again. I also discovered I'd turned off spell-check in word. That doesn't help. embarrased.gif


Lol. It's funny how as a reader you get used to a writer's style, and a slight change makes you stop and say, "Huh?" I've never seen errors in your writing before, it was so unusual that I really hated to even mention it. Grits and Acadian's stories are the same - never an error. I just feel really stupid for my brain failure in not realizing that was Sorian's POV. It has been a very tough week for me, I claim exhaustion as an excuse (no joke).

Posted by: McBadgere Feb 17 2013, 12:10 PM

Cool!!...

The Blades were excellent... biggrin.gif ...Baurus rocked... biggrin.gif ...

I do love Grey-Tongue, he's really cool... biggrin.gif ...

Excellent stuff...

Love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Teeny nits...The auto-censor thing...And, unless you caught the other key thingies you missed there's -

QUOTE
My g, father is the king so yes, I am a princess.


Too...

Brilliant stuff Jack...*Applauds*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Feb 17 2013, 11:16 PM

QUOTE
My g, father is the king so yes, I am a princess.


That one was intentional actually. Since there is no real place to wedge the explanation into the story, I'll just do it here.


Genetically speaking, king Orgnum is Latta's grandfather. Politically speaking however, he recently adopted her as his daughter, making him her father instead. Her real father is still alive, but this little act gives her the rights to specific land and titles. Most importantly, it makes her look more important when she's sent to meet with Uriel Septim. Afterall, 'daughter of the king' sounds a heck of a lot more impressive than 'granddaughter of the king from a remote branch nobody cares about really'.

She's not used to it and informally still thinks of the king as grandfather and has up to this point referred to him as such. In the formal meeting with Uriel she first referred to the king as her father and she almost slipped up with Sorian.

Posted by: jack cloudy Feb 19 2013, 10:02 PM

A short one. This update features Angoril, the Altmeri sorceror who is trying to find the Mythic Dawn. His search has led him to a Bosmer named Belgoth, who possibly provided the distinctive clothing of the Dawn. However, since the mer has been murdered before Angoril's arrival and since he can't just ask for his ledger, Angoril has chosen to break into the store under the cover of the night.



INTERLUDE


Upper Kvatch


Night fell on Kvatch, but the city only darkened to the point of a rosy glow. Lanterns lit the streets, Braziers burned atop the walls and the temple and inner keep both glowed with magical stones.


To Angoril this presented both difficulties and opportunities in equal measure. The main difficulty was of course in the lack of total darkness that would have hidden his actions. The Altmer debated the problem with himself as he walked towards Belgoth's store. He could make himself invisible, or he could use an illusion that made him appear like Ludius Bester of the Kvatch Hall of Mercantile Interests. Both had their drawbacks and risks. Invisibility was basic, but people were suspicious to objects moving on their own, such as a door opening or closing. The illusion would be far more difficult. It required an eye for detail not just in the physical but also in the man's mannerisms. Having a Bester enter the dead Bosmer's store, perhaps to pick up some documents, would be less suspicious. But he didn't know if the real Bester had returned to Lower Kvatch and who had seen him.


Angoril sighed. He would go with invisibility, along with a spell of silence to mask his footsteps. Unless someone was using magical sight, he would be undetectable. And better a regular thief trying to make some coin out of a rich corpse, than a man who couldn't possibly be there doing something that was quite out of character.


He rounded the corner to the street that housed Belgoth's on demand fabrics. The sorceror had already removed himself from eyes and ears the last time he walked through a shadowy ally. Not even the mugger napping in an empty barrel had noticed him pass by.


There was the door. Angoril looked around to see if anyone was watching before he went to work. He drew upon the air, turning it into an extension of his hand. The attention his telekinesis required was almost too much and for a moment all three spells he was now maintaining wavered. He pushed the thoughts of doubt aside and redoubled his efforts. Within the lock his ghostly hand went and probed, then delicately clicked the thumblers in succession. It took multiple tries and several combinations before the door released itself. Angoril took one last look around, then slipped inside.


"That was almost too much. I should renew my practice when I have the chance." The Altmer thought to himself as he wiped the sweat off his brow. He elected to drop all his spells, using only night-eye to give him the vision he needed to navigate in the dark. Invisibility was not needed in an empty building and neither was silence if he practiced discretion. He turned to relock the door before walking up the stairs to Belgoth's office. No telling if Bester or some other thief got the same idea he had. The advance warning could be critical.


The office was exactly the way it had been this morning. The stacks of books, both scholarly and novellas though all with the merchant-trade as their theme, the desk and the deer's head mounted on the walls. Angoril had thought of the order to do things and went to work at once. He ignored the books, as well as the wall-safe behind the deer's head. The head had been shifted which was how he'd discovered the wall-safe in the first place. There was a good chance it had been emptied out already. No, his first goal would be the desk. He knew it kept documents of some sort that Ludius Bester had deemed important enough to review and keep hidden from him, yet of a nature that kept him from moving them out of the store.


The lock on the desk was simpler than the one on the door, just a single tumbler that fell to his telekinetic finger in seconds. The Altmer retrieved the documents and laid them out on top of the desk. Next he opened the satchel he'd bought at a general goods store. From it he took a handful of dirt that had been generously donated by the temple gardens.
"The spell of duplication, how did it go again? Ah, yes."
He spread out the dirt next to the papers. Then with one hand on the dirt and the other on a document, he focussed. His will took hold of the dirt and enforced a new reality upon it. Grains of sand shifted beneath his fingers, coalescing, drying, hardening, reshaping, becoming a perfect copy of the document. At least for a day or two.


He repeated the process with each document in turn. A handful of dirt, casting the spell. Once he was finished he put the originals back where he'd found them, diligently removed every speck of mud he'd left on the desk and relocked the drawer. He removed the deer's head and opened the vault hidden behind it. Ironically, though the rotary mechanism of the safe was considered a greater challenge to the common thief, to a sorcerer who could directly touch and move the latches, it was easier than a tumbling lock. It was not empty as he had presumed, but what it contained was mostly useless. Some random valuables. Gems and keepsakes. There was one heavy tome however, which he duplicated.


Angoril made a quick sweep of the other rooms on the second floor. The bedroom, the kitchen, the bath and a small living room. There was nothing of interest however and the Altmer decided it was high time to leave. As a tresspasser, he preferred to spend as little time at the scene of his crime as possible. He would safely look at what he'd found in the inn-room he rented.

Posted by: McBadgere Feb 20 2013, 05:46 AM

QUOTE
That one was intentional actually. Since there is no real place to wedge the explanation into the story, I'll just do it here.


Oh, I never doubted her lineage, but many thanks for the explaination. What I meant that it being put as "g, father" looked odd, and thusly I didst think it a typo...Apologies...



YAY!!...I can read it without scrolling sideways!!... laugh.gif ...

Brilliant stuff Jack, as ever...

That was cool with the invisibility, silence and telekenesis being trouble...Nicely done that...Some people just go over the top with their magic users abilities...Pfft...Y'know?... biggrin.gif ...

Excellently described environs btw...The mugger in the barrel was a delight... wink.gif ...

OOooh, the duplication spell I liked!...Turning one thing into another but only for a few days...Excellent!!...

Brilliant stuff, loved it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Feb 24 2013, 03:15 PM

Oh? No more scrolling? I'm running on a massive screen (1920 pixels?! ohmy.gif ) so I admit I have no idea anymore on how things look. Heck, I'm pretty convinced that the width of a line changes with the viewer's resolution. (Which makes any attempts at keeping things nice and compact rather useless. dry.gif )

Anyhow, have another interlude.


Interlude 2

Mythic Dawn Sanctuary



Raven awoke with the scent of brimstone, ash and burned steel in his nostrils. Being still half asleep his thoughts were muddled.
"What imbecile has kept the fire on?" Was the first and his eyes opened.
"Who dares enter my chamber at this hour?" Was the second and he spied a figure.
"A conjuration from Oblivion?" Was the third and he saw that the figure was not human. Rather the being resembled some grand insect that had been pressed into the vague shape of man through foul magic. It was popping chitin, bubbling oils, mandibles chewing on linen and protruding eyestalks. It was a monster that fell to the floor as he watched. Raven's mind awoke and everything became clear.
"Father!"


Raven leapt from his bed and knelt down beside the man in his strange armour. Around him, his precious books and notes crinkled and smoked from the ambient heat that poured in waves from chitin, but he paid it no heed. His father let out a cry and pulled something from his side and let it fall.
"You're injured!" Raven cried. His hands felt for the wound but the other mer slapped them aside and pressed his own against the crater in his side.
"It is nothing. Calm yourself, son." He hissed. His voice was not as Raven remembered it. It was cracked from the pain, the scarf before his mouth and something else. It was different, but the words were Mankar's and brought him back to reason.


A calmer Raven observed as his father began to send his magicka into the injured flesh, closing the gap and mending flesh and blood. While he did that, Raven removed the Altmer's helmet. It was like touching the inside of a steel-oven and he needed to freeze his hands first to stave off the heat. Then he pulled the scarf free from the mandibles, undid the leather straps that tied the helmet to the neckguard and pulled out the goggles. Mankar Camoran's face was like his and Ruma's, though older and paler from lack of sunlight.
"Thank you. Call your sister. There is much to tell." Mankar whispered. Raven nodded and opened the door to his chamber a crack to speak to the guard standing watch outside. He did not give the guard a reason for why the priestess should come, nor did he tell the Bosmer that their leader and prophet was bleeding on his floor. He only told the mer to get his sister and have her awoken should she be asleep.
"Not a day goes by that the spell of silence in the walls doesn't prove its worth."


When he turned he saw that Mankar lied easier now. Most of the pain was gone as his wound fixed itself and though the outer layers of his armour where boiling hot, he seemed to be comfortably cool. At his feet was the thing he'd pulled from his side. Raven bent, picked it up and rolled it in his hands. The nature of the object was instantly obvious to him. It was a projectile, shorter and thicker than an arrow. The material put him for a question though. It had the colour of rusted iron, but the shade was too regular and the texture too smooth.
"Dwemer steel." He muttered. His sister entered.
"You asked for me, brother?" She asked him with a look of simple curiosity to the mer on the floor.
"You are not Ruma." Both father and son said at the same time.






The simulacra stood silent for a moment before it smiled.
"I am sorry. What was the mistake I made? Explain it so I will do better in the future."
"One would think that a woman is able to recognize her own father." Mankar bit angrily - "But no matter. Raven, why did you make a simulacra of Ruma? And why did you not give it such important memories as its supposed family?"


Raven shook his head.
"I didn't. And I didn't know up till now." He answered. There were but four people he knew who were capable of making a simulacra. Of those four, one was deceased. Of the remaining three, two were in this room. And neither his father nor he had a hand in its creation.
"Why did Ruma make you?" Raven asked the monster.


The simulacra's face awakened a rage in him. He wished to tell it to drop the disguise instead of using his Ruma as a mask, but he knew better than to give in to his feelings. Meanwhile, Mankar had finished healing his wound and dragged himself onto Raven's chair.
"Forget that question." The eldest Camoran said before the simulacra could answer.
"Instead, you can tell us where Ruma went." He added. The simulacra explained that it didn't know where or why its creator went. It had only been taught the identities of those in the sanctuary and what was expected of the priestess. Mankar dismissed it and turned to Raven.


"I had things to tell you and your sister. But now she is gone and she didn't tell why. Raven, what happened here?" Mankar asked his son.
"I don't know where Ruma went, but I can guess." Raven replied. He took a deep breath before continuing. What he was about to tell would be an admittance of his own failure, something he wasn't eager to do. But before he could help, his father had to know.
"The emperor lives and is currently hiding beneath Ysmir's tongue. He knows we seek the world pieces. Furthermore, Mehrunes Dagon desires us to fulfill our end of the bargain. So if Ruma is planning anything, it can be only one thing." He continued and took another breath.
"She's going after the Sphere."





The Sphere. Of all the world-pieces, it was the most unique and most desirable. Raven and Ruma could both use the pieces they already posessed to draw a small peekhole, or maintain a door to elsewhere for a short time. Mankar could use one to draw an entire building to any place he desired. But the rods only held a fragment, a shadow of the power kept within the Sphere. With that jewel of fire, even someone completely unversed in the arts of magic, could perform miracles. With the sphere, places could not be moved, they could be replaced entirely. Mountains could be made flat, lakes could fly and the stars could fall. The Mythic Dawn needed the Sphere, but there was only one problem.


The other world-pieces were hidden, but the Sphere was guarded day and night by a Blade while an elite group of battlemages resided in the mages' guild on the other side of the street. The Dawn could take it, but it would mean the end of their shadowy existence. Originally they'd planned to grab it during the chaos and civil war that would within the year after Uriel's death. Take it any earlier, before they had all the other pieces, and the emperor's allies would have used theirs to pinpoint the location of the Sphere and bring in the greatest army the world have ever known to reclaim it. But the Septim lived and he knew their plans.


"I don't know what to think anymore. Should I stop her before she loses control over the Prince of Destruction? Or should I let her claim the Sphere before it can be spirited away?" Raven admitted. Mankar grimaced. He would never admit it to Raven, but he too was at a loss for the moment. But a father had to be strong and all-knowing, he told himself.
"Ruma can handle herself. Let her have the Sphere and sate the Daedra's thirst with it. When it is done, we can retrieve her in a moment. In the meantime, I bring news."







OOC: And enter Mankar Camora. He had to show his face sometime, didn't he? Now I just need to decide on how to deliver his news.

Posted by: McBadgere Feb 28 2013, 01:45 PM

*Jaw drops*...

Holy McCow McCloudy!!... blink.gif ...

That was sooo cool...The World Pieces?!...The Sphere?!...

Hells I'm intrigued!!...

Brilliant stuff...Loving it...

Sorry I'm late btw...RL interference...

Looking forward to much more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Oh, the thing with the scrolling, I think it was more to do with the Alduin picture than anything else... biggrin.gif ...

Posted by: jack cloudy Mar 2 2013, 09:42 PM

Ah, the screenshot. That could be it.

And Cloudy, another interlude? What happened to the story, why aren't you moving on to the next chapter? The answer to that is that I know what I want to do in chapter ten, and Mankar's flashback is not in there. So I put it in the interlude.


Oh, by the way. This part is all Mankar talking. Everything is one long monologue. I left out the quotation marks but this is him rambling on, trying to shove too many details in too short a speech.



Interlude 3


We last saw each other just after we'd put down the final details on our plan to raid the Imperial vaults. You and Ruma went to the capital while I journeyed to the land of the Dunmer. First by carriage, then by boat. To the east, to Morrowind. Do you remember Morrowind, son? That slum of a province, where the Dunmer scrape a life out of the ash and cling to their false gods and saints? It has changed since those days.


