Sod all comparisons with FO3.... This sticks out by a mile.... Loved it Olen.
It's a tense as Koontz and as gory as Barker.

haute - that's high praise, I hope I can keep the excitment going for the next while at least.

SubRosa - yup Okun keeps returning doesn't he... as for life expenctancies... well that would be telling. As ever the nits you spotted were bang on, exactly how I managed to lose an 'in' is beyond me though. I blame the daedroth which seems to hide in my harddrive.

mALX - interesting you say FO3, it wasn't what I had pictured at all but, especially in the faster moving parts, I deliberatly keep description to a few details and let the reader fill in the rest. I was actually based on a real alley in Edinburgh (though post appocalyptic more or less covers that area).

Destri - again you catch Okun's character as well as Firen's, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Remko - thanks, thats major praise.

All - The next couple of pieces are short, it was that or one monster and I sort of wanted to break where I have I've now arranged parts to the end too.


48. Run and Hide

"What in oblivion are you doing here?" I asked, hardly believing my eyes.

He pulled himself upright and grinned. "You told me to watch over Varnan. That Argonian looks like a filthy easterner, can't trust them."

"That's Skink-in-Tree's-Shade, one of the more powerful mages in Morrowind."

"All the more reason not to trust him, and an even better one to run," he gave another grin. I wanted to tell him that he shouldn't have come, that he was safer in the protection of the group but I had never cared for tirades and wasn't about to deliver one. It was his choice and in truth I was glad he'd made it.

We turned and ran down the alley, apparently the flour explosion had knocked the mages as I couldn't see them as we rounded a corner. Okun went for the first side turn into the maze of a canton but I stopped him, "Next one, they'll expect us to go for the first." It was only a few more yards before we piled into a gloomy storeroom and collapsed behind some crates opposite a second door.

"How did you find us?" I asked.

"I followed you, but couldn't go through the fires so tried the next door. Magic isn't everything you know."

I nodded and idly kicked at the crates. "Well I'm glad you came."

Varnan had shrunk into the background and I'd ignored him in my happiness at seeing Okun again but just then he ceased his gentle swaying and looked at us. "Coming now. So soon." He spoke in staccato bursts like a military drum. His eyes wheeled. "Soon. Run chase. Hide find." His tongue flickered out like a snake's and he inhaled sharply.

"This is your friend?" Okun asked. I nodded. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know." I stopped, really I did. Okun had just saved us and would be with us. He had the right to know. "We were at a ruin. Some weird necromancy took him, another mind in him or something. He's been mad since, but he's worse now."

"Necromancy," his head crest rose momentarily, "and taking bodies. We have legends of the sload doing that."

I nodded. "It might be chasing us," I said grimly. Just then the side of the crate I'd been fiddling with fell away with a clatter. My heart leapt at the noise, even Varnan's perpetual swaying ceased for a moment. A pile of plates fell out. "We'd best be moving, there's rather a lot of mages chasing us now."

I led, the rear door opened into a corridor so narrow two men could not have walked it abreast. Years of boot-heels had worn the beaten earth floor into a trench. The reek of smoke drifted from my right, I knew nothing of the inside of the cantons so I went left. It was obviously a storage area, doors periodically opened right and left I entered the first couple to find more rooms full of dusty clutter, after that I ignored them. Some way down the corridor I could see something lying on the floor but was close before I could make it out in the gloom. It was a half burnt torch and if the scorch on the floor around its head was any guide it had been dropped while lit. Probably in the initial chaos, I thought. When I bent my guess was proven wrong. It was still hot, not more than a few minutes out.

"It's fresh," I said. Varnan tapped at the walls making a pattern, his eyes skittering back and forth. Okun shrugged. "It was lit until not long ago, perhaps the explosion. But why would anyone drop a torch when they ran to see what had happened?"

"They wouldn't," replied Okun, "but there's no sign of violence."

I nodded and let my hand crawl down to the comforting hardness of the pommel of my sword while I thought. Varnan tapped his pattern on the wall and delivered a litany of mutterings. I had no idea of what to believe, and because of that I didn't know what to do. Run seemed like a good choice but beyond that I couldn't plan. Rushing in on too little knowledge, being forced forward by the steady march of fate. A familiar feeling. As I considered my eyes followed Varnan's fingers as they traced their path of taps on the wall. The same spots, again and again. At first I didn't notice it, and when I did it took a moment for its significance to sink in. The points made an arrow. It pointed the way we were going.

I nodded to Okun who followed my gaze.

"The mad sometimes have insights the sane wouldn't see," he said.

"I don't doubt it. But is it suggesting a way we should go or a way something is? Or does it only relate to whatever place he is in?"

"It points the way we're going. Might as well continue."

