"Five drakes apiece, and we'll open an Oblivion Gate between your legs!"

And there goes my blue mountain between the screen and the keyboard!!

GRRR ROSA YOU MINX DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I PAID FOR THAT BLUE....GRRR...




And to pay you back for that, Rosy, here's a thought:

I thought Oblivion Gates were to let Devils come OUT, not to let Devils CUM IN!!!



And don't you DARE reply "Well...new imps have to be born SOMEHOW..."



*edit*

So as not to spam your thread....here's a (serious) afterthought this time, since you said you were looking for a new dagger for Teresa...

WHY NOT GET A PIRATE'S CUTLASS, AND MAKE IT INTO A CUT-DOWN CUTLASS?

Think about it - cheap and with a broad, strong blade - which will become even stronger after it's been cut down to dagger size and re-sharpened, perfect for those blocks and parries - a large handguard which can be modified with brass knuckles for close range, bone breaking punches - and a weapon unique to Teresa alone!



This post has been edited by D.Foxy: Dec 9 2010, 10:39 AM

Foxy got my favorite quote already, but there were so many others I would have spammed your thread copying!!! This chapter and the last have become my top two favorite chapters of all !!! You have a gift for humor and lightness that you showed in these, and as always - you have a gift for creating characters in these NPC's !!! AWESOME WRITE !!!!




In the south it is used as birth control, but also has medicinal purposes. According to men it relieves headaches; backaches, sore throat.

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 9 2010, 04:35 PM

Olen: The last scene was a fun one to write because I finally had the chance to really show Methredhel being a thief. Adding Dynari into the mix turned it into a rather fun romp.


hazmick: The apartment block was inspired by the slums of ancient Rome. Not to mention modern day ones. A lot of fun to write about, but not to live there!


treydog: Yay, someone liked the Reman Emperors line. I worked to come up with something that would be ES-appropriate.

Using Dreth in place of Agarmir was the reason I went and did this chapter. It allows me to finally wrap up the little Dreth-arc. I kind of like the fact that it will be Teresa's mother that brings about the ruin of the man who tormented her as a child.


Destri Melarg: Another vote for Dynari? I am glad she is coming across so well. She was not even in my outline. I just threw her in because a few months ago MyCat mentioned liking her. So I worked her in as a friend and roomate of Methie's, and in so doing tried to subtly imply that Meth has moved on from Adanrel.

Yes indeed, Methredhel did recognize herself in those kids!


Acadian: Lovely recipe! I had a lot of fun with the prostitute disguise. I needed something that would be believable in broad daylight, and it was the first thing that came to mind.

Good call on the cropped top. Thank you for the suggestion!


D.Foxy: I had no idea that Oblivion Gate line would be so amusing. I was just looking for something that a Cyrodiilic prostitute might say to entice someone.

What is a Blue Mountain? I assume you do not mean Ered Luin in Middle Earth.


mALX: I always thought laughter was a better birth control. I am sure men just like it because it is tighter is all.


Next: In our last episode Methredhel discovered a ledger recording Dreth's transactions. Next she brings it to Simplicia, and we meet the third player in this investigation.


Chapter 25.5 – Unfriendly Competition

Methredhel stepped into Jensines 'Good As New' Merchandise. The store was practically empty, with the only real customer a middle-aged Imperial woman at the counter talking to Jensine. A pair of children hovered near her skirts, and every time one tried to wander away, she quickly rebuked them and pulled them closer. Either their mother or a nanny, Methredhel thought. Either way, she felt sorry for the kids.

She had taken the time to wash off her makeup and replace her court heels with a pair of soft-soled doeskin shoes instead. Yet she still wore the Redguard crop top and short, loose skirt. She had to admit, she liked the way it showed off her flat stomach and left her legs free to move. She also liked all the hungry looks sent her way by the men she passed on the street.

She saw Simplicia crouched down before one of the shelves near the front window, straightening up the set of copper pots and pans within it. The old woman now wore a brown skirt and chemise, with a darker brown bodice sheathing her chest. All were simple and unadorned, but still of good linen. Such a strange thing, the thief mused. The Simplicia she had known before had owned nothing but a single green dress of tattered flax. Now she seemed to have a different change of clothes for every day of the week. Being a clerk had certainly done well for her. No wonder she was so keen to put a damper on Thoronir's low prices.

