Yesterday's Shadow Options

[Olen]

Its been a while since I wrote anything of length but, after a few false starts, I have churned out the first few thousand words of something which could get fairly large. I'm not totally happy with it (though I doubt I ever would be) but it should improve as I get back into writing, any comments et al would be appriciated.

1. Gold

I shivered as an icy breeze touched me. Was it real? Yes. I brushed aside my doubts. The Wolverine Hall was built by dunmer: of course it was dark, damp and cold. So cold. I pulled my cloak closer about me and looked around the gloomy room of the Mages Guild. A few guttering candles cast a sickly light on heaps of shadowy grimoires. Crazy reflections scattered from the grease-smeared tangles on an alchemy table. The creation of a deranged glassblower with hiccoughs. In spite of it being Evening Star there were still a couple of mages braving the winter on Azura’s Coast. They kept their rheumy eyes fixed on whatever devilry they were working on and ignored me. I waited idly and rubbed at my arms.

A door opened and I got a brief glance of a small room behind before it was shut again by the old Argonian who entered. A frown flickered over his features as he regarded me with sharp red eyes, “You must be the man from the Fighter’s Guild. Not what I expected, but no doubt Hrundi knows what he’s at,” Skink-in-Trees’-Shade smiled, his teeth were green from chewing hackle-lo, his sour breath twisted my stomach, “I have work for you.”

“I know. What I don’t know is why you couldn’t have left it with Hrundi like any normal contract, your demands are already weird enough.” My breath left a plume of steam in the air.

“I think eight thousand drakes is enough to allow me to make demands,” the lizard paused, I shivered but said nothing. I couldn’t afford not to get the contract. “I know well enough what is required and agreed it with Hrundi but the job itself requires discretion. Hrundi lacks discretion when he drinks…

“Three months ago I sent a group to investigate a ruin on the coast north of Firewatch, just south of Ilethi Point. The last report I received was dated late Frostfall, over six weeks ago. I want you to find out what happened.”

“What sort of ruin is this?” I said warily.

“Its… unusual. That’s why we want to investigate it and why this situation requires subtlety. I would send my own mages but it is deep in Telvanni lands.”

“Has it occurred to you that four men might be hard pressed to clear a ruin full of Telvanni?” I never understood why mages just didn’t get fighting. Another icy draught brushed me. I shivered and scratched an itchy patch on my arm.

“If it is then you will know what happened, investigate as far as you can and return. But I suspect that it is not. Most likely messages have just gone missing, as they do.” Argonians are hard to read but it didn’t take any guile to know Skink didn’t believe it. Neither did I, why spend eight thousand septims to get the best and go to such lengths of secrecy for missing reports.

I said nothing. Nothing I was likely to say would be helpful. I needed the job.

For a moment Skink was hesitant then he said, “If that is all you had best prepare. I will have a boatman waiting for you at dusk,” I nodded and turned to go but he continued, “A word of warning: do not use any teleportation near the ruin. We do not understand why but the only attempt to date prove quite… messy. If you do get into a tight spot read this,” he proffered a scroll and a money pouch, “I will know and do what I can. Otherwise do not rely on magic.”

He stopped abruptly and turned back towards his room. I was about to leave again when he called back, “And by the nine get yourself a fix with that gold. You scratch like a nix with mange.” He shut the door behind him.

For a moment I was too shocked to move. Was it that obvious? It was four days since my money had run out. I’d gone longer, but only once. Descending the dank spiral stair made my stomach shrivel and, backed up by the bag of gold, firmly killed any thoughts of going another hour without. I paused outside the fighter’s guild to fight down nausea before I went in.

Hrundi was waiting for me, “What did the old lizard want?” he asked.

“They’ve lost a bunch of folk investigating some ruin.” I wasn’t sure if Skink wanted Hrundi to know and I didn’t care.

“Same old,” Hrundi ran his fingers though his greying beard, “If I had a hundred drake for every mages’ guild expedition I’ve bailed out the mages would have paid me,” he rumbled a laugh, “So where’s the catch? You don’t give four folk a year’s wage for nowt.”

“He wouldn’t say but he wants us at the dock this evening.”

“Then Lysander won’t be joining you, news is his silt strider crashed, driver was probably pissed. I can’t see him arriving before tomorrow night.”

“Damn, that’s a problem,” it was too. Lysander was the only person I had directly asked for. The fighter’s guild in Morrowind was a shadow of what it had been before the oblivion crisis. “Are any of your local boys a quarter competent?”

Hrundi laughed mirthlessly, “You ain’t got a whole lot of choice. I’m too old, Sondryn’s already on a contract. That only leaves young Varnan.”

“There’s only three of you in the guildhall?”

“Yes. Who would want to be here? It shouldn’t matter though, the other two are good.”

“So you keep saying. Where are they?”

“Stocking up in town, I sent them to get the supply list you left.”

“Good,” I turned away from Hrundi. Now Skink had given me means to get it skooma was all I could think of. I hurried though the damp corridors and out into the squalid courtyards of the Wolverine Hall.

I kept close to the wall out of the wind-driven sheets of rain. The guard on the bridge looked as grey as the iron sky. The instant I stepped onto it I was soaked to the skin, to my left, and mercifully downwind, the giant fungus houses groaned in the storm. I turned away from them toward Muriel’s, golden light shone though the windows. I pushed the polished doorknob and stepped into the warm air of conversation and rich smell of roasting meat and beer.

However inviting I had no intention to take a seat in the common room. I hadn’t been in Muriel’s in years and didn’t remember the place. It didn’t matter. All corner clubs are essentially the same. I started upstairs and sure enough found a much smaller room full of distinctly shady characters. A grey-haired altmer looked at me as she would a gaur’s leavings on the street. I barely noticed, I could smell a sickly sweetness in the air. A dunmer opposite caught my eye and nodded. Apparently it was that obvious.

I wandered over to him. “You got skooma?”

“Yes, the finest in all Vvardenfell. You got money?” I hate pushers. There’s something about them which makes my fists itch. And they all claim to have the best.

“Let me see the goods,” I growled.

The dunmer paused to brush an imaginary piece of lint from his opulent, yet slightly too gaudy, clothes before reaching into a bag and withdrawing two vials. “This,” the dunmer gestured to the larger one with a bejewelled hand, “Is good stuff, Hlaalu import. Came in though Lake Hairan along with the standard stuff. This, on the other hand, is Tenmar white – costly but well worth it to the discerning palate.”

“How much?”

“Forty gold a quarter for the standard, sixty for the Tenmar.”

The bag had two hundred and fifty in it, even allowing for the high prices on Vvardenfell I expected more. “Half a bottle of the cheap for two hundred.”

“Not a chance. That should be five hundred.”

“I’m buying bulk. Two hundred.”

“Three hundred.”

“Ok two fifty and you’ll throw in a dash of that Tenmar white or I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

The dunmer scowled then got out his scales. I got out my pipe. His eyes widened momentarily as I measured out my dose.

[seerauna]

Nice start to this one. And we've got a skooma addict. This could turn out very bad... Looks like you've got an interesting character to work with. We don't even have a name to work with yet either. I'll keep an eye out for this one!

EDIT: I got first comment!

This post has been edited by seerauna: Oct 31 2008, 02:09 AM

[Jac]

[edit]: Let me rephrase my original comment. I thought the story was great. It's very deep and doesn't lend itself to a quick read in my opinion. I don't think that that detracts from it, though, and I'm looking forward to futher updates.