The island I found to be much as Harrow and other Dunmer have told us. There is still the occasional ash-storm and a new foyada where Red Mountain drains into the sea. But the weather is much better than that time I took you and Ruma to Vivec. You can go outside without having to wear a scarf and goggles. I'd say there are days it is even pleasant. The Houses have actually begun large-scale agriculture in the ashlands, imagine that.


But enough about the weather and economics. That's not what you need to know. You want to know if I have been succesful in locating the world-piece. It rests here on my heart, beneath the armour. Finding it wasn't easy, and the labyrinth Dres built beneath the ash was as ingenious as it was frustrating. There were the traps of course, the undead guardians and hundreds of shrines holding false pieces. The real one was hidden within a random strip of wall. Quite clever, but not clever enough. Of course, if that was everything I set out to accomplish, I would have returned to you weeks ago. No, something came up.




It was politics that made me stay. Morrowind has since time immorial balanced on the brink of civil war. Redoran against the Hlaalu, Hlaalu against the Telvanni, Telvanni against Redoran. The Tribunal and their Indoril lackeys were inviolate as the cornerstone of Dunmer religion. It is the utmost irony that what kept that fire sedated was the mutual enemy of them all. House Dagoth. None of the Houses could afford to war against each other, for the victor weakened as he was would be devoured by the Sixth House. But the battle of Red Mountain changed all that. It was more than just the largest collission of military forces Vvardenfell had seen since its conquest by Tiber Septim. It was a revolution.


The battle involved all the Houses. Every single one against House Dagoth. They battered each other to pieces on the slopes. And when all was said and done, the Tribunal's power was broken which dooms them to a slow fading. The hawks of the three Houses, the warmongers, lay dead in the ash. House Dagoth is no more. They say the Nerevarine entered Dagoth's main base alone and defeated its leader, another immortal named Dagoth Ur, in single combat. With Dagoth Ur's death, all of his ash minions crumbled and the skies over Red Mountain cleared for the first time in centuries. The Nerevarine was never seen again.


You have heard of the Nerevarine, have you not? I hold some curiosity towards the man myself and took the opportunity to investigate in depth while I was there. I went to the places he had visited. The cities, the guilds, Tel Uvirith that was his home. I even dared venture into the Sixth House fort of Kogoruhn and the shrine of Azura. I talked to people who have seen him, or had their lives changed by him. I watched the equilibrium he has created between the houses by leaving the progressive tempered in control. I had to of course. For he would be our enemy.


Who is the Nerevarine? And is he still alive, still watching? That might just be the most important question of all. There are enough conflicting details that trying to uncover the absolute truth is impossible. Did the Nerevarine really go into the volcano, did he really kill a god? Dagoth Ur was the counter to the Tribunal, as mighty as the three combined. He can't be a fake either, for his influence on the Tribunal was all too real. Now all four of them were false gods, but with power like that the word 'false' becomes admittedly a case of semantics. I do know that Vivec never left his temple, and that Almalexia was losing her mind in Mournhold. Sotha-Sil, the third Tribunal deity, hadn't been seen in generations. So I do believe that the Nerevarine was the one to encounter and vanquish Dagoth. But did he make it out again? Mournhold makes mention of a stranger who came to Almalexia, and that she vanished soon after, raving about how lord Nerevar had returned to betray her.


The Nerevarine is according to Dunmer phrophecy the reincarnation of an ancient warlord, Nerevar. The Nerevarine was meant to sunder the false gods, meaning the Tribunal, which also handily explains why all the Nerevarine pretenders were hunted down and slaughtered with such zeal by the temple. With Almalexia's dissappearance and the preceding events, I believe that the prophecy is exactly what happened. So the Nerevarine lives.




Now who is he? You can ask a hundred people, Raven, and receive a hundred answers. What I do know is that he calls himself Luper Alkad and maintains the aspect of a Redguard man in his late twenties. He is the chosen champion of Azura, though the prophecies also calls him Dragonborn, which is a clear link to Akatosh. I know he is skilled in both sword and magic, posessed of inhuman strength and immune to all ills including time itself. And I know his weakness. The Nerevarine thinks himself safe and hidden in the belly of House Dwemer, but we will pry him free when he is weakest and eliminate him as a threat.


Hmm, the Dwemer? Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I suppose. I thought Harrow would have told you two by now. At the same time that Nerevar was supposedly reincarnated, there came a man who claims to be the reincarnation of Dumac Dwarf-king. A preposterous notion, but the Dwemer facilities and centurions do his bidding. House Dwemer has quarantined Red Mountain and no one is allowed near. I decided to infiltrate. Even if I were discovered, I knew I could flee with the world-piece.


I've been talking for too long and need rest so I'll keep this short. The Dwemer are building an army, more than what is needed to keep the other Houses from growing ambitious and try to claim whatever is sealed away in Red Mountain. I saw spheres and spiders by the thousands, mannequins of gold, armour-plated Netches, flying frigates of Redguard design but with Dwemer engineering. The Dwarf-king is building an entire fort deep inside the volcano. Worst of all, he has recovered Numidium. The Dwemer built that massive god of steel before they vanished, Tiber Septim used it to conquer Tamriel and the Summerset Isles. And now the dwarven king has returned with it. We can't ignore this, Raven. We can't! I saw Dumac, and I saw the Nerevarine at the fort. That's when a centurion saw me and fired its bow at me. You know the rest.


We need to break the Dwemer army before it can be completed. And we will do that in due time. But first we will take care of the Nerevarine. With three of the World-pieces, I should be able to manage.





Now let me sleep. Tomorrow we will summon lord Dagon.

Posted by: mALX Mar 3 2013, 04:41 PM

*

First off, I am very sorry it has taken so long to get here and read. This week has been from hell. I started reading several times and had to stop, then come back and start from the beginning again next time.

QUOTE

The illusion would be far more difficult. It required an eye for detail not just in the physical but also in the man's mannerisms.


Loved this little detail, something that d.Foxy instilled in me early on when writing for disguises and illusion magic. You can't just look like the person, you have to use their mannerisms/speech patterns/accents/quirks/walk and movements/and race related criteria - so this passage went over huge with me to show how adept Angoril is when on a mission. Loved this line!

What a world building duplication you created!

**

I am loving your Mythic Dawn storyline! It is amazing how you have brought them to life here, I only hope my own version of them does even a tenth of the justice yours has!

Again, your world building with this Sphere is Awesome! I was picturing the "Staff of Chaos" (aka Jagar Tharn's broken apart staff the "hero" had to collect in Arena)

**

QUOTE

What I do know is that he calls himself Luper Alkad and maintains the aspect of a Redguard man in his late twenties. He is the chosen champion of Azura, though the prophecies also calls him Dragonborn, which is a clear link to Akatosh. I know he is skilled in both sword and magic, posessed of inhuman strength and immune to all ills including time itself. And I know his weakness.


GAAAAH! Now this is something completely different! Whoa, is a new major player about to step into the story? Holy Cow, you just threw me for a major loop !!! Awesome!

Nice bit of history in this interlude, along with some foretelling. Very intriguing stuff here!

Awesome Write, all of it!


*

Posted by: McBadgere Mar 10 2013, 10:46 AM

As with mALX, I've had a week and a bit of RL hell, so apologies for the tardiness...

To business...

Fair dues, that's excellent stuff right there... biggrin.gif ...

Nice run through of Morrowind's MQ for us uninitiated... biggrin.gif ...

Brilliant stuff Jack...Looking forward to more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Mar 19 2013, 10:56 PM

This isn't all I wanted to write today but my eyes are feeling tired and I don't think that forcing it would be a good idea. I'll get more soon hopefully. Edit: Pasted in the missing part. Technically it comes before the first half, but it felt better to put it last storywise.

As for Luper Alkad, dragonborn. I don't know if he'll play any major role but I do know that I can't just ignore him. Being the Nerevarine and not inclined to bugger off to Akavir, the Mythic Dawn will need to deal with him sooner or later. As Mankar said, he is ridiculously powerful if even half the stories about him are true. And being the hero-type, odds of recruiting him are rather slim to say the least.

And the dragonborn bit is part of the prophecy in Morrowind. Except in that game it is interpreted as 'citizen of the empire' which is a very generic trait instead of Skyrim's 'can suck out a dragon's soul and make it do tricks.'


So, chapter ten. We rejoin Hieronymous Lex several days after Mankar's return to Cyrodiil. Lex has travelled to Skingrad after having not so subtly been booted from his investigation into the emperor's whereabouts.







Chapter 10: The fall of Kvatch


Castle Skingrad


"The count will not see you. Not now, not ever. He sees no one. I've tried my best." Hieronymous Lex was at the verge of doing something he would regret. This was not the first time he'd approached the steward in an endeavour to meet the count. He'd done so first thing when he came to Skingrad. The steward, an Imperial wearing an nauseating green brocaded shirt, had rebuffed him then as well. Lex had let it slide that time. If the count wished to treat his castle as a monastary, who was he to judge? This wasn't his jurisdiction and the locals seemed satisfied with his rule. But not today. Not while he had a gunk of gold and ebony burning a hole in his pocket.
"And it's not good enough. Now I believe there is another steward. Perhaps she can try harder?" Lex barked at the man and jabbed a thumb at his similarly dressed Argonian colleague who was doing her best not to get involved.


The steward was as angry as Lex was. The man would just not give up! He chewed his jaw and finally threw up his hands in defeat.
"Fine! I think I can pencil you in." He said. "The count is inspecting the Tamika vineyards, I could arrange for a meeting there. At 2 am."


Lex exploded and did the thing he'd feared he would but was now too enraged to care about. He grabbed the steward by his shirt with both hands and lifted him off the floor.
"Two am? TWO AM?! Now you listen, wiseguy. You try to set me up one more time and I swear to all that is sacred that I'll have you tossed beneath the ground till the end of the era!" He yelled at him. Lex paid no attention to the guards that approached behind him with weapons drawn. The steward did however, and smiled. Then he laughed and said,
"Try it. There are sanctions for assaulting the count's steward."
"I'm a captain of the guard." Heironymous Lex replied icily, "Sanctions will be determined by a jury of peers. And those peers are going to call this obstruction of a lawman who is attempting to act out the direct orders of a captain. A captain who I might add will be among the jury. Now are we going to be reasonable here or not?"


"We will."




Lex looked to see who had interupted him. The voice had come from the high balcony, from which he saw an old man, paler than the snow, looking down upon him with evident displeasure. He made note of the exquisite garb, and the sparkling ring on his hand. It was the count, in the flesh. Lex glanced at the steward in his hands and the agitated guards behind him. Then he dropped the man in green like a sack of rocks. The count instructed his men to stand down and then bade the guard-captain to follow him into the upstairs dining hall. There he ordered the guards and his butler to leave so that Lex and the count were alone in the room.


Lex wasn't sure what to do at this point. Should he apologize for manhandling the count's steward, or should he give the news he carried as soon as possible? Even as he debated with himself the count poured himself a snifter of brandy. He stared into the glass without seeing it and sighed.
"So ends my hope. The prince is dead." He whispered. Lex didn't understand how the count knew this. He'd only just found out this morning himself. And he'd made sure not to tell or show anyone. In fact, he hadn't planned on telling the count either. How did he know? He looked closer at the count. His eyes were bloodshot. Had he been crying?

Count Hassildur looked up as if he saw the guard-captain for the first time.
"My senses are sharper than yours, captain. It serves you no use to hide that ring." He said and Lex took the small piece of jewelry from his vest-pocket and placed it on the table. It was the prince's signet ring. Though the gold had melted in the heat of the fire, the ebony was unharmed and prominently displayed the dragon that was the Septim code of arms.
"By right of fief," Lex spoke, "prince Geldall Septim's lands, his posessions, animals and people located on said lands now belong to you to use as you see fit, unto the time that the ruling Septim grants it to someone else.." If there still was one. Grey-Tongue believed the emperor still lived and Lex was inclined to trust his friend's judgement. But it was a foregone conclusion that the assassins would try to finish the job and they'd come terrifyingly close to wiping out the Septim bloodline already.




Hassildur stared off again at nothing. He began to talk and Lex wasn't sure if he was meant to listen or if the count was merely expressing his grief to himself.
"I kept him safe, you know. In the dark times. I hid him beneath my manor, in a secret room behind the jails. I protected him and educated him as if he was my own." The old man threw back the snifter of brandy in one quick gulp.
"Now he is dead and I have done nothing."


Lex perked his ears. There was something wrong with the man's inflection. He couldn't consciously tell what exactly but he'd developed a gut-feeling in his career. And right now, it was trying to warn him.
"You speak as if you know something." He said warily. Lex was aware that he was unarmed and unarmoured. If the count so desired, he could shout for any of his guards to put his head on a pike. But Hieronymous Lex was a man of the city-guard. If the count had any hand in a crime, it was his duty to find out and see that the law was upheld.


"I have many ears, Lex." Hassildur told him, "Many ears in many places. Yes, I know who held the torch and I know the name of his master. I know what traitorous scum murdered the prince!"
"Then tell me! Let me bring them to justice!" Lex said But the count shook his head.
"I already killed the assassins. The master is wise enough to be far away from the crime."


"So you believe there is no hope." Lex concluded and Hassildur looked at him with more intensity than he had when the man was dangling his steward in the air and promising diving retribution.
"No, I don't. But if fate proves me wrong, then remember this name. Remember Camoran. That is the name of your enemy."


Camoran. The name was unfamiliar to him. The scale of the crime pointed at a man or woman who was resourceful, intelligent, persuasive and above all, ruthless. The name was almost certainly an alias. It didn't absolve the count of suspicion, but Lex vowed to send word to Grey-Tongue and as many other inspectors he could. This Camoran posessed a large coffer of gold, but he would find that the city-guard's budget was not to be underestimated. Wherever he went, watchdogs would be sniffing for his name.



He was shaken from his inner thoughts by the count. The old man put his hand on Lex's shoulder and looked him directly in the eye.
"But look at us talk." He said. "You did not come here because of the young prince, tragic though his fate is. What news do you bring? What else is wrong in this cruel world?"


Hieronymous Lex remembered why he'd come and answered with a heavy heart.
"It is Kvatch, count Hassildur. Kvatch is burning."






------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Kvatch


The man he released got away so fast he stumbled over his own feet. The Orc kept his eyes on him long enough to ensure the little Breton fled for the balcony instead of trying to steal any valuables, then he turned his gaze to the right, where a small but growing mob of citizens in various states of dress was banging on the gates. He frowned. At just passed midnight, this was not a common occurence. And then there was what the panicky Breton had stammered to him. Monsters? Something tugged at his pants and he looked down.


"Dorrie, it's noisy." The little elf girl whimpered. She had eyes as black as her raven locks and clutched a Netch plushy tightly. Dorrie, or Doruk as his name actually was, knelt down and patted the little girl on her head.
"Ye couldn't sleep, Baleni?" He purred and threw another quick look towards the gates. While the mob and the incoherent warning had worried him, seeing the gates actually open made his blood run cold.
"Ye'd best wake up yer mother and bring her down here. Up the stairs with ye."


