From discussing what to do with the armor through to the end of the chapter - you ROCKED IT !!!! This was such powerful imagery and you packed so much into this chapter! I also have always felt Ocato had a hand in the Emperor's death, so you know I am right on board here, lol.

Somewhere in the middle of the page there is a "know" that should be a "now" - but who cares, it didn't take anything away from the impact of this chapter. I love this story!

@mALX1: That really makes me happy! Thanks a lot! Oh, and I found the "know->now" mix-up.


Chapter7: Crossroads

‘Why me?’ he thought in despair.
Hargeth had been thinking about Pilatus’ and Rhialla’s proposition for days without making a decision. His foot was now almost fully healed thanks to Rhialla’s care. She turned out to be a terrific healer. Her cooking wasn’t bad either. Last few days had exposed her as the powerful wizard she was denying to be. His foot didn’t hurt anymore when he ran, although, in the cold damp morning it was still whining slightly. Rhialla told him it was the scar tissue around his bones in his foot plaguing him and that it could take years to fully heal. She had also taught him a couple of useful spells allowing him to help himself next time.

Although the adventure and the challenge appealed to him, the odds of succeeding were stacked up against it. After all, he was a wanted man by the Imperial Legion and he assumed Blackwood company wouldn’t like him very much either. That led to another problem. What if he didn’t take the job? Where would he go? Back home?
The contemplations brought back memories from his youth. For an Elf he wasn’t that old yet. He would be considered in his twenties by his own kin, if he had been human, he would’ve been in the autumn of his lifespan. He could barely remember his parents, it seemed ages ago he had fled Summerset Isle, never to return again.
‘Damned Imperials,’ he cursed when the circumstances of his unvoluntary departure opened up to his mind’s eye. He had been born a simple boy, born from a family of honest farmers, living contentedly from what the land provided before Summerset Isle had been annexed to the Tamrielic Empire by force. War had spread hard and merciless. His brother had been drafted to serve his homeland and had died underneath a Cyrodiilic silver long sword early in the war. His parents were murdered by the Legion under the pretences they had not been cooperative enough.

The harsh truth was actually that his parents had risen up when those Imperial pigs had tried to rape his sister. Because she had struggled, her rapists had cut her throat. Just like that. Her being dead didn’t bother them either. Hargeth had witnessed how those monsters took advantage of the lifeless body of his big sister, time and again. The small farmhouse was torched; he remembered the screams from his parents being burnt alive. Hiding underneath the bed, he hadn’t been noticed by the Imperials and had escaped through a hidden hatch underneath a rug on the floor shortly before the torch was flung through an open window.

The ordeal had shaped him an entirely different way his parent would have wanted for him, he was certain. For years, he couldn’t remember how many, he had prowled the country, stealing what he needed, killing anyone standing in his way.
The bastards responsible for wiping out his family had been brought a to a sharp, pointy justice. The only justice he knew. He had sought the murderers for years and years, until he had finally traced them to the Cyrodiil capitol, Imperial City and had covertly executed them, like they had executed his parents and his sister in cold blood. His years of searching and the hate he felt towards the wrongdoers had changed him into a bitter, cynical assassin.

The painful memories of his past made his heart heavy, a lump in his throat, he just couldn’t swallow, annoyed him. He had left it all behind, it was in the past he told himself. ‘Then why can’t I shake this feeling?’ Hargeth asked himself. He had no answer.
The blur that previously had been blocking his memory dissipated, like curtains being drawn open. The memories appeared in a flash to how and why he had ended up in the jail he had escaped from, barely two weeks ago. He remembered falling through the roof of his last target, the officer in charge of the small contingency cleaning up what was left of the resistance in his homeland at the end of the war.

He hadn’t been betrayed after all. Gently he brought a hand to his head, the bump in his head was long gone, it was in a reflex and he ruffled his hair shortly. The moment he had decided to strike, one of the retired Imperial officer’s friends decided to stop by in the least convenient moment thinkable, discovering his position on the roof. Hargeth’s forced sudden movements had the rickety roof collapse, right onto his victim’s head. Unfortunately, a roof support beam dropped on his own head, knocking him unconscious.

Ironically, his target’s heart had also been pierced by his own blade that had hung on the wall as a decoration. Hargeth had been arrested by the now dead officer’s friend, Audens Avidius and thrown into that stinking hole he got to know so well. Only one question remained, if the headache hadn't been because of a hangover but because of the roof support beam, where had that distinct woozy feeling come from? For a while, Hargeth sat with his head between his knees, thinking this over. They had interrogated him before they had thrown him in jail. Poisons, potions and liquors had unwillingly been poured down his throat in order to get him to talk. Ofcourse, if one doesn't know anything, there isn't much to talk about. Vaguely he remembered his interrogators in frustration about the lack on information they got from him.

A sardonic smile curled his lips. ‘No wonder he hates me,’ he murmered. ‘The bottleneck I stuck in his side probably didn’t improve our relationship either.’
Hargeth grinned humourless. For once in his life he knew what to do. But decided that before he’d accept he would want some more answers. There were things he hadn’t been told; Rhialla and Pilatus were hiding something. ‘What kinda name is Pilatus for a Khajiit anyway?’

***

Gasping for breath, the muddy messenger stood in front of Avidius’ desk. Shortly before, the messenger had come racing into the Imperial office to report to the Captain. The officer’s desk in front of him was cluttered with snippets, empty bottles, wanted posters and battle-plans. The messenger didn’t dare taking a closer look at the interesting documents lying on the sturdy looking desk. Avidius had a notoriously bad temper and would, for no apparent reason, beat his submissives. And a messenger was as low as the Imperial legion hierarchy would go.

Upon the news the messenger brought, Avidius flew out of the chair he had been sitting in comfortably with his legs on the desk. With a crash the heavy chair hit the stone floor. The balding, fat legionnaire rubbed his eyes; he had been sleeping on the job, probably drunk. The messenger didn’t understand such behaviour was tolorated in the legion. The Captain must have friends on high places.