I turned to Varnan and took his shoulder, "What is it?" I asked. His blind stare told me all I needed to know. His mind was not in the narrow corridor with us. He was getting worse. I ran a hand through my hair and turned to continue.

Shortly after we came to a junction and I took the path which went deeper into the canton. It led to a maze of passages with junctions seemingly after every room and the occasional stair. As we walked it got steadily nicer, the earth floor gave way to stone and then rugs began to appear. The labyrinthine corridors rarely had much in the way of distinguishing features. Most of the lamps which kept them lit had burnt out and the few which remained guttered and cast an uneven light which had me glancing back over my shoulder expecting pursuit. But it seemed unlikely anyone could follow my wild path through the passages, with every turn tracking us became harder and with every choice I became more aware of how utterly and profoundly lost I had become.

The twists and turns and bends had shaken any notion of direction from me but I kept walking. Okun's pace quickened with every glance over his shoulder. I too felt the weight of eyes on my back like the noon sun and a cold draught in one. I glanced back but saw nothing but shadows and Okun's wide eyes which flicked around madly. Varnan was unreadable, even his murmurs had ceased and his movements had taken the essence of a zombie, a body moving while the mind was elsewhere.

"Something's following us," whispered Okun.

"How could anything navigate all the corners?" I had to force my voice to be even, it came out rather loud.

Okun flinched, "I don't know. Something's wrong. Where is everybody?"

"I don't know. We're..." he must suspect that I was lost. His gaze still implored me not to say it, he wanted led. It brought the memory of our first meeting by the burning plantation, the smell of smoke just added details. "We're going to be okay," I said, accepting the burden.

I continued down the corridor, it had widened enough to accommodate some furniture and ahead it stopped at a wide door flanked by two low tables. It hung off its hinges, the first sign of violence we'd seen in the canton. Inside we discovered why we hadn't met any of the inhabitants.

Why do I get the feeling that Varnan has led them straight to Renera and the necromancer?

Wonderful tension in the journey through the bowels of the canton. The entire chapter was filled with a sense of ominous foreboding, like some dark and terrible fate was about to catch up with Firen and Okun at any moment.

"All the more reason not to trust him, and an even better one to run,"
Quoted for truth!

The whole chapter is so well written, yet again.

The detail and the deduction that follows just adds incredible depth to the description and to Firen's thought processes.

Awesome!

I just love the chapters in which Firen is set adrift. He has no idea how he is going to push forward, he just knows that he has to, so he does. You really do capture the tension of being chased by an uncertain, implacable foe. I am reminded of Kyle Reese in The Terminator talking to Sarah Connor:


After all of this build-up, I can’t wait to finally meet this thing!

SubRosa - thanks, more foreboding in this part (which could have been joined to the previous except that it would have been rather long).

haute - that's some high praise there...

Destri - I've always prefered the monster unseen, as soon as it's revealed to much it's simply not as effective as the unknown. Still I might have to rework the part where it get met to make it a bit better...

All - another shortish part. There's not much left of this now.


49. Terror

The journey through the secure cells the lich had visited had prepared my mind somewhat and it returned to the place it had lurked in that dark walk. I stepped through the shivered door in a daze and into the aftermath of hell. What had been a small hall with a table in the centre and some chairs was now the woebegone lovechild of a charnel house and a butchery. Bodies lay in a tangled mass of limbs, innards and miscellaneous fragments. The carpeted floor, walls and even the ceiling were spattered dark red. The smell of blood and death tore up my nostrils and bile climbed my throat.

Behind me Okun retched but he hadn't eaten any more than I and only managed a pool of bitter muck. He hawked and spat and shivered. I'd seen horrors enough, and the secure cells had been a crowning jewel in them. This paled and dissolved as only the most recent drop in a bleak sea. A few bodies were scorched, others had crumbled into a sickly mess, a sure sign of frost magic. Generally they had merely been torn apart though. I bent and looked at a mark on the floor. A small three toed footprint. I looked at the nearest corpse and saw claw marks. On examining other corpses I saw they had all been torn by sharp claws and now I was looking for them I saw dozens of blood red footprints among the dead. All small and all three toed. The necromancer had filled the room with scamps. On their own they may well be the laughable habit of apprentice mages but I couldn't fathom how many there must have been. Enough that the room had become almost a mincer.

Okun still stared in shock. I put an arm around him. "The necromancer did this and the blood is wet still. She is near, we have to move." He only looked at the bodies. "They're dead," I said, "ignore them. We need to go. Now."

He nodded. "I don't know. Is this what I wanted? All Dres, all dead," his mouth curled into an ill-fitting smile, "I dreamt of this. Why should I care after all they did to me? Outside there's all the corpses and destruction, and I know I was a part in causing it. I knew what would happen, I wanted it. Why does it bother me?"

