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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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




*

This post has been edited by mALX: Feb 15 2013, 12:37 AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


*


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


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

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

"Please hold stilll for a moment (still)


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


On this next one it is keyboard dyslexia:

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


The last two were probably just missed in the edit:

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

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


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

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


*

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

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

Cool!!...

The Blades were excellent... ...Baurus rocked... ...

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

Excellent stuff...

Love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

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



Too...

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

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


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

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

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



INTERLUDE


Upper Kvatch


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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



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

Brilliant stuff Jack, as ever...

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

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

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

Brilliant stuff, loved it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

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

Anyhow, have another interlude.


Interlude 2

Mythic Dawn Sanctuary



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


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


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


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






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


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


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


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





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


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


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







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

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Feb 24 2013, 03:16 PM

*Jaw drops*...

Holy McCow McCloudy!!... ...

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

Hells I'm intrigued!!...

Brilliant stuff...Loving it...

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

Looking forward to much more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

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

Ah, the screenshot. That could be it.

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


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



Interlude 3


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


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


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




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


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


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


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


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




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


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


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


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





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

*

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



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

What a world building duplication you created!

**

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

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

**



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

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

Awesome Write, all of it!


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Mar 3 2013, 04:42 PM

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

To business...

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

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

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

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

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

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

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


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







Chapter 10: The fall of Kvatch


Castle Skingrad


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


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


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


"We will."




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


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

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




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


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


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


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


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



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


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






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


Kvatch


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


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


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


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


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


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




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


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


This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Mar 20 2013, 10:00 PM

I absolutely LOVE your depiction of Skingrad Castle!

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



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


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



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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Applauds heartily*...

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


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

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





Lower Kvatch


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


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


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


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





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


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


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


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


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

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






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


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

Here come the Blades!... ...

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

Excellent stuff Jack, really enjoyed it...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

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

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



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

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

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

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