This post has been edited by Jac: Nov 2 2008, 03:27 PM

[Olen]

I admit it is perhaps a little slow moving (probably because I was reading Robert Jordan at the time I was writing this section). Anyway I promise things will speed up. And without further ado:

2. Asea

“So after all that when I found the shrine there was only a half naked Khajit who had owned the lettuce of sheogorath for years. Turns out the only special thing about it was that it hadn’t gone rotten. Ha, those were the days.” Hrundi drained another bottle of mead and grinned though his white beard. Then he frowned, “Things were better then. Nothing’s what it once was.”

“So you say,” I said taking a draught of ale. Sadith Mora didn’t seem so cold after my smoke in Muriel’s but it still wasn’t warm. I didn’t have the money for decent repairs, let alone any new equipment, so I took advantage of Hrundi’s offer of hospitality. “So you say…” I repeated.

“I suppose a lot of this was before your time, before the blight was an problem even. Did I say I gave the Nerevarine some contracts?”

“Yes,” Hrundi mentioned this whenever he drank, which was all the time.

“Ha, I’ve already told you, eh Firen?” I smiled at his pronunciation of my name. It was Nordic, like my grandfather, so in truth he probably said it better than I, even so it sounded strange. “Those were the days. You must have got up to some shenanigans in your youth?” He opened another bottle of Old Frostmoth. I raised an eyebrow; they hadn’t made that since the imperials had abandoned Solstheim years before.

“Not really, “ I paused, it was a long time since anyone had made me reminisce. My name was about all I wanted to recall, though why my imperial parents would hinder their son with it baffled me. “I was in a small farming village in Cyrodiil then the legion in the aftermath of the crisis…” I stopped. The ability of a few bottles of beer to loosen the tongue has never ceased to amaze me. When people drink together a bond is formed, I knew Hrundi far more closely then than I had that morning.

“I suppose it was interesting. Leave to see the world?”

“You might say that.” I said flatly, hoping my tone would change the subject.

Hrundi missed the hint. I wasn’t surprised. “Why else would you join?”

“I had no money, no food, no home and a bunch of bloated corpses for friends and relatives.” Fortunately that shut him up, I wanted to salvage what remained of my good mood.

Before the silence got too uncomfortable the door opened and a man hauled a sack in. Green: the word sprung into my mind. No scars spoiled a face he evidently spent too long looking at. His blonde hair hung to his shoulders, just right to get in the eyes or for grabbing. His muscles were yet to develop the wiry tone of anyone who had spent too long in the guild. I met Hrundi’s gaze. “I didn’t know you trained raw recruits out here.”

He grimaced, “We don’t. That’s Varnan, your fourth man.”

I wasn’t sure whether to rant or laugh. After a moment I opted for the latter. The recruit looked at me with a puzzled expression and approached when I’d finished. “Hello sir,” I rolled my eyes, “I believe you are to lead the next job sir. I’ve purchased the necessary supplies.”

“Great,” I muttered, “I’m Firen.”

“I know sir. It’s an honour to work with you. Sir.” I groaned inwardly. You don’t do as many contracts as I had without getting known. People always seem to expect greatness.

I turned back to my drink and wandered if he really had managed to get the elbow grease and left-handed crossbow bolts I’d added to the list when Hrundi had told me a youngster was buying supplies. I hoped, at least, that he had made a fool of himself trying.

***

The choppy waves coruscated in the light of the full moon. The small boat Skink had arranged us danced over them with all the smooth elegance of a troll on moonsugar. A lull in the wind brought the sound of Varnan vomiting noisily over the side. I smiled at Keersk. The argonian took another swig of mazte and smirked back. The two other fighters Hrundi had arranged seemed fine. Although a bit odd the dunmer woman clearly knew her stuff, and by his sense of humour the way he drank I was astounded I’d never worked with Keersk before. I certainly intended to again, even if he was a filthy lizard.

“Ah it’s a good contract for him,” said Keersk. I wasn’t sure if it was the mazte or the angry scar across his throat which made his voice sound like a bag of gravel.

“Perhaps. But we don’t really know what we’re going to find.”

“That is the best bit,” he said. I laughed and he passed me the bottle. Its contents tasted vile but I took a swig anyway. “It’s a big payoff,” said Keersk, his face suddenly serious, “When I get it I’ll have enough to return to the marsh. And I will this time.” I wandered how many times he had said it before.

The dunmer woman rolled her eyes behind him. “Not if you don’t sober up a bit before we land,” she said.

“Oh Thyra,” said Keersk, “I can hardly hold an axe without some beer.”

Thyra laughed and took a seat next to him. “I’ve certainly never seen it and we’ve worked together enough.”

They made a strange pair. Keersk was old for a fighter, well past his prime. His equipment was in a worse state even than mine. He had scars within scars but that he was still alive meant he couldn’t be too bad. At least so I hoped. Thyra was quite a different matter. She was still young, especially for a mer. She might have been attractive, at least to the slightly distorted type of men who look at mer like that, were it not for her cropped hair and the brutal pragmatism of the male clothes she favoured. I could see her argument but it had the effect of making her look rather unsettling.

She noticed me watching at her and I looked down, embarrassed. She ignored me. “The captain says we’ll be there an hour after midnight. Wherever there is,” she said.

“Its all he says and all the dour fetcher,” muttered Keersk.

I nodded, “There is a few leagues north of Firewatch. I wasn’t allowed to tell you that until we were on the boat. I wasn’t meant to tell you anything.”

“That explains the secrecy,” said Thyra, “I thought it was a bit much for a normal contract but the Telvanni have been worse than ever the last couple of years.” She picked up a leather bracer and started polishing it.

Keersk slurped more mazte then said, “In my experience when magic types go missing there are three possible reasons: they’re not reporting, they’re trapped or they’re dead. The solution to each is simple.”

“That’s what worries me,” I said, “Why pay so much and send four of us? It doesn’t add up.”

Thyra stopped her polishing, “Either they know something, or more likely they suspect. Whatever it is they don’t want anyone else to find out. The less of us there is the less likely the secret escapes.”

“Well that’s comforting,” said Keersk. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Shortly after Varnan came down from the deck looking slightly green. “I think I can see some land,” he said taking a seat by Thyra and starting to polish his own meretricious armour. Keersk’s expression made it clear enough he thought about as much of it as I. It was showy but offered the protection of leather with about twice the weight. I said nothing and left to the back of the hold and my pack.

The bottle was in its own pouch; I glanced back to check they weren’t watching before taking it out. I had hoped to go without until tomorrow morning but it was just too tempting. I let a little of the oleaginous liquid ooze into the dent under my thumb and sniffed it sharply. It stung my nose and sinuses but almost immediately I felt tension leach away. Lusty fire rushed though me like gold. I put the bottle back and returned to the table.

“Land ho,” called the tillerman up on deck.

[Jac]

Sorry for the late reply, but I liked the update. Keep up the good work.

[Olen]

Another one, I'm not sure how quickly to put these up, its all more or less done so really its as quickly as suits readers. Probably about two ~1500 parts a week, or is that too much?

As ever any comments or critique welcomed.

3. First Blood

The sound of sand grinding the keel announced our arrival. Almost immediately the captain was down in the hold, “We’re here. Now move. I want to be well away before daybreak,” he hadn’t strung so many words together in the whole passage.

