Shade-Eyes, One elf's descent into Oblivion. Options

[kementari]

Hey, all.

So, long time lurker, first time poster. I've really enjoyed reading all the stories you guys have put up over the years.

I've been working on chronicling a group of vignettes on and off since 2006, and it's still a work-in-progress. Some disclaimers:

First, it's all quite long, so I sincerely apologize if anyone gets TLDR syndrome from reading it. Additionally, I tend to take a little free license with lore where Bethesda has been silent, so please don't crucify me for some of my inventions passed off as "world fact" in the story. Finally, I do draw some of my plots from game elements, but I change them where I think I can do better. Please don't let either of those admissions become the basis for hating me. Writing these stories is cathartic to me, and in some small way, I feel like fanfiction is the highest form of glorification I can give the story guys over at Bethesda.

I'd also really love feedback (CRITICISM! PLEASE!) on characterization, prose, pacing, or anything else, if any of you have the time or willingness to give it. While I of course appreciate even small affirmations, "hm, good work" doesn't really help me grow as a storyteller.

Anyway, here goes. Hope you enjoy it.

This post has been edited by kementari: May 27 2008, 12:31 AM

[kementari]

Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary; Hearthfire 15, 3E411


Frustrated, Lily tossed the scrap of parchment away with a flick of her wrist – one of the only parts of her body that didn't ache when she moved it. It was no good, she mused, to review contract notes for murder targets while she couldn't even don her clothing without assistance, much less wield a weapon or stalk a victim.

She slouched in the stone chair, and then straightened, immediately regretting the action. The arcane circle Lucien had carved into the flesh of her belly four days earlier was still tender enough to cause searing pain at even the slightest of movements. Gently lifting the white linen sheet that had served as a makeshift robe for her slowly healing body, she carefully inspected the wound. Vicente would be angry if it had reopened.

Vicente had been angry a lot recently, she reflected. His face, usually filled with such an unsettling cheer, had resolved itself into a stony glare over the past few days. He sat scowling into his alchemical vials while the rest of the coven busied itself with preparing to meet the Speaker every evening; he frowned at the door until Lucien invariably shoved it open to visit the victim of his play and Vicente's work; and glowered at Lucien's back as the handsome Imperial roughly fingered the twin scars on Lily's cheekbones, causing the blood to flow freely again as often as not.

Lucien's attention, though, had caused more than just Vicente to become dissatisfied. Even the other members of the coven had become standoffish. Throughout Lily's ordeal, her sole visitor had been Vasha, the only other Bosmer under Ocheeva's rule.

The grinding screech of the heavy stone door snapped Lily out of her reverie. As though summoned by Lily's thoughts, Vasha herself appeared in the entryway.

She was not pretty by Imperial standards, but Bosmer found her fascinating to look at. She stood nearly a head taller than Lily, almost on a par with human height. The diminutive Bosmer, a race stunted by centuries of the Green Pact, found Vasha nearly Amazonian in stature and color. Vasha's flesh, as dark as that of most Redguards, and her shiny jet tresses set her apart to others of her race, anthropological scholars, and a small sect of priests. The highly superstitious elves had long held black hair (as they did varying shades of eye color, ear length, and straightness of the teeth) to be an ill omen. Born, as they were, with predominantly tawny shades of hair, punctuated by the occasional red or chestnut, young Bosmer learned quickly to ostracize their dark-haired fellows.

Lily had never said anything about Vasha's hair, and Vasha had refrained from commenting on Lily's eyes. Lily felt the situation to be acceptable.


"Feeling better?" Vasha asked, brightly. Lily made a noncommittal noise, and Vasha sat down on a nearby chair. The dark-haired elf reached out and tugged aside the strip of linen covering Lily's shoulder, inspecting the pattern of scars on her chest.

"They look red again. They're so expertly done," she said, her voice hushed. She traced one of the lines, and Lily hissed, resisting the urge to bat the offending finger away. "Sorry," Vasha apologized. "It's unusual, him going to such pains for such a low-ranked member," she continued. Before Lily could question her word choice (Pains?), Vasha went on. "The others – the coven, I mean – I think they're a bit jealous."

Lily didn't say anything. She'd have been jealous of herself, too, had their places been reversed. Being the pet project of the Speaker was a position to be envied, even if it meant wounds – or scars. Vasha brushed aside the locks of hair that hung over Lily's face and gazed at the diagonal scar that dominated her cheekbone.

"Is it true he reopens them every night?" she asked, reaching up to touch her own cheek in a gesture of appreciation.


Vicente hadn't left Lily unattended since her return to the coven, but the vampire had ways of making himself so unobtrusive that Lily frequently forgot he was there. Now, he looked up from his desk, where he had silently been attending to his correspondence, with an angry frown. His gruff voice, from a recess in the stone cavern, made Vasha jump.

"One or the other of them manages to, it seems, whether from her clumsiness and refusal to stay put, or his gross misuse of a Speaker's power for carnal pleasure."

Vasha spun around to stare at Vicente, shocked. Her years in the coven had taught her that no one spoke ill of the Speaker. Lily, though, had seen the unliving Vicente do so on many occasions. He was, perhaps, the only member of the coven from whom Lucien had anything to fear. Certainly the vampire showed no unease around the Speaker, even if he did display a somewhat forced veneer of formality when the latter was present.

Vasha, on the other hand, appeared to have at least as great a fear of Vicente as she had of Lucien. After a pregnant silence just long enough to be awkward, she mumbled an excuse about forgetting to meet Antoinetta for sparring and slipped out the door. Vicente stared after her with a half-smirk almost reminiscent of his old humour.


Lily twisted in her seat, ignoring the flash of pain and the spreading red spot under her left breast.

"What in the name of Sithis is it that compels you to do that, you repulsive old leech?" she hissed, finally allowing the frustration of the past week to spill over into her words.

Vicente glanced at her in surprise and queried mildly, "Do what?" Then, just as mildly: "You're bleeding again."

"Do what?" Lily repeated, mockingly. "Drive off every person who tries to show me the slightest attention. Insult and glare and pout and-"

Vicente cut her off. "My dear, I believe you must be tired. I have driven off no one."

"You did, just now, with what you said about the Speaker," Lily argued.

"The abnormally thin skin of those you choose as companions is really no concern of mine," the vampire retorted, making sure to flash his fangs as he spoke. "Now, please lie down, my dear -"

"Stop calling me that!" Lily snapped. "I'm not your 'dear', I never have been, and I never will -" Lily faltered, looking down at her ankles, which suddenly felt inexplicably warm and wet.


That's... a lot of blood, she thought, as her eyes rolled back.

"- or you'll faint for certain," finished Vicente, who had raced across the room just in time to prevent Lily's head from colliding with the stone slab. Laying her out on the cold surface, he stripped off his outer coat and set about staunching the flow of blood once again.