Doruk closed the door and leaned against the frame outside. Standing there, with his chest puffed out he made an imposing figure. Imposing enough for the increasing flow of distressed citizens to choose the still opening gates as their path of escape. But he still hadn't seen any sign of monsters or anything else that could be the cause of this panic. Except....He threw his head back and frowned. The sky was overcast, with lightning that crossed the gaps between the clouds. Storms did not disturb him, nor did it the rest of Kvatch. The empty sky he could see beyond however, was a deep crimson he'd never seen before. Perhaps it was Masser he saw, but had the moon-god ever been this big?


He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and a knock on the door. The Orc permitted it to open a crack but made sure to keep covering it with his body.
"Lady. I think ye might be right to leave town for a while." He said at Baleni's mother, who looked like a taller and more mature version of the child. She looked around and then shook her head.
"Dorrie, you know I can't just go on a hike. I have things here."
Just then, it began to rain. The Orc looked at a raindrop that struck his arm and snarled. It wasn't water that fell from the skies, but something that smelled and looked like blood. He didn't bother to taste but threw the door fully open and brusquely shoved the Bosmeri woman further inside.
"Go. Don pack. Take yer kids, take it and get off the mountain!"


She resisted him, futile as it was against his strength.
"I can't just leave! What about Gwennie?" She asked him and he looked over his shoulder at the house the eldest daughter now lived in. It was just down the street, next to the alleyway from which an imp-like creature came. It lacked wings, but cackled as it threw an imp's fire at the mass of people that fled through the gate.
"Don worry about her." He muttered as a man fell screaming. "I'll handle it. I'll handle it all."


He turned his back on her and kept watching the little monster as it ran to the gates. He heard the lady's feet go up the stairs to collect Baleni and smiled. As long as they got out of Kvatch alive, the fate of the city did not matter.
"Hey Doruk." She yelled at him from upstairs. "Don't die. You have to promise me! You have to come back, you hear me? Promise me!" She begged and he could hear the tears in her voice. But the Orc knew he could not give her the answer she desired. There was but one word he had to give, as simple a statement as it was final.
"Go."




More of the impish creatures poured onto the streets, joined by the larger forms of lizardlike giants and the flaming pires of Atronachs. Not just a few, but a veritable flood of the monsters came from every street and corner, surging like a tidal wave towards the walls. Towards him. He knew at that moment that he would not be able to save the eldest daughter. But he was still going to try.


Doruk stepped away from the door, towards the encroaching mass. He held out his arms as if looking to embrace them. One of the imps threw fire at him, that splattered against the wall. He increased his pace, his feet striking the pavement like the approaching thunder. The air around the Orc shimmered and screamed. The colour faded from his world, leaving only grey. Black vines leapt from the shadows between his fingers and dug their barbs deeply into his biceps. More fire was thrown into his path, breaking apart against his chest and skull, setting his clothes ablaze. He ran now, straight at the wall of monsters. The still whipping roots flexed and wound together into two hungry crescents that slammed into his waiting palms. Blood dripped from the teeth of the demonic blades. He roared and leapt.

Posted by: mALX Mar 24 2013, 10:00 PM

QUOTE

If the count wished to treat his castle as a monastary, who was he to judge? This wasn't his jurisdiction and the locals seemed satisfied with his rule.

QUOTE

Now I believe there is another steward. Perhaps she can try harder?" Lex barked at the man and jabbed a thumb at his similarly dressed Argonian colleague who was doing her best not to get involved.


I absolutely LOVE your depiction of Skingrad Castle!

Not just that, Lex's confusion over Count Skingrad, and his knowing what was in Lex's mind unspoken - you have done an awesome job with this!

QUOTE

His eyes were bloodshot. Had he been crying?


This (below) was an awesome bit of world buiding!
QUOTE

"By right of fief," Lex spoke, "prince Geldall Septim's lands, his posessions, animals and people located on said lands now belong to you to use as you see fit, unto the time that the ruling Septim grants it to someone else.." If there still was one.


The ending to this scene was a HUGE write, you captured that whole part so vividly it gave chills to read it!

QUOTE

Doruk closed the door and leaned against the frame outside. Standing there, with his chest puffed out he made an imposing figure. Imposing enough for the increasing flow of distressed citizens to choose the still opening gates as their path of escape. But he still hadn't seen any sign of monsters or anything else that could be the cause of this panic. Except....He threw his head back and frowned. The sky was overcast, with lightning that crossed the gaps between the clouds. Storms did not disturb him, nor did it the rest of Kvatch. The empty sky he could see beyond however, was a deep crimson he'd never seen before. Perhaps it was Masser he saw, but had the moon-god ever been this big?


This is bone-chilling knowing what is coming, then followed by this next quote you totally slayed me:

QUOTE

Doruk stepped away from the door, towards the encroaching mass. He held out his arms as if looking to embrace them. One of the imps threw fire at him, that splattered against the wall. He increased his pace, his feet striking the pavement like the approaching thunder. The air around the Orc shimmered and screamed. The colour faded from his world, leaving only grey. Black vines leapt from the shadows between his fingers and dug their barbs deeply into his biceps. More fire was thrown into his path, breaking apart against his chest and skull, setting his clothes ablaze. He ran now, straight at the wall of monsters. The still whipping roots flexed and wound together into two hungry crescents that slammed into his waiting palms. Blood dripped from the teeth of the demonic blades. He roared and leapt.


That stunned me speechless - HUGE, HUGE write! This chapter has to be your absolute best yet, and that is saying a LOT! I am in awe, wish they had that bowing down emoticon here like they have at the BGSF - HUGE Write!







Posted by: McBadgere Mar 31 2013, 09:38 AM

I agree with mALX, I think this was without doubt the best chapter you've posted since I've been reading...

I thought the whole bit with Lex and Hassildor was amazing...

The reference to that bit where you meet the Steward in the field at stupid o'clock in the morning was excellent!... biggrin.gif ...

And then...The orc!...Oh my God that was amazing!!!...

I'm hoping we see him again...I will admit to not knowing if that was some sort of spell of his own, or how Oblivion was tearing at him...But whatever it was, that whole tiny section was beautiful...

Nice one Jack, I'm absolutely loving this...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Apr 9 2013, 05:32 PM

I know this is rather late and short for that matter, but I'm having big trouble wrapping my head around how I want to deal with Kvatch. I still need to hammer out a few things to find a natural flow for it.


That said I am happy that everyone liked the part with Doruk. I wondered if I should have written out the fight-scene but in my opinion the tension of the scene would be better if I left it up to the reader's imagination. That, and I don't know how I could top an Orc dual-wielding bound swords while berserking while on fire.

Oh, and the bound swords were Doruk's magic though it may have been easier to cast with the intrusion of Oblivion into Tamriel. So without further ado we pick things up about a day later (wow, time flies) when the main actors arrive on the scene.





Lower Kvatch


The city was gone. I knew that, intelectually, when we left Skingrad. I knew when we joined up with the hundred strong force of chainclad men with spears, bows and axes that had been sent by Skingrad to its neighbour. I knew from the loud rumourmongering of the mercenaries, as varied in race and motive as in their gear, that went to Kvatch as well. I knew the city was gone, but I didn't feel it. Not until we arrived at the foot of the mountain.


A city is characterised not only by its towers and its streets, the boats grazing in the harbour and the gulls pecking at scraps. It is also characterised by its people. And it is the people that characterise its loss. First were the merchants, the farmers that lived around the mountain and a scant few refugees with naught but the clothes on their back, who all flowed out away from the city like ripples in a pond. The Skingrad man in charge of our group stopped a few to ask questions, then sent them on to his city for protection and shelter. They were not what made me feel. Certainly, each of them were frightened to some extent, but there was still a drive to go forward. To make things better.


It was the refugee camp that showed me the true horror. And not just me, but my companions and shields as well.
"Is this war?" Sorian asked himself and for what was possibly the first time since I met him, his confidence was truly shaken. Was this war? I asked the question myself as I looked around. I had read about it, of course. About the raids the Altmer performed on my people for slaves and sport. Of the retaliation fleets grandfather led. The ones aimed at the Altmeri shipyards. I'd read about war, but I'd never seen one. It was all before my time.


Master Zelthir had seen war. He'd been a master healer for four centuries and counting. He had to have gone on one of the punitive expeditions, or dealt with the aftermath of a badmer attack. So I'd asked him once, out of curiosity. I never got a straight answer out of him though. He said the subject was unladylike. Which was an odd moment of gender-awareness from him. Often I was led to wonder if master Zelthir even knew there were men and women, apart from the anatomical distinction.





So whatever war was like, I had no basis to compare what had happened at Kvatch to it. I looked around the camp, but there were no weapons that I saw, none of the guardsmen that were so common everywhere else. And didn't war imply armies? I couldn't see any at the camp, or up on the mountain, though my eyes weren't good enough to make out much detail from down here.


The people I did see at the camp were not like the ones we'd seen on the road. They were lifeless, sitting or laying and staring at nothing with blank eyes. Others wailed and screamed their loss at the skies. It was only a few, though still at the brink of physical and mental exhaustion, that had kept their wits about them. They tried to care for all those who could not, feeding them and giving them foul but necessary water. Some had even set up a large tent from which came the smell of open wounds and infection. Finally towering above the camp was the city itself. Even though the refugees tried to keep their eyes away from it, it was impossible to forget its presence. Dark walls cloaked in darker clouds that roared with an everlasting storm.
"See that? " Baurus said to us. "The skies anywhere but over Kvatch are clear and those black clouds don' t follow the wind. Whatever it is, it's unnatural."


This place rattled my bones. It wasn't just a war that had happened here. Something had emerged here, something that didn't belong. I could feel it, in my teeth and bones and above all, in my head. It was like the ache of spellsong. The pain that came with changing a world that didn't want to be changed. But I wasn't doing anything. It wasn't me. I just wanted to get away from here right now and how anyone could possibly choose to stay here was beyond me. At least for any good reason, that was. I had my own duty to the House Septim which for me at least was enough to stay. I shook away the worst of the shivers and focussed on our mission. The chainclad Skingrad leader and a second, unarmoured, man had accosted one of the active refugees and asked him who was in charge at the camp. They were directed to a path that snaked up the mountain to the city.


"Sorian." I said. "Follow those two and find out what happened."
"Of course, your highness." The young Redguard snapped a salute at me and then casually wandered after the Skingrad officers. Did he not feel the evil in the air?
"You know, you will have to explain to him sometime that calling you that isn't safe." The older of the two Redguards said with a shake of his head. He was right of course, but for now I was just happy that Sorian had begun to follow my instructions without constantly complaining about them. I'd promised myself to have a talk with him. As soon as we had a day where I wasn't sore from horseriding or rushing to a disaster-area. For now I contended myself with pursuing the emperor's will. That was the other reason I'd sent Sorian away. I would have to explain to him why we were taking two children to Cloud Ruler, but until then Baurus and I had chosen to remain silent on the subject unless he was asleep and even then we talked by scribbling and burning notes.


Ironically, as careful and subtle as we'd been around him, so blunt were we about to be now. There was no other way to do it. I'd been throwing Blades recognition signs all over the moment we got here, but so far there had been no response. While the signs looked like nervous jittering to the uninformed and were unnoticeably small unless specifically looked out for, I had expected someone to contact me. I checked my vest-pockets for any random notes that had found their way in, but there was nothing I hadn't possessed already. The stealthy approach didn't work. Either there were no Blades in the refugee-camp, or they were lying in the tent with the injured. In both cases my title of Agent would be of little use to us. I pointed to the surgery tent and Baurus nodded. It was time to go to work. I just hoped that the boy and the girl had made it here. There weren't enough people down here to populate even a tenth of Kvatch. Was this war?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~






OOC: It never made sense to me how nobody seemed to care beyond what happened to their own city and even then their response was apathetic at best. I mean, even if Count Skingrad would love to see Kvatch ruined (and I don't think he does), it is in his best interests to find out what's going on and how to prevent it from leaping over to his city. Hence the hundred-strong light infantry and assorted mercenaries he's sent to Kvatch.


Another thing that didn't make sense to me is for the survivors to camp right beneath its walls in easy striking range of the Daedra. That element of wrongness is still in my version, but I plan to wrangle out an explanation for it.

Posted by: McBadgere Apr 11 2013, 08:03 AM

Here come the Blades!... biggrin.gif ...

Her musing on what was war reminds me a bit of the Fallout that I'm doing at the mo, for some reason...That could be just me though... tongue.gif ...

Excellent stuff Jack, really enjoyed it...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: mALX Apr 15 2013, 07:42 PM



You've really captured the essence of confusion in the aftermath here, and I like your idea that people don't just talk about the destruction of Kvatch, but investigate it to ensure it isn't something that could happen to their city.

Agreed on the refuge camp being so close to the action, and in open door tents that could be easily ripped apart or entered by Daedra. Awesome write!



Off topic: The Great Gate in Bruma has a siege engine just like the gate in Kvatch had that broke through the wall into the city and destroyed it. According to the game, if you don't stop the siege engine in Bruma in time you will see what happened in Kvatch (happen to Bruma).

Am I the only one who waited it out hoping to see a cut scene of the siege engine crashing through the walls of Bruma? (and instead just got a freeze screen with the words "You Failed in your mission, all hope is lost, Cyrodiil was destroyed, etc")

It wasn't to be evil; just curiousity, to see what the developers had in store for us there just in case we failed.

(The same curiousity that in Fallout 3 made me jump off the sides of Mothership Zeta and "test" removing my G-suit in outerspace to see if it would kill me). (it did).





Posted by: jack cloudy Apr 27 2013, 09:25 PM

War, war never changes. tongue.gif


And Malx, of course you're not the only one who does stupid things just to see how the game responds to it. I do that stuff all the time. For Science!


Ok, this is not a proper update. Yeah, it's been like 20 days already but I'm as slow as ever. Instead, you get a very short segment that may or may not contain anything important. At the very least it was a nice short exercise in writing something different. Enjoy!
Edit: Got the next part up as well. Also more of my random ranting.



Chapter 10.2


Oblivion




The manflesh had entered the Big Boss. Soft, tasty manflesh. Scampes burned them, Smallteethes tore them, Bigteethes swallowed them, Bosses cut them. Boom, slash, gnash! No more manflesh. Only their bits now. Shiny bits, sparkling bits, boring bits. So many bits.


Scampes looked for the nice bits, the shiny sparkly bits. Scampes nudged the manflesh, fingered their falseskin holes, broke their boxes and grey bunkers. Scampes took the nice bits, traded and stole them from each other. There was one Scamp, running and climbing where big boss ended and manflesh lived. Where Bigteethes couldn't fit. It was a strange place, this manflesh fort. There was bloodgrass that didn't cut, spores that didn't poison. Gaps to places that weren't there. It was a strange place, so safe it made the Scamp nervous. But it had shiny bits, oh yes. So many shiny bits.