My pack was the smallest. I hadn’t bothered to oversee the others’ packing or to organise it: that sort of thing was far too reminiscent of the legion. I wasn’t surprised to see Varnan was over prepared but I was surprised at the weight when I picked up Keersk’s and handed it too him. It clinked as he shouldered it. Surely all that bulk wasn’t drink?

The deck of the boat was slippery with spray. The captain had brought us in to a cove, dark mountains shouldered close on either side obscuring the moons. Keersk vaulted over the rail and disappeared into the sea. With rather more care I lowered myself from the gunwale. The icy water crept to my waist before my feet found the bottom and I struggled though the breakers to the shore.

Varnan was still by the boat with his pack held above his head in a futile attempt to keep it dry. He offered Thyra a hand down but the dunmer threw her pack in and jumped after it. Already the boat’s sails were unreefed to pull it off the sand. I turned my attention away from them and opened my pack.

I took out my sort-of-dry cloak to keep the wind off and a map of the region I’d taken from the guild. Skink’s directions had been short but they were enough. The mainland coast east of Vvardenfell was scored with fjords, cliffs and precipices where mountains met sea. The heavy shadows made it impossible to see exactly which cove we had landed in. It didn’t matter: there was no way we could be much north of Firewatch. The ruin would be still further north.

A shape emerged from the waves. I had a moment of fear born of a primal instinct before I recognised the reptilian form as Keersk. Varnan and Thyra splashed out of the surf a little further down the beach.

“Where do we make camp?” asked the dunmer.

“We don’t,” I replied, “I want to be well away from here by first light.”

“But its dark.”

“Good.” It was Varnan who spoke, “They won’t see us. The whole region around Firewatch is stiff with rouge mages and the like.”

“We couldn’t camp here anyway,” said Keersk letting some run though a scaly hand, “This sand stinks like the old ash you get in sheltered gullies near Red Mountain.”

“They still have some blight here,” I said leading the way up the dark beach. A path of sorts lead up though sparse thornbushes onto the mountain side. After a few minutes climb I emerged into the moonlight and stopped to allow the others to catch up. Masser’s gibbous form showed a barren land of rugged mountains running north and south but slowly falling away in the west. Scrubby vegetation clung to the lower slopes but the peaks reached bare like claws tearing the sky. On the higher slopes of a mountain not a league south a crooked tower was silhouetted against the night. Varnan was right. There might be no villages but this land was far from empty.

A bush behind me rustled and I turned expecting to see Keersk. The foliage exploded. Snarling teeth gleamed in the night and I was cannoned from my feet. I landed with my sword under me. Before I could roll up a weight landed on my chest and claws tore at my mail shirt. Two huge tusks glowed white against the starry sky. What devilry- I could hear the others lower down the slope. I was on my own with the monster. No. It’s a kagouti. Move. I swung a wild punch and split my knuckles against its skull. For a moment it stopped tearing at me. I roared and twisted from under it reaching up just above the tusk. My nails found its scaly hide and I drove my thumb into its eye. I felt rather than heard the crunch then the warm juices welling past the knuckle.

The kagouti screamed. Its claws wrenched at me and I was thrown clear of my pack and into a thorn bush. In seconds my supplies were shredded. Those seconds were enough. I stood. My sword was gone but I still had a knife on my boot. I drew it and readied myself. The beast leapt and I plunged forward. My aim was bad and it screamed again lashing out, the knife jammed in its crest. The thorn bush cut off any escape and stopped me moving to its blind side. It poised to spring then roared twisting round as a feathered shaft appeared in its flank. Then a second plunged into its face and it collapsed.

Thyra was first to arrive. She found me sprawled next to the kagouti wheezing and trying to free myself from the tangled cuirass. Varnan was just behind her, bow still in hand. “Its as well you’re a quick shot,” I gasped, “The first shaft missed.” He looked crest fallen and I regretted my words, slightly. “It’s dark,” I added.

“We should stay closer,” he said. I ignored him.

Thyra rolled me over and attacked the buckles on my cuirass. I went to do it and winced. She pushed me back, “It got you a bit. Stay still until I know how much. Most of the straps are broken anyway, what the hell did it do?”

“That would be from flying into a thorn bush, yes?” said Keersk, appearing from the other side.

“You took your time,” said Thrya cutting though my undershirt.

“I saw Varnan hit it so I went to check there weren’t any more.”

“Touché,” said Thyra then turned her attention to my bare chest, “It’s only a small gouge. Most of the blood is from the rings cutting into you – that should learn you for not wearing a padded undershirt.”

Varnan had been examining the corpse, “It stinks,” he said.

Keersk went over to look and promptly rolled it off the edge where it tumbled down the slope. “It’s a big one, and blighted,” said the old argonian, “Not bad I think but it was there. Don’t see so much of it these days.”

I swore and sat up. “Looks like we’ll have to make camp here tonight.”


It was only when Varnan went to get the poles of one of our tents that I remembered the damage my pack had taken. I ignored to complaints of my chest and leapt to my feet. “I’ll get it,” I said and brushed him aside. I ignored the poles as I tore though its contents and found the tooled leather pouch. There was a small tear in it, I barely dared breathe as I opened it. The skooma bottle was intact, I sighed relief. A sudden desire burned in me. The others were too close; regretfully I put it away.

I pulled out the poles and tossed them to Varnan. The wound was bleeding again so I only made a quick check. My cloak and blanket had taken most of it and were in tatters but a needle and thread could fix them.

I turned to find Thyra just behind me. “Lie back, that wound still needs seeing to.”

“It’s bled clean.”

“Guar-apples. Anyway Varnan had these,” she held up two small bottles. “One’s wound spirit and the other is healing potion.”

I raised my eyebrows, “So newbies do have their uses. I would advise him against wasting money on them but I suppose I can’t if I use them.” I winced as she scrubbed into the gash and uncorked the bottle. The smell of lavender wafted out.

“Beats salty water,” she said and let a bit run in. I winced. The burning was replaced by a numb tingle when she poured some of the potion from the vial in. I looked away as she got out the needle and thread.


By the time she had finished Keersk and Varnan had the tents up, the latter was polishing his bow and the former was seeking oblivion in a bottle of sujamma. Thyra bid us goodnight and with a surreptitious wink at Keersk she crawled into her tent. The lizard followed her soon after. I looked over the fire at Varnan.

“Good shots earlier,” I paused awkwardly, “Thanks.”

He grunted and the silence ensued.

[Olen]

And another part, just a short one because that was the best way to cut it up.


4. Grey Dawn

The slow winter sun glowed though the side of the tent. I stepped outside and shivered, the westerly wind stirred the dawn haze and with it came the scent of ash. Vvardenfell. I sighed. Home? I hated the place but too many memories darkened the mainland, somehow the past poisoned every thought there.

“It looked better by night,” said Thyra appearing behind me. She wasn’t wrong. The drab mountains reared towards the clouds, their bleak ridges and arêtes wore dirty skirts of scree. The sere vegetation was sparse and bore brown thorns more often than sickly yellow leaves. Only occasional towers and keeps in varying states of decay tarnished the flawless grey. I had heard enough stories to know the sort of folk who lived in them.

Thyra had a pair of candles and a copy of Invocations of Azura under her arm. She noticed I’d seen them and muttered “Its not so different you’re nine.”

“I never said it was,” I answered.

Varnan appeared half dressed from the tent saw Thyra and scurried back in. The dunmer laughed. When Varnan reappeared he said, “It’s a bit grim isn’t it. Which tower is it? There’s enough of them.”