‘What?! They’re both dead?’ Avidius screamed.

The messenger nodded, ‘Yes Sir. According to the forester they have been ambushed by at least two, maybe even more. I think he mentioned the mercenaries you hired,’ Avidius gave the messenger a threatening look from beneath his brow upon this remark, ‘I mean, the loyal legionnaires,’ the messenger corrected himself - rumours were, the whole situation of the mercenaries he had sent after the escaped Altmer prisoner almost three weeks ago, was rather painful for the Legion Captain - were executed very professionally. It was very unlikely bandits were responsible. That was all he instructed me to relay to you Sir.’

‘You are dismissed,’ without looking at the messenger in front of him he waved him away. The messenger saluted, spun around on the heels of his leather boots and marched out the office, the spurs on his heels ringing in the rhythm of his march towards the outside.
Only after the door had been shut, Avidius real dismay about the situation surfaced. He swore and cursed and drank heavily, while pacing though his office and looking at the rapport the messenger had brought over and over, until his throat was sore and his mind clouded with liquor. With a sigh he sat himself down after putting the chair back and drank some more until he passed out. His last thought was suprisingly coherent. ‘How will I explain this to him?’

***

Pilatus frowned after Hargeth had told him he remembered his proceedings before he had ended up in jail and how his memories had suddenly surfaced and stared into the campfire for a while. ‘You should discuss this with Rhialla, it could be of importance. I am not much of a mage but this whole thing has the stink of magic on it.’ When Hargeth thought about this and he couldn’t do otherwise but concur with Pilatus’ assessment. It was a worrying thought.

What if his memories aren’t actually his own memories? What if his memories were somehow distorted and corrupted? And by whom? Was he even who he thought he was? He decided to follow his advice and consult Rhialla about this when she returned from the errand she had to run. The Khajiiti siblings had been keeping Hargeth in the dark about her mission. It didn’t really bother him but he decided to ask her about that as well. As soon as he got the chance anyway. For now he resided in getting answers from Pilatus.

Something irked Hargeth about the Khajiit warrior. Some things seemed out of place. The Altmer assassin had decided Pilatus must be something more than just being renowned because of his sister. Instead of contemplating on it he just asked bluntly: ’Who are you?’
Those three words held all the questions Hargeth had for Pilatus.
‘I am no expert but Pilatus isn’t a Khajiit name, is it?’ Pilatus face turned sad, the corners of his mouth dropped and he slowly shook his head. ‘You’re right, it’s not.’ Pilatus sighed and continued. ‘What do you know about Morrowind and the legend of the Neravarine?’

Hargeth made a dismissive gesture with his hands. ‘From hearsay only. Some rumours about some outlander being Lord Neravar reincarnated, whatever that’s supposed to mean. But I’ve heard he’s been missing for mon…’ The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks. He gave his companion a piercing look; the truth was evident in the Khajiit’s eyes. ‘My name is Do’Sjiri,’ Pilatus started, ‘and I am the Lord Neraverine incarnate. Or, at least, so I’ve been told.’

The story Do’Sjiri told Hargeth both shocked and amazed him. He had always known Morrowind to be a strange place and its inhabitors even more strange. He was surprised to hear Do’Sjiri had fled his so-called destiny and had fled Morrowind altogether after having defeated the sixth house and its charasmatic leader, Dagoth Ur.

Rhialla’s errands, as her brother, Do’Sjiri had called them, didn’t go as planned at all. In truth, the female Khajiit had been visiting several shadowy characters still owing her some favours from when she was still the Arch-Mage’s scribe. Politics always was a somewhat dirty affair and sometimes needed an unconventional approach through unlikely individuals.
She had befriended some of these individuals in the course of her employment. From the contacts she had visited until now, most had shied out of any promises they had made to her previously.

She didn’t lie to herself; she had counted on most of them not keeping their word. A promise was easily made but far harder to keep, especially for the people in the precarious position they were in.
Her contact in the Thieves’ guild was reluctant to do her a small favour as well. She was actually disappointed by, what felt to her as betrayel from their side. It appeared to her there wasn’t honour among thieves after all. Out of all people she had hoped, no, counted on it for them to keep their promise. They had never let her down before. Anyone knowing her well enough would have identified all the little details changing in her face, the small twitching of her ears and her thin lips curling into a sardonic, humourless grin, indicating her mood-change. Her conversation partner knew her well enough.

‘Can’t you see we’re all into this together?’ Her usually gentle throaty voice sharpened with disbelieve and sheer frustration. ‘If the remnants of the council falls apart, the entire empire falls into disarray. Or at least, what’s left of it,’ she added ruefully. ‘And, with it, all the indulges the reigning council allows your guild as well.’ Rhialla emphasized her rant by pointing at his chest. ‘Make no mistake; they have been lenient with the guild. Should the empire plummet into civil war you can count on getting involved, whether you like it or not. I suggest you consider this and consider it well, Armand.’

It wasn’t a threat to him personally but his face reflected his emotions. The Thieves’ Guild doyen didn’t like these possibilities. Not one bit. A frown appeared on his brow when he quickly thought about all the consequences and then realised his guild-master and personal friend, the Gray Fox, was politically involved enough to accept this threat as it appeared, an enemy to all. Amongst them, the ones inhabiting his beloved Imperial City Waterfront. The poor and the rejected.

He knew deep-down Rhialla was right and the guild should assist where it can. Civil war would destroy the empire and affect everyone living and prospering in it. ‘Allright, I’ll make the necessary arrangements to get your friend’s bounty paid off.’ He cleverly dodged using the wanted man’s name. You can never be sure no one is listening in who shouldn’t, even though their meeting and the consequent conversation was highly covert. Even his closest trustees weren’t aware of it, thus limiting risk of exposure. He knew from experience hungry people tend to be easier to persuade selling out. ‘I doubt that will keep Audens of his hide. And yours for that matter.’