The old woman looked up as the door thumped shut, and met Methredhel's gaze. "Well you certainly took your time," she said sharply. Standing up with a wince, the old woman paused to rub the small of her back. "It's almost six bells past noon. We're about to close."

"I stopped at The Copius Coinpurse on my way over," Methredhel said with a sly smile. "That Thoronir sure has low prices. He has most of your customers too…"

"Well of course he does you idiot!" Simplicia hissed in a tone too low to carry beyond the aisle. "That's why I went to you! And why are you dressed like that? You look like a cheap street-corner tart!"

"Hey, the deal is you have to be nice to me," Methredhel declared. Lifting Dreth's book in her hand so Simplicia could not miss it, she made as if to turn back to the door. "If not, then I'll take this ledger to Thoronir and see how much he'll pay me for it."

"Wait, wait!" Simplicia whispered. Turning back, Methredhel could see the old woman's eyes simmering with frustration, and savored every moment of it. "You look fine. A perfect example of young, virginal womanhood. There, you happy now? Now show me the fetching book."

Methredhel chuckled, and handed her the ledger with it open. Pointing a finger to the last entry, she spoke. "It looks like a series of deliveries from different people to Thoronir. Each item is tallied, along with the amount he paid for it. The last entry just has the name Julia Albinus and the nineteenth of Last Seed, but nothing else. So he must be planning on something today."

"Julia Albinus?" Simplicia mused aloud. "That can't be."

"Why not?" Methredhel asked.

"Because she's dead," the old Imperial declared. Lumbering to the front door, she reached down to a small table and picked up a copy of The Black Horse Courier from a small stack of the broadsheets. "Here, it's in today's edition. She was a rich patrician. Broke her neck slipping in the bath they say. Her family's big slum lords in the Arena District. I bet they offed her for her money. They buried her this afternoon."

Methredhel stared at the broadsheet. Everything Simplicia said was there. Except of course for the accusation of murder by her relatives, Methredhel thought wryly. But if Julia Albinus was dead, how could Dreth rob her? Was he going to pretend to be a distant relative and slip into their manor during the post-funeral gathering? But he was a Dunmer, and they Imperials, so that was impossible.

That is when she remembered the dirty footprints in Dreth's apartment, along with the shovel and pry bar.

"Dreth's going to rob her grave!" Methredhel hissed. "That's where all this is from, the cemeteries!"

* * *

"So how's that shawarma?" Volsinius asked. He looked up from his own plate of the same spicy lamb strips and vegetables, and paused to take a swallow of milk from his clay cup. He wore a simple grey legion tunic and trousers, and a patch now covered the empty socket where his left eye had once been. His mithril arming sword hung from one hip, and a long, triangular dagger from the other.

"It's good," Brekke mumbled through a mouth full of the succulent meat. The sack cloth she had once worn was now gone. In its place the young Breton was now clad in soft green and blue linens. Her brown hair was washed and pulled back in a braid that framed her features with its coils, and her face was scrubbed clean of dirt and grime.

"I don't usually like foreign stuff, but these Redguards make good food," the legionary said with a belch. That inspired a giggle from the child sitting beside him, and he could not keep from smiling. Gods, how life had changed since the Crisis, he thought. A few months ago he never would have imagined himself eating dinner with a street urchin, let alone enjoying it. Was this how Teresa made Simplicia feel? he wondered. Was that why she had sacrificed so much for that little Bosmer girl?

Not that Teresa was little anymore, the centurion mused. Still, sometimes it was hard to look at her and not see the little brown-haired girl she had once been. Whom he had caught stealing sweetrolls…

"Volsinius." The voice nearly made him drop his cup and spill the cow's milk all over himself. A cloud of butterflies took flight in his stomach as he turned his head. He already knew who it was. Her voice was one he would never forget in all his days. One he both dreaded and longed to hear. Simplicia.

She stood behind him wearing clean brown linen. A woman worn and beaten down before her time. But in his mind's eye, Volsinius saw her as she was before… everything had happened. In his memory her hair was black as indigo, her skin smooth as cream, and her eyes beckoning like a Daedric Princess… Gods, what a woman she had been!