“Skink wasn’t definite on what sort of ruin it was so it won’t be dwemer or a velothi tower. But it will be old.”

“So we head north looking for a strange ruin. That’s exact.”

“It is clear,” I said, “That you have never worked for the mages guild before.” I left them and went into the tent.

“Do you need a hand?” asked Varnan.

“No,” I snapped. The kagouti had dented some of the links in the chain of my cuirass but the damage was mostly superficial. As I twisted to buckle it the wound stretched and I almost regretted being so blunt. Almost. I dug though my pack and for my pauldrons and bracers and put them on. The iron was heavy and uncomfortable. I didn’t bother with my helmet, the iron one I usually wore had been dented beyond repair on my way to Sadith Mora. I wasn’t sure if I would wear the egg yellow colvonian fur joke that the Fighter’s Guild supplied in anything other than a headbutting contest with an orc. Maybe not then.

When I emerged there was a small fire and some brose waiting. It’s remarkable how nice slop can taste when you’re cold.

Varnan looked at me, “You’re in full armour. Do you want us to wear it as well?”

I shook my head slightly and wandered who had taught him. Certainly not Hrundi. “This isn’t the legion,” I told him, “I honestly could not care less.”

[Jac]

Keep 'em coming.

[seerauna]

Varnan looked at me, “You’re in full armour. Do you want us to wear it as well?”

I shook my head slightly and wandered who had taught him. Certainly not Hrundi. “This isn’t the legion,” I told him, “I honestly could not care less.”

He's hilarious when it comes to Varnan!

Keep 'em coming.

I think Jac said it all.

[bbqplatypus]

Wow. This is awesome. I'll be keeping an eye on this story.

[Olen]

Cheers for the comments, there's still pleanty more of this so it will continue for a while yet. Slightly longer one this time but ther wasn't anywhere obvious to break it off sooner.

5. Dead Land

There was no doubt the ruin was the one Skink had spoken of. We stood at the bottom of a deep valley gouged into the side of a mountain. The ruin squatted at the back of the corrie above us glaring out toward the Sea of Ghosts and Ilethi point. A cradle of dark cliffs hid it from any other angle. Even so, were it not for the glittering of the noon sun on its metal arches I could have missed it entirely.

High cliffs shaded the valley. We were barely into it when the air thickened with the sulphurous taint of brimstone. Evan compared to the wastelands around it seemed barren. Little lived, and what plants clung to the flaky ground were deformed and dying. Tumescent white stems writhed over the dead ground like worms on a corpse, their shrived root’s futile quest for moisture exposed by the wind. We had not gone far before all plants life was gone.

We trudged up the sterile valley, the haze of mephitis growing thicker. I was glad I lead, the soil was powdery and Varnan at the back hacked dust-stained phlegm. I couldn’t but wander what sort of person could want to study something so much to come here. The ground held no trace of the excavations above, but I suspected that the wind would conceal our passing and restore the ground to its desolation.

The winter sun swung low behind us, always below the brecciated mountaintops which loomed above. I think had it not been for the money Skink was offering, and my desperate need for it, I would have given up on the contact. The valley narrowed until ravine would more accurately describe it, the shadow of the mountain lay heavy, the barren ground was as devoid of life as of cheer. We concentrated on placing each step and spoke little, the air burned enough just breathing.

It’s quite possible that the sight which greeted me at the head of the valley had a sort of melancholic beauty. None of us was in a fit mood to appreciate it. The ruin built into the cliff at the back was graceful yet somehow misshapen. The golden metal spoke of the dwemer yet tiers of fluted arches and slender spires reared towards the slate sky and lay rusting on the poisoned ground. It spoke of beauty, but in an alien tongue.

In front of it there was a small tarn, the water was greasy and where the shining towers had fallen into it they were pitted and smeared. A cluster of tents on the left side of it gave the first indication that all was not well. Most fluttered in the breeze but at least two were reduced to blackened poles. I could see barrels lying broken like huge ribcages. We were halfway round the tarn when Keersk saw the corpse. It lay face down halfway between us and the camp. In life it had probably been a male Breton. The robe it wore was burnt and holed, revealing bloated flesh beneath. I kicked him over and the rotten skin tore like wet parchment. A writhing torrent of black flesh and white maggots splashed onto my boot.

While I swore and tried to wipe the fetid mess away Keersk approached the body. “He’s a mess - I’d say some spell killed him but there’s wounds all over his face,” the Argonain bent before continuing, “Glass. Finer than a bottle I’d say. Maybe an alembic.”

“Why would anyone hit someone with an alembic?” said Thyra.

“That is what we’re here to find out,” I answered, “How long has it been dead?”

“It’s hard to say. I’d think ten days, give or take, normally but I don’t know the climate of northern morrowind that well.”

“I’d agree normally,” I said, it was clearly just on the turning point of black putrification, “But what of this valley? It seems dead, barring the maggots.”

“I don’t know. Maybe the camp will explain something.”

I nodded and we approached it quietly. Varnan looked rather disquieted and had his rapier ready. The broken tents flapped fitfully as if trying to waft away the reek of death. As I passed between two of the outermost ones I paused. The breeze shuffled loose canvas and paper and stirred the dust but I saw no life. Their supplies lay in heaps on the churned ground. Another corpse lay in a dark patch over by a tent. I ignored it.

Varnan looked shocked at the destruction, he stood by one of the burnt out tents, its previous occupant still amongst the ashes. Keersk was also looking around, but more in the manner one surveys a market stall. Like myself the argonian had been in the business long enough that each horror brought so many memories that it barely mattered.

“What in oblivion?” I heard Thyra say.

I went over to her and stopped as I rounded an almost intact tent. Keersk swore behind me. Blood spattered the ground, a length of mouldy intestine was smeared across the side of the nearest tent. It was impossible to know anything about the person who had more of a final resting area than place. Bits lay strewn around like an explosion in an anatomy study.

“Skink did mention this,” I said. The others looked at me pointedly. “He was a little vague but said the results of transport spells could be messy.”

“I’d say this classes as messy,” observed Thyra, “Still you should have said, I tend to keep an intervention handy.”

Our gazes were locked on the fleshy detritus, Keersk, on the other hand, seemed hardened to spontaneous detonation looked elsewhere. “That’s odd,” he said, the dust somehow made his voice even gravellier, “They seem to have put up a barricade.”

“Where?”

“Over by the ruin, and facing the ruin.”

I had a sinking feeling but said nothing. I’d seen horrors but at least they normally made some sense, this was yet to come clear: Telvanni are usually fairly tidy in what they leave behind. I walked towards it uneasily. It explained where most of their barrels and storage crates had gone. The door in the ruin was almost blocked by the drifting soil, it looked as though they had dug their way to it. A ring of makeshift fortifications surrounded the entrance, another corpse lay in the dust behind them along with a couple of broken weapons. The entrance itself was blocked a little further down with a heavy metal table.

“They tried to keep something down there,” said Varnan.

“But that table must have come from inside,” I said, “And it wouldn’t be quick to move. I’d say that was to keep something out.” No one replied so I continued my reasoning, “They barricaded it from the outside. The only reason could be to keep something in. But it seems that its barricaded from inside too. To keep something out.”

“Could it have escaped and they went in to hide?” said Thyra.

“Or they were inside when the Telvanni showed up,” said Keersk.