"Because you're not like them," I answered, "the rest of the Argonian Defence Front were insane, I warned you there was nothing down this road. I warned you minutes after I partook in the cold-blooded murder of the noble and all his family. We dealt with the children first. But even they had some barriers, they were cautious and didn't act like they could. A hit here, some sabotage there. It took me to move them to these levels."

"But the Dres... They do this every day. It's justice," his tone told me he didn't feel like it was.

"Justice is merely the desire of the strong," I said. "They hate us with blind faith. An absolute hate. It is such incapacity to see your enemy as a person which makes war, strife and slavery possible. How easy was it planning a grand strike on Tear when we lived out in the fields? Now we stand in their houses infused with their hopes and fears and we see people. There aren't many men who can see the person and feel right in his murder, they are dangerous people." The irony of my saying it didn't escape me.

"Run," said Varnan suddenly.

"What?" I said in surprise. He was blank again. I glanced at Okun, "I think we should heed that." I jumped over the piles of the dead and out of the hall. As we turned the corner I heard a crash from the corridor we'd just walked down.

"What was that?" asked Okun.

"I don't want to know," I replied taking a left.

Smoke drifted from ahead of us. As we ran it became thicker until I could feel the rising heat. Then we found our way blocked by fire, the heat and light shone like a beacon through the choking smoke which filled the corridor and forced me to bend to find what air I could. But even over the crackle of the flames came the click of footsteps. I couldn't decide it they were real or just a phantasm of my tiredness and fear. At first I was sure they were merely in my head but slowly they walked towards the line between real and imagined and sat there like a waking nightmare. Click. Click. Click. Clear over the crackling of the flames. A deep dread weighed in my gut like hot lead.


"Run," said Varnan, his voice seemed to be his own.

Run I did, straight into the smoke and flames and away from the terror behind. It was only by providence that there was a door. I kicked it down and burst into a kitchen. A cook lay in a pool of blood, several knives were jammed into the body.

"It's been here," I said.

"Where is it now?" Okun's eyes were wide.

"Behind us," said Varnan and paused for slightly too long, "I'm struggling. It's near and I can think, the memories recede but they're still smothering me. I can hardly remain myself." His voice was beyond terror, it was full of a pleading desperation. "We must run. Anywhere. We can't hide. Run. Run." His breathing was ragged, his hair stood on end.

The words sent me over the edge. I swam in fear, the very air filled me with hysterical dread. I bolted like a spooked horse. The next door erupted into splinters under my boot to reveal an opulent hallway. I saw flames down a stairwell so ran up, heedless of the smoke and sparks which surrounded me and made me cough and burnt my eyes. I was infinitely happy that the other two stayed with me, I'm not sure I could have stopped to wait. A drawn out rumble interspersed with the clang of metal pots and shattering pottery came from the kitchen. Another door flew open before my foot, the lock shattering into a hundred pieces across the floor. A master bedroom. Flames licked one wall. A dead-end. We were trapped.

My panic was akin to the ruin. The need to run filled me pushing away all other thoughts. The necromancer was behind. The only thing ahead was a window. It looked out over a narrow alley which cut through. The slave holdings were below. A long way below. But it was a very narrow alley, the opposite building was only half my stretch again away. There was a large window. Madness. I went back towards the door even though every fibre of my being rebelled.

Click. A footstep. A stair groaned.

Terror hit me like a hammer. I ran across the room and leapt. Fortunately the window-frame was rotten and fell away before the thick glass broke leaving me with no worse than bruises. My leap was good. Unfortunately so was the next window-frame, I crashed through it in a fountain of razor glass shards but I was too full of adrenaline to feel the pain. The floor shook under my weight and the boards I landed on snapped leaving one of my legs through the ceiling below. I glanced back and saw Okun in midair following. He flew through the wide hole in the window which took up most of one wall and landed beside me with a grunt. More floorboards broke with loud snaps and a joist went with a pop. The floor sagged and another gave a tortured groan. Okun pulled himself from the rotten planks. His arm bristled with broken glass.

"That," he said, "was madness."

I wasn't listening. Varnan had just jumped. His was clumsier but the window was large and below the bedroom. I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. He was going to make it, but that was only so reassuring. He burst through the edge of the window and landed heavily. The sound of rotten wood bending was like a wailing banshee, then there were thuds like an axe on a block as it cracked and broke. With awful lethargy the floor sagged and slowly dropped down to one side. I was sliding, then tumbling then half falling along with the few items of furniture the room had contained.

Fortunately one side fell first and the floor ended up at an angle half suspended from the less rotten interior end. A cloud of dust and spores rose around us. I sneezed but the air seemed fresh compared to the smoke of the other place, it was a warehouse of some sort, full of crates and barrels. I looked around, Okun extracted himself from the remains of a desk, now stained with blood. Varnan rose and shook his head.

