Slipping into Shadow, Portia had stolen from Mehrunes Dagon, and he wasn't about to let Options

[Ornamental Nonsense]

Chapter 1: The Job

The room was dark but for the faint glow of the fire that burned atop a central column. The unearthly, red flames danced without fuel, and the light that they cast lent a menacing quality to the room’s angular design. Shadows arched and curved in every direction, and it was in their paths that a lone thief crouched and hid. Her soft leather boots made no noise on the black marble floors, and a chameleon spell overlaid her dark clothing. Everything here seemed unnaturally black, from the walls to the statues, to the occasional dremora that roamed the halls in daedric armor. There was, of course, also some red. If she looked closely, the thief noticed that red runes covered the polished walls from floor to ceiling, but she could not read the ancient symbols. Nor could she understand how Oblivion had come into possession of the silky, crimson curtains that draped over the impossibly tall windows, but it hardly mattered.

However Mehrunes Dagon wanted to decorate his home was his own business. She just had to find that one artifact, and then she could leave. Unsure of herself, the thief placed a hand to her belt and made sure that the spell scroll was still there. Without it, she had no way out of this god-forsaken land, and she couldn’t imagine what would happen to her if she were caught. Damn them all—the daedra and the Imperials. In the disturbing silence of this dark manor, she rained curses down upon anyone and everyone who might have had a hand in sending her here, yet she continued on.

Her hands gently pushed against an ebony door, the wood surprisingly cool in the warm, stifling air of this place, and it mutely swung inward. Where was she now? There was a four-post bed, and a massive one at that, which dominated the room. Its dark frame was lavished in blood-red blankets and curtains that almost appeared to shimmer purple depending on the angle from which one looked at them. The floor was so smooth and polished that it reflected the ceiling like a mirror, and the braziers lining the edge of the circular room sent light flickering across the stones. It was a beautifully regal sight in its own way, and the thief was hesitant to enter, but then her eyes landed on the table.

There was a large table at the foot of the bed, and its surface was strewn with artifacts. Some of them glittered with enchantment, but others appeared as ordinary as rocks, and those were probably the most powerful ones. She stepped closer while scanning the collection for a simple, black necklace. It would look like a plain piece of onyx on a gold chain, but it was also very small. Where…? The thief’s breath caught as she located the prize where it lay half-hidden behind a skull. Now she could go home.

“What do you think you’re doing, human?” Pure panic—that’s what her reaction to that low, rumbling voice could be called. The verbal threat had appeared from nowhere, and she froze in fear as a dark presence descended upon the room. When instincts finally kicked in and told her to grab the necklace and run, it was too late. Pain erupted in her body—a searing sensation that made concentration impossible. She was being burned alive. Akatosh’s mercy, but this was the end, and she wanted it to end as her nerves were consumed by scorching heat. She closed her eyes in preparation for death, not wanting to see the victorious face of her opponent.

“I won’t make it so fast, mortal,” the same voice as before stated, and then the pain lessened.”You’ve intruded where you don’t belong.” Breathing heavily, the thief felt a hand grip her tunic and hoist her up from the ground where she had fallen in anguish. The lingering effects of the destruction spell still had her head reeling, but she was quite aware of being suspended in the air. “Open your eyes!” her captor harshly ordered.

Don’t, but a claw ran down the side of her face, breaking the skin and causing her to gasp. Eyelids flew open, and she suddenly found herself face-to-face with the last being that she wanted to see: Mehrunes Dagon. She didn’t even have time to take in his appearance, for his black eyes were sucking her into their depths. Gods above, but how could eyes be so black and bottomless? For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, and her gaping, terrified expression made Mehrunes Dagon laugh. The deep, throaty sound filled the room, and then she was falling, his mocking laughter the only sound chasing her into unconsciousness. And the pain—gods, but the pain was unbearable.

Portia Augustine woke up screaming, the sheets beneath her damp with sweat and blood, and the lone candle on the bedside table flickering with the breeze coming through her opened window. She lurched forward into a sitting position, head clutched in her hands, and chest heaving. It had felt so damn real, like she was there again, like a normal dream shouldn’t have been able to accomplish. Four weeks and she was still having these nightmares, and no mage or priest had been able to do anything to stop them.