“But if the Telvanni were here where did they go? Skink seemed to think that they would be interested in this place. Something killed them, all of them, as far as I can see.”

“The deep places hold many things best left be,” observed Keersk.

“Unfortunately,” said Varnan, “Mages seem unable to grasp that logic. But it seems stretched to think it got out and they went into the pit. There’s no link between the ways the people have been killed.”

I nodded. And looked back at the corpse behind the barricade. Arrow in the back. I felt my gaze drawn back to the entrance and noticed all the others were gazing at it. “We could go and see,” I ventured.

“We could,” agreed Thyra.

“No,” Varnan shook himself, “We should examine the camp more fully first. And rest.”

My mind took little changing. It was clear sense and I wandered why I had wanted to rush in. Finding everyone dead in strange circumstances almost fulfilled the contract anyway. I turned away from it. Thyra was the last the leave.

None of us wanted to stay in the doomed expedition’s camp but Keersk was more than happy to move two of their less damaged tents down the hill away from the ruin. While he did I went though the remaining supplies, they were strewn haphazard around the camp. Most of the perishables were too far gone, even a couple of imported cheeses had rotted within their wax seals. I did find a cache of spirit which was still good and a few pickled onions which I quietly emptied into the ashes of the fire. I knew only too well of the wind they give argonians.

As I did I saw a scrap of paper buried there. I dusted away some ash and found a scorched wooden bar from a scroll. I was digging out more pieces when Thyra appeared behind me.

“What are they?”

I couldn’t read the characters on the paper. They were the same as some of the more obscure temple texts and those of some of the less pleasant cults. “Not sure, maybe some mage’s notes. They seem to culture pointless affectations.”

Thyra took the largest scrap from me and squinted at it. “It’s a slightly obscure dialect,” she murmured her lips moving.

“You can read it?”

“Many of Azura’s texts are written in the daedric alphabet.”

I paused awkwardly, “So you do…”

“Yes,” she said dismissively, “I’ve worshiped her for over a decade. What of it?”

I shrugged.

She peered at the ash, “Onions?”

“Yes.”

“You put them there.”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Thank dawn and dusk, have you any idea what Keersk smells like when he eats them?”

I nodded.

She stirred though the remains again and lifted out a fragment of paper, “It reads ‘Woe upon’ then is burned. Its defiantly a scroll, the next word would be ‘you’ but a great many read that way.” She looked though other fragments, “There’s several here, they’ve burned a whole load.”

“Why?”

“Why had someone got a retort broken over their face, why two barricades at the ruin, why the woman with a knife in her back and marks from frost magic? I know you saw the man by the ruin, that arrow was in his back. Something happened here. And the answer is in the ruin.” With that she stood and stalked away.

I hadn’t seen the woman. It failed to fit in just as well as the rest. Just then Varnan appeared from a ripped tent and waved me over.

“What?” I asked.

“I think I’ve found a journal.”

“What does it say?”

“I can’t read it. The handwriting is odd.”

I went into the tent. Inside were a few things which looked almost but not quite dwemer, a blood stained camp bed and a low desk. A couple of books sat under a lantern on the desk: ‘Book of Rest and Endings’, ‘Monomyth’ and one called ‘N'Gasta! Kvata! Kvakis!’. I didn’t need to be able to decipher it to know it was unsavoury. The skin which bound it was a little too yellow and thin. I ignored the books, mages are indeed an odd bunch, and looked at the pile of loose pages on the table. They were blown around a bit and some were probably missing but each was headed with a date. The handwriting seemed ok to me and I read.

[seerauna]

Your writing forces me to beg. What do the notes say??? You will tell me!
Good update, I'm as confused as everyone else as to what happened. You will reveal it to us right? I'll give you cake if you will.

[canis216]

Very nice work, Olen. Looking forward to the continuation.

[bbqplatypus]

Another fascinating chapter. I'm looking forward to the next installment with great anticipation.

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Nov 17 2008, 04:49 AM

[Olen]

Cheers for the replies, any comments are more than welcome. So without further ado the notes:


6. Diary

4E25 10 Frostfall

We have arrived, and what a gods forsaken place. The earth’s exhalations are of interest however, suggesting that the deep earth does not rest easy here and further supporting Gaston’s theory that this has dwemer origins. Certainly fascinating but I’d almost like to see him wrong simply because he is such an insufferable nyah.

The tents were pitched without incident and tomorrow we shall begin excavations, this is indeed most exciting.

4E25 14 Frostfall

Progress has been slower than I hoped but it looks like we definitely know where the entrance will be. The external parts of the ruin pose quite a quandary. In style they are reminiscent of high elven or ayleid design but it is made mostly from metal which resembles dwemer alloy. Gaston continues to insist this place is dewmeric but the design is atypical to say the least. His logic is as flawed as was Skink's when he gave us joint command.

I have an alchemist examining various aspects of this blasted valley, we've been here days and seen nothing alive. The ground seems poisoned, the lochan most certainly is. One of the slaves took a drink from it and is in a most poor state of health.

4E25 17 Frostfall

A week and we are still to break through though it is possible the night shift will. The idiot slave who drank from the pool is dead and we had to subdue one of the argonian slaves after he developed psychasthenia, a worrying sign, though fortunately enough remain. Thendil was a little heavy handed dealing with it and the argonain perished, there shall be words about such wastage guild resources.

I must say this place gets me down, the stench, the dust, the wait. It’s all frightfully tedious. Gaston continues strutting and staring like an anally retentive altmer. Thendil on the other hand is an altmer. Still there has been some study done. Further examination has almost convinced me that the architecture is ayleid though of course such a theory would risk seeming ludicrous were it mentioned without further evidence.

4E25 19 Frostfall

It took another three shifts but we have reached and broken through the entrance. So far I haven't ventured far inside, though the small amount I have seen is odd. The theme of the outside is redoubled within with further examples of skewed ayleid grace. I think Gaston has ventured further in that he was meant to, trying to steal a march on me. He also mentioned ayleids. I wander where that idea came from.

One thing I did notice was that steam could be heard inside the ruin. The slaves are becoming unhappy, especially the argonians. Other members of the group are also uneasy with the ruin, I must say is has a miasma to it which rather puts me on edge. Some of seem to delight in it though.

4E25 25 Frostfall

Murder! This turn of events is most vexatious and worries me.

We're sending most of the slaves away now. All the digging and shoring has been completed and now the work of study will continue with out the distractions they cause. They have been increasingly erratic until today one was slain. The body of a khajiit was found a way into the ruin stabbed with poison, and not bunglers bane, this was clearly prepared for. I ordered a number of slaves to stay as I worry about the air in the ruin and the potentiality of traps. Having them walk a distance ahead somewhat negates this danger.

On a brighter note our examinations of the initial level have revealed a door leading downward. The lock is astoundingly complex and seems unresponsive to magic. It may simply come the brute force, though that would be Gaston and Thendil's preferred route and would risk damaging the structure. I will block them as long as I can.

Gaston has been keeping to himself more, I begin to suspect he is up to something. Could he have found something which he is keeping to himself? It certainly seems possible. I must stay vigilant.

4E25 2 Sun’s Dusk

I have been neglecting my journal. But so much has happened I have hardly had any time. We have gone deeper into the ruins and found many fascinating yet often inexplicable objects. The whole place buzzes with magic, I can feel it. It is certainly enticing - some researchers are spending almost all their time in the ruin now. I must confess that I still find it makes me a little uneasy and I prefer to sleep outside it.