"Simplicia," he forced his tongue to spit out. He did not know what else to say. There was so much he wanted to, but somehow the words all slipped away as he fumbled for them. His heart raced like a galloping Quarter Horse, and somehow his mouth felt as dry as the Alik'r Desert. In spite of all of his years, he felt like a raw recruit facing combat for the first time.

He rose from the wooden bench upon which he sat, setting his cup down beside his plate. All along the table plebeians continued to eat, paying them no heed. More of the simply dressed folk stood in line at the hot food stand next to the table, where a trio of Redguards dished out plates of shawarma, fried kibbeh, falafel, hummus, baba genough, and of course the flat, round loaves of bread that Hammerfell was known for.

"I need your help," the old woman said. She seemed oblivious to his distress, and acted as if nothing had ever passed between them. Perhaps nothing ever had, Volsinius thought as an empty abyss yawned deep within his breast. Back when she had worked at The Peony Pavilion, she had been with plenty of men. She had probably forgotten him completely.

Still, at least she did not stare at the scars that covered the side of his head, or wince, or try to look away. She had been there when he was awarded the Grass Crown as well, the centurion remembered, along with Teresa. Still, perhaps she had only been there because Red had dragged her along?

"What can I do?" he asked. This might be his chance to find out once and for all, he thought, if she felt anything for him at all.

"There's a thief you need to stop," the old woman said matter-of-factly. With that, the centurion's heart fell flat on the pavement. It was nothing but pure business after all, he realized. He was just another soldier to her. "He's a Dunmer named Dreth. He's been robbing graves. His next one is going to be tonight - Julia Albinus."

"A grave robber?" Volsinius said. "How do you know about all this?"

"I heard him talking the other night," Simplicia said. "He said he's going do it today. He likes using a knife, a damn big one too, so be careful."

Volsinius stared at the old woman. What was it she was not telling him? His eye could see that she was lying. Or at least concealing something. Every liar had a tell, and twenty years on the street had taught him to spot them all. Simplicia's was how she kept looking up when she was talking to him. Was she involved in it? Volsinius mused, or Jensine?

Did it matter?

"I'll take care of it." Volsinius laid one hand upon the hilt of his sword. "Julia Albinus you said? She's that patrician they buried today. She'll be in the necropolis outside the Talos Plaza gate then." His eye turned to the west, where the sun hung low in the sky over the city walls. "He'll want to wait until dark. That gives me a few hours to get ready and get there before him."

"Can I come too?" Brekke's voice piped up. Turning to look at the little Breton, Volsinius saw that her features were lit up in excitement. "I can be a look out!"

"Not a chance kid, and if I see you anywhere near that graveyard I'll-" His eye saw how Simplicia's breath caught ever so slightly. Somehow he knew that she was thinking of that day he had caught Teresa. He still did not know what had come over him. He had just acted without thinking. Was that what Simplicia saw when she looked at him now. A monster?

"Nevermind," he breathed. "Simplicia, will you keep an eye on Brekke until I'm back? She might remind you of someone we both know."

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 1 2011, 01:54 AM

Sonds similair to a line in Lord of the Rings where Sam is describing Elven food. It could just be my obsession with LOTR clouding my mind but I like it!

I love how you have developed Vols from the brutal soldier to the cuddly guardian of Brekke (and maybe a future love interest of Simplicia ). Methredhel has done a good job of playing the detectives assisstant!

Can't wait to see how Vols handles Dreth.

Now that was interesting, it's the first time Vols and Simplicia have come into contact since the crisis and you handled it brilliantly. Very believable and there's mystery there, as far as I recall Simplicia has never thought much about Vols (other than him being another legionary). So Dreth is going to get it... again. He should run away to Akavir to escape Teresa and her friends.

Simplicia did a good job getting everyone to do what she wanted. She's cleverer than she thought, it makes me wonder if she'll realise how much more she could do.

Great characters, I really want to know what happens next.

You ability to play on the subtext of a chapter is really highlighted in these paragraphs. Even though we don’t see it, we can feel the grudging respect that Simplicia has gained for Methredhel (one gets the impression that the continued insults were a way to mask that respect). We can also feel the impulse within Volsinius that makes him want to do right by Brekke as a way to make amends for his earlier treatment of Teresa. That impulse is later mirrored when Simplicia’s voice draws him into a particularly effective remembrance of times past.

