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]

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.