So the Scamp crawled and slithered, taking a bendy metal bit here, a soft falseskin there. It found a glowing bit, curved and scaled like the Bigteethes, a smaller bit of fire in its mouth and eye. It was a nice bit, very shiny, very rich. The Scamp reached to take. It screeched. A big foot of black rending claws and cutting blades smashed its hand down into the not-cutting grass. Snarling the Scamp looked up. Who dared take the shiny bit form it? Who dared hurt it? The Scamp would burn the other and take the shiny bit. Oh yes it would!


But the other was not a Scamp, or a Smallteeth. It was black bone and burning flesh. It wore death and tortured soul of Scampes, smallteethes and bigteethes as a falseskin. It had giant hammer of pain and crushed skulls on its back. It was a boss that stared down at the little Scamp. The worthless, weak Scamp. It looked, silent and terrible. The Scamp bowed, crashed its brow against the ground of soft grass. The foot lifted and the Scamp ran.


The figure in black picked up the golden clasp and turned it in its hand. It closed its hand around it, gentle yet firm. The floor beneath it swayed and turned to water. The figure sank to its depths and was gone.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upper Kvatch


Hieronymous Lex's first impression of the refugee camp at Lower Kvatch was that he had a lot of work to do. The camp was sorely lacking in organization but more pressing for him were the parasites who always seemed to pop up after a disaster. They were holed up in the barracks and tavern, protected by caravan guards they'd bribed. There they dined while everyone else starved and hoarded critical supplies, such as medicine and daily necessities, only giving them up when exorbitant prices had been paid.


As captain of the guard, Lex swore he would deal with that before the day was up. But first he needed to see how secure the camp was. Restoring law and order would help no one if a conquering army stormed down the mountain. It was with that thought in mind that he accompanied the Skingrad commander, a typical nord with blonde hair and beard and biceps that would make an Orc respectful, up the mountain to where a second camp lay. Unlike the refugee camp below, the upper camp was supposedly a barricade held by the Kvatch watch.


The camp was right before the gates, close enough to make the Skingrad men who'd joined them visibly nervous. Lex had no experience at warfare himself, but he knew why. All it took was a few good archers or a mage atop the walls, and the watch was as good as dead. The Guard-captain glanced towards the walls but he saw no enemies looking down upon them. If anything, this lack of activity only made everyone even more nervous. After all, the only thing worse than an enemy one could see, was one you knew to be there but couldn' t see.


The Kvatch watch turned out to be a handful of dirty stragglers, and a few caravan guards who had volunteered for the assignment, which placed their value far above their colleagues in the lower camp as far as Lex was concerned. All were carrying bows and stood in a line with their arrows strewn on the ground before them. There was one man sitting on a milestone behind them with his spear resting on his lap. He was wearing the chain and leathers which Lex knew to be the uniform of Kvatch and had a military haircut. To reinforce his observation was the tabard the man wore over his armour. Though the wool was burned and ragged, the wolf's head that was Kvatch's code of arms was unmistakable. Lex and the Skingrad commander exchanged a look and approached the spearman.
"You are the one in charge?"






The man turned to look at them. When he saw the twin moons of Skingrad on their coat of arms, he saluted and got to his feet.
"Savlian Matius, sirs. I'm the captain of the guard here." He said. Lex noticed that Matius was not wearing the indications of rank a captain would actually have, but said nothing. Arguing the point would get them nowhere. Instead he returned the salute and let the Skingrad commander introduce themselves.
"Ulberth Stone-Breaker, Skingrad's siege master. And this is Hieronymous Lex, from Cyrodiil."


Matius shook his head upon hearing Ulberth's title.
"We saw your army on the road," He told them. "but it's not going to lay siege to the mountain. You need more men for that. Far more."
"I didn't come to conduct a siege."Ulberth answered and Lex explained. "We're here to investigate and rescue people. For that Count Skingrad has given us enough men to hold a contested position for some time, but not enough to fight a war. Now, what is the situation in Kvatch?"
To their surprise Matius began to laugh. It was a humourless laugh that vanished in a sigh.
"In Kvatch? Sirs, there is no Kvatch. I don't even know if the mountain is still a part of Tamriel!"


Ulberth and Lex exchanged another glance. Neither knew what the man meant. How could Kvatch not be a part of Tamriel?
"Akavir? But wouldn't one of the coastal cities have been hit first then?" Ulberth ventured, naming the one place he knew off that lay beyond the continent. But Cyrodiil lay at the heart of Tamriel and Akavir was far to the east, beyond Morrowind and the ocean. It was a place where no man had gone to or come from in centuries.




They waited for captain Matius to regain his composure and an explanation of what he meant. But he didn't say why Kvatch had left Tamriel. What he did say was how it was lost.
"It all happened so fast. I had gate duty that night. People came running, pursued by a horde of monsters. They came out of nowhere, just stepped out of nothing like ghosts. One moment there was nothing, then there were thousands of them flooding the streets as far as I could see. Imps, Argonian giants, living figures of fire that flew through the skies. We let the citiziens through, as many as we could while the commander went down and held the gates. They were the lucky ones, the ones who were awake and ran. But most didn't. They slept, or tried to take things, or holed up in their houses. We," He began to cry as he remembered and covered his face with a hand.
"I ordered the gates closed. Left the commander to die. Couldn't let the beasts out. Couldn't let them out."




Lex took the spear out of his hands and gently embraced the man, letting him cry. The guard-captain's first feelings had been of anger. Anger at Matius for abandoning his post and essentially ordering the death of his superior. But he realized that if he'd been there on the streets, fighting off the monsters, closing the gates would have been exactly what he'd want Matius to do. In doing so Matius had ensured the survival of at least some of Kvatch's citizenry and somehow contained the enemy within the city. There was no way he could make the man believe it, but Matius had done the right thing.
"It's alright, Matius." He told the man instead. "We're here to help now. How's your quarantine? No breakouts?"
"No, sir." The Kvatch gatekeeper sobbed but just then the skies were shaken by an unearthly shriek. All turned their attention to the walls and Matius took his spear back. He stood ready to leap in front of the archers and protect them from attack but it wasn't needed. The creature took barely five steps beyond the city walls before it was pierced by a trio of arrows.
"Nothing major." Matius corrected himself and pointed out where the being had emerged from.
"There's a small gap in the wall, part of an eatery. Occasionally one of the little ones comes through and we deal with it. But never the big lizardmen, or the living torches. Only the wingless imps."



Ulberth Stone-Breaker nodded and then took Lex aside.
"Lex. What do you think?" He asked the Imperial with a whisper. Lex stole a quick glance at Matius who had sat down on the milestone again with his eye on the opening.
"Captain Matius is obviously suffering from survivor's guilt and the loss of his city." He said. "He and his men are at the breaking point and quite frankly I'm surprised they haven't collapsed already. I suggest the organization of multiple shifts to ensure a constant watch on the walls."


Ulberth slapped Lex on the shoulder and nodded.
"My idea exactly. I expect the poor captain to protest being ordered to rest, but he won't object to us relieving his men. Oblivion take us, having someone else take command is probably his greatest wish."



The Nord turned away to start giving out orders. Scouts to inspect all sides of the city-walls for gaps, archers and spearmen to plug the one they were aware of and some wood elves with their keen eyes to keep watch on the top of the walls just in case. Lex allowed him to divide up most of his men before he requested some of his own.
"If I may, master Stone-Breaker. I would like to borrow a good dozen of your troops. Lower Kvatch needs the rule of law and some uniforms will make all the difference."
"You'll have them. If the situation up here doesn't change by nightfall, I'll send the courier to arrange resupply. Make a list of what you need at the camp."








RANT-TIME


Kvatch is Bethesda's way of showing the invasion from Oblivion is a real and serious thing. (I personally would have preferred if the main enemy had remained as the Mythic Dawn, but that's just me.)

It doesn't quite manage to make that message stick, but I chalk that up to limitations of the game engine and a bit of a lackluster follow-up. The lackluster follow-up is because Kvatch is the only city that actually gets wrecked. Everyone else only has people stare blankly at a gate ruining their country-side view while occasionally popping out a Daedra or two. It makes the crisis feel like it was just that one wave and then a lot of empty air, but admittedly it is nice for people who want to avoid the main quest without having DOOOOMMMM hanging over their heads all the time.

The limitations of the engine are more forgiveable and yet have a bigger impact. The lore that came after Oblivion tells us that the crisis was a massive Tamriel-wide (possibly world-wide, but we never hear from beyond our one continent) event with ransacked cities and armies fighting the Daedra etc. On a personal aside, I prefer to think Argonia was kept safe by just being so drat poisonous and inhospitable to anything not local, rather than the Argonians going on a hardcore mad counter-invasion that made Mehrunes Dagon crap his pants.

Anyhow, the later lore makes it feel big, but the game is unable to match that scale without blowing up your hardware platform of choice. So the developers by sheer necessity shrank things down where they could. I'll take the example that is most relevant with this part of the story. Namely Savlian Matius holding the gates of Kvatch.


In-game, (all by memory, so I won't vouch for my accuracy here), Savlian stands in front of the gates alongside two other guards to protect the refugee camp from the Daedra. That he choses not to ignore Kvatch and its hordes of monsters is good. That he somehow managed to find the time and opportunity to erect a barricade of sharpened wooden trunks is even better. However, his opposition is just two or three Scamps running from their Oblivion gate. Even at the compressed scale the game employs in general, it doesn't feel like much of a threat. Heck, the player is expected to handle those kind of encounters solo about five minutes later. But then again, you're the hero and supposed to be above the normal man or woman. Worse than that is that the barricade is utterly useless, as Savlian and his men will cheerfully charge out in front of it to meet the Scamps in close combat.

Again, this is all limitations of the game engine. Savlian's troops are equipped for close combat so the ai seeks to deliver them into fighting range, treating the barricade as an obstacle to get around (the same way it treats any random rock or fence or wall) rather than something to hide behind for cover. If they were archers, ai limitations and hitbox issues would probably have all the arrows hit the barricade instead of going through or over the visible gaps in it. So regrettably, the barrier doesn't do much but I don't see how they could have done it differently. At least it is a nice bit of scenery detail and doesn't leave the refugee camp totally open.



Moving ahead, you may have noticed that in the story I did not make mention of the Oblivion gate that sits before Kvatch's own gates. That's because there isn't one. The gates in-game can presumably appear anywhere, so having them pop up outside the fortifications (you know, on the side where all the defenses are strongest), is kinda silly. Yet game engine limitations again, it's better than placing the gates inside the city and having to hand out even more immortality tokens than are already present just to ensure everyone doesn't get wiped out piecemeal by random Daedra before the player can even arrive.

In my story however I don't need to worry about that and can happily have the invasion commence from the inside and catch everybody with their pants down.

Posted by: mALX May 1 2013, 08:05 PM

*

First off, I loved the first bit from the scamp's POV! The golden dragon-shaped clasp at the end of that section (the one that used to rest on that shelf and that Angoril threw such a fit over) - it felt like the story behind that clasp just came full circle and is about to explode the story wide open. I'm always on the edge of my seat in any of the chapters that touch on Angoril because he is such a powerful enigma, and that clasp for its mystery and intrigue.

At first I'd thought it was Angoril taking the clasp from the scamp, but then the floor swaying and turning to water, and it sinking down into it - really couldn't be sure that wasn't a Daedric Lord grabbing that clasp.

I am so loving this story!

The scene with Matius/Lex/and Ulberth was so well done, extremely well done! I was easily able to visualize these powerful men meeting and discussing the size of army and their purpose, what remained of Kvatch, etc - but this line floored me, you never cease to amaze with these tiny details that are so huge in reading your story:

QUOTE

Lex noticed that Matius was not wearing the indications of rank a captain would actually have, but said nothing.


This next line was chilling the way you wrote it - we all know what happened in Kvatch, but you've brought it to life with your rendition of Matias here:

QUOTE

"Now, what is the situation in Kvatch?"

To their surprise Matius began to laugh. It was a humourless laugh that vanished in a sigh. "In Kvatch? Sirs, there is no Kvatch. I don't even know if the mountain is still a part of Tamriel!"

Ulberth and Lex exchanged another glance. Neither knew what the man meant. How could Kvatch not be a part of Tamriel?



On your rant:

The very first time I played Oblivion, my son got me started on the game; letting me watch him play intermittently and then handing over the controller. When things got too tough for me (and I was shrieking for his help) he'd grab the controller back just long enough to get out of the situation. He did this through to getting Martin to the Cloud Ruler Temple (which starts 25 gates opening up around Cyrodiil).

Well, I was terrified to go into the Oblivion gates again, so just left them opening whereever they did (which on the random ones happens to pop up whereever the player has been). Meanwhile I just started doing all kinds of other quests. One of the quests I did was the Dagon Shrine. (at which point the Oblivion crisis escalates, opening up the gates outside the cities and another 25 random gates).

The game will open a total of 60 gates in any one game, 10 of those are fixed gates outside of cities.

So I had 60 gates open and was doing nothing with them. The Daedra emerge every time the player enters that cell, meaning if the player leaves without tackling them, they will attack anyone within their reach till the player leaves the cell.

My game got to the point that there were dead bodies everywhere. Countess Leyawiin and her handmaiden, Mazoga, many mounted Legion riders, the residents of Water's Edge, bandits, dead horses everywhere - and I couldn't walk anywhere in game without the sky rumbling and turning red. I was TERRIFIED !!!

After I became adept at handling Oblivion worlds I liked taking them down - I started taking them out as they arose. Never again experienced finding dead bodies everywhere or not being able to take a step without setting off that rumbling red storm - I never had that feeling of terror again, the game crisis lost a lot of excitement when I started handling them right away.

Weirdly, I kind of missed that fear that I felt in my first game, missed the crisis being that big. I think they actually do have an Awesome crisis in place if your character is a terrified chicken playing like I was in my first game.

*


Posted by: McBadgere May 5 2013, 06:22 AM

Excellent stuff!!!...

Loved that bit with the scamp!!...Who was that mighty dude who dids't walk the land with his mighty mightiness?!!...Impressive stuff though... goodjob.gif ...

Ah, the mighty Salvian Matius smile.gif ...Fair dues, that was an excellent section right there...Loved the Nord dude, really quite excellently done...

I'm looking forward to seeing how you bring all your various protagonists together...

Amazing writing, love it hugely!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 16 2013, 02:18 PM

Huh, that's a very good point there. When I played, I'd either avoid triggering the gates entirely or closed them all asap. It never occurred to me that taking the middle road would lead to a proper crisis. Maybe I should experiment.

As for who the mighty Dremora is, we'll hear in due time. But first we have another helping of Hieronymous Lex. Just one more part with him after this, and I'll be ready to set up for the climax of the chapter. So....another three to four months? kvleft.gif




Chapter 10.3


With the dozen troopers Stone-Breaker had promised him, Lex returned order to Lower Kvatch. He also brought captain Matius. Not because the familiar face and code of arms would give an air of legitimacy to his actions, but because the man refused to rest and the only way to get him off the front lines was by ordering him to take part in some other assignment. He intended to have the man organize the relief efforts once they got going. First however, Lex went to the tent of the healers. He had to know how the situation was in there.


