Light through Darkness, Book 2, are we truly safe now? Options

[Thomas Kaira]

Welcome one and welcome all to the continuation of Light through Darkness!

For those of you only now joining us, here is the link to our previous thread:

Light through Darkness, Book 1

Enjoy your stay! All comments and criticisms are welcome.

@haute ecole rider: Magical lore is one of the many things I wanted to tackle in this tale. It is a way of getting my brain in gear, thinking about how I can make a gameplay change actually fit into the lore of the story, so I quite enjoy doing that. As for Dere, don't worry, he's landing in a cave, so he should be alright.

@Lady Syl: Thank you much for your approval of the Recommendation system. That brawl also served a very specific purpose: it let the reader know the Oblivion Main Quest would be taking place in this story, but not through the eyes of my protagonist. That is why I elected to have Julian make a cameo there, it would help to reaffirm that point.

@SubRosa: Interesting letters, I can definitely make something out of those. Ideas have already come to me, but I wouldn't tell even if you tied me to a chair and whipped me. I'm actually playing more on the game's version of Irlav, it makes sense to me that he would be a huge slowpoke who doesn't really have any passion but for making students' lives miserable.
Nit be picked.

@mALX: No, I guess Maxical's contempt for clothing might not be so bad anymore. I'm sure she would adore these Stepstones as they are right now.

@Acadian: Well still, Mer can get impatient, too. You of all people would understand this.
Nits be picked.

@all: A new thread brings new beginnings. But what will these new beginnings mean for our characters, or for Derelas? Only time will tell.

next: Welcome to Anvil, city of the sea.

Light through Darkness, Book Two

Chapter 8-1: Double Trouble

After sloshing my way out of the giant pool of black water illuminated only by the playful flames of my torch, I was feeling quite grateful I wasn’t wearing any shoes. Nevertheless, it was a highly unpleasant feeling for my legs to become so wet so suddenly, and not just because the water was so cold. As I pulled my shoes back on over my flax socks, it started to occur to me that this probably was not the worst I could expect from these Stepstones. The frayed and cracked surface of the stone that received me made me rather certain that it was not supposed to be here. What sort of cataclysm might have transformed what was once a verdant hillside into a musty cave full of tidewater was not something that thrilled me to ponder, but that was hardly the point. If I were to be using these things, there was no telling where I would end up. The only silver lining I had was that they were scattered all over the place; you could find them in farmer’s fields, up on top of the Colovian Highlands, and, as I learned today, perhaps even at the bottom of the sea. Just to use one would be to gamble my life away, assuming they still worked, of course.

Once I finished pulling my shirt back on, I made my way to the small door where the water was only just flowing through the tiny gap between the damp wood and the glistening ground. The water was actually noticeably lower than when I arrived as well. Looks like the the tide was going out -- Anvil was a coastal city, after all, so it would make sense. I placed my palms onto the moistened boards and pushed.

The door did not respond. Two more pushes and some pounding later, and still nothing had changed. Trapped, perfect.

The floor ran completely dry as I contemplated what to do now. I couldn’t burn the wood, as it was far too wet. My only chance would be to break the door down, but I didn’t have anything quite heavy enough in my pack. And all that was in here in this cave were a few moldy old barrels and crates, hardly what I’d call destructive weaponry.

I then noticed the door had a handle. Gnashing my teeth at my oversight, I promised myself that no one would ever know of this as I pulled the door wide.

The time I spent awash in my ignorance (literally) coupled with the sheer distance traveled meant that the sky was now turning orange in the rays of the setting sun. Never before had I witnessed such a brilliantly vivid complexion upon the sky. The majesty was mirrored upon the lazily sloshing waves of the ocean, and the air was filled with the squawking calls of seagulls. To my left stood a great limestone cliff face, roughly hewn and treacherous with water roaring into rapids and out of blowholes along the base. To my right, I could just make out the tops of huge redwood trees along a similarly rocky coastline, and the slowly panning beam of the nearby lighthouse finished the scene. It was one I was quite sure numerous painters had taken upon themselves to recreate on canvas; never before had I had such a spectacular view.

The great spires of Castle Anvil loomed behind me, their cast shadows reaching clear to the other side of the nearby lagoon separating the two shorelines. They were so tall I could barely see the top of them from where I stood, as I would probably crick my neck if I tried to look any higher. As I made my way along golden-grassed and rocky shoreline of what I came to realize was a small island, the walls of Anvil came into view. The walls themselves were nothing special; it was the watchtowers that set them apart. Each tower was topped with a great conical roof, all with tiling to match the sky. The sun-kissed stucco walls beneath the roofing gave them a whitewashed sheen of which the Ayleids would be proud could they have seen them.