We cracked the door with fire magic in the end, even so it took too much if our supplies to focus sufficient heat on it. Behind it there were further objects and devices and also books. The only I recognised was a sload tome though there were others in that language. There is a deep shaft in this section which I intend to examine though Gaston insists he should. He seeks to undermine me at every turn and I know that soon he will attempt to seize the leadership. I will oppose him with all necessary force though I fear it will be he that initiates the violence. I am ever prepared and vigilant.

4E25 5 Sun’s Dusk

Gaston attempted the go down the shaft today. I prevented him but it has strained our leadership to breaking point. He has rejected my claim of authority, quite preposterous though that n'wah Thendil backed him up. They have not left the ruin for several days now and I suspect that as soon as I do they will return to the shaft, I cannot trust any other to tell me, especially not those in the ruin – they are all in league with the traitors. At least those outside are somewhat loyal, I dare not sleep in the ruin but this is ok. I have diluted two of the best rising force potions so if he tries anything with them he will surely fall to his death. The choice is his.

4E25 7 Sun’s Dusk

The treacherous scum showed his true colours today. By my cursed luck Gaston did try to enter the shaft, though later than I had suspected, but Thendil and another mage fell first and he escaped death. Immediately he accuses me of murder while he disobeys my orders! With two who remain loyal I managed to leave with all the most valuable finds to stay outside, the traitors are within. I still think they will see sense and, once Gaston has seen justice, we can continue. Still vigilance and caution are imperative so I had the few remaining slaves, we loose them too quickly now, put defences around the ruin and have two men keeping watch for the camp.

4E25 10 Sun’s Dusk

Disloyalty is everywhere, I know some person, or persons, are in the camp undermining me and supporting Gaston. Still I have the support of most of them. Oh they squealed when I put the barriers up but they don't squeal now Gaston has attacked us. We fought them off and drove them back into the ruin to regroup but I know they will come again soon. Even with his spies we shall crush them.

As soon as the wounded are healed I shall put a blockade around the ruin. We are better supplied and we shall prevail.

4E25 13 Sun’s Dusk

It is impossible! They fight from inside the ruin appearing then scurrying back like vermin. Have they no honour to face us and be crushed. I tried attacking them but it is too well defended, and what discoveries might they be making while I am stuck out here?

This very situation is impossible. What has driven Gaston to force me to these lengths? There is something about this valley, mutterings of discontent, the very air breathes perfidy. Our blockades will hold but I am not blind to the murmurs amongst my own. Soon I must act boldly to end this stalemate.

4E25 17 Sun’s Dusk

It has happened, as I suspected they conspire against me. A murder in my own camp. Verrila, a passable but thoroughly dislikeable mage, was found with her throat slit this morning. They mean to scare me but I shall show them. They might try to set up separate holdings, to court the enemy but I shall ride this storm and this excavation shall be my success. I now see my past mistake: I can trust no one! They all bask in connivery and plot.

Still they dare not show themselves for they have seen my true quality. My policy of patience and wait is coming to fruition, the enemy in the ruin make ever more desperate attacks and pleas for they are dying. My moment of triumph comes as their supplies run dry and in their desperation their minds deteriorate. They do all I could wish for and more. Truly this is my moment of triumph.

4E25 19 Sun’s Dusk

I hate this cursed ruin. I hate it but I must finish the excavations before I can get my well-deserved rest. A deserter stole away today and tried to cast an intervention spell. His ending echoed though the valley and spread him on the dry dusts. Let that be a lesson to them all.

I have decided on another lesson though. If they will conspire let them but it will break up their little game when I poison the supplies. They shall see why they should not cross their lord, see that I am just yet my vengeance is terrible. Just as soon as the last pitiful attempts of those inside finish then I shall make my move. They actually begged today, came forth filthy and grovelling, half starved and half mad from the ruin. Even as my men threw missiles and cast spells they came on. I doubt we shall see much more from them but as ever I shall be vigilant.

4E25 20 Sun’s Dusk

Someone has poisoned the supplies! What madman would try such a thing. My enemies are crushed. Divided as they turned on themselves. We can be counted on a single hand now, and watch each other warily. I was insufficiently vigilant, as ever the guard comes down just when you need it but I was not killed. Soon maybe but not yet, someone must make the first move. Then we shall see who is the true master.

4E25 23 Sun’s dusk

It comes. Soon now. Vigilance? Pah. I never even considered. I am not ashamed to admit my terror. Soon now, so very soon.


My hands shook as I shut the book. As I read Keersk and Thyra had moved to listen, trouble shadowed every face.

“I have heard of similar things,” Keersk said slowly, “There was a fighters guild job up in sheogorad which went wrong. After a month one man killed the two others.”

“That's three men. How many were here?” said Varnan.

“If there is one to be found then I think the answer will be inside,” said Thyra.

I shuddered inwardly, “Not tonight,” I said, “We should make camp and decide what to do come morning.”

The camp was subdued that night, twice I slunk away for some skooma but it did little for my mood. Keersk wrinkled his long nose but said nothing as he concentratedly drank himself into oblivion under Thyra's disapproving eye. I toyed with the notion of using the scroll Skink had given me. But what danger necessitated that? Thoughts. Ideas. As far as we'd seen there was nothing else alive in the valley. Only shadows to jump at.

I turned in early and Varnan followed close behind me muttering something about feeling awkward.

[bbqplatypus]

This is really an excellent story - quite well-written. What I like most about it are the ever-present dynamics between the characters. All of them are well-defined and act within their established tendencies and personalities. You can "see" the characters on the page, so to speak. And their interactions are interesting, too. You were even able to pull this off in the brief journal entry - I definitely got a sense of the deteriorating mental state of the person who wrote the journal (from a detached academic, slightly misanthropic tone to outright paranoia).

Being able to capture characters in writing is a very difficult thing to do. The ones who are best at it tend to be some of my favorite writers (Faulkner is my favorite in this department, though I have other favorites as well). You are also doing a good job of it, and as a result, I am now hooked on this story.

[Olen]

Bit of a delay this time as I'm rather busy. Still here it is. 10000 words in now so if anyone has any comments on the structure, characterisation, pace etc I'd be interested to hear.

7. Smoke and Memory

The next the next morning was clear and cold. I was cooking a breakfast of brose – none of us wanted to touch the supplies we'd found – when Thyra appeared from whatever morning cultism she indulged in.

“We should go inside today,” she said, “And it should be Keersk and myself who go.”

“Why?” I asked. I was more than happy not to have to enter but somehow I had to ask. I hoped she had a good reason.

“I want to and I'm more likely to recognise anything of importance. If I go Keersk will and someone has to keep watch and distract Varnan.”

The reason was good enough for me - the first three words would have sufficed. “Yes,” I answered, “It makes as much sense as anything.”

“And you don't want to go,” she said and went into her tent smiling.

A couple of minutes later she reappeared with Keersk, both wore full armour with a few torches each. I raised an eyebrow.

“No time like the present,” she said.

I shrugged. “Good luck.”

Thyra nodded and they left towards the ruin's maw. I watched them go and felt something. Shame? Not quite. More the feeling I should go. I was the best fighter. Was I ducking duty, or did they think I was past it? I watched the cold sun rise over black mountains and poked despondently at the fire. It was not long before Varnan appeared. Dark bags hung under his eyes. I knew his sleep had been haunted, I had listened to him writhe and moan all night.

“What today?” he asked.

