Darkness Calls, The story of a Bravil assassin Options

[Winter Wolf]

Hi folks!!

I have finally gotten around to posting here at Chorrol. This story first appeared at the unnameable forum but I only managed to post the first chapter before the site fell head first off the cliff.

Hope you enjoy and dont forget to shout out any nitpicks you see.


**


CHAPTER 1 –


A Bravil watchman moved along the rampart in the gathering dark, his footsteps sounding on the wooden landing. Flickering light from the wall sconce danced across his heavy armor and surcoat, outlining a face that was crowded under lines of tiredness. Leaning over the railing he glanced downwards.

The dilapidated shacks of the town below pushed upwards through the dark like a set of broken teeth, the jagged eaves clashing against each other in the impoverished silence. The watchman’s eyes scanned the backdrop for any sign of alarm, but few signs of movement could be found.

A moment later a shadow detached from the left hand wall and another guard appeared beside the rail.

“Well met, my friend, how goes it?” he asked.

“Four bells and all is well,” the first man replied and stifled a yawn.

The replacement guard nodded. “Yes, it does seem as quiet as a church mouse out there. But as we know, that always the most dangerous time of all. The town may look like a slumbering animal, but the heartbeat is still ticking.”

“Yes, do keep a sharp eye out,” he noted, glad to be moving away slowly.

“Sleep tight, darling.”


**

The night was warm and humid. Tucked within their beds most of the citizens tossed fitfully in their sleep. It was the moment just before dawn when dark dreams gave way to the memories of youth, sweet impressions that spoke of a former time. Outside the mullioned casement footsteps could be heard, the sound mingling with the faint, snatched cries of the stall sellers that drifted across from the other side of town. The air was heavy with expectation, panting like a giant hound.

A figure headed down a quiet lane. Soft light teased across his pointed ears and dark outfit. It framed a neatly folded letter that poked surreptitiously out of one tiny pocket.

In part it read:

Oh beloved assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, let us, the ruling council, grant you this most important mission. We have word that the old fool, Adamus Phillida, has finally taken up his residence at the City Watch barracks in the southern town of Leyawiin.

The pest of the Brotherhood has made the one fatal mistake of thinking that we would ever forget his past. Fate has now delivered him into our dark loving embrace, an opportunity that we cannot let slip by.

Dear brother, we need you to pay him a visit and make sure that his new home also becomes his permanent place of retirement.

Your loving benefactor-
The ruling council of the Black Hand.

Aradroth smiled to himself. It felt good to be wanted again. Clutched like a greedy piglet to the teat he could feel the warm milk of the Night Mother running down his lips and throat, a gluttonous thrill that was paramount to death in its intensity. Her loving bulk provided all the sustenance that he needed, a clan love that would forever define who he was and leave the cretin world around him living in a bland, colorless land of emptiness.

Opening the front gate he stepped outside.

A member of the Bravil watch stood at the far end of the front bridge. Clad in sooty armor turned dark by the cloaking shadows of morning, he reminded Aradroth of that futile blockade that sheltered upon the edge of Kvatch.

As a man accustomed to studying the fortification and defence of people he was paid to kill, the small assassin was always mystified by the false assumption that the cutting of the bridge ropes would protect and seal off the town from the waiting horde of Mehrunes Dagon. Just how many people did the foolish Count of Bravil think would be able to slip unannounced through the secret tunnel to the tower of Fathis Aren? And how many would die under the harsh conditions of a siege?

The Bravil guardsman did not notice the assassin until it was too late. Spinning around his gloved hand came to a belated rest on the pommel of his steel long sword.

“Oh Aradroth, it’s you,” the guard said in shock, his heart beating rapidly inside his steel chest. “I didn’t realize that you were there.”

The Bosmer assassin stood silent and cold, a contrast to the humidity around him. Small and slight; his gray eyes shone with a feverish light from the shadows of his black hood.

“Sorry Gladius,” he replied, his voice soft and raspy, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The meandering eyes of the guardsman looked the assassin up and down.

“Are you out on a morning hunt, sir?” he asked, putting his hand out.

Aradroth shook his head. “No, not this time,” he answered, slipping two septims into the guard’s hand. “I am taking a little trip to Skingrad.”

“Are you there on business or do you have family or friends?” he asked curiously, pocketing the coins.

“I have enrolled myself into therapy,” came back the simple reply.

The guard’s eyes blinked. “Sorry?”

“I am hooking up with Else-Godhater and a few others. We are doing a seminar on ‘Righting past wrongs.’ I have decided that it is important to open up on those deep and personal issues. It revitalizes the spirit when you learn to love again.”