She nodded in reply. ‘He’s slightly psychotic, isn’t he?’ The harsh tone in her voice had been replaced with her usual tone.
Armand grinned slyly. He knew all too well about the Captain’s behavioural flaws.
‘At least we’ll be able to move around in other towns without drawing too much attention to ourselves by the local guards, which will be nice for a change. If only for a while,’ she paused briefly to let out a hearty sigh. ‘Let me know when you’ve managed to bribe enough Legion captains and guards. I am sure you’ll find a way getting the message through once you did.’

‘Haven’t I always?’

‘That you have old friend, that you have.’ An ear-to-ear smile revealed her spotless, white teeth with the impressive Khajiit canines flashing. Then a thought came to her, as sudden and unexpected as lightning from a clear blue sky. ‘Hargeth can’t go to the waterfront, the Legion would apprehand him on sight, or worse, execute him.’ Her sudden doubt must have been visible on her face. Armand was ahead of her as if he had read her mind. ‘Y’know, your Elven friend can’t make his way here, you realise that, don’t you? Maybe we can meet somewhere halfway. And don’t worry, no one is going to follow me,’ Armand said with a sly grin.

‘That’s not a bad idea actually,’ she replied. ‘Say, in six days from now? You know the Ayleid ruin north from the prisoncompound, across Lake Rumare on the small peninsula?’ The Redguard, across the table where they where sitting at, thought about that for a few moments, ‘I think I know which ruin you mean. We’ll be there.’

This post has been edited by Remko: Apr 2 2010, 11:10 AM

Holy Cow! What a powerful back story! I loved this story the first time I read it, and even more so on the re-read!

ah, I love an elf with a grudge

More please

Now that is a really harsh backstory, but it explains a lot about our Altmer friend. I have written similar backstories, such tragedies, whether inflicted on loved ones close to the protagonist, or on the protagonist himself/herself, provide some very powerful motivations.

Pilatus is the nerevarine? Now I never saw that one coming!

Well done!

Your command Myliege/Milady

Chapter 8: The cave

During Rhialla’s absence, Do’Sjiri had started teaching Hargeth what he knew about combat and any other convenient skills related to their job that was ahead of them. Many days they spent training physical skills, long runs through the forest was almost a daily returning ritual and combat skills. Although he understood it was necessary, Hargeth preferred to refer to their runs as chores, he hated doing them. But he wouldn’t show how much he detested it to the cat running next to him. It was probably because of the fact it seemed practically effortless for Do’Sjiri while he was panting and sweating heavily himself.

More often than not, his sweat ran from his brow into his eyes, causing him to rub his eyes so they would hurt even more.
After their run they would go to their improvised shooting range to practice bow and knife-throwing skills for a large part of the morning. After that they would quickly refresh themselves and continue with practicing swordplay. Do’Sjiri showed him moves and ways to dodge attacks he would have never thought possible. On one of these days, a day Pilatus had been exceptionally tough, just when he was about to drop his sword in exhaustion, Do’Sjiri quickened up the pace of his attacks, forcing Hargeth to keep defending himself to prevent injury that would require Rhialla to patch up.

‘I can’t go on,’ he thought while lifting his sword once more to block one of Do’Sjiri’s thrusts. His right arm and shoulder was burning and his throat was dry. With a clang the longswords met mid-air. The sheer force of the blow sent a shudder through his body. ‘Please, stop,’ he begged. ‘If we continue, it won’t take long for me to make a mistake and you will need to find another dumb honoured user to do the job.’ Do’Sjiri nodded, ‘You’re right, time to cool down,’ the feline said while lowering his sword.

Hargeth let out a sigh while he just let the sword drop on the sun dried ground. They didn’t use practise swords for two reasons, Do’Sjiri had explained why. First of all, they didn’t have any, a stick from a tree is too light to effectively simulate a real sword and second, practising with real swords gave a feeling of real combat, where there was no room for errors, just like in real combat.

For the time of the year, the last few days had been exceptionally hot. No rain had quenched the earth’s thirst for days, early spring flowers had already started to whither, leafs on trees and shrubs were turning brown instead of green. Dust was dancing to the song of the wind and the men’s feet. All in all, it was a strange spring and not just because of the weather.

Exhausted and panting heavily, Hargeth wiped the sweat of his brow, leaving dirty trails all over his face from the mix of dust and sweat on his arms. Amused, Do’Sjiri watched him trying to get the dirt from his face, only making it worse.
It didn’t take the Elf long to realise his efforts were futile and headed to the small pond in the vicinity of their campsite to clean himself up from the sweat and dirt.

Even though the heat had whithered most of the natural spring beauty, the vegetation around the pond was still breath-taking. A small waterfall poured crystal clear water from the highlands into the pond, keeping it relatively cool and thriving with a large variety of fish and other aquatic life forms. Dragonflies in all sizes and colours hummed around the flowers. The waterfall threw up a wet mist; colourful flowers and flowering plants in the direct surrounding were provided with plenty of water, it was like an oasis in the middle of the desert.

The beauty of it was wasted on the exhausted and dirty Elf. Uncaring he waltzed right through a multi-coloured flowerbed, trampling several fragile flowers in his path to feel the temperature of the water by wading in upto his knees. The coolness of the water made his skin horripilate. He shivered for a moment; the temperature of the water was in contrast to the heat of the air above it.

Grinning boyishly, he undressed quickly, threw his clothes on the bank, ran into the pond until the water was too deep to run and plunged himself in with a big splash, disturbing the Lillies floating on the surface. Several frogs croaked insulted and dove off from the Lillypetals they had been sitting on.

