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.

[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.