I love the fact that Simplicia uses Methredhel as her eyes and Volsinius as her arms to insure her continued employment at Jensine’s. One is left almost feeling sorry for Valen Dreth!

Another great installment of Simplicia's mystery-solving. It is a joy to watch Simplica grow - or perhaps just display what was formerly hidden by the squalor of her previous existence. We've known of her heart, but she now shows quite the head on her old shoulders.

This episode was a wonderful example of presenting your priority of focusing on your characters, while still moving your plot along nicely.

This is simply masterful! Bravo, SubRosa!

Similarly, this says so much about Vols - and Simplicia and Teresa.


Nit?
'Simplicia hissed in tone too low to carry beyond the aisle.'
I'm not positive this is a nit, but take a look at tone. I would think you meant 'tones' or 'a tone'. You might even consider: 'Simplicia hissed, her tone to low to carry beyond the aisle.'

So, what is going to happen in that graveyard... what oh what?

Looks like it's time for Volsinius to confront past demons.

The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife...




This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Dec 11 2010, 02:56 AM

Awesome Write, SubRosa !!! The depth you write into your characters is breathtaking !!!





Nah, you can certainly get pregnant while laughing. Happens all the time !!


*


This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 10 2010, 11:34 PM

hazmick: That line was inspired by the LOTR movies! I gave them a watch about three weeks ago. Probably my twelfth time. "I don't think he knows about second breakfast..."

Rest assured, no more cuddly Vols for this chapter! As Dreth will likely lament!


Olen: Rest assured that Vols is not just another legionary to Simplicia. He is the one who smacked her little girl! That reminds me, I need to put in a scene somewhere between Teresa and Simplicia talking about him.

Simplicia is indeed the spider in the web this chapter. Everything that happens here is driven by her. It is not all pure manipulative genius however. She knows her limitations, and so is not about to try picking locks or getting into battles. That is what youngins are for.


Destri Melarg: And the insults and baiting go both ways! After all, Methie did not have to put in that dig about the Copious Coinpurse. It says a bit about how both of their views toward one another are changing.


Acadian: Indeed, we are seeing exactly what Simplicia is made of this chapter. Imagine what she was like as a twenty-something hottie? It is no wonder Vols lost his head over her.

And I see you focused in on that little rumination of Vols when he considers the relationship between Simplicia and Teresa, and begins to see how rewarding it truly is.

Quite right about the tone, as usual.


Thomas Kaira: One graveyard coming up. Vols probably is not going to comfort past demons though. (sorry, I could not resist the voice of Sir Rugrat there...)


mALX: Depth of characters is certainly what I am going for, over everything else.


Next: Simplicia enlisted Volsinius to her cause in the previous episode. Next he sets out for the final confrontation with Valen Dreth.


Chapter 25.6 – Unfriendly Competition

The sun was lowering on the horizon when Volsinius marched through the massive gatehouse that squatted over the western edge of the city's outer wall. The legionaries snapped to attention as he came near, even though he still wore only his tunic. He nodded in return. Everyone in the Fifth seemed to know who he was now. Ever since the High Chancellor had placed the Grass Crown upon his head it had been that way.

The smell of horse manure was strong in his nose as he followed the road past the collection of barns and other wooden buildings that made up Chestnut Handy Stable. Folk of all races still walked back and forth inside the fence that surrounded the livery. Some led horses, others brushed them down, or carried bales of hay and bags of grain, or performed numerous other chores. In the corrals that dotted the land beyond the buildings he saw prancing Friesans, gliding Nibenean Walkers, stocky Quarter Horses, short-backed Morgani, and horses of many other breeds ambling to and fro.

Volsinius paid the horses and their caretakers little note however, and continued on his way. Before him the ground sloped down to the lake, where the great western bridge crossed its gentle waves. He turned off the road to the right and made his way across a smaller cobblestoned path that hugged the western edge of the horse pastures.

Finally leaving the livery behind, Volsinius found a low stone wall before him, pierced by an iron gate directly ahead. Reaching out to the bars that formed its double doors, he found them unlocked. Damn, he thought, Dreth was here already, and it was not even full dark yet.

That made him glad he left his armor back at the barracks. Dreth and whatever compatriots he might have would have heard him coming from a mile away in all that steel. At least now he still had a chance at taking the thief by surprise.