The great dual steeples of the Anvil chapel rose above the great brown stone of the walls with such elegance and grace they looked to be dancing with the clouds. Every last inch of the cathedral I could see that was not covered in vibrant stained glass or brilliantly orange roofing was covered in miniature statues, likely of the Nine Divines, as I could not see any faces from my distance. The chapel was easily four times the size of Bravil’s Chapel of Mara, with over twice the number of windows and buttresses, and more steeples and spires than a man could shake a stick at. Instead of one rose window, there were three, and every pointed archway, every toll of the deep, vocal bells spoke of flamboyance and grandeur – of the city that surrounded it.

Screenshot

As I made my way across the bridge leading from the castle to the city proper, I glimpsed a strange sight in the distance. The top of a high mountain peak had been blackened, and I could just barely make out a set of crumbling stone walls, as they were practically camouflaged by the ground and trees – Kvatch. They were still smoking. The sight was a blistering reminder of the reality surrounding the glowing, beautiful façade of Tamriel: danger is everywhere, and can strike at any time. Kvatch was unprepared, and they paid the price for it, but I couldn’t ever feel that they deserved what had happened to them.

Passing through the city gates, I was immediately brought to the courtyard surrounding the grand cathedral. Every inch of land that was not paved was covered in a lovingly kept bed of velvety golden grass, and unlike in Bravil, none of the tombstones in the graves had been allowed to crumble. Across the street, just north of the numerous fountains and gardens in Chapel Parkway (if the signs were to be believed), I saw yet another peculiar sight spoiling what was otherwise an untold majesty. It was a celebration of architecture and nature coming together as one in the autumn breeze here in this courtyard, but just this one sight removed all pretenses this city had to splendor. A manor house stood nearby, squalid, unkempt, and crumbling in the salty air. Every last one of the numerous vines snaking their way up the fragile walls was dead, and the roofing had fallen off in numerous places.

“Quite an eyesore isn’t it?” A voice came from behind, making me jump.

A guard clad in embroidered orange leather had come up behind me as I stared transfixed at the rapidly splitting personality of the city of Anvil. For I could just make out the High Street from behind the cathedral now, and I saw that for every majestic manor and shop, there stood another crumbling slum. It was like the city was at war with itself, fighting for whether its beauty or its sheer despicable squalor would dominate its walls; as if it refused to admit to itself that the splendor I saw from afar was little more than a farce.

“Owner’s been trying to sell that dump for a month now,” the guard continued, casting a contemptuous look back at the dilapidated house. “I have to say, I’ll be quite surprised if he can even give that place away, it’s such a blight.”

“I’ll say,” I responded, eyeing an upturned rubbish bin nearby.

“You new in town?” The guard then asked.

“Very,” I replied, “and I’ll need a little help figuring out where everything is.”

“Well, we patrolmen have got to do something,” the guard responded with pomp. “What are you looking for?”

“The nearest inn,” I replied, “and the Mages and Fighters Guilds.”

“The Count’s Arms is the best inn in the city,” the guard replied, indicating a large, well kept building a ways up Abecea Walk. “Ask for Wilbur, he’s the publican.”

“And the guilds?” I asked.

“Yokuda Loop, just across from Sea Queen statue,” the guard replied. “They’re both right beside each other, so you can’t miss them.”

“Thanks for the help,” I finished, waving a quick farewell to the guard.




----




A man in a black cloak arrived at the small wooden door, and it opened the instant he knocked.

“Ahh, Lucien,” the Dunmer greeted the shifty man warmly, allowing him to step inside. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“As I noticed,” the man returned. His voice carried a hint of malice and mystery that he was incapable of fully hiding. “So, for what have you summoned me, Tadrose? The journey was long and I am quite tired so do please try to remain brief.”

“You know why you are here.” Tadrose replied, offering a goblet of deep violet wine to the man named Lucien, which he accepted after a mild bout of consideration. “Your Brotherhood has been giving us quite a hard time as of late.”

“We are assassins, it is our business to interfere with your noble callings,” Lucien retorted smoothly. “I expect your plans have held up, all the same?”

“Yes, our mutual friend is safe in Anvil now,” Tadrose replied. “And I am going to need your help to keep it that way.”

“You would ask me to commit treason against my order?” Lucien questioned, cautiously but unfazed as a faint smile came to his lips.

“If it is not too much trouble for you,” Tadrose briskly responded, raising her own goblet of wine to her lips. “There is a man of some stature under your command, one Vicente Valtieri, I was wondering why he called for the death of our friend.”

“He fears what he might become,” Lucien replied. “He would rather see our friend dead than allow him to be given an audience with the Vampire Lord. He knows of what the Lord carries, and he knows that our friend is the only one capable of taking it from him. Naturally, he hastened to preserve his own life.”

“And you allowed this?” Tadrose interrogated.