The answer, as it turned out to be, was not good.


There were no beds of any sort, with most patients lying on a matrass of their own clothes. Half of the healers looked passed out and those who didn't fumbled around in shock. Family and friends got in the way, further complicating things. Lex looked but saw precious little of the tools he'd come to associate with the healer's practice. No potions, only empty bottles strewn about. No herbs and powders, though a mortar and pestle sat at the feet of a heavily burned man. No scrolls, no books and no rolls of bandaging. It was chaos, with but one oasis of calm and certain action.


She was there. Cutting and sewing with the precision of an artisan, red hands moving so fast it seemed like they'd barely touched a wound before going to the next. If Lex didn't know better, he'd say she was under the influence of a spell. But Grey-Tongue had told him the elf appeared to have an aversion to magic. What she was doing wasn't magic however. It was the healing arts all mothers knew. The art of cleaning the wound and stopping the leaking of blood so that the body could repair itself. Only hers was like the difference between a master-at-arms and a raw recruit. A raw recruit who was very, very drunk.


"I still don't get how putting a knife into people actually makes them better. But the results are there." Lex thought to himself and tensed the tendons in his legs. Only a slight ache and stiffness reminded him of the knees which the Dark Brotherhood vampire had cut. The same knees the Maormer had repaired like the broken axle of a wagon.






He thought about approaching her but choose not to. She had been in his convoy and there wasn't anything for her to tell him. She also hadn't shown any sign of recognition over the day and frankly, he didn't want to get in the way of the Redguard she'd hired for her protection. The professional one, not the fop who was still up near the walls. The man was now occupied warding off all the worried people who couldn't understand what she was doing but Lex still felt he was aware of his presence as he'd been the moment they joined the convoy. He had that look Lex had seen only in exceptionally perceptive people like Grey-Tongue.


Instead of tangling with that brute for no reason, Lex approached what he assumed to be the most senior healer in the camp. At the least she was the oldest, a wrinkled crone with twig-like fingers that trembled from both exhaustion and the old-man's shakes. At first she waved him off and when Lex offered his help, she accused him of trying to steal the last coin of people who didn't have any. The Guard-captain grimaced.
"Madam, if I took money from you, I would have to arrest myself." He said. That got her to turn and look at him. She saw his deskuniform, and Skingrad's soldiers behind him.
"You're not from here. Stendarr's mercy, did the Empire see our plight?"


"We saw your city burn from Skingrad, and came. More will come in a day. Now madam, can these people be moved?" Lex asked her. It seemed that the 'enemy', for lack of a better term, wasn't going to leave Kvatch in force. But he didn't feel like taking chances. If the injured could be taken to Skingrad or the nearby port-city of Anvil, they should be. There they would also have access to the healer's facilities rather than this dirty tent. The matron glanced across the wounded and shook her head.
"In theory, yes. But I wouldn't advise it. Handled ineptly and many would die." She said. Though she didn't tell him, Lex knew exactly what she'd meant. In the Legion he had learned to never move an injured comrade, unless it was to drag them out of the line of fire. There was just too much that could go wrong and turn a serious wound into a fatal one.
"Then we'll have to take care of them here. Again I ask you, what do you need, madam?"



"More aid materials of course, but our real shortage is trained staff here." She told him when a man coughed and puked up crimson slime. The head healer immediately turned and shoved aside the novice who'd come look. She placed her hand over the man's chest, which Lex now saw, was caved in. The woman began the gestures of healing, panting and biting down on her lip as if she was in great pain and unable to scream. It took a long time but finally the injured man relaxed. The healer wiped her brow, gave instructions to the novice and came back to the Guard-captain. She told him about the loss of the Healer's hall in central Kvatch and how with it most of the experts, references and supplies had been lost. As she explained, only the ones who were out on late night visits to patients or bunked with family instead of in the dorms, had been lucky enough to escape.
"So what you are saying," Lex said, "is that they are not trained to handle these kind of injuries."
"Most of us are. First to third years aren't, so they get the lighter work. Simple fractures, nursing, assisting their seniors. It's a matter of scale. Smith literally killed himself trying to push out one more healing spell. Binds-the-Straw overdosed on magicka restoration potions, I didn't even know an Argonian could overdose on anything. The rest of us walk on the edge. We don't have enough people and don't have enough magicka."


There was little Lex could do to resolve her problem. He could always round up a few volunteers who knew a thing or two about healing, but they were unlikely to be more knowledgeable than even a first year student of the guild. And from what he understood, they needed masters, not novices.
"How about mercenaries? Aren't they skilled at treating battlefield injuries?" The man ventured after some time. Most mercenaries, at least the good ones, knew how to deal with the injuries they suffered in their line of work. While the ones that had joined the convoy weren't under any direct authority of either Stone-Breaker or himself, he was certain he could hire them with the promise of later compensation from the Cyrodiil guard. As a Guard-captain he did have the liberty to modify the budget as needed.


"Mercenaries treat wounds like they're nails with a big hammer. Just hold up your hand and pump magic into yourself till the flesh is kind of okay." The old healer scoffed and mimed the motion. "And in a few years you're hobbling around on knees that grew sideways and your heart feels like its dangling on a string. Mercenaries can't even heal themselves proper, nevermind others."


Lex gestured with a thumb at the Maormer.
"You did seem to allow one in your tent." He answered. She didn't seem to be unwelcome. Had she said who or rather what she was? It didn't seem likely to him. She had maintained a false identity when they last met and to be fair, he didn't think that saying one was a princess would be a good idea in this refugee camp. At best, they'd laugh her away for she didn't look like one, at worst she'd get mobbed for help.
"She's Stendarr's mercy," The old woman said, "sent by him in our time of need. I don't know where she came from and she's not guild but someone must have given her the optional course. Maybe one of the teachers had his own secret protégée, not that I care right now. All I care is that she knows how to fix people without magic. It doesn't get them on their feet, but they won't die and we'll have plenty of time to finagle out the details for a full recovery. No comment on the makeup though."




"Look, sir. If you want to help us, get those greedy bastards in the warehouses to open their damned doors. We can use the fresh clothes they store by the cratefuls to improvise bandaging. It wouldn't be the real deal but it beats the mud-raked filth we're all wearing right now. And food. No one's had a bite to eat since the escape. The patients need strength to heal and we need it to keep saving them. Get that for us, please. I beg you."


Lex nodded and saluted.
"I'm on it, madam. You have my word." He said and turned to his men.
"Come along, troops. We've got some law to enforce."




Posted by: mALX Jun 17 2013, 07:09 AM



What a fascinating and intricate look into healing you took here, real worldbuilding in healing and in Kvatch - Loved this chapter! You are really bringing Kvatch's plight to life with your story, I am loving this! Awesome Write!



Posted by: McBadgere Jun 25 2013, 12:48 PM

Nicely done Jack...

Lex is an excellent character and I'm loving the way you're writing him...His adoration for the elf is brilliantly done... biggrin.gif ...

QUOTE
It was the healing arts all mothers knew. The art of cleaning the wound and stopping the leaking of blood so that the body could repair itself.


I loved that...Such a truism...*Applauds*...

So looking forward to how this continues...

Brilliant stuff...Loved it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 12 2013, 08:35 PM

So the powercable of my modem broke. It's one of those proprietary (is that the right word?) ones, so I had to get a specific replacement from the internet provider. Ok, took about a week for them to send the new one in the mail. Except the new cable had one of the prongs bent at a 45 degree angle. Great going guys, that's some real quality control. So much for the almighty bubblewrap. dry.gif Ah well, at least I got a replacement for the replacement. Different amparage, but I'm too far gone to care.


In better news, we are almost ready to shut us some marble jaws! So let's hang out with Sorian, shall we?






Chapter 10.4


Kvatch main gates


Kvatch had been conquered by goblins. Of all things, crazed wood elves, Orcs remaking their land for the fifth time, high elves trying to conquer the world, goblins were the last thing I'd expected. The yellow savages had always been at war with everything that wasn't a part of their tribe. Whether that was Redguard or Imperial or other goblin-tribes, they were the enemy. They were vicious and evil creatures. Always trying to kill and pick clean anyone they perceived as weak. Although they still thought that the rock on a stick was novel weapon, so their threat was laughable usually. As part of the Skaven militia I'd aimed to keep their numbers low, patrolling the local hideouts. We did a good job, too. Most of the time.


One year we'd failed and the goblins had bred enough of their kin to think they could take Skaven. They didn't, but killed a lot of good people. We're Redguard. Everyone in Skaven, apart from the infants and the eldest, posessed a sword and the skill to use it. But even if one of us could slay five of the beasts, there were ten more charging across the dunes. The goblins almost won, but at the darkest moment a single swordsinger left their academy and drove them off. An Ansei, just one. The sword sliced the air in a typhoon of steel, graceful arcs that never stopped or slowed for even a moment. And never missed. It was a humbling thing to see and not just for the goblins.


She looked like my grandmother tending her garden, complete with unseeing eyes and a walking stick.


So I supposed they could murder small villages if left alone for too long. But a whole city was another thing. No goblin tribe could ever grow to the point where it would attack a fortified place like Kvatch. It would fracture long before then. And no tribe ever worked with another. So what had posessed these goblings to try and perhaps more important, what had helped them win? I didn't understand at all. This should be impossible.


Still, I figured the princess should see it. She'd wanted to know what was going on in Kvatch and shoving the dead goblin in her face would save a lot of questions and explaining. No one stopped me when I moved over to pick it up. There was a warning not to get too close to the gap in the wall but I wasn't going there so they soon stopped shouting. When the archers had used it for target practice, the thing had been thrown into the air and off the side of the mountain. Funny thing, that. I was no archer but it seemed odd that some arrows could toss it away like a ragdoll. Goblins were a lot bigger and heavier than they looked. If they'd ever stand up straight, the average specimen would come to my shoulder easily. I mimed an archer as I got close to the edge. It felt wrong. It was almost as if the ground had forgotten to pull it down the moment it breathed its last.


The goblin had fallen down and bounced from the rocks till it had come to a rest in a small fissure. I was careful climbing down to it. The stones were sharp and oftentimes loose beneath the feet. I didn't like the idea of being shredded like the goblin because of a simple misstep. But by proceeding slowly and inspecting each foot- or handhold before using it, I got there. Turned out the goblins of the Imperial province were different than the ones back home in Hammerfell.


First was the fact it was light as a feather, literally, which surprised me. No goblin I'd ever seen had been this light. Just the gusts of wind made it dance on the rock as if it was about to fly off again. It also definitely looked off now that I'd gotten close to it. I'd already seen on the way down that the skin was darker than the sandy white-yellow I was used to. But up close it turned out not to be skin at all, but a coarse fur. The fur darkened further from the legs down, who had that odd bend and clawed toes of the Argonian and Khajiit instead of the normal human-like foot. Oh, and it had a long rat-like tail. Anyway, I grabbed its tail with one hand and slung the critter over a shoulder. Then I made my way further down to the nearest bend of the path.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I forced my way through the crowd in and around the tent. Carrying the bloody and tattered remains of a goblin made it easy. They scattered and a few even screamed or started crying. That wasn't my intention though. I wasn't trying to scare folks, just get by them. I hadn't thought they would actually go crazy on seeing the goblin. I should have known better. These people had just lost their whole city to the things after all.
"Sorian! You're upsetting people with that thing! Toss it out!" The princess, predictably, bit at me. She didn't even look up from whatever it was that she was doing. Neither did the fighter's guild man she'd hired.
"That thing," I replied in what I thought was an even tone. I'd get rid of the goblin, but first I'd give her the information she'd asked for. "That is what's burned down Kvatch. Some kind of goblin." It got the attention I'd sought.


Both looked up at me and spoke together.
"That's not a," Said Baurus but he cut himself off before he'd gotten very far. Maorlatta did finish her line. But I didn't like it at all.
"So they're called goblin? Funny, I was taught you use the same word here as on the islands. Daedra. Or is this a nickname?"


I looked at the creature whose tail I was holding. This little furred monster, a Daedra? The word conjured an image of massive inhuman beasts. All teeth, claws, oozing poison, a hundred eyes of all sizes and fire-shooting nostrils. Not something like this. It looked too....harmless. I wanted to say she was wrong, but Baurus had been about to say something similar and besides, this was princess Orgnum we were talking about. Elves were always trying to find some new way to raise the dead or open the gates to Oblivion and that was just the ones in the empire. She was some overstudied pampered royalty from off the edge of the maps. What if she knew things they didn't know in Tamriel and was actually right?
"Woah, back that horse up. You're saying this thing here is a Daedra?"



"Yes I did. To be specific it's a...ah," She said and stroked a bloody finger across her chin. It was hard not to stare at the big streak it left behind. How could someone who was so loudly against violence have no problem cutting people up in the name of healing? She continued, "I don't know what the Cyrodiilic word is. But loosely translated, it would be 'little dumb screecher'. Very descriptive. They're useful for small labour if kept under control, but make a mess the moment you slip the spell." She proceeded with a story on how one of her teachers had demonstrated the fury of a free Daedra and how she hated being the one who had to clean up and fix the lab afterwards. Meanwhile, she sewed up some guy's throat and moved to a woman lying on another crate. The princess' bodyguard took the chance to ask her a question.
"Lady, would you know why it is here?" He asked and she snapped at him while waving her hand.
"Baurus, I'm busy! Ask the summoner."


Baurus looked at me and I shrugged. Nobody had told me about a summoner. Actually, I couldn't remember any mention about an elf, only the monsters.
"I don't think there is one." I said.
"But there has to be." Maorlatta insisted. She was prodding the crying woman and laying out a pair of scissors. I had to look away before I got sick. Or sicker. "This one is dead and without conscious effort from either a summoner or the Daedra itself, it can't exist in Mundus. It should fade in seconds. Besides, the little dumb screecher is too weak to enforce its own being. It has to be the summoner." Her rambling slid away from the Daedra into a cool description of the woman's wounds. I shook my head and Baurus took me outside.


We hid the Scamp in a big bag. I figured we should just toss it away, but the fighter thought that Maorlatta might want to investigate it some more later. She did seem to know a thing or two about summoning and would love to get her hands on something irregular like a Scamp that didn't fade. We then went back to the entrance of the tent but stayed in a corner. I'd learned by now that Baurus was practically obsessed with watching over his charge so I didn't object even though I'd rather gone for some fresh air. But I didn't want to go alone. There were Daedra out there!
"Kid, exactly how many Daedra are we dealing with here? Are they all Scamps?" The Redguard whispered to me after a while.
"Not sure. Lex and the other guy asked one of the locals. He didn't count them, but there were definitely a lot. Scamps, Argonians and something he described as living torches." I repeated to him what I'd heard about the attack. How the Daedra came out of nowhere from inside the city and how the guards had sealed the gates before rapelling down the wall to safety. I also said that the gobli- Scamp had come out of a small door in the outer wall. It looked like the Daedra were trapped inside, but I felt a lot more secure when I still thought Kvatch had been raided by a goblin-alliance.