"It's close," he said and winced, "I think my mind is mine again."

I gave him a quizzical look but he didn't reply. "At least we're away, but we should keep running." Okun nodded.

Click. From below. A harsh footstep on cold stone.

I caught Okun's eye. His look said all, but it was impossible so I spoke to ward it away, "Did you hear that?"

"Yes," he said, "But nothing can move like that."

"Hear what?" said Varnan.

"Another footstep."

"No."

I swore, colourfully. Was he still mad, or were we hearing things? I couldn't know. "What do we do?" I asked.

"Run," said Okun.

I nodded agreement and started across the deserted warehouse. The terror of moments before had faded like an old tapestry but its memory was enough. I passed through a door into a plain corridor.

Click. From the left.

I ran right.

"What are you doing?" shouted Okun, "It's that way."

"No that step was from the left."

"I heard it to the right."

"What... The docks are this way," I ran on. What was happening?

The corridor met another and ended. I slowed a little, the razor edge of the fear had blunted to a grey malaise. I chose right on a whim. The others slowed behind me and panted. We hurried along the corridor. It ended in some kind of hall with windows at the far end, with luck I could get a bearing there. As we neared its door I realised how opulent this new corridor was. The floor was a wood the colour of wine, certainly imported though I couldn't imagine from where, the walls were plastered smooth and painted with the bright pigments they favour in Hammerfell. As I stepped through the door at the end my eye was drawn to the extravagant marble fireplace and portraits which frowned down from the panelled walls. Grandiose plasterwork covered the ceiling and the floor was inlaid with a lighter wood, probably pine from Skyrim.

Before I could look round behind me the door slammed shut.

"Hello," said a voice.

You have done an outstanding job building up the dread and other soul-damping emotions in this chapter.

On an aside, your sig is especially appropriate following the last two paragraphs of this chapter!

Now that was intense! The entire flight just brims with terror, and that leap across the alley! That is right there with Julian's leap off the bridge in the sewer for cringeness.

And finally a cliffhanger ending!

Aaarrgghhh.... you........you-




GENIUS!!!

Back and with another part.

Thanks for the comments all.


50. Last Card

I leapt back and demolished a small table. My hand was at my sword. My pulse beat like a drum in my head. Okun had pulled a knife and Varnan's fists were up. One part of me relaxed when I saw three of them. Not her... it. Then I realised the hooded centre figure was Skink, two mages flanked him, one with a staff levelled at us. Magic glittered malevolence along its length. I stepped back and let my hands down. He could speak first.

"Quite a little stunt you pulled back there," he said with infuriating calm. I wanted to wipe the smug grin off his face, ideally with steel wool. He continued before I could savour the image, "but perhaps you're more inclined to believe me now. I suspect you saw some corpses?" Okun grimaced. "There are more now elsewhere. It is following you." Varnan nodded enthusiastically and Skink looked surprised, "You are with us now?"

"Yes," said Varnan. "Yes. I think."

"Interesting... you're better now it's so near..." He shrugged, "there is no time for such matters. Tear is alight, dozens of fires have sprung up and are raging through the city. They might save the docks, they might not. The necromancer must not leave Tear, you ruined our best hope but we may be able to spring another trap. It's less... pretty, but I think it may be our last chance. It must succeed."

I glared at him. "You need us."

He met my glare. "Really?"

"I'm not stupid, you wouldn't have come and found us if you didn't, though how you managed is beyond me."

"As is magic. You each wear an enchantment, these can be sensed. But I would like you to help draw the necromancer into the trap, yes."

Okun spoke up. "As bait you mean?" He said something in argonian I didn't understand.

From his face it was clear Skink didn't either. "It is following you. Come, we have a safehouse here where you shelter until this blows over, we will smuggle you out and get rid of those bracers as payment."

"You will pay us what you owe us and get whatever's in my head out as well," said Varnan in a suddenly lucid moment.

Skink nodded. "Very well. Will you come?"

Varnan stepped forward and Okun followed suit but something he'd said had struck with me. "You said it wasn't pretty. How so?"

He hissed impatience. "You messed things up with the guard, not that it did him any good. You tried to flee and it's your fortune I found you. No this trap isn't as nice. We're worn down, one of the mages who was in the wharf died an hour ago, we have no idea why. We need more to keep it... distracted."

I said nothing. Often people will fill the silence with what they least want to hear.

Skink was stressed and he did just that. "Look I don't like it. You're not the only bait, there are several innocents hiding from the chaos. Some might die. But a damn sight more will die if we don't kill the necromancer now."

"And what of Renera?"

"I've told you..." he shook his head, "look we'll do our best to stop it being in her head."