“Damn it!” she yelled, not caring if anyone heard. The pain in her right hip had returned, as she’d known it would, and the nightmare lingered with the tenacity of Mehrunes’ malicious spirit. His eyes…she shuddered and stood, one hand gingerly touching the wound on her side. Blood had soaked through her nightgown, and she slowly rolled up the white fabric to reveal a strange, angular symbol carved into her flesh. The priests had warned that it might not ever fully heal, and she believed them. The wound was unnatural in the utmost, and bleeding almost always accompanied her troubled dreams. She never lost enough blood to be endangered, but it still hurt, and it was a reminder of who was after her.

Was he after her?

Hell, she didn’t think that he’d actually leave her alone, not after what she had done.

You’ll always carry this reminder, human. You are mine! The memory of Mehrunes’ parting words made her face pale, and she rushed into the washing room to clean herself of the bloodshed that he visited upon her. His angry visage had promised revenge when she’d escaped his grasp, but he could not touch her here in the capital. There were warding spells on the house, and the daedra lord was currently busy trying to conquer Tamriel. So she might feel trapped by his threats, but at least she was safe for now, perhaps forever.

Really?

Portia ran a shaky hand through her long, brown hair and prayed to Akatosh for protection. With a flask of brandy in hand, she sat on the edge of her bed, the smell of the alcohol comforting her as memories played before her eyes…

***********************

Four Weeks Previously:

The curtains gently billowed as wind swept up over the fortress walls and along the parapets, carrying with it the familiar scent of lilac and the muffled chatter of the market. It was a calming sensation, and one which was sorely needed at the moment, for Portia Augustine had just received what promised to be the toughest assignment of her life. She stood with hands braced against the windowsill, palms pressed hard against the cold stone, and eyes mindlessly roaming across the shoppers below. For such a seemingly normal day, her world was being flipped on its head.

“You’re sure that you can’t find someone else?” she asked, voice flat. She heard the man behind her shift, but she knew that it wasn’t in discomfort. This man had no remorse for what he was doing to her.

“The job is too delicate to be assigned to someone else,” he stated in a voice that left no room for argument.

“Assigned?” Portia nearly spat. “I am no longer under your watch, sir. In case you forgot, I left the guard two years ago.” And I left for a reason, she mentally added.

“Be that as it may, someone has to do this.” They lapsed into silence, and Portia finally turned away from the window. The burgundy curtains grazed her thighs as she stood there, framed in the sunlight. She was facing a man in his late forties, perfectly polished armor encasing his tall frame, and short brown hair tucked behind his ears. His face was beginning to show the lines of age and stress, but he held himself like a man in control. Hell, he was a man in control. Arelius was captain of the guard, held a near perfect record, and was known for being entrusted with delicate matters. Portia had once been privy to his privileged, inside information, for she had been a fellow member of the Blades, but not anymore, and so when he had shown up at the foot of her bedroll yesterday, she had known that it didn’t bode well. She had been enjoying her little sojourn into the wilderness…

“Portia,” he said. “I have my orders to see this task finished, and you’re the only one who even has a shot at success.”

“It’s suicide,” she sharply replied.

“Not if it’s done properly,” came the immediate response. “You always handled your assignments with a stealth more suited to the Thieves’ Guild than the guard. That’s why I recruited you to the Blades, and that’s why you’ll succeed.” Portia smiled and shook her head in wonder.

“You’ve always had a talent for this,” she mused. “Whenever I wanted to back out, you always convinced me that I could get the job done…but not this time, captain. I left my duties behind, and I don’t want to come back. I doubt that I’m welcomed anyway.”

“You’ll be working alone,” Arelius assured. “You don’t need to see the others, and they’ll keep their hands to themselves if I tell them to.” Portia focused on the hilt of his sword, the familiar eagle carved along its edge conjuring memories of being a new recruit. Back then she had envied him his sword and the respect that its sight commanded. He had been the model, and she had been the newbie earning her way up the ladder before accidently murdering a fellow Blade. She could still imagine the blood running through her fingers and the look of disbelief on the man’s face. Damn, but she had mistaken him for an assassin. What had he been doing lurking behind her in the shadows?

