Corrupted heart, part 2, And I ain't halfway yet, dudes. Options

[jack cloudy]

Alright, I just noticed I breached the 200 post mark at the first thread. So here's the new thread.

No update here yet, though. I'll see if I can edit this post later today.

Edit, forgot the link to the last part. Here it is.

Corrupted Heart, part 1

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Sep 24 2007, 09:30 PM

[jack cloudy]

I'll reveal the package, at the right moment. For now though, it's back to the story.
PS: There is a tie-in with one of my other stories. It isn't that subtle.


Cyrodiil

Tharn’s eyes opened slowly. For a moment, they gazed at the ceiling unfocussed. Then, they narrowed and shot to the door. He could hear footsteps, heavy footsteps. His face contorted into a hateful snarl. The sound of metal striking wood as a gauntleted hand rapped its surface.
“I do not wish to be disturbed. Come back later.” The Battlemage said. He reached out with his mind and sensed for the lock. He reconfirmed he’d sealed it and sighed in relief.

The knocking continued.
“This is important, Emperor.” A grating voice called from the other side. Jagar froze and glanced at the Shiftgate. It probably was important, but it could never be more important than what he was trying to do right now. Although, he didn’t recognize the voice. He glanced at the clock. Under half an hour remained.
“If it can wait for half an hour, let it wait.” He said authoratively. The doorbolt lowered and he could hear the door click in its lock. Tharn grit his teeth. He had locked the door, but this lock would not hold.

Making up his mind, he walked to the door and turned the key on his side. Instantly, the door was swung open, only to stop just short of hitting the Imperial Battlemage.
“What?” The Legionnaire on the other side gasped. The rim of the door was covered by a greenish glow. While the man had little experience with magic, he knew that this glow was what had kept him from throwing the door open in its entirety.

Tharn’s eyes lowered to the sword in the Legionnaire’s hand. They then flicked back up to his face.
“Sloppy, that was sloppy. That particular model of uniform has been replaced seven years earlier and even if it wasn’t, no guard would be allowed to wear something in such a poor shape.” He spoke with a voice colder than ice.
“On top of that, I don’t allow beards. And even if I’d ignored all previous points, there is still the matter of your voice being one I don’t recognize.”

The assassin growled and attempted to trust. Tharn’s lips formed a smile devoid of any emotion. Without warning, the blade splintered and turned to dust.
“I don’t fear steel, nor the hand that wields it.” His hand suddenly struck out and hit the false Legionnaire in the chest.
“That’s because I’m not the frail old man you think I am. Stasis Crush.”

Green bands of magicka wrapped around every single joint the man possessed, squeezing, crunching, breaking, grinding. He tried to scream but found that he couldn’t, his jaws having been broken into a fine powder. Tharn turned his back on the quivering wreck which was only held up by the murderous bands.
“In your next life, assassin, stick to the traditional tools. Poison slipped into a goblet of wine, a knife hidden under a bed at night. They would be as succesfull as your current attempt, but I might have granted you my admiration, rather than my disdain.” He noted casually. More footsteps reached his ears and he spun around. But it was too late.

Another Legionnaire, or rather a pair of them this time, had entered the chamber. One of the two turned to the assassin while the other glared at the motionless water in the bath. The latter turned to his companion for a moment and nodded.
“Tharn, release him. We will see to him.” He then said in a tone that would not allow any objections. Tharn simply nodded and the green bands vanished. But the damage had already been done. Even if they saw to him, he doubted there was any healer within the province who could regenerate joints from nothing.

The first Legionnaire hoisted the assassin onto his shoulder and walked off. The bearded man had lost consciousness and his head bobbed up and down like a broken doll at each step. Now only Jagar Tharn and the second Legionnaire remained. The Legionnairre looked at the bath again.
“I sense power coming from that water. Would this be the Shiftgate you described to our master?” The Legionnaire asked. As he did so, he closed the door to the bathroom and turned the key.

Tharn closed his eyes. Both on the outside and on the inside, he was perfectly calm.
“Aureus. Forgive me. I cannot maintain a lie to this monster.” He thought as he reopened his eyes.
“It is.” He simply answered.

The Legionnaire’s form wavered. The silver plate turned to a vile black smeared with crimson. The man’s skin, paled from constant service indoors, blackened to the colour of ash. His blue eyes became raging orbs of red. What was an Imperial of Cyrodiil one moment, was a Dremora from beyond Nirn the next.
“You have betrayed us…Tharn.” The Dremora hissed.

Tharn looked indignant.
“There is something I must retrieve from Battlespire.” He answered calmly.
“You should have asked us, we would have considered retrieving this object for you.” The Dremora stated.
“Garvis, I will be blunt with you. I do not trust those Scamps you keep as servants. They are noisy, clumsy and prone to mischief. If they broke the trinket I desire, I would be angered.” Tharn replied.

Garvis nodded. He understood what the Battlemage meant.
“Your view of them is quite accurate. However, that does not change the fact you opened a Shiftgate before the right moment, without informing us first.” He motioned at the silent pool.
“The servant you sent, he is less important than our goals. Close this Shiftgate. I will personally retrieve this trinket for you when I travel to Battlespire tomorrow.”

Tharn didn’t even blink.
“Yes, he is less important.” He said and with a sweep of his hand, waves returned to the magical water which had now become normal water.
“Has the Shiftgate been closed?” Garvis asked.
“You may. Find out for yourself.”

The Dremora dipped his hand in the water and pulled it back.
“The Shiftgate is no more. Very well, Tharn. What was this trinket you desire?” He grunted.
“The trinket is a golden clasp, shaped like a Dragon. It holds a staff in one claw and a sword in the other. It breathes a flame of silver. The clasp is a symbol of my office, as well as a key. If you wish to enter the Battlespire’s deepest regions, you require this object and you require me to operate it.” Tharn answered.
“Aureus, I am truly sorry. You will have to find your own way out now.”