“Thyra and Keersk have gone into the ruin,” I answered, “I plan to sit here and die slowly. Its a good place for it.”

Varnan laughed emptily. “So you didn't go?”

“No.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just thought you would. Probably best you rest though.”

“Why?” I said rather sharply.

“That kagouti messed you up a bit,” I searched his face but found no mockery.

“I've had far worse,” I muttered.

“And how many moons have past since then?”

“What are you saying? If you're suggesting I'm past my prime I assure you I'm not. I'm as good as I ever was. Better, I have years left. I'm no Keersk, the drink will kill him sooner or later.”

Vernan said nothing.

The silence dragged until our separate thoughts consumed us. I'd been sharper than was necessary but equally I didn't like the suggestion that the best was done. It wasn't, it couldn't be. I was still working towards something better. It wasn't this. I could take the chance whenever I wanted and would before the passing years forced me to. A small part of me wandered why I was so rankled. I ignored it.

The sun had cleared the peaks when Varnan tried to revive conversation. “How did you end up on Vvardenfel? You don't sound like you were born there.”

I was silent for a bit but his attention didn't drift. With nothing but dusty grey soil and dead mountainsides to distract it my mind stirred though its cauldron of memories. I tried to shut them out but already some appeared. For a moment I considered telling him but then sanity reasserted itself: I barely knew him. What purpose would it serve? Best to leave some potions untasted.

He looked intently at me as he waited. “By boat,” I replied. He grunted and turned back to the glowing embers. But the valley was too dead for dreaming and my thoughts turned like a slow wheel, images of the past flickering through my mind. I got up and headed into the tent.

I sat for a moment and thought of constructive and useful things I could do. Give Varnan some training, or at least advice. Continue searching. Explore the valley. It was pointless. I sighed and rummaged into my pack pulling out the leather purse. Within was my sadly diminished stock of skooma and my old pipe. I needed a smoke. I hunched in the corner of the tent and cleaned the bowl. Why did I hide like a common thief? I was good, am good. Why did I not want Varnan to know?

It felt strange to step out the tent with the pipe in one hand and my sweet vial in the other. Varnan was away taking a leak, I breathed relief. Should I turn back? No. Would I regret this? Quite possibly but there was something in my mood, I would it anyway. I took an ember from the fire and placed it into the chamber under the bowl of the pipe. It put a drop of oily skooma into the bowl and put on the top. The skooma took a moment to get to temperature but soon soft white fumes coiled from the surface. I inhaled and savoured the sickly sweet and slightly metallic tang over my throat. I sighed it back out and opened my eyes. Varnan approached.

“What are you doing?” his eyes wide.

I took another drag before I replied, “I'd think that's obvious.”

“But it's bad,” even he realised how stupid that sounded, “You'll get an addiction.”

“Get? I have and have had for a decade.”

“And they put you in charge of an expedition. How did you get your reputation if you're off your head the whole time? I don't believe this, what was Hrundi thinking putting some sugar tooth in charge.”

When I replied my voice was low, “Don't you even consider judging me fetcher. Once you've been in this cursed business for another decade and got the scars to show it. Once you know why almost no one takes so many contracts. Then and only then.”

Varnan glared. “I'll judge how I want. I've seen enough skooma addicts sitting in their own piss in the back alleys of Cyrodiil. I don't want to be commanded by one.”

I took another long draw. I felt it replenish me with the waning yet ever-present desire. “You're from Cyrodiil then?”

“Yes. Do you have some problem with that too?”

“No,” I answered gently. I didn't want an argument. I didn't care what he thought and it would only run though the same old guar-leavings again, “I was also from Cyrodiil, originally.”

“How did you end up in Morrowind?” Varnan asked.

“How did you?” I countered.

Varnan was silent for a moment. He frowned as he said, “I'm not from rich stock. It didn’t suit me so I joined the guild and ended up out here. I wanted more than a couple of rocky fields in the middle of nowhere.”

“Money? Adventure?” I said, “Still doesn't explain why Morrowind.”

His frown deepened. “I didn't want to stay in Cyrodiil: Morrowind was easiest.” I wasn't sure whether he wanted to say more or not. I don't think he was. I didn't care. There aren’t many in the fighter’s guild who are quite what they seem.

I swirled the bowl of the pipe and blew on the ember to get the last little bit out. I was glad he hadn't pushed the subject, I didn't need to be told the problems it caused: I already knew. I knew it damaged my ability to fight. I knew it was killing me. It's harder to lie to yourself, much easier not to care. I took the last lungful and screwed up my face. It didn't taste as good as it had.

Varnan looked up and said, “What about you?” I looked questioningly, “How did you end up in Morrowind?”

“Desperation and lack of choice,” I answered. He said nothing and waited. I sighed, was it the stirring of memories long buried, or this place, or the skooma? I didn't know but for the first time in years I thought of the past. “I have never had many choices. I was born in a small farming village somewhere in Cyrodiil, I don't even know where. I was young when its was burnt to the ground, I don’t know why or who. Possibly just bandits. I hid and watched as they slaughtered everyone. Children in mothers’ arms. The elderly. Some had their fun first. I watched and did nothing.

“I don't know for certain how old I was, I never have. After they were gone I ran away into the wilds. I should have died there but a hunter found me and took me to the Imperial City. I lived on the streets there for a couple of years before the Emperor was assassinated and I was conscripted into the Legion. I was still years underage but I had no choice.”

I paused to collect my thoughts. Varnan sat patiently. “It turned out I was good at killing so they got me to do that. I'd have been a bit more than half your age when I was routinely murdering, they were desperate times. I hated it and should have left after the crisis but a woman came into it. I signed up for another few years. It didn't work out. Eventually I got my demob. I got the addiction and frittered my wages away trying to recover. I couldn't stay in Cyrodiil so I came here. I need money and thanks to the legion there's only one thing I know how to do.”

I lapsed into silence. I'd stirred my memories and all the blackened muck had come floating up. I wanted another pipeful but resisted the temptation.

Hours passed.

[bbqplatypus]

A very thoughtful update - plenty of fleshing out of the characters. Again, it's the characters that make this a good story.

[Jac]

It's not everyday that you come across a protagonist that's inherently flawed. It'll be interesting to see where this one goes. Keep up the good work, Olen.

[Olen]

Thanks for the comments. Bit more happening in the next few updates.

8. Into the Maw

Hours passed. The winter sun slunk low around the southern horizon. We waited. As it touched the first of the western peaks I began to regret not setting a time for Thyra to return. They had many torches, and might have found more. Without the sky they would have not sure way to tell the hour. The sun continued its low descent and I started a pot of broth.

“We're going to have to go and look soon,” said Varnan.

“Once this is done, yes.”

We ate the broth. They failed to appear.

“I can’t say I’m looking forward to this,” I said.

“Nor me,” said Varnan, “But I don't see what choice we have.”

I smiled grimly, “I've never been so convinced in free choice. Fate lacks subtlety with myself. I suppose we had best go.”

I went into the tent to don my armour. Some fighters almost never take it off, I've never been one of them. Its heavy and uncomfortable but my bulky plate pauldrons offered some consolation for going into the ruin. I'd never felt so uneasy about going underground in my life. I'd met living dead, witches, bandits, cultists – even daedra. What could be worse in there? I pushed away thoughts of the journal from the night before.

I emerged fully armoured. Two sacks lay packed next to Varnan who bucked on his bracer. I grimaced at its excessive decoration, “I see we're not going for stealth then,” I said and shouldered one of the packs. Varnan stuck a torch into the fire and followed.