Confusion spread across the guardsman’s face. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Are you having trouble, sir?”

The assassin smiled. “I don’t know. I feel isolated and disconnected. Like something is not quite right.”

“Well that is great that you are doing something about it. I have always felt that the step to join the Bravil watch was the most important one I ever took.”

Aradroth paused. “Yeah, I suppose you are right. I envy that sense of connection you seem to have around you with every little thing. Especially the way someone has committed a crime on the other side of Cyrodiil, yet you still are able to pinpoint them exactly. It must be some form of clairvoyance.”

The guard seemed taken aback. “Have you noticed that? I have always thought that it was our commitment to duty that made us rise above the call of duty.”

The assassin headed away. “Yeah, maybe you are right. That is the reason I am joining therapy. I am hoping to regain my balance with the world again.” With a smirk he added, “Who knows? When I am finished I might end up looking just like you.”

“Well, good luck with that endeavour, my friend,” Gladius called out in blissful ignorance at the retreating figure.

Aradroth turned. “Care to place a wager on that?”


**


The road that headed to Leyawiin stretched out of sight as it weaved through the southern forests like a muddy snake.

His mind was still thinking cynically pleasing thoughts about the mediocrity in the world when he realized that something was wrong. Cursing bitterly for allowing himself to become sidetracked, his slate gray eyes quickly swept the sides of the grubby track.

The green foliage and tall swampy reeds around him looked normal enough, but something teased at the tattered edge of his senses, something indescribable. From his neck a salty bead of sweat slowly trickled downwards, running its meandering way over the lined folds of skin. As it hit his leather collar he realized what it was.

The landscape was quiet. Not a bird or insect could be heard.

The tall reeds on the left hand side suddenly exploded with movement and a large shape charged into the clearing. Brown and very large, the creature swiped at the Dark Brotherhood member with a fearsome claw.

Scampering backwards the assassin fell onto his rump, pain lancing his left hip where he struck a rock. His bow disappeared off to the side.

Towering over him the creature was massive, standing over seven feet tall, with a dark snout and coarse, bristling fur.

Fear spurred the prone elf to action at the next moment and the Bosmer opened his palm. Magic light coursed down the inside of his forearm, the magicka flowing like a river of light. The blue veins rippled down his fingers.

“Guulosh Torr,” he cried, and a purplish-black shape materialized to his right hand side.

The bear’s caramel eyes blinked in confusion and it paused in its attack. The coin of fate that spun with a decreasing speed finally caught a reflection of two opponents that hung suspended in time. Slowly, beyond thought, control or even reason, the creature’s eyes turned and focused on the skeletal guardian.

The relieved assassin watched as the bear charged forward with a speed that defied its tremendous bulk and a vicious paw smacked into the undead. Taking the impact on its steel shield, the skeleton was thrown backward through the air, bits of bone from his shied arm flying in all directions. He landed far off to the side.

“Damn it,” muttered Aradroth as he rose quickly to his feet. Tiny spatters of mud were kicked up as he moved.

Reaching under his cloak he withdrew Cat’s Eye from its scabbard. Glowing runes danced up and down the hilt of the sword as it emerged into the morning air. The weight of the weapon felt reassuring in his grasp, a pull of energy that went deep down into his core.

Stepping forward the morning light ran along the elven designed hilt as it swung downwards. The sword bit hard and chunks of fur and blood disappeared past the edge of his vision. The next moment the shock enchantment of the weapon mauled just as hard, the assassin struggling to hold on as the sword coveted the gore and death of his adversary.

Roaring in horror the creature flung its broad head around and droplets of blood coated the assassin in a ghastly, decadent wine. A moment later a retaliatory claw smashed into the assassin’s leather shield. The impact threw Aradroth bouncing onto the road.

Spinning around him the world turned in crazy circles, a hundred stars dancing back and forth before his eyes.

Not again! he thought haphazardly as he looked down at the mud. Gritting against the pain Aradroth charged back to his feet and renewed the attack. From the other side of the road the Skeleton Guardian clanked over to aid him from the rear.

A minute later the booming sound of Azura’s Star resounded in his ears as the mountain of fur crashed to the ground.

Aradroth collapsed onto one knee beside it.

Breathing in ragged gasps he glanced across at the bear and then down at the abject state of his dark travelling cloak in disgust.

“Oh bull dust.....” he muttered.

On the other side of the road the skeletal axeman brought its remaining arm wide apart and hissed loudly. Aradroth could not tell if it made a victorious or mocking sound.

“Don’t you start,” he warned, pulling himself slowly to his feet.