He paused to draw forth a potion from his belt and knocked it back with a wince. Damn things always tasted like a day-old loincloth, Volsinius thought as the yellow glow of a Shield enchantment fell around him. Still, at least now he was armored with the equivalent of mail. Yet without all the racket.

Moving slowly and carefully, he made his way into the necropolis that rose beyond the walls. All around him were tombs and mausoleums of stone and marble, enough to create a small city. Many were decorated with statues and frescos. Some were of gods. Arkay was especially prominent, although he recognized a few of Akatosh and Azura as well. Still others he could not identify, and he wondered if perhaps they portrayed the denizens entombed beneath them. Moss and ivy grew over many of the buildings, and the soldier wondered how old some of them might be. At least centuries to be sure.

As the sun hovered over the edge of the horizon, he paused to dig another potion from the pouch at his belt. After drinking this one the world jumped into sudden brightness. It seemed as if it was noon and the sun glowed directly over head. But the color was drained from nearly everything. The sky above, the ground below, even his skin, all were relegated to varying shades of grey. Only Magnus - now a dull red - still managed to cling to any of his color.

These thieves thought they were so slick, Volsinius ruminated as he sneaked through the necropolis. Every one of them was convinced that all Imperial Legionaries clomped around in a mountain of steel, with bright torches in hand to announce their presence. The looks on their faces were priceless every time the trap was sprung. He could still recall one who had claimed that he and his men had cheated by wearing linen and using Night Eye potions…

A brighter spot loomed ahead, and Volsinius paused a moment to study the buildings around him. None showed the tell-tale signs of a lookout - the line of a wall broken by the partial silhouette of a mortal, or a roof with the suspicious lump of someone lying upon it. Confident that he had not been seen, he crept forward once again.

He found a sprawling mausoleum before him, faced by a row of fluted columns. Its peaked roof was decorated with images of the Nine Divines, and the bronze plate affixed to its wall proclaimed it as belonging to the Albinus family. The flickering light of a torch emanated from the open doorway, and the centurion heard the scraping of metal against stone coming from within.

Those doors were magically locked, the centurion thought. This Dreth must be a mage if he could open it, and a good one at that. Or have a powerful scroll.

A cart waited to one side of the mausoleum, with a ponderous Shire harnessed before it. The huge, bulky horse turned his head to look Volsinius over as he crept up to the back of the vehicle. But it did not make a sound, and turned its head back a moment later. The centurion found nothing but a darkly-stained canvas tarp in the bed of the vehicle, and moved to the door of the tomb.

Stepping back so he would not be silhouetted against the open door, Volsinius drew his mithril arming sword and held it low in one hand. He could feel his heart pound in his chest, and once more butterflies danced within his belly. Licking his lips, he stepped inside and immediately moved to one side to avoid being framed in the open doorway.

The interior of the tomb was rectangular in shape, its long axis stretching out away from him. A row of columns to either side helped support the vaulted stone roof above, and Volsinius noted that it was high enough for him to swing his sword overhead. Stone sarcophagi were tucked into niches that lined the walls, rising three high. Each had a brass plaque denoting the name of the resident, as well as dates of birth and death.

One sarcophagus lay on the marble floor however. Its top was pried up, and the iron bar that had been used to perform that task lay propped against the stone vessel. The body of a middle-aged Imperial woman clad in velvet and silk could be clearly seen within. Bending over it was a Dunmer man with a pair of pliers. As Volsinius watched, the dark elf used the tool to pry forth a gold tooth from the mouth of the corpse.

The Dunmer was clad in plain flax, and appeared to carry no weapon other than a long dagger at one hip. He might be a mage though, the voice of experience whispered in the back of Volsinius' mind, or have enchantments.

The clanking of metal made the centurion turn his head to see a second grave robber. This one was tall, and Volsinius imagined he might be a Nord from his size. Clad in bulky plate and an open-faced helm, he carried a steel arming sword in one hand and a torch in the other.

That was munition plate, Volsinius thought as he studied the armor, iron that made up for its poor quality with extra thickness. From the way the thug moved, the centurion could see that it was not fitted to him either. It was clearly taken off the rack. Or perhaps off someone else's body.