"You think the lizards are up to something?" I asked eventually.
"Let's not start throwing accusations right away. Most summoners have enough trouble handling one Daedra, and two if they push themselves. Daedra are tough too, trust me on that. But to take a city you need numbers. Big numbers." He said and shook his head. "You might just be right on there not being one in the first place."



"What do we do?"
"Nothing. I aim to guard the lady. Everything else is secondary. What you do, is your own choice. But take my advice. Don't try to be a hero."

Posted by: McBadgere Jul 23 2013, 01:02 PM

Sorry I'm late...Again...Just trying to get the work-around thing working... laugh.gif ...

Aaamywho...Excellently done chapter...Loved the talk of all the goblins and such...Muchly well done there!!!...

Looking forward to much more of this... biggrin.gif ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 11 2013, 05:25 PM

I'm running with the assumption that Daedra are rare in central Cyrodiil (or Hammerfell I suppose) and that people instead draw comparisons with what they do know. Hence the whole wingless imps/goblin thing.


In other news, I'm going to lose internet again while the whole building gets renovated. The current estimate till it gets restored is a few weeks but I'm hoping it will be shaved down a bit. So till then, have this short bit. In the next update (which at my usual glacial pace will be next year.) I plan to drop a bomb or two and light a fire under some behinds. Metaphorically.




Chapter 10.5


Lower Kvatch


Lex took his time to approach the wooden structure that used to be the combined barracks and warehouse. Behind him his troops sauntered at ease but he raised a finger and quietly asked for a professional march. The men did so and matched his pace. They even all did their best to put on a grim and aggressive visage. Lex had to suppress a grin. The soldiers Stone-Breaker had given him were good. Good enough to know what he wanted without having to spell it out.


There were two mercenaries standing guard, though a lock would have done a better job. The thugs, for mercenary was too good a word in Lex's eye, were dressed in only the most provisoric of armour and armed with a simple club. It was enough to ward off the few beggers, but didn't stop those with less direct means of obtaining food. Such as the Bosmeri woman who calmly came out a backdoor while dragging a bulging sack over the floor. She passed a hand in it when she walked by a family of two. A wrapped package was dropped into their laps and she continued at the same pace. Lex let it slide. Was stealing from thieves really stealing? Lex thought it was but at the moment he was far more interested in hooking the larger fish. Besides, though he didn't give any stock to the steal-from-the-rich-and-give-to-the-poor stories that surrounded the Grey Fox, he didn't object to the idea on moral grounds.


The crooks waved their clubs threateningly when approached but the weapons dropped when they realized that Lex wasn't the only one making his way through the crowd. It was a simple matter of numbers. Outnumbered six to one by men who were all better armed than they were, they would have to be either monumental heroes or idiots to provocate the soldiers. Chain instead of patched leather, short swords and spears instead of a firehardened stick. The men felt that it would be better if he sought someone else to take the heat.


In this case that someone else was one of the merchants who maintained the monopoly Lex intended to break. The man came out looking most displeased at the interuption of whatever he'd been doing but like the guards posted outside he soon sobered up when he realized that he wasn't dealing with a rabble of hungry refugees. Lex told the man what he wanted in a straightforward manner. The release of the food and any other items that were needed by the refugees. Of course the merchant protested and claimed they were the ones who prevented all-out chaos and hoarding by the strong. Lex countered by stating that he didn't see much of a difference between the hypothetical hoarding of gangs and the real hoarding of the merchant and his colleagues. The back and forth repeated itself a few times until the spokesman for the merchants dipped into a different tactic. Bribery.



"Look, you only arrived this morning. Surely you are an entrepreneurial spirit. So let me tell you something that would peak your interest, sir....?" He said with his best smile. In contrast Lex's face was carefully kept devoid of any expression though inside the guard-captain was practically cheering.
"Try it. If you have the guts." He thought.
"Hieronymous Lex." He said and the merchant, who was a Redguard, paled so far one would be forgiven for thinking he was a Nord instead.
"Who is it?" Someone called from within the building and the spokesman yelled back a single word.
"Lex!" The silence that followed brought a smile to Hieronymous' lips.


He clapped the stricken man on the shoulder. It was a friendly gesture but he might as well have put his sword at his throat.
"I believe you were going to tell me something?" Lex asked and his smile grew.
"It ah, just slipped my mind." The merchantman stammered. "I'm sorry. I can't remember what it was."
"That is just too bad." Lex began. He felt not a shred of pity or mercy for those who would take advantage of a disaster in the name of profit. He felt even less compassion for those who had moved to capitalize so fast it had to be second nature. He continued on while leaning in close to the man's face. The false friendliness was gone, replaced with the commanding tone Lex normally used to adress his guards at the morning brief.
" Let me tell you something instead then, mister. You are going to the healers. You personally, not an employee. You will ask the head healer in detail what she needs and you will provide it immediately. Also you will coördinate with Savlian Mathius of the Kvatch guard in feeding everyone. Meanwhile, these two troopers here will go inside and receive a full inventory on what you have stored away. They will be allowed to check each item with their own eyes. Any obstruction will be seen as a criminal act and punished through the full extent of Imperial law. Am I understood?"


The two soldiers he'd appointed saluted and shouldered their way passed the Redguard into the building where they loudly repeated the instructions they'd just received, as if they were daring anyone inside to take offense. The silence inside the building continued, proving to Lex that there wasn't going to be a problem. That he actually regretted slightly. He would have enjoyed to string them all up and have them carted off to a prison at the earliest opportunity. But he had his priorities and as long as they followed his commands to the letter from here on out, he couldn't accuse them of a crime.


The only one who did protest was the one he'd been speaking to, and even that was only a weak complaint about how his goods had been bought at a high price and how the Redguard couldn't just give it away without financial ruin.
"Am I supposed to consider your prosperity more important than theirs?" Lex thought.
"If you have any objections of a financial nature, keep them. I am certain that the Imperial Customs Department will reimburse you for any monetary loss you receive while saving lives."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


For the rest of the day Lex busied himself with handling all the little conflicts that arose. Who had stolen from who, who had refused to share, who had said a foul word or pushed the wrong person in the rush to escape. All the little things he hated to do, but which no one else could. That evening Ulberth Stone-Breaker descended into the camp and after deliberating with Mathius, Lex and the healers, he had the messengers sent to Skingrad.
"Tomorrow we will see some real aid in this place. And we'll lay siege to Kvatch. No one gets in or out." He said.





"You're going to throw away the key and pretend it never happened. That sure worked out great last time."

Posted by: McBadgere Aug 12 2013, 12:50 PM

Brilliant!!...

biggrin.gif ...

Loved the way Lex dealt with the merchant... laugh.gif ...Lets hope the rest of his time there goes as smoothly...

Yeah...As if... tongue.gif ...

Nicely done...

*Applauds heartily*..

Posted by: jack cloudy Sep 1 2013, 09:06 PM

Whew, internet is back. I've got a lot of catching up to do. Well, more than usually.

I like the idea that Lex has a reputation as that one incorruptible guy you can't intimidate, you can't blackmail and who takes bribes as a personal insult.

For now we move back to Latta because she hasn't had a chance to say her thing in a while. And there will be a random rant at the end.





Chapter 10.6


I scarcely noticed the passing of the time. When the sun set, I'd merely called out for light without being aware of just why it had become too dark to work. If it wasn't for the Redguards, who forced me to eat, rest, and dragged me over to observe the Skingrad commander's council, I'd probably still be wandering the tent like some mindless insect. And speaking of eating, I'd had Sorian put everything in my mouth like a toddler. He asked me to say 'ah' and I almost slapped him. Almost. It was embarassing enough already, especially in public, but I couldn't even stand the thought of touching anything after having spent most of the day digging in people's guts. Who knew what and how many taints I'd wedged under my fingernails at the moment.


It had always been sort of a flaw of mine. While I was working, it didn't faze me. But now my teeth and nails itched and I was overcome with a desperate desire to bathe and scrub that made it hard to focus on anything else. Perfumed oils, a glass of extract, the enchanted music cube and of course a skilful massage. I enjoyed the fantasy to take my mind off this place. Off the wounded stuck in the filthy tent, the missing children and the unnatural storm that continued to brew above the stronghold. It was a shame my bubble had to be popped so quick.


"You're going to throw away the key and pretend it never happened. That sure worked out great last time."




I didn't see who had so rudely interupted, but it got everyone talking at the same time. The Kvatch and Skingrad leadership had sat themselves down on crates while a small crowd had formed around them. Sorian, Baurus and I stood away a short distance from the group so all I saw were the backs of people. Anyhow, the comments ranged from critiscism to doomsaying to suggestions that themselves ranged from the reasonable to the outlandish. A big green, something, wanted to know when a real man was going to take charge and actually do something. Another fellow right in front of me screeched about end-times and prophecies and how the world was going to end in three days. Off to the side an amberskinned elf was holding her child, while saying how it was all 'his' fault and that she shouldn't have let 'him' steal 'it'. And those were all 'sane' people, though the prophecy-man made me wonder. There was one gray-skinned elf who talked about a brass statue he'd seen in Mourndom as if it could solve their problems. I didn't see how a statue was going to help. Was it supposed to blind the Daedra by being very well-polished? Or perhaps it was supposed to summon a Daedric prince. From what Sorian had told me, we were dealing with at least hundreds of Daedra of various forms. And not just the lowly ones like screechers, but also the bigger elementals and destroyers. The latter were hard to summon, harder to keep in Mundus and especially hard to control. And that was when dealing with just a single Daedra. For hundreds to be summoned to the same place at the same time could only be accomplished in three ways. By gathering hundreds of top-level summoners or by entering into a very costly contract with a prince. The third involved an artifact I'd learned off in my studies, but it had been stolen by an eastern Altmer back in the First Era and never been seen again.
"Someone must have made a contract, it's the only thing that makes sense. But summoning one Daedric army to stop another isn't the answer. That's like curing air-dead water by adding poison."


The arguments began to detoriate into an unruly mob. People began jostling and Stone-Breaker's call for order went unheard. I could feel someone put a hand on my shoulder to gently drag me out of the conflict area. Probably Baurus. He had the right idea, of course. No one would be helped if I got injured in a riot. But I'd begun to think now. Something was up with this Daedric horde. Something that made the usual answers not match up. I shook off Baurus' hand and stepped back forward and then paused. How should I proceed?


"First of all, get people's attention."
I reasoned and opened my mouth to add my own voice to the choir. But I didn't even need to say a word to realize that just shouting 'shut up!' wasn't going to change a thing. Everyone was yelling now and deaf to their own words. I had to stop the current chain before the Skingrad officer arrived at the point where he would enforce order by the blade.
"How would grandfather do this?" I thought to myself and to my regret I had not even a clue. I held the king in high regard, but we hadn't met often and most of the time it was in a formal setting surrounded by my elders which made any attempt at actual conversing with the immortal impossible. Also, there were no riots at his palace.


Stone-Breaker raised his hand to his troops and I knew there was no time left to contemplate the right course of action. I would have to trust my instincts and upbringing. I made another step forward to the center of the mob and raised my own hands. I bent them slightly at the fingers and humned the song of heavy afternoons. Crackling wips of lightning darted between my fingers. I clapped, breaking the air trapped within my hands. The resulting CLAP!!! deafened all around and stunned them into silence. I repeated the act, step... CLAP!!!...step...CLAP!!! till I'd got where I wanted to be. Right in front of the Skingrad commander. I nodded to him, as if I was granting him permission to stand down, and then without giving the man the chance to respond I jumped on top of a crate to adress the crowd.


"Everyone, listen up!" I began, but then my lack of confidence in myself got hold of me.
"Damn it, Latta. You are an Orgnum, bred to rule! Taking charge should be in your blood. Besides, if you bite your tongue now, you'll emberass your House. Just improvise." I told myself furiously. I moved on to introduce myself, and steal a few more seconds to think.
"I am Org...Maorlatta Orgnum, empowered by the Lord Emperor Septim the Seventh, ruler of Tamriel, to speak in his name." Mentioning Pyandonea would have been a bad idea. Apart from nobody having heard of the place if Sorian was anything to go by, I needed legitimate authority here. House Orgnum was legitimate, back home, House Septim was in charge here. I could also really do with a bath and a nice dress instead of the bloodsplattered travelling leathers, but damn it, I didn't need any of that. If grandfather could rally demoralized people on a battlefield while he was bleeding out from a dozen mortal wounds, then so could I.
"You will not talk unless given leave to do so by me. Anyone who needlessly interupts will leave. Anyone who uses his or her chance to speak for meaningless drivel will leave."


So far I'd sailed on shock and not giving anyone the opportunity to digest my words rationally. But now Stone-Breaker seemed like he'd gotten over the initial surprise. He was chewing his lip and looked like he was going to drag me down from the makeshift stage. That would be bad to say the least. Thoughts on how to stop him flitted through my mind. Set Baurus upon him? The Redguard would probably do so on his own if the Skingrad giant tried anything, but having a man in uniform gutted would result in absolute chaos. And every soldier out there aiming for our throats. I should tell him to stay put. But how? I could say anything I liked, but I didn't actually have proof I was who I claimed to be.
"Maybe I should reveal my heritage anyway. I don't look like any elf-line they know." I thought. Stone-Breaker nodded to himself and I felt Baurus shift behind me.


Just when I thought it was too late to defuse the situation, the man next to Stone-Breaker, smaller and unarmored but still wearing an uniform of some sorts, simply took the Nord's arm and shook his head. I didn't know who he was or how he'd done it, but Stone-Breaker stood down again. I pushed it all from my mind however as I continued to play the crowd. I set down a few more rules, while also dropping references to Uriel Septim and court laws at various points. I allowed a few to say their thing and fished for a few more eyewitness acounts so I could get a better idea of what was going on. Daedra did sack the city, large numbers of them. But there was something else that Sorian hadn't mentioned. Some claimed that the buildings of Kvatch itself had faded and been replaced with something else. It sounded impossible but I only had to look up at the storm brewing to remind myself that the impossible no longer applied here.



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All this had only been a prelude however. What I really had been after from the beginning was the confession of the amber mer. She had to be a Bosmer, black eyes and twirling hair that was too dark to be of Altmeri stock, not to mention lacking in height. Supposedly I looked like one which was part of the reason why I'd been chosen for the diplomatic mission, but I failed to see any resemblence. That however, wasn't too important right now. I asked her for her name.