The skeleton hissed at him again.

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Mar 29 2010, 04:52 PM

[Winter Wolf]

Olen -
Thanks for stopping in. The hard part about Dar Jee is that I love him so much as a NPC. The desire to make him the protaganist instead of Aradroth is very strong, lol. The nit on cider is spot on. I was thinking of barrel or tun but for some reason put cider.

mALX -
I am glad that you like Dar Jee. He is so cool, isn't he? My favourite NPC are Dar and City Swimmer, it must be something about Argonians that I love. It was inevitable that I wrote my story about Bravil and Leyawiin, I guess. Strange though that I have never played an Argonian character. Weird huh??!!

Minque -
Aradroth says Welcome. Or should that be G'Day? So nice of you to drop in, wow, a Global Moderator. Does that mean that every forum moderator on the planet bows to your supremacy?? Cool.

SubRosa -
Thanks for you comments. They have truly made me smile. Cheers on spotting the nits. At the last moment I removed all the commas that were already there for some stupid reason. I guess that I feel my writing is overdependent on them. I guess I should have left it!!

Haute ecole rider -
Cheers Haute. Wow, high praise from somebody with your amazing talent. Dar Jee is so much fun.

Destri Melarg -
I had been wanting to write an Oblivion story for so long but I never had the entrance for Aradroth. I had the character, I had the description, but I never had the plot line. One day as I was playing through the DB questline I then said to myself, "Yes, that will do perfect." I am glad that you are enjoying my 'simple' writing style. Thanks.

Treydog -
Thanks for the kind words Trey. I have spent alot of time studying how you write the Athlain story so well, and I still am no closer to understanding the mystery of it. Both you are Rumple are the kings and queens of the castle in my eyes. Cheers.

Acadian -
G' Day my Aussie mate, lol. Please send my love to Buffy, I, like everybody from Beth miss her tremendously. I would love to know which quests you two are doing now?? Is she listening to your guidance?? Or still running amok??

**


CHAPTER 4 –


From the trees on leathered wings like a unfurling cape, the great bat lizard was large as the ship, but good pilot Topal merely rose his bow, and struck it in its head.
- Father of the Niben.



The man stood at the glass door. Looking out through the bevelled panes, the patio beyond swam in a murky, deep sea of cloud. How ironic, he thought, that the world around him should choose to mirror his own thoughts.

Pushing the door open Adamus Phillida stepped out onto the hard surface. The night air beyond the marble railing was as hushed as a thief, crouching at the pre-dawn rim of the world. Moving across to it he greeted it like a friend, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

He stared outwards into the dark. A thin veil of thoughts floated up alongside the steam that rose from the cup of herbal tea that rested within his gnarled hands. A furrowed brow caught the heavy feeling of tiredness within the ridge lines of his face, weighing him down. His dark eyes were wide and vacant.

Sounds rose from beyond the black canopy of night, the usual din that heralded the start of each day. He could hear the staccato rat-tat of frogs nearby, the willowy song of the Rufous Whistler and the brief cry of the Honeyeater. From the same direction the smell of Black marsh invaded his nostrils.

It was all cloying and strangely sweet.

Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else in the dark as well. It was a voice perhaps, with human cunning and logic. It spoke softly, gently, a malevolent lullaby that threatened to shatter the existence of his world.

The voice whispered to him, “We know where you are and we are coming.”



**


The morning sun was out. Claudius Avellan moved down the road at a solid pace, his steel mail boots clashing out against the bumpy surface. Tiny flakes of grass, growing up with determination between the cobblestones were crushed flat with each pounding step.

“Move citizen,” he shouted, pushing a startled merchant out of the way.

Tripping against a small crate the overweight man crashed through a stacked barrel of flour.

“Adamus Phillida is coming through,” he exclaimed, holding out a gloved hand to stall off any form of argument.

Like a sea that was parting before him, the citizens of Leyawiin quickly headed to the outside of the road. Bunched together like a sprig of grapes, they all stared up at him in surprise.

Holding his head high and proud Claudius brushed aside any thoughts that he was stepping outside the standard rules of conduct. His mandate had already been made absolutely clear: Protect the Commander at any cost.

He knew that the days of doing everything by the book were long gone anyway. First there was talk of the Mythic Dawn and the death of Uriel Septim, then the extinguishing of the Dragon’s Fire and the whispered tones mentioning the coming of the daedra to the mortal world, and finally rumours saying that the Dark Brotherhood had contracts out on Adamus Phillida.

Desperate times require desperate measures and a few courageous men would have to take up the sword and operate right on the limit of honour.

