Son of Sorrow, Murder's child has come... Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Seeing as every time I set out to write a story set in Tamriel I end up doing something that threatens to tear the structure of the nation apart, I though that perhaps I should maybe right something where that didn't happen. Then I thought, Oh sod it.

Son of Sorrow

Prologue

It is said that Mephala is without mercy, compassion or kindness. It is said that she relishes in the death of every living thing, and takes great joy in the despair of others.

This is not true.

Or at least, it isn’t fully true.

When the Ayleid people were destroyed, Mephala had revelled in the genocide that had ensued. Yet when the exterminations carried out by the newly formed ended and the elves were eventually accepted by society again, Mephala was angered, yet she knew that she could do nothing without angering the other Daedric princes.

So Mephala waited.

And then, after the Ayleid had been driven out, and replaced by the high elves, Mephala discovered that, contrary to imperial beliefs, one member of the Ayleid royal family lived. Barely out of infanthood, the young boy had been adopted by a pair of highly born High Elves. In a brutal attack on the house, Mephala sent her daedric minions to retrieve the child. When the watch arrived, the family had been slaughtered and the house burned to the ground.

So Mephala cared for and bought up the child the best she could, her blackened heart showing some semblance of mercy. She trained the child, enhanced and strengthened his body and skills through magic where training alone would not suffice. She sent him on missions, to hunt down and kill the most important members of society to wreak havoc and fear upon the world.

Mephala’s chosen assassin is able to strike in any place at any time, able to infiltrate any stronghold and eliminate the target with deadly speed.

He is the perfect assassin, the perfect killer.

He is the Son of Sorrow.

Marius took a deep swig of the brandy, allowing the strong alcohol to warm his cold body, before passing it to Gegran. The redguard accepted the flask gratefully, glad that he could finally warm himself after the long cold night shift at Anvil Castle.

“That’s good stuff,” he said. “Why didn’t you get it earlier?”

“Make it better when we have it,” Marius replied. “Come on, the night shift isn’t that bad. It’s a bit cold and boring but there are worse jobs we could be doing.”

Gegran had to agree. At least with the watch he could get good pay, three hot meals every day and a bed to sleep in.

There was a clink behind them, causing both watchmen to spin around.

The wall was empty.

Gegran laughed.

“Look at us,” he said. “Jumping at shadows. It was probably a rat.”

“Maybe we should go and take a look,” Marius said, looking nervous. “If someone got in on our watch the captain would have our hides.”

Gegran shrugged and drew his sword.

“If it makes you happy.”

The two men advanced towards the only entranceway to the castle on the roof, a thick wooden door. Gegran rattled the handle.

“Nothing here,” he said, sounding rather smug. “I told it would be…”

He was cut out by a whoosh and chink noise, then a scream.

Gegran span to see what the noise was and saw Marius clutching a stump where his arm had been. Dark red blood dribbled through his fingers. Gegran rushed over to his companion in a panic, but was stopped half way through by something speeding past him unnaturally fast. He slowed, suddenly unable to feel his legs, and he collapsed to his knees. He glanced down to see that somebody had somehow sliced a cut across his stomach, and blood was pouring freely through the cut in his chainmail.

Gegran collapsed forwards, his eyes wide with shock, unable to breath. A wracking cough caused his body to convulse, and blood dripped from his mouth as his eyes glazed.

Without ever seeing his killer, Gegran died.

Marius screamed as he saw his friend die. He frantically looked to the shadows in an attempt to locate the mysterious attacker, desperately trying to ignore the pain in his arm.

“Behind you,” someone whispered in his ears. Marius span, to see only empty wall.

“Missed me, I’m afraid,” came the same voice. Marius twisted to see a face, the lower half of it covered with a bandanna. It was that of a young man with scruffy blond hair that stuck out at all angles, and piercing blue eyes. Marius stared into them and couldn’t see any hint of mercy or remorse in them.

“Who are you?” he murmured, tears running down his face.

“Poor little thing,” his attacker crooned. “Why does it cry?”

He gently ran his hand along the side of Marius’ head.

“Is it sad?” he continued. “Is it hurt?”

“Get off me,” Marius cried, his vision beginning to blur. “Get off me, you madman.”