"Rajn Geydar." I recognized the name instantly. That was one of the two people the emperor had wanted me to collect from Kvatch. But it couldn't be this woman. The Rajn Geydar on the note had only been 57 years old and the one standing in front of me was definitely much older. I shot a glance at the little girle beside her. Perhaps the name Rajn was passed on from mother to daughter. But where Rajn the elder was too old, the child was too young. Perhaps she had an older sibling.
"Who I notice, is not here. Auri-El protect her."


I asked her to repeat what she'd said to herself when the crowd threatened to riot and though it took some coaxing, I got a coherent story out of here. Apparantly she and a 'Arie', probably her husband, had come into the posession of an artefact that possibly could tear the barriers between Mundus and Oblivion. For years she had it mounted over the door because she liked how it sparkled. But just the day before an Altmer had apparantly recognized the object for what it was and flown into a rage. Later that night, the Daedra arrived and when she took Baleni, which was the name of the little girl, she noticed that the artifact had been stolen. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The Altmer had taken the object and used it to call out the Daedra.
"Balac-Thurm." I thought. "Did this Bosmer ever realize the meaning of her treasure, the value? Auri-El bound Mundus into the present with it! And she used it as a glorified flagpost!" I could see what had made that Altmer so upset. Then of course he'd taken it and used it for evil, but what else would one expect from an Altmer who had come face to face with the tool of a god?


"Where did you even get the Balac-Thurm in the first place?" I found myself asking in a lapse of judgement. The Bosmer laughed at me as a result.
"Oh, sweetie, that's a long long story and it's time for Baleni to go to bed. Let's just say it is something the big man with the crown gave to mommy and daddy because we saved the world for him. And we beat up someone who was very bad and not nice to children and emperors. Shouldn't forget that bit. What was his name again? Oh right, Tharnie the Terrible. But that's a secret, Baleni. You're not supposed to tell people. Got it?" Somehow, everyone went quiet. Quieter I mean, after removing a few troublemakers no one was speaking unless instructed to first. I felt that this joking answer had some sort of meaning for the people of Tamriel. But I'd never heard of a warlord known as Tharnie the Terrible, nor could I see why his defeat was so important that she would have been rewarded with Auri-El's sacred spear of all things.
"I should ask Sorian and Baurus about this later. But I know one thing now. We need to get the Balac-Thurm back. Or else Kvatch will only be the beginning."






RANT-TIME


Ok, this part was kinda hard. What happens here is that the protagonists find out what occurred at Kvatch. Figuring out how to stop it comes later though, and I'm thinking of doing that off-screen now because today's update already hit the 2000 word mark.

Now to do this I first have to admit I imposed a limit upon myself. As mentioned before I chose not to place an Oblivion gate, and in this part we learn why I suppose. Anyhow, this had the result that I couldn't have anyone reason that the best way to stop the Daedra was to run through the portal and then hope they saw something to undo it.

Without the gate, I needed someone knowledgeable enough to exposit about it in enough detail to convince everyone else. (Though I skipped over the exposition) Now in the story I've so far brought up four people who could conceivably know.



First of all is Mankar Camoran. With the world-piece he can pop up at Kvatch and hold a speech. (or he can just teleport, no reason why he would obey the law while trying to overthrow the symbol of said law.) But he wouldn't have anything to gain from it and I try to stay away from villains who monologue about every detail of his masterplan to the hero.


Second would be Uriel Septim, who fell off for obvious reasons. That leaves us with the two best candidates. Angoril Bobardi and Rajn Geydar.

Angoril knows of course, seeing how he threw a bit fit over the whole thing before Kvatch got Daedra'd. And originally I had him take the role Latta ended up taking, only a bit more direct. I even thought about having him finally make a real reveal over who he is, but in the end I figured that he would rather not do so unless absolutely needed. And since Latta did the job for him, why should he draw attention to himself?

Rajn Geydar originates as Rajn Treesap in another unfinished story of mine which basically tells the tale of the simulacra. To keep things simple, she knows exactly as much as Angoril does for the same reasons. And since she doesn't share his compulsive mystery-man act, I picked her as the one to tell people.

Posted by: McBadgere Sep 2 2013, 06:19 AM

Fair dues Jack...Nicely done!...

I do like Latta, because she's excellent...Veering from spoil princess "Respect my authoratar!!" to this chapter where she has to act like proper nobility should...Brilliantly done...

Proper brilliant writing there...

Worrying development that they all think Angoril did it... biggrin.gif ...

Love this story...

Brilliant stuff!!....

Nice one!!...

*applauds heartily*...

Ooooh, edit nit...

QUOTE
I didn't see how astatue was going to help. Was it supposed to blind the Daedra by being very wellpolished?

Posted by: mALX Sep 17 2013, 02:53 AM



Chapter 10.4

I am sorry it has taken so long to get back, darn it I've gotten behind again!

I'm curious as to the nature of this goblin-like being! GAAAAH! I wish Baurus had finished his sentence, I still don't know what it is! Lol.

Oh, a scamp! ROFL !!! I love when you do this, show that these things are strange to the people of Cyrodiil! Awesome Write!


Coming back to catch up, and sorry for the delay!



Posted by: mALX Sep 17 2013, 03:11 AM




Chapter 10.5:

This was a great look into the aftermath of any disaster, the looting and high tensions left behind and the law scrambling to keep up and restore order - really nice detail to add, and very well done!

Chapter 10.6

Loved Latta's moments of being unsure of herself in addressing the unruly crowds here, she is such an endearing character!

QUOTE

Apparantly she and a 'Arie', probably her husband, had come into the posession of an artefact that possibly could tear the barriers between Mundus and Oblivion. For years she had it mounted over the door because she liked how it sparkled. But just the day before an Altmer had apparantly recognized the object for what it was and flown into a rage. Later that night, the Daedra arrived and when she took Baleni, which was the name of the little girl, she noticed that the artifact had been stolen. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The Altmer had taken the object and used it to call out the Daedra.

"Balac-Thurm." I thought. "Did this Bosmer ever realize the meaning of her treasure, the value? Auri-El bound Mundus into the present with it! And she used it as a glorified flagpost!" I could see what had made that Altmer so upset. Then of course he'd taken it and used it for evil, but what else would one expect from an Altmer who had come face to face with the tool of a god?


This is what I have waited so long for! But no, Latta; the Altmer didn't do this! GAAAAH! This chapter was long awaited!!!!

AWESOME WRITE !!!



Posted by: jack cloudy Sep 22 2013, 07:30 PM

Woops, I'll have to fix the errors.

But yeah, racism leads to hasty conclusions. tongue.gif


Okay, this update ended up being longer than the usual at ~2400-2500 words. It also is more procrastinating when I think about it but hey, I had fun writing it. And because we keep hopping between viewpoints without changing location, I mentioned the viewpoint character at the start.



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Chapter 10.7, Sorian


We never learned more from the Scamp. By the time we dragged the princess away from the injured so she wouldn't keel over on her feet, the mongrel was gone. Baurus checked for tracks, but the bag we put it in hadn't been opened or moved. It was just gone, poof, went up in smoke. Maorlatta told me this was the natural order of things with Daedra but also mentioned again that it should have faded into Oblivion long before I'd gotten down the mountain with it. Creepy, if you ask me.


Not that I got much time to mulch over the freaky nature of Daedra. I thought I could while hanging at the back of the big meeting but no,the pointy-ear just had to go and put herself in the center of the stage and be her bossy self. And she was the one who had been so set on staying 'discreet'. I swear, I just couldn't keep up with her. So much for elves being slow to act. The only good news was that it got us a room in one of the few solid buildings here. There was no actual bed, but it definitely beat sleeping in the mud under the open sky.


It had other perks as well. Such as the seclusion we needed to do our thing. The princess and her new, better, bodyguard had come up with the idea of everybody teaching everybody. Baurus would teach me how to fight like a jerk while Maorlatta stomped whatever she fancied into my head. I actually kinda liked Baurus' lessons. Sure, the guy was somehow even more serious than the elf which really got on my nerves, but he knew his craft. And his stories on the differences between all kinds of swords and what it meant in battle was interesting. The princesses'...I didn't give much for her things. She had the habit to just start rambling and what use did I have for anything she taught? Healing? In her own words it had taken decades for her to learn how to cut people open without hitting anything important. I would be old before we were finished. Alchemy? I didn't know any of the terms she used! Magic? She was no archmage and while throwing fireballs sounded awesome, she refused to talk about those spells. Letters? Ok, I supposed that could be handy for reading maps and signs. But on the whole, I'd rather stick with Baurus' sword-lessons.


Of course, there wasn't much I could teach them in return. I was just a militia-man turned adventurer. Everything I knew Baurus knew better, apart from the occasional story. So in the end I soaked their wisdom like a sponge, spilled half of it when the princess ran out of words and used elvish ones, and did some chores on the side. One of those chores was that I got to wash and paint her face. Like Baurus, it was one of the things she'd picked up after being kidnapped by the Blades. In this case, someone had given her a 'woman's secret weapon', also known as a box full of powders, brushes, and paints. She never told me much about who this 'Jennifer' was, but I figured she was a Blade. That was the only thing that made sense. Just like how Baurus was probably a Blade, though he claimed to be fighter's guild. I mean, where would she hire him? Skyrim? She couldn't have made it that far by the time Grey-Tongue and I caught up with her!


Anyway, every night I helped her clean herself and every morning I was in charge of fixing her face so her own magical facepaint didn't show. That was harder than it looked really as her skin needed to be completely covered but if I put it on too thick the whole mess just flaked off again. Tonight it was even harder than usual because she'd spent the whole day getting other people's blood all over her. Luckily I found a crate filled with pieces of soap. While I was busy rinsing, we talked. For the most part we avoided actually important subjects like the crazy storm outside but at one point the princess decided to switch to something that mattered.

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"So, Sorian. I've been wondering. Who is this warlord called 'Tharnie'? And why did everyone involved start proverbially licking the Bosmer's toes when she said she'd defeated him? Is this some important war of yours?" She asked me. It floored me for a moment. How could she not know? The Imperial Simulacrum was the biggest thing to happen since Tiber Septim became a Divine! But I supposed she wouldn't know that either. For all that she acted like she was smarter than me, the elf really was clueless about things everyone knew. I supposed I couldn't really blame her for that one. She'd told me about Pyandonea and it sounded like a literal backwater, hidden behind reefs and constant fog. What most got me was how she said that most people didn't even know the word 'foreigner' there.


So I told her about the Simulacrum. I told her about the evil wizard Jagar Tharn, who had banished the Emperor to Oblivion and taken his place on the throne. How he'd changed his own face to match Uriel's so no one would figure it out. I told her about the Eternal Champion and when she asked, explained that noone knew exactly who or what the Eternal Champion was. I told her he was probably an Ansei but Baurus laughed at that. Anyhow, I said to her the story of the Eternal Champion. How he was imprisoned by Jagar Tharn in the catacombs deep beneath the palace. How he escaped from beneath the foul wretch's nose. I told her about the Staff of Chaos, a magical weapon and the only thing Tharn feared. How the impostor had broken the staff into pieces and hid it all over Tamriel. I told the tale of the Eternal Champion, who had journeyed the land and braved the pits and tombs where the pieces of the staff lay hidden. Tharn's minions were always on his heel, Daedra and worse monsters, but the Champion cut them down by the hundreds with sword and spell. Nothing could stop him from remaking the Staff of Chaos. Finally, with the completed and rejuvenated staff in hand, the Champion returned to the palace. There the wizard and hero battled, their powers blowing the top off White-Gold tower. Finally the Staff of Chaos destroyed Jagar Tharn and the Eternal Champion, though mortally wounded in his duel, next walked into Oblivion to free the true Emperor.


I didn't actually get to finish the story. She'd been frowning from the beginning and by the time I got to the final battle she started babbling in elvish and crying. Then a rainbow washed over her face and hands and she openly began bawling like a baby.

"Hey! Hey! What's wrong now? Is it something I said?" I shouted at her. I looked around worriedly, for the walls in this place were thin and cheap. Baurus dissappeared out of the room, maybe to throw everyone else out of the building before they found out that their new leader had lost it. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her in an attempt to make her stop but she slapped my hands away.
"No, it's not you. It's just that I'm never going to get home! And I never even wanted to leave in the first place!"


Her words began to flow out as if a dam had broken. There was nothing I could do to make her shut up but listen and hope that Baurus had indeed forced everyone else out of earshot.
"I had to, it was my duty! And I wanted to matter! My estate is a decrepit watchtower guarding against a continent that no longer exists, all my titles are shared with two dozen cousins, uncles and aunts who have a stronger claim on every single one of them and my only purpose is to preserve an unimportant bloodline! I'm the expendable Maormer who is just Orgnum enough to look good as a diplomatic envoy but not Orgnum enough to be missed! Oh sure, the adoption raised my status, but who is going to remember that when grandfather goes on an expedition? Nobody!" I was ashamed to admit this to myself, but though I was worried about what had caused this sudden outburst, I couldn't help but listen with rapt attention. This was different than the usual glorytales she bored me with. This was the real Pyandonea she now cried about and I knew that I was never going to get another chance such as this to learn about her secrets.


"So I get here and the first thing those rotten falseblooded poopeaters do is turn around and go home! Then I get tossed in a prison, almost eaten, shot, eaten again, bound into serving some old lying king because I am too nice for my own good, dragged into a warzone which turns out to be the end of the world and now you tell me that the only man who can deliver me home got his face melted off!"


With that she snapped shut. I wondered why Tharn of all people would know the way into Pyandonea, when she didn't know herself. But I didn't ask her. She wouldn't tell me anyway.


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Instead I tried to divert her attention away from her heartbreak.
"Let's talk about something else. What is this balad drum? I sure never heard of it." I said, grasping at the first thing that came to mind, namely the whole mess with the Wood Elf from earlier. It wasn't the best idea, given how the Wood Elf had led to Tharn and Tharn had led to well, no need to explain that one.

"Balac-Thurm." She corrected me automatically as she wiped the tears from her eyes. I scrounged the office for a handkerchief and gave it to her.
"Thanks. It's the spear of Auri-El, which bound Mundus into...straight....regular...conventional...it was used to make the world we live in." Maorlatta explained but like most times when she tried to tell me something difficult, she ran out of words. Luckily the dumbed down version was something I could understand for a change. Important artefact of the Divines, got it. But there was one thing that she got wrong.
"I'm pretty sure the wood elf called it a ball, not a spear." I told her and to my surprise, the corners of her mouth went up in a half-smile.
"It's from the Merethic era, Sorian. Details on that period are fuzzy at the best of times. Spear, sphere, it's the effect that's important, not what it looks like. Besides, Aedric and Daedric artefacts tend to change shape when nobody's looking. It gives the chroniclers a fit, believe me."