He had never enjoyed bathing but the weeks outside had changed him. He started appreciating the fresh air and the lack of confinement of the cities. Even swimming pleased him. He couldn’t but conclude that he hadn’t been as happy and healthy as he was now than ever before in his life. The introspection made him smile.

For a while he swam around until his skin was starting to wrinkle. Frowning; he had never seen that before, he left the pond, gathered his clothing and shook the water from his hair. Drying up was easy, by the time he had put his loincloth back on and had walked back to the camp most of the moisture on his skin had already evaporated in the blistering heat of the afternoon.

‘Now for some lunch,’ he thought on the way back. The bath and the rest had stirred up his appetite and made his stomach rumble. ‘I hope there’s still something left,’ he thought doubtful, remembering how little they had with them when they had made camp nearby the small cave Rhialla had suggested.

The empty table on the campsite proved his suspicion, what little they had, had either gotten wet in the last rain a week ago, or had already been eaten. He would have to go hungry until they were able to gather new supplies.
Do’Sjiri was ahead of his thoughts; the feline was preparing to go hunting. Like last time, Hargeth decided to not accompany the expert hunter and decided to explore the nearby cave instead.
‘Do we have something like a torch?’ he asked the occupied Khajiit.
Do’Sjiri made a vague gesture towards the saddlebags they had taken. ‘Should be a single torch in there somewhere,’ he added to his gesture.

Hargeth couldn’t remember finding a torch when they had first emptied the saddlebags to see what’s in them but Do’Sjiri had been right, the second pair held a single torch. Conveniently, also a pair of fireflints was in the bags.
After gathering the items he would need for his little exploration-trip he put on the clothes Rhialla had given him, put on the boots borrowed to him by Do’Sjiri and buckled up one of the sword-sheaths. The silver blade came out of its sheath with a hiss. Checking the sword he found out it was still very sharp. A small burr had made a tiny cut in his left index finger. Annoyed he stuck it in his mouth and sucked of the drops of blood. Except for the negliable burr, the blade was flawless and well balanced. ‘A first class weapon if I ever saw one,’ he mumbled while re-sheathing it and headed North towards the cave.

The entrance had been harder to find than he had hoped. Vines were obscurring the door; Hargeth had almost missed it if it hadn’t been for a barrel cover lying on the ground. Tearing away most of the vines and several spider-webs he found the barrel and the entrance to the small cave as well. A spoiled lettuce head and pair of carrots were on the bottom of it. He left the lettuce but took out the carrots and ate both of them before entering the cave.

The door wouldn’t budge when he gave it a little push. The hinges were very rusty; it appeared the door hadn’t been opened in months, maybe years, if Rhialla was right, it was very likely to be abandoned, except for some critters that might sneak through the holes in the door. Ignoring stealth he kicked the door, the force of his entire weight behind the single blow shattered the entire rotten door, leaving only the hinges hanging. While thinking he hadn’t really anticipated that, he lit his torch and entered the cave.

The entrance led to a narrow hallway with extinguished torches on the wall. When he tried to light them, they sputtered and soon died again. Shrugging he continued to work his way towards, from what he could tell, a larger room at the end of the corridor. He could see movement further down so decided to extinguish his torch, at least for a while and sneak towards the room unseen and if he was careful enough, unheard as well.

Arriving in the larger area, the movement he had seen turned out to be a rather large rat that lunged for him the moment he got close to it. Disgusted, yet thankful he had put on the boots, he swung his right leg towards the rat, hitting it mid-air, sending the now very discouraged rat a few yards through the air. Scared it scurried into a dark corner and disappeared. ‘That’ll teach ya, attacking much larger animals than you,’ he grimaced. Except for the rat, some rocks, some wrecked crates and a pair of empty barrels the area was deserted. Disappointed he dug up the fireflints from his pocket, lit his torch and started making his way to what appeared another corridor in the back of the room.

A sudden draft almost extinguished his torch, making the shadows dance on the walls eerily.
After, what he estimated were a few minutes, the corridor he had spotted forked into two passages. He decided to take the passage to the right; he’d be back to check on the one to the left when he was finished with the one he headed into. The trail was weaving from right to left, completely disorienting Hargeth. Not that it mattered. Until now, there had been no sidetracks; there was no way he could get lost. It was a lot longer than he had thought; the temperature in the corridor had significantly dropped to the point he was getting cold. He could see his breath forming small clouds and small condense puddles were formed in holes in the uneven path.

When he laid his hand on one of the walls he could feel it wasn’t natural. Someone, or something - the thought an animal big enough to be able to dig such a burrow made him shiver - had dug it. The walls were too equal, it felt artificial, assuring him it had been dug by someone and not by some hungry predator, waiting for its lunch to wander in. The passage led on, clearly down and further into the mountain, as it was getting colder every few minutes. Suddenly, the passage just stopped, it led absolutely nowhere. ‘Damn it, all for nothing. A bloody dead end!’ he cursed angily.

Preparing to make his way back, he wheeled around on his heels but slipped on the soggy, clay surface, dropping his torch in the process. With a sizzle it extinguished. In an effort to keep himself upright he grabbed around him, anything to prevent him falling into wed, cold mud beneath him. Fortunately, his right hand got hold of something, he couldn’t tell what in the now pitch-black corridor. It felt like moss-covered wood, untouched for ages. Slowly his support slid down, ending with a silent click.

‘What the hell?!’ he exclaimed surprisedly. A hole in the wall had opened; exposing what appeared to be a small chest. ‘Hope it isn’t trapped,’ he whispered. He brought his hands towards the chest to pick it up but changed his mind in case it was. He drew his sword and tried to pry the chest open with the tip of it. It was locked. ‘I’ll be damned before I leave it behind,’ he commented while using his sword to lift the chest from the cravess in the wall. He thanked The Nine it wasn’t that heavy and put it on the ground to search for his torch. A few moments after he had found it he had lighted it and picked up the chest underneath his right arm. He resisted the urge to stop and open the chest and started to make his way back to the fork.

