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]

The final part, thanks to all who read an commented, I hope you enjoyed reading. Any comments on this part and/or the story overall would be most appriciated.

16. Firewatch

A groan shook me from the grey fields of desolation. I blinked, surprised how dark it had become. Another groan. It came from Varnan. In an instant I was by his side, he lived. The knife was still wedged into his shoulder but it hadn’t killed him outright and he hadn’t bled out. Yet.

I cursed myself for a fool as I rolled him over. Why hadn’t I checked? There was a lot of blood on the burnt remnants of his shirt, the skin beneath was blistered and raw. I tried to peel the embrued cloth from him but stopped when the skin came off with it. I swore inwardly, the wound would bleed when I removed the knife but there are no healers in the wilderness.

I propped him against a rock and went into the yurt. I tired not to look at the fresh blood mottled on the earth floor, and for once almost managed. Pots and crates and baskets flew as I searched; food, curios and clutter fountained behind me. The yurt looked like a heard of kagouti had stampeded though it when I found what I looked for. Small paper bundles of alchemical ingredients. I ripped them open looking for the few I knew would help wounds. My heart lifted when I opened one to the smell of marshmerrow but one look told me it was rotten. I swore and tore at another, my fingers met sticky ooze between the folds of the paper. Resin. One look told me there was already powdered something in it: corkbulb, or whickwheat. I hoped.

I crunched back out of the yurt kicking aside the things crushed beneath my boots and returned to Varnan. A trickle of blood ran from around the knife, the next few moments would decided whether he lived or died. It was down to luck, and my scant experience as a healer.

I reached for the knife’s hilt and drew back. Best have the resin unwrapped. I reached out again. My hand shook. Perhaps I should go and see if there was anything else of use in the yurt? I recognised stalling tactics, they weren’t going to help Varnan. I took a deep breath and cursed my tattered nerves. Quickly I pulled the knife free.

Blood rushed out in a torrent. Varnan stirred and tried to move but could only manage a squirm. I cast the knife aside and pulled a thick strand of the sticky resin. I fed the end of it against the rushing blood and packed it home with my thumb. The blood slowed. I tore off another length and pushed that in on top. In a few moments I had the wound sealed off. I sat back and let the shaking take me. Varnan was slumped and white.

When I had calmed myself I felt his wrist a pulse. Nothing. I felt harder but there was still nothing. Apprehensively I reached for his neck. It took a moment but I found a weak beat. I sank back and put my head into my hands. I had done all I could. My treacherous fingers were loading my pipe before I knew.

I got little sleep that night.


The dawn was as hazy as my mind. The first thing I knew was that I had taken far too much skooma. I wandered why. Then I remembered. I fought back the regrets and staggered up to check on Varnan.

His colour was better but the wound was angry and red, faint red lines reached out from it. Not far but I suspected they would grow. Just as I suspected his already high fever would. For a moment I considered letting him sleep it off but I cast the thought aside, he needed a healer. That meant Firewatch.

It took me three attempts to wake him. He looked around though pain-misted eyes.

“We need to get to Firewatch,” I said giving him a drink from a waterskin.

He answered with an indecipherable groan.

I got him to drink some more and chew some scrib jerky before I stood to go. He nodded wearily and I hauled him up and supported him over one shoulder. It was going to be a long walk.

Luck was with us. We saw nothing living. Even so I was bone weary when the smokes of Firewatch appeared on the horizon. My shoulders burned from propping up Varnan who stared intently at the ground and put one foot before the other. I hadn’t dared stop since lunch, I doubted I could get Varnan going again. We crested a rise and the town was spread below.

Even in my desperation it was an anticlimax. What little I’d heard of Firewatch had been uncomplimentary. From my vantage point on the rise it looked halfway between a nest of flies and a midden. Ramshackle buildings leaned drunkenly at crazy angles over filthy streets. There were no walls round the edge of the town, though a decrepit palisade did ring the centre. I started down the slope.

Varnan was a dead weight. I panted as I half carried him the last hundred yards to where the houses started. At first there was only shacks, randomly arranged beneath the shadow of the larger wooden buildings I’d seen from above. Everything stank of rot. The few people outside stared at the ground and ignored us. Few had shoes and all looked as if they had long since given up.

“Can I have some help,” I called two two dunmer men who were ambling a few yards ahead. They turned and looked as if surprised. It was only when I fished out a few gold coins that they walked over.

“What with?” said one.

“And what are you offering,” added the other. They had strong accents, both smelt of cheap shein.

“I’ll give you ten gold a head,” I wandered at how they pricked up. It had been a starting bid but I had expected to pay double, or more, “If you can direct me to the mages guild and an imperial healer and help me carry him there.”