At that moment the armored thug looked Volsinius in the eye, and the centurion could see from his expression that he had been detected.

"Imperial Legion!" Volsinius barked, raising his sword. "Drop your weapons and surrender!"

Of course the thug did neither.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Dec 13 2010, 09:36 PM

GRRRRR....trust you to end your chapter on a cliff hanger...or should that be a sword clanger?

I will expect you to make up for that, by giving us a combat in confined areas chapter with appropiate moves, tactics, and just plain old wham-bam-smash his helm moves!!!

Oh, and throw in some choice insults between the combattants as well, m'dear.

(BTW, since you asked, it's Blue Mountain Coffee, and I paid an arm and a leg for it!!!)

Foxy...on caffiene? GAAAAAAH !!!! And I can't believe you didn't touch this line !!!!

WOW! . No more cuddly Vols indeed.

Your description of the mausoleum was brilliant, I felt like I was with Vols for a moment. Reminiscing about previous arrests and foul-tasting potions, brilliant.

I'm quite excited for the next chapter, I'm no fan of Dreth so I hope you will write us a vivid and very imaginative death.

Lots to like here! You remind us that a professional soldier is less predictable, more creative and more versatile than some might assume. Wonderful use and description of potions. I thoroughly enjoyed being inside Vols' head for this.

I enjoyed your description of both the stables and the draft horse assigned to the wagon.

If there was ever any doubt as to whether Dreth was despicable, yanking that poor dead woman's tooth out certainly put an end to that! What a wonderful way to make the reader scream for his blood!

Might I assume Vols is about to open a large can of Legion whupass?

Nit? Two considerations here:
1. The bolded 'they': In my humble opinion you are bouncing a bit between they (thieves) and they (Legion) and relying too heavily upon context to keep them straight. Might I suggest: 'The look on their faces was priceless every time the Legion sprung a trap on those idiots.' Very minor, but it did catch my eye.
2. Use of the word 'file' in this context is unfamiliar to me. I assume you are referring to one of Vols' fellow soldiers or perhaps the small unit he was involved with? If it is Roman terminology, you might consider its obscurity to TES readers and clarify.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Dec 12 2010, 02:22 AM

"That was munition plate, Volsinius thought as he studied the armor, iron that made up for its poor quality with extra thickness. From the way the thug moved, the centurion could see that it was not fitted to him either. It was clearly taken off the rack. Or perhaps off someone else's body." I love hearing Volsinius' thoughts here. These details really pull me into his world.

I dare not ask Vols how he knows what day-old loincloth tastes like.

I am holding my breath waiting to see what happens next!

Good part, shows the Legion as more intelligent and less brute force than they usually appear. It also shows more ways magic would be used which makes the world deeper and more realistic. His comment on the potion's taste was a nice touch, very much in the head of a non-mage using magic - never mind the miricle way this works, why does it taste nesty?

I sense things are going to go down badly for a certin pair of theives soon, but if anything I'm looking forward to Vols going to pay Thoronir a visit, he doesn't seem to be in the best of moods.

Of course the thug did not do either. - very minor but 'did not do either' seemed a bit cumbersome, 'did neither' might read more smoothly.

D.Foxy: There are a couple of moves and their counters that in the following fights that I took from some medieval longswording manuals. I am sure you will recognize them. One I was saving for Tadrose but decided to use here as well. You will see your rondel this segment as well.


hazmick: Lots of vivid death coming right up!


Acadian: I put that tooth-pulling in just to reinforce Dreth's wickedness. It is also fresh in my mind from The Pacific, as some Marines did it.

Good eye on the two nits, both should be fixed now.


Grits: I don't want to ask how Vols knows what day old loincloth tastes like either!


Olen: Actually Simplicia never mentioned Thoronir, so Vols does not know about him. Simplicia has other plans for the rotund shopkeeper...

Good eye on the nit too. I used your version.


Next: Our last episode found Vols in the tomb of Julia Albinus, facing down two grave-robbers. Next we see how he fares.


Chapter 25.7 – Unfriendly Competition

"I'll send your bloody soul to Sovngarde!" the armored grave robber roared in reply. Must be a Nord, Volsinius imagined, no one else would make such a threat.