I closed my eyes. At least to an extent the decision rested with me. If Skink didn't like it I didn't even want to know, but he was right. I'd seen the holding cells, and the room in the canton, and the village up north. It needed stopping. If I didn't act how many more deaths would be on my plate? The fence had run out and I had to get off. Yes or no. Neither good. But one could get me Renera back, the hope was a raft among my troubles, a gleaming beacon drawing me on. Could I really refuse anyway, would he let me?

"I'll come and have a look," I said.

***

Skink had said it wasn't pretty. To my eye it looked more like murder. We were in a dockside canton, a whole floor had no walls, just intermittent pillars holding up a tar stained ceiling. Several loading hatches in the side provided a good view over the docks. Chains hung from pulleys and through trapdoors in the floor. I peered down the crack in one and saw to ground level. It was meant to be a secure store and none of the dunmer hiding there looked up. Their eyes were all turned inward, or else fixed on the door and the half-imagined terrors without. There were perhaps two or three families, I didn't want to count them but there were fifteen anyway, and by the marked shortage of men some were widows already. Tear had boiled over. I pulled my gaze away.

"They're the distraction?"

Skink nodded.

I shook my head, "It can't be right. Trap her in the wilds."

"I'd need more mages, even as it is..." his dark expression clouded and his tongue flickered over his dry lips. "How many more would it kill leaving the city? How many more before I get the force I need? No. This is a sacrifice for the greater good."

I sat on an overturned barrel. I knew that phrase. It was poison. How could murder be for good? The memory of the holding cell was still fresh and angry, could I allow her to do that again? There was no choice, she would, the choice was simply the victim. I closed my eyes and the knots in my mind tightened, all I wanted was the right thing but I didn't see it. The barrel stirred as someone sat on the other end. At first I thought the voice was Skink but then I realised it spoke Argonian. I opened my eyes to see Okun's red ones looking at me.

"They don't understand our tongue any more than they do morals. What happened here was necessary, even inevitable. You were just the spark. Its repercussions have not yet begun but for us it must already be in the past. I think he speaks the truth, these people must die, for the sake of their fellows if nothing else."

"They are not willing martyrs," I replied.

"How do you know, if they knew what you do would they not lay down their lives?"

"They do not know. I choose death for them, or for others."

"The answer is there. They are fewer, and now is best."

I nodded, "I question my motives."

"It is actions not motives which matter," abruptly he changed to cyrodiilic. "Is it not?"

I looked at him. He really believed it. I sighed and turned to Skink. "What do you want me to do?"

Awww, it was only Skink. Still you had the tension so ratcheted up that this chapter was a welcome bit of relief, a chance for us to catch our breath and take stock. We see more of the same questions that have dominated this entire story. Does the end justify the means? How many people can you murder in the name of the greater good and still have that mean anything?

I sense that a conclusion is near though. Everything is moving to a final showdown with the necromancer/Renera, I am guessing in just a few more chapters. After that, maybe you will write a quirky romantic-comedy?

Whew, what a relief, it was only Skink! I echo SubRosa in that the tension was unbearably high, and now you've given us a breather, though not much of a relief, since it/Renera is still out there hunting for Firen and Varnan.

Good writing, yet again!

The last two chapters were fantastic! Okun getting a first hand look at what they are up against, the leap across the alley, Varnan’s sudden bouts of lucidity, and the headlong run into Skink and the mages (why do I get the feeling that Skink steered them toward that meeting). Everything seemed to work to perfection.

Firen continues to torture himself with questions that are above his pay grade. It is nice to see Okun emerge as the voice of reason (in Argonian, no less). You have set the stage incredibly well, I am looking forward to the climax!


QFT!

My goodness, I can't believe how long ago I posted on your thread. It seems my own writing challenges of the last months have affected my reading as well.

I am catching up. I continue to be impressed with how seamlessly you weave action with internal thoughts - that is why I like first person pov so much.

SubRosa - you are correct that the end is near, in fact this is the penultimate part (though both this and the final are longer). The themes I've had are strongest in the final sectionbut hopefully not stiflingly so. As for what next... well there's a couple of options I'm considering (and given the first plan with Firen was a comedy it's probably best I don't try for dark).

haute - glad you like it.

destri - that's some high praise, I just hope I manage a convincing enough climax...

Acadian - glad you're enjoying it, and I agree about the 1st person, what it loses in versitility it makes up for in character and thought.