Getting back was a lot more tiresome. On the way down he hadn’t really noticed how steep the decline had actually been. After several turns in the trail he was panting heavily. His thighs and calves were burning with the effort and his stomach was rumbling again as well. The carrots he ate earlier had helped, if only for a little, but now he felt famished again.

‘This better be worth it,’ he said softly while looking down to the chest underneath his right arm and continued his struggle upwards. Luckily, the inclination diminished the higher he got and just when he thought it was going to take forever, he had reached the fork in the path again. ‘Lunch will have to wait, I wanna know what’s down there,’ he thought while putting down the chest. He preferred to have at least one hand free in case he’d encountered some sort of resistance.

‘Gods, I hope I find something decent to eat, I could eat a horse.’ The irony of his thought wasn’t wasted on him. After all, there was a horse at their campsite and he couldn’t help but snickering over it.
With a final glimpse at the small chest, for unknown reason he found it hard to leave the chest behind but reason took the better of him and he took the fork to the left, leaving the small chest where he had put it down.

After a few turns he got to a strange looking door, not rotten and decayed as the one at the entrance but, strangely enough, in very good state. He frowned as he slowly brought his hand to touch it; it was emitting a faint glow and felt unnaturally warm.
‘Now I really want to know what’s behind it,’ he mumbled and laid his hand on the door to push it open. There was no handle so it was highly unlikely to open up the other way.

It wouldn’t budge the slightest but that didn’t keep him from trying several times before he admitted his defeat. For a while he thought about what to do and then tried the same treatment he had given the door to the entrance. However, the door was either magically sealed or was barricaded from the other side because it wouldn’t open, try as he might. With an annoyed growl he drew the silver sword and swung it at the door with all the strength he could muster from his fatigued body. The weapon hit the door with a resounding clang, but it didn’t even damage the door.

‘Maybe I should’ve brought whatever’s in the box I found,’ he murmered while sheathing his sword and went retrieve his finding. Shortly he returned with it underneath his arm and set it down in front of the door. Carefully he set to work trying to open the chest. First he once more tried to pry open the chest with his sword but failed except in breaking off the tip of the sword. Closing his eyes in concentration he summoned a powerful spell to open the chest magically instead of with brute force.

He knew the spell would entirely drain him of magical energy but his curiosity prevailed over his self-preservation. The chest reacted to his bidding and slowly flipped open without a sound. In it was an item, faintly resembling a key. It was dull, deep black. It didn’t reflect any light and felt cold to touch. Ignoring the sudden sense of despair the key gave him he took the key-like item to the door in front of him but there was no keyhole.

‘Oh great, a key, but no keyhole, just my rotten luck,’ he rolled his eyes while turning around in defeat and threw, what now appeared useless and worthless, the black key over his shoulder. A draft of fresh air blew out his torch. In amazement he turned around to see what had happened. Dumbstruck he took a few steps into what was behind the door and picked up the key. ‘Not quite as worthless as I thought,’ Hargeth mumbled and put the key into his pocket and shuddered when the desparation returned.

Hidden behind the door was a large, dimly lighted room. A silvery glow, from rays of sunshine entering the room through many small holes high up in the walls, close to the ceiling, entered the majestic room; making it possible to see without a torch or magically enhanced vision. In awe he stood a while, taking in the beauty of the room.

White pillars, exquisedly decorated with unknown symbols, made the room look like a chapel. The pillars, made from a material he had never encountered before, reflected the light, bathing the entire room, even the corners, in a dim gloom. Several dusty statues, completely untouched by the past eras, were standing in the six corners of the diamond shaped room. All of them wore a crown of some sorts, made from a different material than the statues.

‘That might be worth something,’ he thought with an amused sparkle in his bright green eyes while putting down his sword and torch at the base of a statue and started to climb it.

Shortly after he held a crown in his hand and turned it over several times to have a good look at it. It was made from a strange material and had symbols on it, much like the ones on the white pillars and was surprisingly light. As he gently wiped the dust from it, it started to shimmer with a faint glow. Underneath the dust there were even more symbols, slightly different from the other ones on the pillars but they were just as strange. With a shrug and a smug grin he put the crown on his head, as that was the most practical place to carry it and continued exploring the room. For a moment he considered getting the other five crowns as well but decided against it, he wasn’t really the greedy type and taking one was plenty for him, having only one head anyway. Besides, he would have to climb up onto the other statues as well; the risk just wasn’t worth it to him.

Behind a magnificent throne in the center of the room, at least, he assumed it was a throne, was a chest. It appeared to be made of the same material as the strange door leading to the room he was in.
‘I wonder,’ he thought while rubbing his chin with his indexfinger and thumb. He took the key from his pocket and touched the chest with it. Without a sound the chest opened. Hargeth grinned as he saw what was in it. An expensive looking pendant was lying on a velvet pillow inside. For a moment he was tempted taking it out but then realised it was a magical chest so it might be protected in ways he couldn’t see.

Instead he used his sword to carefully lift the pendant out of the chest. It had been an unnecessary precaution; nothing happened. With a huge grin he slid the pendant from his sword into his hand. The pendant had only one symbol on it and finally he recognised the symbols. Although he couldn’t read them, he knew for certain they were Ayleid. Placing the pendant around his neck; he had found it, he might as well wear it, energy vividly coarsed through his veins, sparks jumped between his fingertips, for the first time in his life he felt what it was like to be really powerful. Instinctively; he didn’t understand but somehow he knew exactly how to brandish his new found abilities, he channeled a blast of current through his body and cast it upwards, towards the ceiling.