The Nord dropped the torch and came at Volsinius in a rush, stabbing high at his chest. Volsinius neatly side-stepped the lunge, bringing his left arm down on the Nord's blade and pinning it to his side. Damn fool did not even have the sense to hold the blade horizontally to keep it from sticking between the ribs, the centurion thought as he raised his own weapon. The golden light of Volsinius' Shield enchantment flashed as the thug tried to jerk his sword free to guard. But the centurion's muscles did not budge, and neither did the sword. A moment later his own point dove between the Nord's helmet and gorget, creating a fountain of blood.

Volsinius jerked his sword free with a twist, and kicked the dying Nord to the floor. Another kick sent the thug's arming sword skittering across the floor and out of his reach. Not that he was still fighting. Instead the man clutched at his rent throat with both hands, vainly trying to staunch the blood that was spurting out of him at a frightful rate.

Volsinius raised his eye to look for the Dunmer when something hot and sharp pierced his back. Wincing in pain, he reflexively sent one elbow back. Flesh crumpled beneath it, and the centurion heard a groan from behind him. He turned and tried to raise his sword. But the pain flared white hot when he did so, and he was forced to lower the weapon.

Doubled over before him was the Dunmer. His right hand was covered in blood, but there was no sign of the dagger that had been sheathed at his hip before. It's still in my back, the centurion realized, that's why it hurts so damn much. Reaching back with his free hand, he found the hilt jutting from his right shoulder and jerked it forth. Agony seared through his flesh, and only by a supreme effort of will was he able to retain hold of his sword.

Looking down at the weapon, Volsinius saw that it had a long, triangular blade of foot-long steel, and both its guard and pommel were round discs. A rondel, he thought to himself, just like his own knife. No wonder it had pierced his Shield enchantment, it was one of the best daggers there was for puncturing armor.

The Dunmer straightened up then, and Volsinius could see that he was thin, and his limbs shook. Still, the dark elf reached out to pick up the pry bar that rested beside the sarcophagus of Julia Albinus. Raising it in his hands, he stepped toward Volsinius with a snarl upon his lips.

"You'll never take me!" The slender man's red eyes glowed with the light of madness. "I knew you broke into my apartment this afternoon, that's why I laid this trap!"

Broke into his apartment? Volsinius wondered. Had Simplicia done that? He did not know the old woman had it in her. But that did explain what she had not been telling him. No matter how things worked out, if a magistrate heard that, she would go to prison. It would likely only be for a month or two. But as broken down as she was, could Simplicia cope with even that?

Then the Dunmer was upon him, and there was no more time for thinking. The iron bar came down at his head, and Vols easily stepped to one side and raised the rondel in his left hand. Sweeping away the crowbar with the dagger, Volsinius stepped forward and buried his right fist - still clutching his arming sword - into the Dunmer's face.

Blood spurted as the elf's nose buckled under the centurion's fingers. The dark elf staggered back, clutching his features with his free hand. Volsinius followed up with the pommel of the rondel, smashing it against the side of the grave robber's head. The Dunmer crumpled to the ground in a heap, the pry bar falling from his fingers. Raising one hand up to ward off the next blow, Volsinius thought he heard the dark elf pleading for mercy through the pounding of blood in his ears.

Simplicia, he thought. If he talked, and fingered her for breaking into his apartment…

Without another thought Volsinius brought his sword down. Dreth's scream only lasted for the second that remained of his life. Then the dark elf lay still in a pool of blood, plunging the tomb into a silence only broken by the centurion's raspy breath, and the clattering of the dagger as he dropped it at the feet of the corpse.

Amateurs, Volsinius thought as he lifted his now-empty left hand to the roof and closed his fingers. Calling up the magicka within him, he bunched it up into a tight ball within his fist. Then opening his hand a moment later, he let the energy cascade down over him. Immediately the pain in his shoulder abated, as if it had been washed away by a stream of cool water.

"Brilliant, just brilliant!" The sound of clapping from the doorway brought the centurion around. "That was even better than the Arena! I'll have to find another lackey of course, but his sort are a drake-a-dozen. On the other hand, you've given me two more worm thralls. Three once I'm finished with you…"

Standing silhouetted in the entrance was a man wearing a black robe. The skull and bony hands that decorated the center of the robe were deep red however. That stood out starkly, even in the grey world of Night Eye. The man carried no weapons, but a light clung to his hands as he raised them.