51. Hope's Reward

We sat in silence as the mages arrayed themselves, just by our existence Varnan and I were the most irresistible temptation. She was out there, drawing closer, drifting towards us like a leaf caught on a breeze. The thought was not comforting and didn't sit well with my feeling of uselessness. The best thing I could do was nothing, but I had my sword out and ran a piece of stone along the blade, the repetitive work stilled my nerves. Most of the mages were behind crates they'd moved near to the loading hatches. The citizens below were too wrapped within their fear to notice, or react; what could they do but hide and hope that no harm came their way? Three mages had gone down to rooms adjacent to the secure one which held the civilians, they had carried armfuls of scrolls and potions. The stone slipped and I caught my thumb on the razor edge. Another cut to my collection. Beside me Varnan had stopped fussing at his wounds and stared at nothing.

"I don't know whether I hope it's soon or not," I said.

He looked up slowly and took a moment too long to reply. "Yes."

"Are you okay?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a shake as if to clear dust from it. "They're coming back. I don't know how much longer I'll be here."

"What's back?"

"I don't know, it's like dreams, or memories. But so strange, places I couldn't imagine, things which I don't understand. Like that mage," he gestured to the nearest one, "skilled with fire. An aura of it follows him, he reeks of it even. How do I know that?" He shook his head.

"Perhaps destroying the necromancer will help it," I struggled to say anything nice.

He was silent for longer. "I have more control now, but it's more frequent." I waited for more and had opened my mouth when he continued. "But I don't want to go now. Not with danger so near but I can feel them overwhelming me." His breathing was ragged, he was panicking.

"I'll be here," I could think of nothing better to say.

"Do what you can..." he implored then fell silent. Well almost, I heard him murmur something in another language.

It was quiet again, barring the occasional in breath as Okun plucked glass from his arm. I wallowed in my own thoughts. Below the civilians stirred like restless cattle, unaware that they hid within an abattoir. It was not all my blame that they would soon be dead, we were all conspirators by inaction, the necromancer would cleanse the victims and the mages would cleanse it leaving us blameless outside our own conscience. Clean. Sterile like a soulless dagger. Skink thought in units and strategy, not in people and hopes and fears. At least I did them the decency of knowing it for betrayal in the name of some greater good. A few suffer so the many may enjoy life, it made sense. But how far removed was it from the Dres' own argument in favour of their slaves? I turned from the thought, it was too late for change and what would happen must.

It was a decision beyond right and wrong. They broke down under the forces to reveal the barren grey plane below, an infinity of choice and response, action and reaction through which I'd cut a blind swathe. It was too late to worry about gods, I'd ignored them thus far and whatever they made of my responsibility under Skink's suggestion was moot.

A door opened below and my thoughts shattered into the present.

Click. A footstep. A common sound. Warped fate.

I looked down through the gap round the trapdoor and I saw her. Her robe was torn and singed from earlier, her hair was shot with grey and the holes showed skin like battered parchment. It was strange to see foreign movement in one I'd known so well, she had a strangely birdlike walk. Her gaze shot around hovering for a moment before flitting on, her head cocked as she peered at the next piece. She took an abrupt step. Then another before she stopped and peered round, like a heron searching for a fish. The stare rested for a moment on the trapdoor I sat above and held me in its unblinking intensity, I felt small and exposed, as if the thick planks of the floor were no more than paper, or air that she looked right through to my innermost soul. I shrank back but could do no more as the unblinking gaze gripped me. Then it swept on to the sturdy door of the secure store. A child whimpered within.

She swooped upon the door and thumped a fist on it. The solid planks became dust. I glanced up around the room. Silence reigned, the mages I could see were statues, a spreading look of determined fear their only movement. Varnan was still and wide-eyed as if seeing a nightmare quite apart from the one he sat in, beside him Okun sat hunched and watching. I turned my eyes back down. She was among the people now. They cowered back, some with hands over their eyes, others with dark wetness spreading on their trousers. They curled like cornered mice into themselves, each vying to be the smallest. I didn't wonder why they didn't run, I'd felt the mind swallowing terror which emptied the heart in the ruin far north past Firewatch. Now on the other side of a kingdom it was ten hundred times more dreadful than before. An echo of their fear reached me and my gut writhed like a sack full of worms.

Her clicking footsteps rang death on the hard stone. I glanced around, the mages had not moved, only now their dreadful expressions were complete. They must act soon. They could before she did.

My own terror killed the thought. They alone could act, I was helpless against her magic, even the fear would freeze me. But would they just kill her? No Skink had said she would be cured.

A flash from below dragged my gaze back down. An instant later a scream followed and the smell of hot blood. It looked like an explosion in an anatomy lecture, the survivors were trying to run or scrape off fragments of their loved ones. One made a break for the door only to collapse, nails clawing at his throat deep enough to draw blood. Fat white maggots fell from between his lips and became a writhing torrent which hit the floor in a bloated wriggling mass. Bile hit my throat and my vomit splattered the wooden boards, but fear and curiosity held my gaze. Why had the mages not begun?