Completely unexpected, it vanished into thin air as soon as it hit the ceiling. As he expected, a second blast had exactly the same result, none at all.
‘I guess the creators protected themselves against their own power, I wonder why.’ He pondered over it for a while with a frown and then decided it was of no real consequence to him.
Starving yet satisfied with his findings he made his way back to the door, only to find it impossible to pass the strange portal. A vague shimmer in the doorway was blocking his passage back into the cave. Not sure what to do he sat down, with his legs crossed. Was it the taking of the artifacts that had activated whatever was keeping him from leaving or just his trespassing into the ancient room? If it was the latter, dropping the artifacts should grant him passage, he reasoned. Reluctant to just leave the treasures behind he threw some dust he gathered from the floor through the passage to test his theory. Nothing happened, apparantly the barrier reacted on the artifacts.

‘I’d hate leaving this behind,’ he thought while gently caressing the pendant around his neck. ‘Maybe it’s just the crown,’ a hopeful thought while taking off the crown and putting it on the floor. Once more he tried to pass the doorway but still it wouldn’t let him through.
‘Goddamnit,’ he cursed while ripping the pendant from his neck and casting it into a corner. A feeling of a severe loss surged through him, as if a part of himself got torn out, the surge of magical energy had vanished as sudden as it had manifested itself within him. With a disappointed sigh he took a last look at the pendant on the ground, wondering why he already had been so attached to the pendant in the short time he had worn it, shook his head slowly and returned his attention to getting out of this place.

The sudden distinct lack of the shimmer in the portal gave him confidence he could now pass but decided to try one more thing to prevent having to leave empty-handed; he picked up the crown with his sword and kept a close eye on the portal. A smile curled his lips as he stepped through the doorway, carelessly twirling the crown around his sword.

Good stuff, though I'm not sure attempting to steal artifacts of power from well guarded Ayleid remains is a wise idea... Makes me wander exactly what he's found.

There was some good development of Hargeth there, you show him becoming stronger and working for it which is good. He's a compelling character (as I think I've already said) but here you show another side of slightly careless risktaking and curiosity. It makes him more rounded.

One semi-nit:
skin horripilate - Not sure about this... If there was ever a forum where horripilate would be understood this is it but it seemed a bit too medical to me and didn't fit the narrative voice. On the other hand it is a brilliant word and I've always wanted to find somewhere to use it.

Thanks for the compliment. I agree, horripilate is a bit medical but I had trouble with the alternative: Goosebumps. I never seen geese in Nirn

chill bumps.

Piloerection is even more medical/biogeek, but then a certain vulpine would have a field day with it. So, chill bumps works well; I describe the small hairs on the back of the neck standing up.

Again I enjoyed the further development of Hargeth's character - he is starting to do more things with himself. I liked his feelings about training -

I'm sure many grunts remember this feeling from boot camp.

Chorrol's bizarre censor police strikes again:


Again, I enjoyed this chapter. I'm still wondering why it didn't get comments on the other forum. Obviously it was before I joined there, otherwise I would have found it and commented!

The chapter is a little long, but well worth the read. I loved your explanation for why they practice with the real swords, your detail and descriptions inside the tunnels and the throne room are exquisite. Him twirling an ancient Ayleid artifact on his sword made me want to duff him, lol.

Nice work, Rales. Sorry, I mean Remko. I'm used to your other story.

The one thing you should not do is stop writing this story. I can see that you are just starting to settle into the direction you wish to take the characters and story.

The last two chapters have really good development and feel. More, more!!

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Apr 5 2010, 06:49 AM

I agree, this one was a bit long but I didn't want to cut it short because of the significance some of it will have throughtout the rest of the story.

Thank you all for the awesome comments. It means a lot to me to hear the story and development of it is far better than I was led to believe. Winter Wolf, you are right, this is just the start.

Maybe when I was posted this story on that other forum, nobody knew me and just ignored it being just another DB/Assassin story? Which, imho, it isn't. Whether or not it is a good story, it's deffo NOT a DB story. I think Hargeth said it for me

Chill bumps... good one! Thanks!


Chapter 9 Dreams

Ocato bowed his head in reverance. ‘My Lord, all is going according to plan. Our pawn is still oblivious of your scheme and his past.’
‘Can we be sure about that?’ the voice replied booming through the Chancellor’s private chamber, secured with mundane and arcane traps to prevent eavesdropping. No-one that wasn’t supposed to would be able to get into his privatechamber or be able to secretly listen in on the conversation behind the magically sealed door without paying for it dearly.

Had Ocato been a normal person, rather than a powerful wizard, his ears would be bleeding by the sheer volume of the voice adressing him. Embarrassed he realised he wasn’t absolutely sure and hoped that his doubt wasn’t showing. His palms were dry, in spite of his temporary unease.
Confident his voice wouldn’t break he replied: 'Ofcourse, My Lord. We thoroughly wiped his memories about all the occurrences, the only mortal powerful enough to break through the mist of illusion we’ve cast on his memory is me.’ The Altmer High-Chancellor and former Arch-Mage didn’t mention their unknowing assassin had escaped before they were able to break his spirit completely. He blamed that fool Avidius. They still needed the assassin, even though he wasn’t aware of the role he had already played in the current war.
‘It better, Mortal!’ And with that last sentence, dripping with hostility, the presence was gone.

Ocato shook his head,’What have I got myself into?’ he mumbled,’If the Council finds out, they’ll have my head. Or, at least, they’ll die trying,’ and grinned slyly.

***

Rhialla returned to the camp around noon, thirteen days after she set off to convince the guilds to assist the Empire in the struggle she was sure about would come.
Do’Sjiri was sharpening his huntingknife on a rock with a recently caught pair of rabbits laying next to him. No doubt he was sharpening the knife to gut and peal the animals. Shortly he raised his head and greeted his sister with a warm smile. ‘All went well I presume?’

‘Not as good as I had hoped, but good enough,’ she replied and took a look around. ‘Where’s Hargeth?’