Arelius noted the sudden intensity of Portia’s face and his expression softened.

“Let it go,” he ordered. “No one blames you.”

“Are we through here?” she demanded. She was not discussing this with him.

“No.”

“And why not?”

“You will be doing this job, whether you like it or not.” He grimly passed her a slip of paper. “I didn’t want to resort to this, but my hand isn’t the only one behind this mission. The Elder Council won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.” Portia examined the piece of paper, and her eyes suddenly widened in comprehension. They couldn’t press charges against her for involvement with the Grey Fox. She had…she would never…the nerve of those men!

“If I’m found guilty?” she probed.

“When you’re found guilty, you’ll be executed.”

“That's BS, and you know it.”

“Like I said: not my choice.” But his eyes showed no remorse; they never did. This man lived for the empire and the Septim line, which was why there would be no reasoning with him. He expected her to do this, even if she failed to see how she could survive an encounter with Oblivion. She had heard the rumors of Kvatch, for news of an entire city’s destruction spread quickly, and according to Arelius, that wasn’t the only incident of concern. She believed him when he said that Oblivion was preparing for total war, and it scared her like nothing had in a long time. The emperor and heirs assassinated, daedra roaming the roads, people disappearing in the wild…the empire was going to hell.

“What exactly am I supposed to do?” she warily asked, accepting her fate.

“Go into Oblivion,” Arelius answered, and his cool tone annoyed Portia.

“I know that. What I mean is: what am I expected to do there? What the hell can I do that will make the slightest bit of difference?” Arelius stared her down in a nonverbal reprimand for raising her voice toward him, and she slowly relaxed her glare. Antagonizing this man might not be the best idea given her predicament.

“Dagon and his followers are responsible for the assassinations and the attack on Kvatch. Gates to Oblivion are appearing throughout the countryside and giving his armies access to our world. If it can’t be stopped, he may well finally accomplish his dreams of ruling mankind, and so far, all we can do is wait for a gate to open and fight whatever comes out. It’s damn frustrating, and this recent attack on Kvatch…well, he got more out of the attack than we bargained for, and that’s where you come in.” Portia nodded, showing that she was listening, every dreadful sentence filling her ears and mind.

“General Achires was at Kvatch and was killed in the fighting. As you know from being in the Blades, he was entrusted with the protection of a powerful artifact.”

“Sable,” Portia sighed, now realizing the extent of their problems.

“Yes, Sable,” Arelius grunted. “The pendant of vision. Achires used it to locate wanted criminals, but imagine what Dagon could do with it. He could hunt down the last heir. All he needs is a name, and he can pinpoint a location and send every dremora and beast at his command to end our hope. We need to reclaim that pendant, Portia. If Dagon finds the last heir before we do, we’ll have lost before the real fighting even begins.”

“So you’re asking me to sneak into the Deadlands and steal from right beneath Mehrunes Dagon’s nose? You’re giving me too much credit. As soon as I step foot in his realm, he’ll know there’s an intruder. His eyes and ears will be everywhere.”

“He would know if you entered through one of the major gates, but you’ll travel through a small dimensional loophole courtesy of the Mages’ Guild. The master has assured us that he’s found a way to do it, so no one could possibly be monitoring your arrival.”

“So that means that I’m leaving…what? Now?” The captain smiled, and Portia’s frown deepened.

“How very astute of you,” he joked. “Gather what you need, and meet me at the Arcane University in thirty minutes. Time is even shorter now that it took over a day to find you.”

“I didn’t want to be found,” Portia grumbled, but there was no slinking back to her small campsite now. Either she went to Oblivion and helped protect the citizens whom she’d once served, or she’d be executed as a common criminal and disgrace her name and family. She would take the former over the latter, and who knew, maybe luck was on her side. She was born under the Thief after all, and she had been extraordinarily sneaky for a guard. That was why she’d been chosen for this impossible task, for she could remain undetected until the last moment, yet she had the combat skills of a soldier. She could just imagine some of her former comrades trying to secretly move about Oblivion, and it was laughable. Yes, she was a good choice compared to the other options, and she had never regretted it more. Her life expectancy had just plummeted.