The black waters of the tarn rippled. “We have to go, don't we?” Varnan said.

“You can stay behind if you must,” I said.

“No, no,” he said quickly, “I'll come.”

I didn't reply but for once I was glad of his need to prove himself. We followed the footprints of Thyra and Keersk round the tarn and though the barricades around the entrance. The door itself was down a steep slope dug into the dusty ground. Golden runes in the metal doorframe flickered in the light of Varnan's torch, I lit one of my own off it and we entered.

I'd been in dwemer ruins a couple of times before but they were nothing like the corridor we found ourselves in. It rose ten feet to a pointed arch above us, decorated pillars were set into the walls at intervals. Yet it all appeared to be made from the same golden metal the squat and pragmatic delvers had left behind. The strange lights they used were set at intervals along the wall - all broken of course. I didn’t stop to gawk. Any traps would have been disarmed and if the mages weren't sure what to make of it there was not point in my wondering. At the end of the tunnel I glanced back at Varnan, he looked around in awe but flinched at shadows. His knuckles were white on his sword.

I stepped into the room at the end. Like the tunnel it was elegant and graceful even though desks and weapons and paper cluttered it. One corner was stained with soot; the wreckage of artefacts, furniture and writings lay scorched at the base of it. Varnan followed me in and whispered, “Shouldn't we be a little more cautious?”

“With you in that armour,” I snorted, “Not much point.” It would have been champleve even as a ceremonial piece. “You do realise that it probably weighs getting on for half as much again as it should?”

“I'm learning,” he answered sullenly.

A body lay in the other corner. I ignored it. The arch opposite the one we had entered through caught my eye, it was a masterpiece, its form flowed almost water-like from a delicate apex in a sublimely portioned cascade of gold. Beyond it was dull but hinted at a vast space. Then it dawned on me: it was dull not dark. I waved Varnan away from the detritus, “There’s light though there.” He looked and nodded. For a moment he waited for me but then he brushed past and entered the hall. I followed just behind.

It was huge.

The light of our torches didn't penetrate the gloom to the far side. Other lights did though: they were mounted high on the walls and around the four great pillars which rose like the pillars of heaven, slender despite their vastness. Their tops were lost in the darkness of the ceiling. Any of the cantons of Vivec could easily have fitted into the edifice. Good place for them too, I mused. Several open floors jutted from the wall opposite to perhaps a quarter of the total width. The rough ladders and pulleys set up by the excavators looked crude and out of place amidst the grandeur. In the middle of the floor before the stacked mezzanines was a pool of glittering green water.

Even allowing for the scattered detritus I was reminded of my thoughts on the outside. Something was essentially wrong. In spite, or perhaps because, of the sheer scale and eloquence of its construction it felt deformed. An insidious somesthesia grated like nails in my mind. There was no doubt it was beautiful but a sophistical beauty.

I wandered over the corroded metal floor to the pool. The corpse of an altmer lay in it, minus head. Stab wounds rent its back. I looked down into the waters. Hints of more debris, or dead, hid down there but I would have bet any money that Keersk hadn't gone that way. A shout from Varnan shattered my contemplation. I looked up, my hand halfway to my sword. He staggered back from the pillar to my right and vomited. I ran towards him but when nothing attacked I slowed again to a walk.

What I found behind the pillar shook even me. A woman stared at the ceiling though ruined eyes. Rough gashes were gouged her from brow to jaw, her clothes were stiff with dried blood. She gaped in a rictus of pain, her mouth parodied by rips in her cheeks, her nose half gone. But it wasn't the wreckage of her face nor even her crushed and scored eyes which horrified me. Her fingers were ensanguined up to the knuckle and her nails were split and crusted with blood.

She had done it to herself.

“What on the gods' earth...” I breathed. The magnificence of the place had almost blotted out memories of outside, but this returned them, and more. The hall seemed dark now, oppressive. The pillars loomed, their willowy grace deformed to totems of darkness. It glittered, but there was no gold.

“Lets go,” said Varnan, “Did one of them wear metal boots? There's scratches in the rust leading this way.”

“Thyra did - as if you didn't know,” I said. Varnan had shown too much interest in those boots.

He smiled. It seemed hollow, too much like the corpse behind me. I turned to the marks in the floor. They lead to one of the larger of the many doors around the walls. What had possessed them to go beyond this hall I had no idea. I followed them but couldn't help but think loyalty is a terrible thing. As we followed the trail we passed scorch marks and worse on the ground, the door they lead to hung at a crazy angle from a single bent hinge. The rust and grime had been scraped from the floor by something. Inside was dark.

I stopped, a small creature gazing into the maw of the beast. I entered: I had no choice. Inside a makeshift barricade blocked the corridor beyond. The stub of a burnt out torch lay on it.

I touched it. The char was fresh. Mine wasn't halfway burnt, either they had come a lot more slowly than us or they had explored more. The first seemed unlikely. But why in hell would anyone do the latter? I jumped over the barrier and Varnan came just behind. I cupped my hand behind my ear. It might have been the rush of blood. Or I might have heard something from further down.

“Firen. I don't like this,” whispered Varnan. He looked terrified.

“We're no closer to knowing what happened,” I said, “And I'm not sure I want to. Once we find Thyra and Keersk we're leaving.”

“If they're alive.” I set of down the stair without replying, “This frightens me,” he continued. He looked embarrassed when I turned. I could hardly believe he thought I wasn't. I descended and strained to hear what I could over my own heart.

Another room, and the source of the noises. A great conglomeration of machinery boiled from the floor at the bottom of the stair. Cogs, pulleys, gears and pipes wove an intricate mess. All were still save for the hiss of steam and the grind of a great wheel's mournful turning. Another dead mage lay on a bedroll between the machine and ourselves, a blood-soaked bandage was wrapped around his chest.

Varnan's footsteps receded toward the other end of the room. My eyes shot up and I followed. He stood at the edge of a hole in the floor, the bottom was lost in the gloom but all around it were fresh scratches in the floor.

“Look's like they've gone down,” he said.

He always seemed to have bad news. “Well there's a rope,” I said needlessly pointing to one tied to a pipe on the wall, “but what inspired them to is beyond me.”

“Do we?”

I didn't want to. Not one bit but I already knew I would. “Yes.” The knot looked sound and before I could think any more I threw my torch down. It made a point of light at the bottom. I looped the rope about my chest and started to lower myself down. I was halfway before I considered that the rope might not reach the bottom. A little bit further I felt a breath of wind from below. I stopped and looked around, my torch seemed a long way below me. It was very dark. Did the air stir again? I wasn't sure, maybe it was just the lack of skooma. But I'd taken some before we set out.

I shivered and continued down. My mind flickered between images of the rope giving way and whatever nightghasts lurk in the dark. I stifled a cry of alarm when I felt the ground beneath me and turned, my fists ready. Nothing but shadows moved. I looked up, Varnan was waiting for my call but the shout froze in my throat. Some basic instinct made me want to be silent, to hide. You're jumping at shadows, I told myself. “Ok,” I hollered. My veins ran icy cold until the echoes died away.

I breathed deeply and looked at what I could see. Two bodies lay in the shadows of the small chamber. I lifted my torch. Both were argonians. The first was quite decayed, and enchanted slave bracer was still locked on his, or conceivably her, wrist. I moved to the second.

It was Keersk.