‘Dunno, think he went to that cave you mentioned, I think he was bored.’
‘Somehow, I doubt that,’ she said with a smile. ‘Knowing you, you kept him busy enough.’
A toothed grin was all she needed as confirmation. ‘I’ll go see if I can find him.’
‘Did you bring some food?’ Do’Sjiri asked. Rhialla threw him the bag with some bread, lettuce and tomatoes.
‘Help yourself.’

An eery sensation was bothering her on the way. Something in the back of her mind was warning her something was wrong. A shimmer in the air, an evil presence, an intangiable sensation of fear and concern plagued her. Something she just couldn’t put her finger on but she knew it to be close by.

Halfway the cave she encountered Hargeth. Dirty, but smiling from ear to ear and some crown in his hand, one of the like she had never seen before. Even from a distance, she could feel power emitting from it. Something was either very wrong or very right with it. ‘Where did you get that?’ and pointed at the crown like it was a venomous serpent about to sink its fangs into her skin, her voice trembling in fear and wonder and her tail waving nervously.

‘Found it in a hidden ancient room in a cave, due west.’
‘West? The cave I mentioned is…’ she paused a while to orientate herself and get a hold of herself again, ‘…slightly east from here. I guess you found a hidden one because I am unaware of other caves in the vicinity. You mentioned a hidden ancient room?’

He told Rhialla about his little adventure in the cave, especially the part of the pendant and the crown caught her interest and was disappointed he hadn’t brought the pendant, although she understood why. While he told his story she decided to visit this cave herself some day.
‘Can I see that crown for a moment?’
‘Sure.’ Hargeth handed her the crown and added: 'I think it’s Ayleid.’

The moment Rhialla touched the crown, she knew he was right. When she carefully magically probed the artifact she found a dorment power deep within it but didn’t dare unleashing it until she had more time to examine it more closely. ‘Judging what you told me, I wouldn’t advise you to wear it outside the room where you found it, it could react very differently outside,’ she warned Hargeth. ‘At least, don’t put it on your head before I found out what it is exactly.’
‘Sure,’ he replied indifferently while shrugging. ‘But it does look nice, doesn’t it?’
‘Let’s get back to the camp, we have a lot to discuss.’

When they returned to the camp they found Do’Sjiri next to a cooking pot, making a vegetable stew and the rabbits being roasted above a fire. The delicious aroma coming from it made Hargeth realise just how famished he was.
‘Anything I can do until we can eat?’
‘Yeah, you could go get some water.’ Do’Sjiri gestured to a wooden bucket next to his tent without taking his eyes of the food he was preparing.

The Elf returned a few minutes later, the small pond was only a small distance from the camp but he still managed to spill a quarter of the bucket’s content over the trousers he was wearing, leaving a short trail of water that got almost instantly absorbed by the bone-dry soil. Do’Sjiri was just scooping the stew, that looked more like soup, into three bowls and added a large chunk of rabbit meat and a piece of bread to the side on a plate underneath the bowl.

His stomach rumbled in anticipation. ‘Do we have any wine left?’
The Khajiit burst out in a throaty laughter ‘You and your wine!’ and shook his head in amusement. ‘Maybe there is some left, kinda doubt it though.’
‘I’ll go see.’ Quickly he checked the tents and bags for something to drink with their food and came walking back with a victorious expression on his face and a half-full bottle of wine in his hand. ‘Now we can eat,’ he emphasized “now”, in his opinion it was unthinkable to have dinner and not having something to drink, preferably the rich, burgundy coloured liquid.

***

Today a cloaked character looked me up with a job offering. Not sure I should take it, he’s being too secretive, although that’s not a rare occasion in my line of work. My gut tells me this might be too high-profile. His propistion was just ludicrous. He must be out of his mind. On the other hand, ten thousand Septims is enough for me to give up this profession. I’ll give it some thought.
Ocato’s lips formed a smile that never got to his eyes while playing with the page from the diary he found amongst his pawn’s belongings. Ofcourse he knew the conclusion. After all, he had been the one ordering the task of eliminating the Emperor’s son and the murderer was totally oblivious to it. He and his associates had made sure of that. ‘And to think that oaf believes he was imprisoned for murdering some insignificant Legion soldiers.’

Carefully he crumpled the page and then obliterated it with a powerful firespell. His desk charred slightly in the process and several documents, laying on his desk broke out in flames as well. Angered with his stupidity, he quickly pulled a very expensive robe from the chair next to his desk to extinguish the flames, utterly ruining it.

***

Hargeth woke up in a sweat and was shivering all over. His dreams had been most disturbing. Images of his past were blurred by images of death and blood to the point it had been impossible to tell where one started and the other ended, as if they were one and the same, yet different. The images felt significant, he knew them to be the truth, no matter how unnerving they were. Not that the images scared him, he was accustomed to blood, what was scaring him though, was the meaning of the images.
They appeared as his memories but they collided with other images he recognised as memories. He felt something warm underneath his right hand, in his sleep he had put his hand on the crown he had found in the mysterious cave.

He closed his eyes and slowly rubbed his forehead. Slowly, more recollections from his dream seeped through into his consciousness. There had been a menacing voice. He couldn’t remember what it had been saying, as if it had been a language he didn’t know. Hargeth picked up the crown, immediately throwing it back on the ground in disgust. The sensation from it was malevolant, very different from the sensation it had given him in the ruin. Rhialla’s warning hadn’t been in vain, this thing was dangerous.

‘What is this thing,’ he mumbled while looking at it. It was glowing eerily even though it was pitch black in the dead of night. Was this thing the origin of the disturbing images or were they part of something bigger? He didn’t dare answer his own question. Instead, he wrapped the crown into a piece of clothing he had worn and laid himself down in an effort getting back to sleep.

HUGE, HUGE chapter! Powerful, plot twists, mystery, cliff-hanging - I keep thinking each chapter I read is the best so far, then you post the next chapter and it knocks all the rest behind it! I can't get enough of this story, I love it! You have ROCKED this... gobble, gobble gobble... - HUGE !!!!!!!!!! (or as Old Andy would say, Rohugh!)