This post has been edited by Ornamental Nonsense: Aug 3 2010, 05:59 PM

[Ornamental Nonsense]

Chapter 5: Accepting Duty

It was late in the night, but Portia knew that going to bed was pointless. Arelius the night owl wanted to speak with her, and so a candle burned beside her bed while she kept a silent vigil. Sand ran through her hourglass, and tired, green eyes watched its course. Her fingers gently clasped a sleeping draught, and the more she considered drinking it, the more she wondered whether or not she would be endangered in her dreams. If she could see Mehrunes, why couldn't he see her? Just because he couldn't see her last time didn't mean that he wouldn't tonight. He had sensed her presence before, even if he had no idea who she was.

But you will go.

She smiled humorlessly and set the potion on the nightstand beside her bed. Yes, she would go, because ignoring her problems wouldn't solve them. For now, it seemed that perhaps she was safe, and if she could constantly be reaffirmed that Mehrunes was in Oblivion, then she had nothing to fear in the city. It seemed like a good deal, and perhaps there was more to be found, but Portia quickly put that thought out of mind. She was no longer a Blade. She didn't need to think like one; yet her instincts to investigate and act had never truly left her. After the accident she had thought that her desire to be involved would fade. Damn it, but she'd been sure that it had until Arelius found her. Now she realized that the peace she'd found in stagnation had been a farce at best, and one maintained only through a fragile layer of distance from the rest of the world.

Thump.

She didn't even turn, for she knew who was knocking at the door.

“Come in,” she invited, and stood to greet her former leader. He was out of his armor, wearing only a tunic, britches, and boots, but he still managed to command attention in the half-light of the room.

“I saw the light beneath your door,” he stated.

“Your wife gave me the impression that what you have to say is important,” Portia replied. “I thought it best to wait for you.” Like the good little Blade that I was. “Long night?”

“Blade business,” he allowed, but gave no further details. Instead, he leveled brown eyes at her that were too official to appear sympathetic, but too human and knowing to be cold. “You have been letting yourself go since you left,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “I knew that you'd gone to the harbor and found another job, even bought yourself a small shack, but I always thought that you'd come back once you had some time alone.”

“I didn't want to come back.”

“That's a lie,” Arelius bluntly asserted. “And it's the first one that you've ever told me.” He stepped closer, and Portia found herself irritated for inwardly agreeing with him. “You had more drive than most of the people beneath me. You were less aggressive and took time to make decisions, but once they were made, you gave everything to completing your task. I watched your progress, Portia, and I was sorry to lose you. Given time, I thought that you'd make a great captain, but part of the job description is understanding that people die on your watch. Everyone accepts the possibility of death.”

“At the hands of the enemy,” Portia clarified.

“Accidents happen, and it's time that you let go of yours.”

“You still have use for me then,” Portia commented, but she could find no heat to begrudge the man that. He was his job, and he made no apologies for it.

“There is always use for a person like yourself,” Arelius stated. “You shouldn't be drifting. It's doing more harm to you than a mission ever did.”

“You have something specific in mind.”

“I need your assistance.”

**************

1...2...

Tamil counted the number of shadowy figures that she saw disembarking the boat. This was strange indeed, and she didn't like it one bit. With her hawk-like eyes, she kept to the shadows and settled a hand on the hilt of her short sword. A dark green cloak covered her leather armor, and a spell that her former superior had once called the Black Cat kept her movements from creating sound. Still, she was cautious beyond the usual, and for good reason. She'd been watching this boat for two days now, and only the crew had tested their land legs, but she knew that there were more people on that ship. She could imagine them lurking within the vessel's hold as it bobbed in the harbor, its sails tightly furled, and moonlight barely illuminating the bold, red letters beneath the prow: The Golden Ram.

Lex also had his eyes on the crew, for they were unfamiliar to the harbor, and Arelius had asked his fellow captain to be on the lookout for trouble. Why? Well, that had to do with sensitive information coming from barely whispered rumors. Tamil might hate to admit it, but she had the Dark Brotherhood to thank for that, for they'd assassinated a nobleman whom the Blades had long suspected of Mythic Dawn sympathies. Now the man was dead, and it had given her an opportunity to root through his belongings. Among his holdings had been a letter confirming that the Mythic Dawn was trying to gain a stronger foothold in the capital.