The princess had gotten her humor back, that was good at least. She loudly blew her nose with the kerchief, then folded it and laid it on the armrest of her seat with badly hidden disgust.
"Right, so it is something that made Tamriel and we don't really know what it looks like but it is probably a crystal ball of sorts. So, what is the link between the Balac and these Daedra?" I asked her then. "Seems like an odd coincidence to appear at the same time and place." She didn't answer, but blinked and let a flush of colour wash over her face.
"It seemed to have your sandals all twisted." I explained with a shrug. She had almost gotten as upset over the treehugger's tale as mine. Not to the point of screaming and crying her head off, but enough that I was glad I'd painted her face right.


After a moment the princess clapped her hands and nodded to herself. Then she gave me an explanation. A confusing one.
"How to explain? Daedra can't come here on their own strength. They're from outside and don't belong. Hmm, imagine our world as a big mansion. Now we have a thief who wants to enter the mansion but the master of the estate locked all the doors. What would the thief do?"
"Pick the lock, obviously." I said.
"Argh, no you idiot. He...probably would." She coloured some more and was quiet for a bit.


"Let me try again."


"Imagine the world as a big mansion. All the doors are locked, the servants never leave and the master does not freely hand out keys. There is a vaguely defined person of hostile intent. We'll call him the outsider. The walls are thick and strong, spellspun glass. The outsider can't break them down. There are three ways he can gain entry. First is by going to the backdoor. There are servants not loyal to the master. One of them could open the parcel-hatch which lets the outsider slip in a basket full of rabid rats. The master and the loyal servants will notice of course and remove the rats before they can do much harm. The rats are minor Daedra such as the screechers and the unloyal servant is a summoner.

The second involves the unloyal servant again. This time the unloyal servant will steal one of the master's keys by killing one of the loyal ones and taking his. The key is then passed on to the outsider who will use it to have a hired thug enter the mansion. The thug can do more damage than the rats, but afterwards the master will change all the keys so it only works once. And the unloyal servant is usually the first on the thug's kill-list. I'm talking about making a pact with a Daedric prince now which involves acts of evil and sacrifice. It could be what happened at Kvatch. But I doubt it."


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I thought I understood the important part. Summoning Daedra was hard because the world....didn't like it?
"And what's the third?" I asked. She had quieted down before telling me about that. Did she run out of words again?


I noticed that Baurus had returned. He stood in the dooropening and gave a silent question. The princess nodded to him and he closed the door to sit down with us. I could see he was relieved I'd managed to calm the elf down. Maorlatta waited till he was seated before she continued.
"Balac-Thurm. The master key." She said. "Look here. If you have the master key, the master no longer matters because you are the master now."


It was Baurus who asked the question that had been at the tip of my own tongue.
"You're saying it makes you a god?"
"No, but close enough."




OOC: The Uesp and such say that the Staff of Chaos was created by an enchanter in the first era. I'd already come up with my own theory for the staff before I learned that however. And since the story is pretty much based on my theory, I decided not to fix that. Besides, power-wise it is more on par with the various Daedric/Aedric artefacts than the random enchanted clutter you buy in a store.

And yes, odds are pretty good that I'll explain at some point what the connection between Tharn and Pyandonea are. Mind you, I've already dropped a hint here and there.

Posted by: McBadgere Oct 6 2013, 06:27 AM

Loved this!!...

That was all fantastically done...I do love me Baurus...He's one that's not given enough to do in Oblivion...

Brilliant writing...Always loves me Cloudy writing... wink.gif ...

Nice one Jacky-boy...

*Applauds most heartily*...

Posted by: jack cloudy Dec 28 2013, 03:25 PM

It has been how long? Agh, several excuses and none of them hold any water.

Anyhow, I still don't know how I want to do Kvatch. So I figured I'd just bite the bullet and throw everyone towards the climax. The current update is also a long one because I figured that hey, both parts separately were rather short and I really want to get this done and over with.

First bit is Camorans, the second is Sorian. (Maorlatta is supposed to be the main character of her crew, but she's gonna hide in a tent while Sorian and co get to go to the scenic spots.) Anyhow, without further ado.



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Chapter 10.8 Mythic Dawn hideout


"Come to my temple and I shall judge your worth." Dagon's voice echoed through the underground shrine, making the bones of the listeners tremble. There were but two present at the moment. Mankar Camoran and his son, Raven.
"This affects us all, Lord Dagon. If we are to serve you we must be allowed to act now, not waste time with a challenge whose outcome is already set." The elder of the two Altmer, his arms raised, said to the monstrous statue. Again the Daedric Lord's voice shook the chamber.
"One boon, one Trial. Those are the rules, Camoran."


The ceremony to summon the Daedric Prince of destruction had taken hours. Hours of casting spells, chanting prayers and bloody sacrifice. In contrast, their actual negotiations had only taken a few minutes. A few minutes of explanation followed by a clear answer. No. It angered Raven that after all their efforts the Daedra wouldn't even give them the light of day. But there was nothing to do about it. When a Daedra said no, it was final. Especially with one as fickle and enamored with random murder as Mehrunes Dagon.


Mankar lowered his arms and turned away.
"So be it. One of my chosing shall come shortly and face the trial you have prepared." He said and motioned to Raven to follow him as the Mythic Dawn's prophet returned to the safety of Raven's office. There the mer sat down in the chair and placed the milk-coloured coffer on the desk before him.
"For the personifications of change, Daedra are infuriatingly inflexible about their rules." Raven grumbled as soon as he'd closed the door and checked the protective wards that kept anyone from eavesdropping. His father simply shrugged.
"A nuisance, but not outside our expectations. I can trust my Hand to see to this simple test?" He replied.


Raven shot the Altmer a sharp glance. Was that mockery he heard in his words? No, it couldn't be. But the failure still weighed heavily on Raven's mind and he found it hard to think about anything else.
"A test from Dagon. It will involve destruction. And killing. In great measures." He told himself and set himself to think about what was required for the Daedra's trial. Weapons and armor foremost. While he, like his father and sister, considered such to be the tools of lesser people, he was not above using a blade if he had to. Or hide behind a shield.


But where was he going to get any of it? They'd once had enough to outfit an army. Real weapons and real armour that had carefully been gathered over the decades, not the magical duplications that could fade at the most inoportune moment. But what wasn't still with their strike teams scattered across the province had been lost at the capital. When Harrow goaded the fools into the undercity where they drowned.
"Harrow has a sword. That ebony blade from Vvardenfell." Raven remembered and a cruel smile tugged at his lips. The traitorous Dunmer didn't deserve such a fine weapon. But one sword was only the beginning.
"I need arms and armour, father. Of high quality."



If there was anyone who knew the price of quality, whether it came in the form of a sharp blade or a well-placed bribe, it was Mankar Camoran. He didn't argue though, not this time. His hands lifted the lid of the box in front of him. He then took out a single coin and flicked it through the air at his son.
"We now possess literally limitless funds. Buy what you must but be quick about it." He said and picked up a second coin which he turned over in his hand.
"We could play the long game. Go underground and wait for a better time." Mankar murmured softly. The words however, struck Raven like a hammer.
"You wish to throw away what we have and lay low?!"


Still looking at the coin, Mankar chuckled and replied, "Is that impatience I hear?"
"It is not." Raven bristled at the accusation. "I can wait however long we need. From days to centuries. But after all the effort we put into the Dawn, it would be a waste to just throw it all away without expending it to the utmost. Besides, right now we have Uriel Septim bottled up. If we vanish, he can come out and appoint an heir. He could singlehandedly prevent everything we've planned."


It wasn't as easy as his words might suggest. While the Mythic Dawn had failed to kill the emperor himself, the assassination of his children had been an overwelming success. As it stood, the Septim dynasty was poised to end with the death of the current emperor. That was something which wasn't far off even without the Camoran's plot on his life. Uriel Septim had been on and off his deathbed for years now. Come every winter, all the physicians would declare, with the appropriate sorrow and graveness, that the emperor of Tamriel would almost certainly pass away into the embrace of the Divines this year. And come every spring, the old man had shattered their predictions. But how long would his luck and near inhuman will to live continue? Not long according to both Camorans. Especially now that Uriel had been driven from the comforts of his palace in temperate Cyrodiil, to the belly of a gletsjer where Northern Skyrim would seem like a blazing oven.


When he passed, there would be no one to take the throne and Uriel would be hard-pressed to find someone who could take his place to everyone's satisfaction. Oh, there were plenty of claimants, ranging from side-branches of the Septim line to venerable council members such as Ocato to every warlord and wanabe noble with ambition. They would all stake their claim on the various rights of blood and merit. And when diplomacy failed, let their armies do the talking. Before long all of Tamriel would be plunged into an endless war that would shatter everything the empire meant. When the enemies ran out of uniformed men to throw into the grinder, they would turn to any man or woman old enough to hold a weapon. Entire provinces would be depopulated, their rulers lying as carrion for crows in the same fields as the peasants. There would be no time or hands for agriculture, commerce and all the other things that bound Tamriel together. A dark era would follow, an era of warlords clinging to their ruined castles and whatever scraps of land they could hold onto. That was the future of the world as Mankar Camoran had planned it. That was the future that would come inevitably, no matter how many valiant men and women, how many heroes quested to prevent it and restore the peace. That those heroes were likely to clash and undo each other's work towards the common goal was merely a sad irony.


After a moment of silence Mankar returned the coin and closed the lid on the milkywhite box.
"True." Mankar said, "Our opponents are graver than we thought, but we are far from beaten."
He took the priceless artefact from the pillow it rested on and held it out to his son.
"Take the coffer with you Raven, and hide it well. We'll stick to this plan for a while yet but if things keep getting worse for us, I want it safe. Far away from Harrow or this Dreth of yours."


Raven turned to leave with the coffer. But the moment he made a single step towards the door he froze. No matter how much he struggled, the Altmer couldn't move and his eyes widened at the familiar greenish glow that shimmered on the walls. His father walked around him in a circle and studied his reaction. Then he lifted the spell he'd cast.
"As I thought." He said and waved aside all the questions that burned on the younger Camoran's tongue.
"Later. I'd rather not have to explain twice. Go do Dagon's chore, my son. I will fetch Ruma before she can come to harm."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kvatch, Sorian


No one volunteered.


Go in, grab the thingie, find Kvatch. That was the plan the treehugger had come up with. As far as plans went, it was rather dumb. But then again, what did a tavern owner know about battles? Baurus, Hieronymous Lex and some other men worked out a better one. But it wasn't that much better. At least it was simple to remember.


The soldiers would go in first and make as much noise as possible before falling back to the gap in the wall. The place was a perfect spot to hold. A corridor with right angle turns and Stone-Breaker thought they could block it off quickly with a barricade made from his troops' shields. There would be just enough room for the people behind it to poke at any enemies with spears. A hundred warriors against an endless horde of monsters. And that was supposed to be the easy part. It was what they were trained for, what they understood. Just that their foes were Daedra instead of other soldiers didn't change it, just made it harder. Which was probably why no one volunteered for the real fight.


While the bait was trying its best not to get eaten, a second party would go over the walls in a different spot and enter Kvatch itself. What came after that we didn't know. Find the thingie, find the princess' master key. Easier said than done considering that we had an entire city full of Daedra to search. While dragging the treehugger along. She was the only one who could recognize the artefact on sight and use it. So not just a walk through an overrun city, but also an escort. No wonder no one volunteered. The soldiers because they were needed at the wall, the mercenaries because they wanted to have a chance to spend their coin. Even Baurus passed on it at first.


"I am sworn to guard you. Were you to walk into Oblivion yourself, I would be one step ahead of you.. If you will not, I cannot go either." He'd said, then launched into how he didn't want her to go. She'd cut him off before he could finish one more sentence.
"Baurus, this isn't about me. This is about protecting all of Mundus. If I thought I would be of any help going in there myself, I'd drug myself with whatever I needed to stop thinking about my own safety and jump in. And that's why I want you to forget about that oath. Honour isn't worth the breath of its declaration if there is no one alive to hear it. I'm going to save everyone my way. Every single one of them. You can't help me with that."
They'd argued over it till late in the night but in the end it hadn't been a contest. One was taught to fight with swords, the other with words. By morning, I expected he would be the first to show up at the breach with half an armoury hanging off him.




I volunteered. A city under siege by monsters from another world? An Ansei wouldn't hesitate twice and more importantly, I was not going to let Baurus upstage me. The fact that the princess had insisted on sending him because he was good at it, yet refused me the same glory, stung.
"Do I have to bring up the zombie? Again?" Maorlatta had snapped at me when I told her of my plans.
"You just did. And I don't care. You need people for your crazy scheme and I don't exactly see them lining up outside." I'd said back at her.
"There isn't enough coin in the world to convince even one mercenary and the soldiers hide behind their rules and orders. You need people and you're not getting them!"
" You're too greedy , Sorian. It's suicide.."
"And that right there is why everybody is suddenly so busy!"


I ran out before she could give me second-thoughts.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walked around camp for a while, looking around and making idle talk with a few soldiers who let me join them at their fire. They weren't happy, but then nobody was. Not that it was all bad. There were lights in the west, which promised reinforcements from Anvil soon. And we had our own messengers racing to Skingrad for more troops and whatnot right that moment. So even if we were to fail tomorrow, at least the survivors would be able to get some solid aid.


When morning drew near I climbed the road to the front gates. I still didn't want to give the Maormer another chance to tell me how stupid I was for going and figured that I should be safe if I went up early. Because there was no way she would go anywhere near the city. Not after telling everyone how dangerous it was. At least that was what I thought. It turned out that she had gone up even before I did. Now Maorlatta and a bunch of other healers were setting up a tent with beds and tables and all the other tools of their trade. Baurus was not going to like this. She came running the moment she saw me and asked a very predictable question.
"You're still going?"


What was I supposed to say? Yes? She would just complain again. But after a moment of awkward silence she shoved her shoulderbag into my hands and went back to the tent without another word. I saw Baurus sitting on a stone near the gate and walked over to join him. He was sharpening a sword. A thin curved one, not one of his own straight ones. The treehugger and her daughter were with them. She was making up a story about the blade, how it had been hidden inside a wall of her home by a big green Orc. I hoped she wasn't going to drag the little girl along.


"So, this is it? Just us two?" I said once I got near. The elf didn't count.
"Three." Someone said behind me. It was the gateguard I'd seen talking with Lex and Stone-Breaker the day before. Mathius.
"I'm coming with you." He continued. The man was filthy, eyes red and baggy. His shoulders drooped and his hands shook.
"I think not. You can hardly stand." I replied. Before I could react the man snatched the bag out of my hands and took a vial out of it which he chugged down.
"I am a guardsman of Kvatch. For centuries we have defended her walls and I will not permit anyone to say that the wolves abandoned her in her hour of need while outsiders fought and died for her sake."


How had he known the princess' bag held potions? He must have seen her fill it. But wouldn't she need it herself? I looked to Baurus for advice but the Redguard only looked at the sword in his hands.
"You will follow my orders without questioning. We are not here for honour or glory. We are here because we are needed." He said and stood up.
"The troops are getting ready. We should get into position ourselves."

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