It made perfect sense to him anyway. Nobody did love a soldier until the enemy was at the gate.

His thoughts also strayed back to his lovely Maria. How she had cried with joy when he told her that this pay rise and promotion had come through. He could still remember the little- girl loveliness in her expression when she said that he was the luckiest man in the whole realm to have this job. Hugging her small frame he certainly felt that her words contained that core of truth.

For several years he had struggled to rise through the ranks of the Leyawiin watch. It wasn’t his fault that he was painstaking and outspoken. What a lovely moment of revenge it was that Adamus Phillida had noticed him when he first arrived at Leyawiin. Although he liked to think that his commitment to duty struck a chord with grizzled Commander also.

Either way Maria was right. Perhaps his luck was just starting to change.


**


Turning the corner in the narrow lane Claudius headed underneath the curved, stone archway and took up a position beside the small gate. On the other side of the low fence, a smooth pond sat in quiet tranquillity. The surface was undisturbed by even the barest ripple. A series of tiny steps through the gate led down to the green water.

Adamus Phillida stopped next to the gate and proceeded to disrobe. The process took a few minutes and resulted in the ceremonial dumping of all his majestic pieces of armor and weaponry. Pushing open the gate he headed down the steps to his personal bathing pool. Following his usual habit he ducked his face under the cool water and rubbed his wet hands across his eyes.

Glancing across at his boss Claudius Avellan couldn’t help but admire the Commander’s broad shoulders and back. Clad in only a pair of sack cloth pants, the strength and power that his imposing physique generated was still a sight to behold.

He felt a pang of regret that he didn’t have the opportunity to have worked under Commander Phillida when he wielded real power. Now that must have been some experience!

The bodyguard suddenly felt his shoulders and neck pulled backward. Crashing flat onto his back the impact drove the air sharply from his lungs.

It took a few seconds for his mind to catch up to the strange sensation of falling. What had happened?

A dark shadow loomed upwards beside him. The quietness of the spectre made him suspect the Nine Divines had perhaps answered his unspoken question. Turning his head to face the visitation Claudius was hit by the shock of confusion for the second time when he noticed the spectre was clad in the dark robes of a necromancer.

Now that was strange. What would a necromancer be doing here in Leyawiin?

A moment later the incapacitated bodyguard felt a light finger drawn across his neck. It reminded him of the caressing touch of a small piece of ice, and the sensation was not unpleasant.

Memories of delightful times with his betrothal suddenly crashed over him. The images came perforce and he let them play.

Sunlight warm and soft, washed upon his skin, and the air around him spoke in a dozen familiar voices, each one calling his name with quiet expectation. The tang of the air carried with it a hint of a clear sea breeze and he could feel the presence of solid figures just beyond the light.

Maria appeared beside him.

Laced across her skin her dark hair fell like a spill of midnight. A thin, diaphanous shift teased the edge of his vision, hinting at the promise of succulent delights beneath.

She reached out for him with a slim and elegant hand.

His breath caught and bubbled within his throat.

Accepting her warm touch he reached downwards to kiss the bones of her hand.

How strange that Claudius felt his head slowly slip to the side and kiss the grass instead.

The stone wall of Leyawiin washed back over his vision, and he noticed that the man beside him had risen to his feet. Dropped within arm’s reach a purple nightshade flower rested on the ground like a spent vessel of hate.

An explosion of fire suddenly coursed through his heart as he realized that the Dark Brotherhood had struck. Blood red and as harsh as the landscape of Oblivion it pounded into him like a viscous spike.

Horror broke over him in a flood. He had failed!

Bloody fingers twitched spasmodically on the grass as he tried to futilely grasp the leather shoe of the assassin. The vivid color that splashed upon him matched the sea of boiling claret that bubbled up from his opened throat as his pumping heart pushed him closer and closer to death.

Turning to the side the dark clad spectre glanced down at him. He was surprised to see that the assassin was diminutive and had the almond shaped eyes of an elf. They were fierce, not in the fiery other-side-of Oblivion fierce, but cold, unrelenting, unforgiving, like the frozen wind that roared out of the northern reaches of Skyrim. They seemed to mock him before turning away.

The assassin lifted his glowing red bow and aimed an arrow at Adamus Phillida.

No! Claudius cried lamentably. Unfortunately the severed arteries on both sides of his neck prevented him from shouting out.

The arrow plunged into the naked back of Adamus.

He watched paralysed as the Commander pitched forward into the water.

Spinning in a lost haze of shattered beliefs Claudius had one last thought that overrode them all.

His last thought was about luck.

It had not changed at all.

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Apr 25 2010, 07:52 AM