Her attention was diverted to the emergence of a third figure from the boat, who, despite a chameleon spell, could be detected moving toward the city gates. Perhaps now was the time to investigate the ship, and she carefully moved across the stone walkway that formed a horseshoe around the harbor's water. The crew was out drinking, and the captain and a few men were in the main cabin, but they wouldn't prove a problem if she was quiet.

Light feet treaded across planks, and quick hands unlocked the hold. It was a quick descent, and then Tamil was in a narrow passage that she did not appreciate. It was a little tight for swinging a sword, and escaping a two-way assault would be difficult. Eyes narrowed in displeasure, she reached toward a door but froze with her hand against the wood. The hairs were rising on the back of her neck, and she turned to see who was behind her only to find an empty, dark passageway. Of course, appearances could be deceiving. The feeling of being watched was uncomfortably nagging.

With a dagger unsheathed incase of a surprise attack, she moved into a small, private cabin, and found a large chest. It was time to see if the unknown figures had left behind any evidence of their allegiance, and even if they weren't with the Dawn, they were probably shifty undesirables anyway. And so Tamil worked with the ease of the professional snooper that she was, and it took mere moments before the chest's lock clicked and opened. Then she was rooting through a stack of clothing and potions that seemed ordinary and harmless enough, but then her hands came across a thin scroll tucked into the folds of a red robe.

The Mythic Dawn wear red, she darkly thought, and a wave of disgust washed over her. They would disrupt the peace and stability of the empire—sell themselves to destruction for personal gain. They were pathetic, and she almost wished that they would return now so that she could slit a throat or two in vengeance for the emperor's murder. They were cowards to kill and run--to hide while they waited for their lord to deliver them.

Again, the sensation of being watched plagued her, and Tamil froze, listening for the slightest noise only to hear nothing. She was a woman who trusted her intuition though, and so knew that she had little time to spare. A few more seconds and then she would leave. The ship gently rocked, and the scroll in her hand unfurled.

Jackpot.

Dawn members had arrived here, and they were to remain hidden and await their master's call for assistance if he should desire it. What was Dagon planning for the city? Tamil's forehead furrowed in thought, and she tucked the scroll into her belt. With her mind occupied, she didn't notice that as she left the cabin, a thin shadow shifted behind her. She reached for the ladder, and a hand reached for her. When fingers tightened around her shoulder, instinct made her spin with her dagger already lashing outward. Blood fell, a scream tore the air, and feet pounded across the deck overhead. Tamil hoped that the approaching people were guards and not enemies...

******************

“There are other Blades,” Portia pointed out, unsure of where Arelius was going with his vague comment about assistance. “And if this job is anything like the last one that you sent me on, I'd prefer to have no part in it.” Arelius' stern face shifted ever so slightly, and she could tell that he was displeased with her. Shirking duty was perhaps the one act that truly irritated him, sometimes to the point of expressing anger. She knew that he was about to use his lecturing tone on her.

“Enough, Portia,” he said. “You would have done that job whether I blackmailed you into it or not, and don't act otherwise. You could never stop yourself from taking a task that you thought was important. Once I explained to you the horror that could result from failure, you would have accepted my proposal. It's not in you to surrender.” And then she saw it, the extent of his disappointment at her decision to leave the Blades. It was there, in the lines of his face, and the steel edge of his voice. He had expected more from her, and that he wasn't voicing those exact words was a product only of his controlled nature.

“I have never been able to forget his face,” Portia said, feeling the urge to explain herself. She had never really talked about the accident since that night. “When he realized that he would die by my hand, his face was so confused—like he was asking me why. It wasn't supposed to be like that. A Blade shouldn't die at the hands of a friend.” Gods, but Arelius had to understand her hesitancy to reenter her old life. And why the hell did he have to let her see his disappointment after all this time? Didn't he know how that stung?

“I don't want your pity,” she told him. “I've had a lot of time to think about what happened...and I know that it wasn't my fault, but I need you to understand that I can never be that captain you envisioned. I learned my limitations that night, and I can't handle having the blood of someone whom I was supposed to protect on my hands. You...you weren't the only one disappointed that night.”

