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]

mALX -
I am very glad that you enjoyed my take on the quest. Have you ever made a character specific for the DB or have you just used a general build and taken your character through it?

Sub Rosa -
Thanks for spotting the nits. Your eyes miss nothing! Much appreciated on the suggestion to use 'painstaking' in the sentence. It reads much better now. Cheers.

Haute ecole rider -
I am spinning in circles here thinking that the POV in the last chapter might have worked. I knew that I didn't want to just have my character commit the murder and have the POV just follow it. Thanks!

Acadian -
Thanks for your kind words, oh paladin. I will always see myself as a novice writer who just loves to tinker around in my spare time with wordplay. The great thing about coming both here and at Beth is that there is so much talent that is does help you see the light at the end of the tunnel. I have spent some time at other fan fics (for games like dead space and red faction) but the writers here really do leave the rest for dead.

Zalphon -
Thanks for stopping by Zalphon. Painting pictures in the mind is half the fun with writing.

Destri Melarg -
Thanks for pointing out the cloud/fog part. I do agree with your suggestion and must go back to change it.

Cheers to both you and Sage Rosa for mentioning the grass pounded under the shoes part. The assassin story is hard to write properly and it does help to set the character against the tyranny that is arrayed against Leyawiin. There is something about Bravil and Leyawiin that will always be Aradroth. It is his home.

Remko -
Thanks for your vote of confidence! The weird thing about my writing is that the strong metaphors only come out in my fantasy writing. If I wrote a modern day fiction story it would flow with a much better balance than what I show here. Reading back over Aradroth I cannot help but think it is metaphors and nothing else!!


**



CHAPTER 5 -


Aradroth charged down the broken steps and landed beside the floating corpse of Adamus Phillida.

Reaching downwards the assassin pulled up the Imperial’s head from the cold, green water and gave him a rudimentary inspection. The ‘Rose of Sithis’ that he used for the strike was embedded at the base of the neck and very little blood flowed from the opening into the water beyond.

Staring down at the body before him Aradroth had always thought that this assassination would be the hardest one of his career, and was very surprised at the ease of it. A pang of guilt touched his features as he realized that his faith in the Dread Father was not what it should be and immediately promised that it would never happen again.

Aradroth knew that he was only a male and was nothing compared to the glorious love that trickled from the cold bosom of the Night Mother. As a member of the Brotherhood he felt ashamed that he had put bosmer emotion ahead of the greater good. The tenets taught that power, vanity, and rage were things that should be avoided, an evil scourge that always threatened to bring noble men like him under. The fools of the world would always be like sheep to the slaughter and it annoyed him to think that he had merged his thinking into that of the herd.

Dropping the heavy head as if it were a piece of trash Aradroth felt immeasurably better when it hit the stone step under the water with a wet thud. Glancing over the body he quickly searched for any sign of treasure but only came up with a decorative ring that was attached to the middle finger.

Pulling it aggressively off the Commander he slipped it into one of the numerous hidden pouches under his dark cloak, noting that the ring had a thin streak of washed blood across the outside rim.

Apparently his adversary was alive long enough at one point to have grasped his death wound.

Aradroth couldn’t help but smile agreeably. It was the little touches that made even the most depressive day feel so much better.




**


Jumping to the side of the pond Aradroth splashed through the ankle deep water and charged around the shallows. The world became a blur as he slipped between the tiny shacks that lined the back of the embankment.

He had only reached the second building when a shout rose up behind.

“Murder!” the voice cried, with panic and fear in its tone. A loud whistle sounded from the same direction.

“Damn it,” Aradroth cursed, his mind dwelling on the distance between himself and the sanctuary of the western gate. It seemed a vast chasm.

Footsteps sounded behind him, a dozen boots pounding on the wooden boardwalk.

Sprinting along a winding alley Aradroth weaved past a priest of Zenithar, his heart pounding like the crash of the ocean in his ears. The man, a pompous fool in a fake fur coat, screamed in a high pitched voice as he jumped out of the way.

Charging around a corner he arrived at the main thoroughfare that led straight towards the beckoning gate. Pulling Cat’s Eye out of its scabbard Aradroth ran straight up to the nearest horse and wagon.

Turning the mystical blade to the flat side he swung the weapon hard.


**

The Argonian aboard the wooden seat screamed in fright as the horse lifted from underneath him.