Nice update, the plot is really thickening and I'm liking it. We find out more about Hargeth and he become more intreguing. Not that he knows it which is brilliant. And along with his own memory mix up he's getting memories from an Ayleid crown


I quite agree.

I agree with the others, it's getting very interesting, now that you have added Ocato into the mix.


This vision of the normally imperturbable Ocato cracked me up! Loved it!

This going to be the last update for a while, simply because I ran out of material.
But all the awesome comments have urged me to continue writing on it. Which I shall, I promise! But you probably noticed it is not a story that comes easily. That's why I kind of put it in the fridge but I am confident again I am on the right way and that I can pull it off. THANK YOU ALL!!!!! You guys ROCK!


Chapter 10 War

‘Watch the left flank, they’re circling us!’ the sergeant barked and quickly wheeled around to face a creature that had managed to sneak around the armed forces protecting the town. A mouth, filled with rows and rows of huge teeth was snapping in his direction, quickly he raised his shield to fend of the monstrous mouth and brought his sword down to have it collide with the beasts’ neck. His sword carved deep into the monster’s neck until the blade hit its spine. It dropped dead immediately in front of the sergeant’s iron clad feet. The sergeant didn’t even bother checking for lifesigns and prepared himself for the next attack.

Hordes and hordes of monsters were pouring out of a hellish portal that had mysteriously manifested itself west of the town of Skingrad. The usual pleasant green pastures and vineyards surrounding the thriving town were scorched to the ground painted red with blood from both defenders and attackers. Dead bodies were scattered all over. The brave defenders had stood their ground for days, fighting and killing the seemingly endless stream of Daedra invaders.

The same was happening in several places in Cyrodiil, all over the province men and mer were dying by the hand of the relentless horde of monsters people only encountered in the worst of their nightmares. No-one was spared, all were slaughtered brutally, women, children and old men all alike. This wasn’t war, it was extermination.

The sergeant could tell his men were getting tired, gaps were starting to fall in their lines.
‘Hold the lines,’ he yelled, ‘or else we all end up as Daedra snack!’ The encouragement seemed to work, his men straightened their back, lifted their shields and closed the gaps in the lines. However, the experienced, battle-hardened sergeant knew it was only a matter of time his men would be overrun if reinforcements wouldn’t arrive soon. For a brief moment he took off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow while softly cursing the unnatural heat.

Longingly he looked northbound where, if his superiors were correct, reinforcements would come from. He wasn’t counting on it, they had taken too long, they should’ve been there half a day ago. He knew his men couldn’t last much longer and if the lines would fall, the town would be overrun. He had to think of something and he had to do it fast.
‘Signal the archers and prepare to make a hasty withdrawl ’ he shouted towards his flagbearer and put his helmet back on his head.

A flag, indicating the archers could fire at will, was raised while the sergeant bellowed the order to withdraw slowly so his men wouldn’t end up looking like pincushions. Even in the chaos of dying men and beasts, mud and blood, his men withdrew disciplined as arrows rained down on the attackers from the walls of Skingrad. Anyone in the town being able to hold and fire a bow was provided with a bow and a set of arrows and was stationed on the walls as a final resort in case the men on the field would fall. Dozens of Daedra were shot down, many were rendered defenseless with countless arrows sticking from their body and were quickly put down by the couragous defenders. The sergeant’s tactic had bought them some time.

‘Maybe, just maybe we can get out of this one alive,’ he thought while swinging his sword. With almost every swing another one of the atrocious monsters fell to the cruel, sharp steel.
The attackers were starting to spread thin, the defenders had won the day but he was certain the battle wasn’t over.
Exhausted, he stuck his sword, tip first, into the soggy ground, let himself drop to his knees and wept for all the brave men that had fallen.

***

On the walls, a cloaked lone person was peering down at the men defending his town. Janus Hassildor, count of Skingrad bore witness to the slaughter at his walls, his people dying or dead, if he had been able to, he would have cried. He could see with his supernatural, vampiric sight; the brave sergeant leading the defenders, almost like a reflection of himself.

He could see the man falling to his knees, his back arched and his sword stuck in the ground next to him. The bravery and tactical insight this single individual had displayed in battle was inspiring, it made him wanting to fly down and lay his enemies to waste but his position prevented him to do so. He had kept to the background for all those years, not exposing himself to his people living in his town. Few of his most loyal men knew about his situation and had vowed an oath to keep it silent. Leaping down would undo all those years of secrecy and strike fear in the hearts of his servants who were oblivious to the predator amongst them. Never had he fed on one of his own but he knew from experience people feared what they don’t understand and kill what they fear.

His town had always been a thriving town, ever since he became the count, nearly seventy years ago. Even he had hunted down and destroyed countless of his own kind, he had sworn never to feed on people, instead he fed on cattle and vermin.
His patience was now at an end. What good was it to keep in secrecy if there was no-one left to remain hidden from? Trusting his disguise, he leapt down and went Daedra hunting.

His fangs were dripping with daedric blood. It wasn’t nearly as tasteful as the blood from the natural wildlife but it felt far more satisfying ripping the windpipe from his enemies’ throat than feeding on helpless little critters. In the woods north of Skingrad, he had chosen as his huntingground, he had encountered more Daedra. Some still bloody from the battle, some still fresh, ready for the next attack. Most of them were now dead.
Janus’ wrath had been terrible, parts of Daedra were scattered around the area, the soil now black with the demonic blood.
Between all the lesser Daedra he had found a Dremora Lord in charge of the minions. At first the Dremora was unwilling answering his questions but after some persuasion the Dremora had started to talk.

ARGH!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! MORE, MORE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ARGH !!!!!!!!!!

yay for Janus!

In spite of mALX's corruption of his character, he remains my favorite noble in the whole game!

Way to go!

And I hear you about writer's block!