“I’m not mad,” the other man said, his tone offended. “Just very, very cruel. And you’re not. So that’s why we’re in this position now. Perhaps if you’d have been a bit crueller, a bit more ruthless, you might not be here right now, but could be sleeping safely now. It’s all your fault that you’re here now, and it’s my fault I’m here where I am. Because I am cruel, and so I’ll always be better than you.”

Marius tried to struggle away, but found his limbs leaden and heavy.

“You’re dying,” his attacker said. “Does it hurt? I’m glad I’ll never find out. You can’t kill me. No-one can. And you know what, it hurts to die, apparently. Please, tell me if it hurts.”

Marius could only nod.

“Good.”

Marius felt his keys be taken from him, and as his vision darkened he saw a figure walk away from him and unlock the door, all the while whistling a jaunty drinking song.

Alone and cold on the rooftop of the castle, Marius died.

This post has been edited by The Bean: Sep 18 2008, 09:16 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Alright, part 6 is. I'm also rather chuffed to announce that this part is probably the best thing I've personally written. Hopefully this will continue with the next parts. Enjoy, ladies and gentlemen.

Part 6

Denya slept quietly on the bedroll, curled in an embryonic position under rough sheet, breathing gently. Next to her, Ainis sat, still deep in thought, plumbing the depths of his mind in an attempt to answer the question of why he was helping Denya. He couldn’t find an answer.
His musings were interrupted by a knocking on the door he had mentally erected over the front of the cave. That was the unique thing about Oblivion; anyone could create anything provided they had the will to do so.

He got up and walked to the door, opening it to see a Xivali standing outside.

“Yes?” he asked suspiciously.

“Your mother wishes to see you,” the Daedra answered. “Now.”

Ainis said nothing, but closed the door behind him, stepping out into the biting cold of the wind. Ignoring the messenger, he made his way through the realm.

The wind shipped biting snow past him as he made his way through jagged crags of rock. Cobwebs woven by some gargantuan spider coated them stiff and frozen in the cold. When Ainis gripped them for support, his hands came off raw and painful. Mephala’s home was an unforgiving place.

After almost a hour of travelling through this bleak and desolate landscape, Ainis reached his mother’s home.

It was a bizarre structure. Stone and cobwebs rose miles into the sky, twisting around eachother in a frozen dance. Ice dusted the outside, and the structure hummed, as each taut, frozen cobweb was pulled and twitched by the wind. The gentle howling was carried by the wind, meaning it could be heard miles around. Spider Daedra scuttled around the outside, weaving yet more webs, whilst their spiderling servants followed, carrying out any menial tasks below their mistresses.

The Palace of Cobwebs towered above the world, mighty and hateful in its splendour.

Ainis strode onward, through the gates of ice and silk, ignoring the gatekeeper of the palace. A mighty hall, lit by glowing white strands of cobweb, and shimmering with ice, was through them. Tables of shimmering white cold were laid with a frozen banquet that would never be eaten, and each dish was laced with a fatal poison, each more deadly than the last. On the side of the hall, two staircases went both up and down, the one to the dungeons echoing with screams and howls of those who had displeased Mephala. Failed assassins, insubordinate daedra, all writhed in eternal torment.

At the far end of the hall, a throne of ice and black granite grew out of a pedestal of spider silk. Gnashing skulls of beautifully carved granite adorned the throne, whilst ten beating hearts of ice were connected by veins of stone to the dread chair, pumping the warmth of lifeblood into the seat.

The throne was empty, leaving only one other place for Mephala to be. Ainis sighed, and began to climb the stairs.

To reach Mephala, any visitor would have to get through a series to traps, each more fiendish and deadly. Those who needed to see her and could not find her in her throne room would have to climb the stairs or wait-and Mephala looked unfavourably on those who did not take risk.

Halfway up the first flight, the very first of the traps was triggered. A hail of thousands of darts sprang out, but Ainis was faster, his sword springing out of its sheath and weaving around him, stopping every one of the projectiles from reaching him. Returning it to its sheath, he continued.

On the next flight, the stairs slid flattened themselves, and Ainis found himself sliding towards a spiked pit at the bottom. He grabbed one of the cobwebs lining the wall and hauled himself to the top.