“Meersa’s the best healer in town,” said the first. Several scars ploughed the left side of his face like a field. His left eye was cloudy.

“I want an imperial,” I said.

He dunmer shrugged, “There’s an imperial cult shrine over by the fort but the healer’s not as good as Meersa.”

“Take me there,” I answered. To my surprise the dunmer were quite strong and wrapped Varnan’s arms around their shoulders. His fever was stronger than before: the wound had gone septic. I winced as I straightened my back. The dunmer were already walking. I followed.

Firewatch was more like a village swollen beyond proportion than a city. The air reeked of brimstone from the multitude of tiny smeltings where the local ore was converted to metal for shipping. The low smoking sheds seemed to be small family businesses trapped between the much higher inns and vendors and taverns. There were no mushroom houses like in most Telvanni towns but the stink of rot was no less. The potholed roads were unsurfaced.

After a few minutes we passed though the earth and wood walls which stood around the inner city. Not much changed inside. The buildings were somewhat higher but just as ill repaired. The people looked richer but far from wealthy and had the same downcast look as those outside.

We came to a long street with some slightly more prosperous businesses. I was surprised to see that the guards were Telvanni even though the town had originally grown around the imperial fort which towered before us at the end of the road. The bottom story of its walls were undressed stone which then gave way to the same rotten wood which made up the rest of the town. In spite of the late hour few of its windows showed light. We hurried towards the gate.

The guard didn’t even look up as we passed, I suspected it would be similar to the Wolverine hall and Sadith Mora. The guards would have nothing to guard but their own fort which, even more so in the case of the mouldering pile I was eventing now, the Telvanni could level whenever relations with the empire were deemed unimportant.
I followed the two dunmer up a flight of stairs to a cracked door. The only hint that a shrine lay within was a faded relief carving on the lintel. The dunmer stopped and sat Varnan on the top step, “This is the Imperial Chapel, the mages guild representative is somewhere in the fort. The chaplain should know,” said the one with the scarred face.

The other simply held out his hand. I dropped the coins into it, “My thanks,” I said. They didn’t reply as they left down the stairs.

The door was locked so I banged on it. After a moment I heard muttered swearing from within and it opened. An elderly man looked out, “What do you want?” he asked. A scowl plastered on his face.

“My friend needs a healer,” I said.

The man glared at Varnan and sighed. “Fine. Don’t just stand there, the heat’s getting out.”

I pulled Varnan upright. He looked at me dazedly, his legs jelly. The old priest cursed again and I dragged him inside. The room was low ceilinged and lit only by a few cheap tallow candles. The collection bowl on the alter was almost empty.

“Ceril,” the old man shouted though to the next room, “Come here you lazy son of a nix.”

A painfully thin young man scuttled though from the next the room. By his looks he was Breton. He hunched and looked at the uneven floor, “Yes father Nuncius?”

“There’s a man needs your skills.” He turned to me, “There is the matter of payment though.”

“What?”

“Gold. It doesn’t grow on trees, neither does the wood for the fire, as I’ve surely known this winter.”

I pulled out a fistful of coins, “There father,” I spat, “The mages guild should sort out any more you need.” He counted them out, his lip curling. Without a word he went to a door behind the alter and went though it, I glimpsed a bed before he slammed it.

I turned to the man he had called Ceril. Already he looked over Varnan, “His fever is high,” he said.

“Yes,” I answered, “The wound was from a knife a day ago, its gone bad.”

The healer looked, “It has, what did you dress it with?”

“Resin.”

He nodded, “I might have tried that, it appears it has not worked. Give me a hand with him though to the store would you?”

A hand turned out to involve me moving him, laying a blanket on the floor and rolling him onto it while Ceril got in the way. Once done Ceril bent over him. “Best leave us, I’ll do what I can to draw the poison tonight and drop the fever though he may just have to burn it off.”

I nodded, “Where is the mages guildhall?”

“There’s no guildhall,” he answered in surprise, “But they do have a retainer upstairs. It the second room on the right.”

“Thanks,” I left him looking over Varnan and went out the chapel.

Outside I yawned. The events of the past days weighed heavy in my mind. I doubted I would be paid. Two guild members dead, another injured. And problems I didn’t even understand: such a debacle could well get me demoted. And Renera. Thoughts of her lay over the others like a silhouette. I hadn’t thought I’d see her again. Then I had. Then I’d lost her. Again.

I needed a smoke, and a drink. In that order. Now I didn’t have Varnan to worry about the mages could wait. I went down the stairs and left the grim fort for the bleak city. Somewhere in the city there would be a tavern dismal enough to suit my mood. And waiting for me in that Tavern was the oblivion I so desired.


THE END