Necromancer! Volsinius thought. That explained how the seals had been broken. Probably who brought the cart as well. Dreth would not have needed that just to carry off some clothes and jewels, not to mention teeth. But to carry away bodies…

A disc of energy illuminated the space between Volsinius and the magician. It fell to the floor with a whooshing sound, and a skeleton took shape in its wake. A moment later the disc vanished into the floor, and the skeleton stepped forward with a Dwemer longsword held in its bony hands.

The skeleton choked up on the long blade it held, holding it with left hand halfway down the blade, and the right on the hilt. With a lightning fast jab the point came at Volsinius' chest, and the centurion was only barely able to swat it aside with his arming sword. Without slowing, the skeleton took another step forward. It reversed grip with its right hand and slid it down the blade, while pulling the point back with its left hand. This caused the sword to swing around in a circle, and now its shining bronze hilt came crashing down at the soldier's head like a hammer.

Taking the end of his own blade in his left hand, Volsinius held his arming sword up to parry the blow with both hands. The skeleton pulled down with a smooth motion, the guard of his sword hilt hooking on Volsinius' blade and yanking it down. The centurion barely let go of the sword with his left hand before it was stripped from his grasp.

This skeleton was no amateur, Volsinius thought as he gave ground before the creature's onslaught. To make matters worse, it was fast, and strong, and not likely to ever tire.

The centurion stepped in close and tried to trip the monster. But it was too wily, and was able to skip away. Its blade came winging around, and Volsinius was barely able to parry the blow with his shorter arming sword. Then his left hand licked out, punching the skeleton in the face. A tooth fell to the floor, and the creature hissed in response.

How in Arkay's name could they do that when they had no lungs? Volsinius thought to himself as he stepped back out of range of a thrust. Then lightning crackled in his eyes, and the next thing he knew he was laying on the floor at the far end of the tomb. The stink of burned flesh filled his nostrils, and wisps of smoke curled up from the blackened ruin of his tunic.

Still gripping his sword in hand, Volsinius forced his way through the pain that wracked his chest and fought his way to his feet. The skeleton was closing in, and it did not even have to kill him. All it had to do was continue to keep him occupied while its master picked him off with lightning bolts. But if he ignored the skeleton and went after the necromancer it would cut him down from behind with ease. Everyone said to ignore the summons and go after the mage, but it was easier said than done. He would just have to keep it between him and the necromancer. If he was lucky, the magician would kill it with his own bolts. Then he would only need a few seconds to finish the necromancer.

Simplicia, he thought, this had better be worth it.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Dec 14 2010, 02:55 AM

Very, very good, my Rose. I did the same technique with Sojourner and Alfric/Bannon's battle - only the Bandit chief used a steel spear, which being longer carries a heck of lot more momentum.

Another Cliffhanger! Be warned, all Cliff's friends will come and beat you for hanging him all the time!

WHEW !!! That is probably the best fight scene filled chapter I've ever read - bar none !!! AWESOME CHAPTER !!!!! And now Vols has killed two men in protection of Simplicia !!! That is love, no matter what the outcome !!! Riveting write, SubRosa - I literally could not tear my eyes from the page at any point !!!

I have to agree with Foxy - CLIFFHANGER !!!!! ARGH !!!!! NO !!!! MORE, MORE !!!!!!

Aaand... we have a typical bloodbath in the name of Imperial law. You know, for being the idyllic capital of the Septim Empire, Cyrodiil sure could stand to get a bit more civil in the crime-and-punishment department, especially when that poor street urchin gets her bowels spilled upon the cobblestones for stealing a loaf of bread in the game proper.

Leave it up to Rosa to make said bloodbath as riveting as it can possibly get, though (and really, how else could this one have ended?). You kept me on the edge of my seat the entire read-through! Let's see here...



Oof! I felt that one!



Poor Vols... It seems every time he gets in a big battle, he ends up looking like he just dove into Red Mountain. I sure hope his luck changes soon...



And so this dark chapter of his life is finally put to rest. So long, Dreth! And may Oblivion have no mercy on your soul!

Well, that is, if Vols can get past his anorexic new friend, of course. Stupid necros, they never fight fair.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Dec 13 2010, 08:56 PM