More traps hindered his progress-stairs fell away beneath him, to reveal gaping, hungry maws. Flames of burning ice sprang out of the air, freezing everything they touched. Yet Ainis’ progress was relentless. It was a test, and one Ainis had passed many times.

The final challenge was the most difficult. Here the stairs stopped, leading onto the walls of the Palace of Cobwebs. Nearly anyone would be exhausted, and then they would have to risk two hundred metres of climbing again. It was dangerous and risky. Howling winds threatened to whip the incautious off of the wall, whilst the jagged frost on the cobwebs could lacerate the palms of those who were foolish enough to hold them incorrectly. And to make life more difficult, hundreds of spiderlings would swarm you, forcing you to fight them off and still keep a hold. But at least Ainis had a strategy for dealing with them.

Slipping on specially made gloves, Ainis placed his hands on the first of the strands of web, nimbly vaulting onto the frozen silk. From there, he swung from web to web, monkey like, constantly twisting and spinning around them. Following him were various rustlings and hisses and first dozens, then hundreds, of spiderlings converged upon him.

Still vaulting and flipping around the webs, Ainis drew his sword, keeping an eye on the approaching Daedra. Spiderlings were simple creatures, and weak, but they were cunning and could force you into corners, where you would be forced to fight your way through hundreds before hundreds more would swamp you and eat you alive.

The first of the to miniscule daedra to make its move was neatly bisected by Ainis’ sword, the flying blood freezing in midair, turning into sanguine crystals before they even clinked off the cobwebs. Yet more of its compatriots surged after it though, and Ainis’ blade wove all about him, in front of him, behind him, above him and below, each one killing the tiny daedra, sending their corpses to fly down to bound against cobwebs. Gallons of blood was spilt within minutes, only to freeze. Anyone directly below the battle would think to been showered with a hail of tiny rubies, yet if they held them in their hand they would have melted into puddles of blood.

Then, with frozen crystals of blood coating his clothes, Ainis put his plan into action.

He muttered a few words in a short lull in the tide, and a spiderling of his own materialised into being. The creature immediately attacked the other daedra around it, and was torn apart in seconds, but the creatures assumed the worst.

There was a traitor amongst the swarm.

Within moments, the creatures broke down in a frenzy of biting and clawing, scratching and tearing as each of them tried to bring the supposed traitor to justice. To a spiderling, loyalty to the swarm was everything, and anyone who betrayed the sacred trust had to be killed.

Using the distraction while he could, Ainis slipped away, clambering up the frozen cobwebs, his gloves allowing his grip without his palms being cut to shreds. Yet even an unlucky slip or sudden gust could leave him at risk of a fatal fall, and by the time he reached the top his legs and arms were still badly scratched.

The summit of the precarious climb was of icy stairs of white marble, similar to that of the ayleid, and most likely a nod to them by Mephala for their centuries of enslavement, bloodshed and cruelty.

Guarding the twin doors to Mephala’s personal sanctum were Aiscarris and Sirracsai, two spider daedra both alluring and repellent in their unnatural, arachnid beauty. They smiled at him sadistically as he approached, bloodied and exhausted from his long and hazardous climb.

“He approachesss,” Aiscarris hissed. “Our mistress was…”

“Growing impatient,” Sirracsai finished. The daedric twins held some mental bond, and seemed to know what the other was going to say before their said it. It was an interesting talent, but Ainis had the feeling that they did it just to annoy him.

“Go on…”

“Through.”

Ainis walked past them, pushing the doors aside, and walking into a scene of opulence.

The entire room was a display of decadent finery. Pillows of finest silk adorned a massive bed, whilst the purple painted walls were coated with the exquisite paintings of cruelty and debauchery in equally sickening measures, often the two combined together upon one canvas. It was said that Mephala had kidnapped Nirn’s finest artist and forced him to paint those pictures, and that the content of them, so perfect and yet so appalling, drove him mad. But then again, many things were said about Mephala.

Ainis bowed as he entered the chamber, dread and righteous anger mingling in his stomach, knowing full well why his mother wished for his presence.

“You asked for me?”