“You can move beyond that,” Arelius assured her. “You do not have to return in the capacity that bothers you.” And his words sounded so good. Portia wanted to be active again. She yearned for the purpose that being a Blade had imparted, and this entire fiasco with the chaos sphere was actually making her more enlivened than she'd been in months. This was the opportunity that she'd been waiting for, and she'd only avoided it because she'd been too ashamed to go to Arelius on her own accord after her flight. Akatosh, but he was still the hand guiding her toward promise after all these years.

“Do you want to hear what I have to offer?” Arelius asked.

“Yes. You win.”

**************

Tamil ducked beneath the wide arch of a longsword and nearly lost her footing in the process. Her attacker was partially camouflaged by a spell, and in the cool night air of the ship's deck, she was having difficulty escaping his thrusts and swings. The person was skilled, whoever he was, and he was not alone. Footsteps were running from the front cabin, and was that another person behind her? Where were the guards? She tried to keep the railing to her back so that she could not be encircled, but lunges were forcing her toward the ship's middle.

“Fetching boat,” she cursed. She was quickly being surrounded, and there was nowhere to go on such small a vessel. Perhaps...Yes, there was a little magicka left in her after all. The tips of her fingers glowed with energy, and then a small flame leapt from her palm. She aimed directly at a stack of crates.

“Stop her!” someone yelled. The world erupted in chaos as the deck burst into flames, the blaze's edge licking the mast, and the confusion of who was foe or friend mounting. Smoke blew into Tamil's face, and she coughed as she ran for the gangplank. She could make it. She'd made it out of tougher situations before, and though hands reached for her, she knocked the assailant into the inferno that had become the Golden Ram.

She was almost free from the deathtrap as the smoke cleared from her vision and gave her a view of the stone docks. She jumped over a small wall of flames, her agile body easily clearing the flickering tips, but a second thump accompanied her landing. Who...?

“Ugh,” she gasped, feeling a sharp sting in her abdomen. A hand instinctively went to the source of the pain, and warm blood soon coated her fingers as she probed the now open skin. It wasn't a deep wound, she realized in relief. It was a gash that wouldn't cost her life if she found help soon, but that was an afterthought to striking back at her opponent. He wasn't one of the crew members, but a tall figure cloaked entirely in black, and his dagger shone with her blood. He raised the blade to strike again, but a vicious slice of her own blade caught him across the back of the hand, causing him to drop his weapon with a hiss of surprised pain.

Tamil ran for her life then, ignoring the sting of destruction magic that flew at her back, and leaving the glow of the burning ship behind her. Her wound was sending the strangest shivers through her body, and she wondered if blood loss or shock was affecting her. One hand remained clasped to the painful cut while the other reached for the closest stone wall. She felt cold, lethargic, like her limbs were burdened.

Poison.

The sound of pursuit echoed in her foggy mind as her feet ran for the one safe place that stood out in her mind. She had to get her information to Arelius, and he would see to her wounds...if she could be saved by the time she reached him.

*************

“You will answer only to me,” Arelius explained, and Portia was all ears. “No one will work directly with you. And you won't need to command anyone, because you won't hold rank. This is a sort of unofficial position, but I'm willing to overlook that and still give you information so long as you understand that I will hold you accountable to your vow of service.” There was no need to say that, for Portia took these matters as seriously as he did, but she supposed that some formality was in order.

“What kind of work did you have in mind?” she asked.

“The Mythic Dawn is active in the city, even if they're weak, and there are certain nobles that I don't trust. They might wish to take advantage of the empty throne, and the Blades will not allow that. It's bad enough that we have Dagon to deal with, without having to watch our backs. You know the secret passages throughout the city and palace, so I'd like you to be the contact for people who are already my informants. It's as simple as that, and while I might need you for other various tasks, it really depends on what is required and when.”

“What's my excuse for being in the palace?” Portia asked. “I'm no longer a guard.”

“Your past and skills are known here, so I'd like you to take up the position of training a few aristocratic children in swordsmanship. No lies; they'd be pointless anyway since you'd be fairly easy to investigate. You really did leave active service after an accident, and you're finally returning after a break.”

“You've given this a lot of thought,” Portia said. “Tell me, did you ever plan to let me go peacefully? This whole Oblivion thing is a nice excuse for you to rope me back in, isn't it?”