She turned slowly on another dunmer. There was something terrible in her slow movements, like a great tide rising inexorably to crush a dam and flood onward. She seemed calm. Perhaps if there had been madness in her eyes and wild cackling it would have been better. But there was only methodical silence and her eyes showed only darkness.

She raised her hands.

Pandemonium broke loose. The nearest mage stood, apparently unable to stand by any longer, and sent forth a blast of bright white fire. Skink shouted something, the words were lost in the noise as the necromancer's hapless victim burst like an over-inflated ball. But his meaning was clear and all the mages rose and rained down fire and lighting and clouds of poison and glowing magic whose effect I could but guess at. The room below was blinding light. As one they stopped and tore open vials of potion and drew forth scrolls and staffs. The light in the room below flickered and died to reveal Renera still standing there, a transparent barrier of some magic between her and the mages. Around her the civilians lay burned and poisoned and broken and profoundly dead. Hope flickered in me, was it done? Was she cured? Then she raised a hand which looked as though it had aged a thousand years in the last seconds and sent forth a stream of black vapour.

It shot for a mage opposite me and seemed to form into the shape of a snake which plunged its teeth into his chest and wrapped around him. He tried desperately to cast some spell but failed. He dropped squirming and fumbled a potion but before he had gripped the cork he collapsed to the floor.

"Attack with everything," screamed Skink. The scroll he held fell to ashes and a beam of light plunged down. The magical barrier bent under the spell but held. Another waved a black staff and some of the less damaged corpses rose making for the lich like puppets with tangled strings. It swept them aside and they fell to dust but even as its attention was diverted the mage nearest sent another ball of fire down. The wooden floor in front of him simply vanished before its heat and the barrier flickered and shrunk to little more than a foot from the necromancer, the ground around it glowed red and a immense heat washed over me.

An instant later this was replaced with cold as another spell froze everything then a spark of lightning burned shimmering afterimages onto my retina and I looked away in pain. The roar of spells assaulted my ears. They were not trying to cure, just to kill and they seemed to be succeeding. The air was sour like burnt tin and clawed in my lungs. Crashes and roars came from all sides like a diabolical carnival. Then suddenly the tone changed, no longer was it one of spells crashing like waves against the barrier. Now they hit their target with whatever effects they carried. A scream cut the air. Whether it was the necromancer or her I knew not, it used Renera's lungs. It was her scream. They were killing her.

Something in it struck deep within me and I knew my motive. I did want her back, that had as much to do with my agreement as any duty to save others. I was on my feet before I knew and booted open the trap door. The hoist rope left burns on my palms as I slid down it. I didn't care. Magic crashed in a maelstrom of light and shadow and colour before me. I hardly noticed it wane and cease as I ran forward into it. She lay on the ground in the midst of a circle of shattered flagstones like a broken doll thrown away. I went to her and bent looking at the body.

Then she moved. It was just the slightest twitch but it washed aside my despair and I dropped down and put her head on my lap. She lived. A thousand doors opened in my barren future and shone golden light onto my starving hopes. I ran my fingers through her singed hair. Slowly she turned her head up. I gazed down and she opened her eyes. I almost recoiled in horror. They were not the bright eyes I remembered. I met her gaze and saw two windows into an empty soul.

She was not there. In my arms I held an empty husk where I'd expected to see my future. My hopes closed in again to a barren waste without life or light. Even though the body drew rattling breaths she was dead, and by the blood which shone vibrant red against her funereal skin it would soon perish. I hunched over amid the dead and only then did I allow a tear to fall. It was over, put beyond the wild reach of hope to rot as a yellowed memory. I sat and looked upon her withered features and thought not of the dark past but of a glittering future lost. The rattling breaths stopped and there was stillness.


Darkness filled me. I stopped thinking. Slowly I realised that people stood around me. Skink put a hand on my shoulder and suddenly hatred sprung up bright and strong, if anyone had put this upon me it was him. I tensed slightly and considered. I wanted to kill him, the thought was sweet nectar as I looked up at his satisfied face and writer's hands, the inhuman teeth which poked over dry lips. I knew hatred, and I knew what I wanted to do. He had made me suffer, and now it was his turn to discover what it was.

I stood to make what would likely be my final act and I saw Okun standing with Varnan a short way off. His large red eyes looked at me with sympathy and concern. I saw with disappointment that there had been no miraculous change in Varnan either. But also I saw that I still had duties, and that to give my life to kill Skink now would perhaps be the worst of my crimes. There was no doubt that much of it was his fault, but Okun and Varnan still needed me and throwing that away on vengeance could not be right. I released my sword and walked over to them without a glance to Skink.

"Well," I said, "it is done."

Okun nodded slowly. "That it is. There is so much now, I don't know where to begin."

Varnan was silent, his eyes remained fixed on nothing.