Grabbing frantically for the reins Dar Jee felt the animal charge down the road, pulling both him and the large wagon load of watermelons along with it. Whipping through his hands the reins of the horse felt like the torture lash of the Leyawiin watch. Yet for some reason the moment was strangely exhilarating. His razor sharp teeth lit up his face in a broad grimace.

Taking a deep breath he lifted himself up and waved a scaly hand around.

“Look out!” he cried, “I am coming through.”

A few people who had noticed him screamed out loud and ran to the side. Others who had been busy loading their food into buckets and drays had no idea until the sun suddenly went dark and a huge shape flashed by.

Several of the guards looked up and their mouths opened in horror. They had the look of impending disaster on their faces. Dar Jee knew exactly how they felt.

Gripping the reins even tighter he gave up any hope of being able to control the next series of events. The world around him seemed to go in slow motion as the wagon closed upon the market stalls. He could see the neat and orderly square that the stalls were set up in and the people who clustered in the middle like frightened rabbits. The sight might have been comical to Dar Jee under any other circumstance. Praying to the Divines he knew it was an extremely long shot to hope that he might make it through the centre unscathed.

Without warning the unruly spoked wheel of the wagon decided to collapse. Dar Jee held his breath as the transport veered to the side.

People scattered in all directions in a screaming mass.

Aboard the low tables the white chickens could tell that they were in trouble. Squawking furiously from within their pent up cages the wings of the small birds beat a desperate cadence.

The last image that Dar Jee had was the feathers going up and down and the chickens saying “Lift! Lift!”

Timber broke apart. Reality slipped down the drain. He felt a pain, faint and far away, in his shoulders and arms as the rest of him followed his head into the morning sky. The wagon fell away beneath him. He was flying.

The air, cool and fresh, laced upon his scales like the teasing hand of a lover, welcoming him into the opened arms of flight. All around him the world was suddenly alive with watermelons and feathers. How strange, he thought, what in Nirn are they doing together?

Unsure of the answer Dar Jee crashed into a wooden post. There was no pain at the collision, although he was marginally aware that his shoulder had connected hard enough to completely destroy the object.


**

Across the area the dust slowly settled on a scene of absolute chaos. The market stalls had been completely destroyed. Kindling and bodies lay everywhere. A dozen watermelons tumbled and bounced around like a haphazard game of skittles.

Standing together in a shocked group the watch at the western gate did not know what to do.

“Look out!” one of the guards shouted as the skidding halt of the horse slid up towards the gate. Jumping backwards he was horrified to see a companion disappear under the heaving mass. Only the steel mail boots poked out from beneath the steaming, dark hide.



**

A large group of people milled outside the western gate. Off to the side a Khajiit stood in a faded robe of linen. A tattered grey hood was pulled low over his face. His light, olive eyes shone vividly as he scanned the crowd around him.

A peddler in trinkets, his suitcase lay open on the muddy ground beside him.

“Come friends,” he said in a raspy voice, “Enter my travelling bazaar and prepare to be amazed. Callipers, jewellery, you name it. M’aiq knows much, tells some, M’aiq knows many things others do not.”

A few of the housewives moved forward to inspect his suitcase.

“Yes, yes,” he cried gleefully, “I have many gemstones that would suit the lovely ladies here. Polished jewellery transported all the way from the land of Vvardenfell. Very high quality, I assure you. Come closer and take a look.”

A shout suddenly sounded from the rear of the crowd.

M’aiq lifted his eyes and a deep furrow creased his forehead. Across the sea of people a dark clad male had suddenly appeared. In his hand a glowing elven short sword was held menacingly. Dazzling bolts of lightning flicked up and down the serrated edge.

“Stop right there, criminal scum,” one of the guards cried.

M’aiq sighed in disappointment. His chance of making a sale were about to go down the drain.

The male in the dark robes charged forward quickly on nimble feet. The sword curved downwards in a vicious arc. Brains and blood flew in ragged streamers.

People screamed and fled in all directions.

The diminutive male charged past the falling corpse and headed straight towards the embankment on the other side of the road. With an assortment of Leyawiin watch hot on his tail he disappeared into the dark, green foliage.

Jostled and shoved by the sea around him M’aiq would only later find out that somebody had accidently stood on his beloved suitcase in the wild stampede.

It broke his heart.

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Jun 27 2010, 07:26 AM