“I don't really need to answer that,” Arelius said with a subtle smile. Perhaps that was where his wife had learned it from. “Do you have an answer for me?”

“I'll do it.” And he gave her an approving look that she interpreted as, “That's my girl.”

“Then report for your new job tomorrow morning. I'll make sure that you're expected.”

“Arelius, come quickly!” Lucretia's shout jerked both Arelius and Portia out of their exchange. The door flew open to reveal his wife standing there in a robe, one hand clasping a candle that etched her worried expression into sharp relief. “This way,” she ordered, and then she was rushing down the hallway. Portia followed, but her presence was forgotten as Lucretia and Arelius softly but urgently conversed ahead of her. “I don't think she'll last long,” Lucretia stated.

“Where is she?” Arelius asked. Portia was stunned by the scene that awaited her as the group rushed into the front foyer. There, laying in the doorway and propped against the wall, was a female Dunmer whose tattooed face was tightened in pain. A hand cradled her stomach, where her shirt and ruined leather armor were soaked with blood, and the liquid was beginning to trickle onto the floor.

“Get bandages!” Arelius ordered as he crouched beside the injured woman.

“Poison...” the Dunmer gasped, and Arelius' frown deepened.

“Lucretia,” he said. “There is a small blue bottle in the chest beside our bed. Bring it to me.” His wife scurried to do his bidding, and Portia watched in bewilderment as the Dunmer's attention turned toward her. There was recognition on the elf's part, and then the woman gasped as a tremor shot through her body.

“What happened?” Arelius asked.

“The Mythic Dawn is here, in the city,” the elf forced out. “Three of them came on the ship...waiting here for orders...dangerous.”

“Enough,” Arelius soothed. Lucretia reentered the room, and tender hands angled an antidote into Tamil's mouth. The woman nearly choked on the potion, violently coughing as it went down her throat.

“I'll ready a room,” Lucretia said, and she turned to a servant who was nervously waiting at the edge of the scene. Portia heard her hostess giving orders, but she was more concerned with the whispered conversation going on between Arelius and the Dunmer. She had never seen the elf before, but she highly suspected that the woman was a Blade. Now she was dying, and the thought of the Mythic Dawn being in the city sent Portia's mind down a road of dark contemplation. The Dawn followed Mehrunes, and she didn't like to think that they were here, possibly looking for her. She had to return to her dreams and look for answers.

“Don't...” the elf suddenly spat, her body shaking as if in fever, and sweat drops running down the sides of her face. “Can't...breathe...”

“Tamil,” Arelius urged, holding her by the shoulders.

“Need to stop...protect her...” The woman was clearly delirious, but she was still trying to speak, and feeble hands reached for Arelius' shoulders. “I...”

“It's okay,” Arelius soothed, face blank and voice low. “Go to sleep. I'll take care of it.” The woman nodded, and her hands dropped, leaving Portia to wonder if she was dead or alive. Judging by the way Arelius gently traced a symbol on her forehead, the woman's chances of survival were slim, and there was something reserved and sad in Arelius' posture that made Portia feel as though she were intruding on a private scene for which she was not meant.

“The room is...oh, is she gone?” Lucretia asked. She stood in the doorway, waiting.

“No,” came Arelius' soft response. “But she may be soon. I'll move her myself.” He remained crouched, one hand on the woman's hand as if willing her to live. He had worked with her for a long time, and seeing her on the verge of death on such a peaceful night came as an unpleasant surprise. Lucretia wordlessly moved toward him and placed a kiss on the top of his head, one hand stroking his brown hair. She whispered something, and then she seemed to remember Portia's presence, eyes shifting toward the silent figure.

“I'll be in my room,” Portia announced. Arelius glanced at her before straightening with the Dunmer cradled in his arms. From outward appearances, it was difficult to tell if he was feeling anything, but Portia knew that he was. “Blade business,” she acknowledged. “I know. Goodnight.” And she retired to her rooms, wondering if Arelius felt as responsible for the woman's condition as she had once felt for her own comrade's pain.

This post has been edited by Ornamental Nonsense: Aug 7 2010, 05:03 PM