"You must come to the safe-house," said Skink behind me. "Our work is done and already the Dres have an army of guards and retainers on the outskirts."

Okun waited for me to reply. When I didn't he stood and walked over to Skink. "Lead the way," he said.

We moved quickly through the ruins. I led Varnan behind Skink and two mages. Another two had remained to clear up what they could. The rest had perished in the battle. The streets were utterly empty and silent but for the wind and the distant fires which had waned to smouldering embers. We went quickly past broken cages and broken bodies, cracked walls and doors which hung drunkenly from twisted hinges. Everything was broken, including, I dared think, the ways of the Dres. Would this be enough the cause some change? Even the money lost would be vast, the change in people's minds vaster. Only the future would tell, and the future seemed a grim prospect to me.

At the end of the alley we were back in the docks but this time headed for a street of seedy hostels, taverns and brothels. They were crudely built and leaned against each other like sailors who had imbibed one to many. The smells of burnt food and stale beer marked the place as one I would once have felt at home in, but whether by its emptiness or some change in my perception I felt only vague disgust. Doubtless I could find skooma somewhere here, if I asked Skink he might even know where, but I just didn't want to. Not that I didn't feel a slight desire for some, but the idea of it conjured the same distaste as the rough inns and their greasy red lights. Skink stopped at a low door between a jug bar and a rancid eatery. It was stained from waist level down but the key he drew out belied its simple appearance. The lock was a complex one and turned smoothly. He opened it and went up a stair. We followed.

At the top of the stair was a simple room. A couple of chairs and a table below a set of arms on the wall were the only furniture, four bedrolls lay spread out on the floor and under the heavily barred windows were some flour sacks, a barrel, some potions and some liquor. A second door opposite led through into a tiny washroom.

"This," said Skink with an overly grand wave, "is our safe-house. No one knows we own it and on this street no one asks. You can stay here until the heat's off enough that we can get you out."

"So you don't just plan to kill us?" I said. He glared at me but said nothing so I finished. "It would be in character."

"We have things to do," said Skink. "There will be investigations and they must not point at the guild. If you stay here and don't attract attention you'll be fine." He turned and the other mages followed him back down the stair. I heard the door close behind them.

I had no taste for conversation so I went and sat at the table to be alone with my memories.

You are a cruel person Olen. For a moment I had a tiny sparkle of hope Renara and Firen would be together after they all went through but nooo..... Should've guessed. Happy endings are not your style.

While I love happy endings, I have to admit that tragedies carry far, far more power and emotional impact. After making Renera so horrible in her possession by the necromancer, it's difficult to believe that some tiny shred of her would survive. Possession (whether by demon or necromancer) is like the Ebola virus - it destroys every original thing. Ugh.

Olen, you have done outstanding work capturing the tension and adrenaline of the battle with the necromancer, and the loss that follows afterwards when Firen realizes that Renera is truly beyond saving. Very effective and very much a nail-biter!

That was outstanding! The magical battle was certainly epic in scale and brilliant in description. It was only equaled by Firen's tragic realization that Renera was indeed gone, long gone, and there had never truly been any hope of ever saving her. I had never really imagined there would be any saving her. With it goes his last, best hope of salvaging any kind of future for himself as well. All he has left now is his duty to Varnan and Okun.

Good touches with Firen sharpening his sword to steady his nerves. As well as more insight into Varnan's condition. Firen's contrasting the Dres' own argument for having slaves being for the greater good of the Dunmer with Skink's same argument for killing many of the Dunmer so more will live was also especially good. Those slippery slopes sure get, well, slippery!

my gut writhed like a sack full of worms.
This was a particularly good metaphor.

"So you don't just plan to kill us?" I said. He glared at me but said nothing so I finished. "It would be in character."
All in due time, I am sure. Why do I get the feeling that Skink may now be setting Firen up to be the fall guy for the murders committed by Renera/the necromancer?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 21 2010, 05:14 PM

I have never played an Elder Scrolls game as a magicka-based character. Through Morrowind and its expansions, and Oblivion and its expansions I steered clear of spellcraft and the Mages Guild (except for the enchanting services provided in Oblivion). I say this to impress upon you that the best compliment that I can give you after reading this chapter is that I am now inspired to play as a mage! Your description is how I imagine magic should be. Brutal, savage, and terrifying (people clawing at their own throats, maggots; that black spell serpent, whatever it was)! I am left speechless.

I do have a question: Did you rewrite a portion of this chapter after you returned from your camping trip? The description of Renera’s strange, bird-like walk and her peering around ‘like a heron searching for a fish’ are images that don’t just come to you, they are things that resonate from experience.

Dark, evocative and powerful. Very well done, Olen!

This post has been edited by Acadian: Jun 22 2010, 02:43 AM