“To refuse him would have compromised my comfortable position as Speaker for Cheydinhal,” Lucien replied smoothly, “I deemed it prudent.”

“Then I hope you have given some thought as to how you might reverse this problem you’ve caused for us?” Tadrose responded, her eyebrows narrowing. “I do not think our masters would particularly enjoy being told by you that one of your assassins managed to pierce our friend’s heart in the night.”

“And given their prodigious skill, I am quite surprised that he still yet lives.” Lucien added.

“Really?” Tadrose inquired, a dangerous note in her voice.

“There may have been some tipping of the scales in Vergayun,” Lucien responded, still unfazed. “That much I will tell.”

“But can you, or can you not make this contract vanish?” Tadrose pressed. This time, Lucien did smile.

“There is a certain exploit I might be able to take advantage of,” he replied, draining his goblet.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Apr 13 2011, 02:49 PM

[Thomas Kaira]

@Grits: I'm glad you appreciated the recap. This is the main reason I am splitting the story across multiple threads, as it allows for newcomers an easier way to catch up with the plot and it also allows me to consolidate my recaps. Your words are quite appreciated, and I'm quite happy you are intrigued by the sudden appearance of Lachance.

@rider: Chapel? Cathedral? Those poor Cyrodiilians never seem to make up their mind! In this case, we are certainly looking at a true cathedral. Unfortunately, it would not be a very good idea to mod that into my game, since... well, the size of one Gothic cathedral is roughly the size of an entire city ingame!
Nit be picked.

@Lady Syl: Glad you appreciated the recap, as well, and also that you found it so useful. Thank you for your kind words. As for Lucien... you'll see.
Feel free to comment on any previous chapters, as well. I appreciate any and all feedback, no matter how far back it goes.

@mALX: Never been to France, unfortunately. I did pay a visit to Espana, though, it was quite impressive to see how Christian and Moorish architecture came together in their cathedrals.

@SubRosa: Yes, Derelas sure does have strange friends, and well connected ones at that. And thickening stew? I prefer roux, but occasionally slurry at home. Once it lightly coats the back of your spoon, you're done. I like to translate that into my writing, as well, and I'm quite happy you noticed.

@Acadian: Glad my door handle mishap was well received. We all have to slip up somewhere, right? Thank you for you kind words on my characterization of Lucien, he was quite a lot of fun to write.

@all: Now we have thrown the Ancient and the Brotherhood off the trail of our Bosmer, it's time to set ourselves free once again. Adventure awaits, and danger around every bend. I also notice that my intro here was decidable similar to my intro to the complete story. Quite a coincidence, if I may say so....

next: Ayleid ruins beckon...

Chapter 8-2: Garlas Agea

“Garlas Agea,” the Altmer magister replied to the question I posed to her. “Up in the hills east of town.”

I thanked her and turned to leave, but before I could exit, the Altmer beckoned my ears back to her with another question.

“Why exactly do you wish to go there, Associate? You know very well the dangers inherent to those ruins. Certainly our library would suffice your studies?”

“Unfortunately, it can’t,” I replied back with a wry smile. “Books can only get me so far right now.”




----




The crumbling, yet still gleaming stone arches curving to an elegant point at the tip loomed out of the rolling golden grasslands. There it was, I thought, right where Carahil said it would be. This was the closest Ayleid ruin to Anvil, and the best place for me to begin my quest. The looming, regal cathedral of Dibella towered above the great walls not too far off in the distance, dwarfed only by the nearby island castle. Even from afar, one could see the bustle and hubbub of the harbor. It is said that Anvil Bay is the busiest port in all of Cyrodiil, and today it was certainly looking the part. No fewer than twenty grand galleons were moored, towering over many hundreds of trade cogs and fishing trawlers zipping in and out of port into the grand Abecean Sea. The great waters stretched on and on across the never-ending expanse of Mundus, and was broken only by a small island rising from the vast blue waters just on the horizon. From this distance, one would never notice the dank, secretive poverty the city tried so desperately to hide.

Tearing my eyes away from the mesmerizing sight, I turned back to the sun-kissed ruins before me. The arches were bent to odd angles, recalling my thoughts to the cave in which I arrived. Thousands of years of cataclysm and upheaval had shaped the world between the time of the Ayleids and the time of the Septims. Nothing would be as it once was. The portcullis into the hillside glinted in the morning sun, beckoning me forward, and who was I to disobey its calling?

My eyes were cloaked in blackness as the door swung open at my lightest touch. I carefully closed it behind me so as not to disturb any of the residents I knew would be within, and the darkness became complete. I swung my pack down to retrieve my torch, and that’s when I saw a most peculiar sight.

The Kissing Mares Blade was gleaming at my side, as if it were still broad daylight within. I gripped the hilt, and drew the gleaming silver blade, slightly curved and viciously sharp on one end, and listened to an unnaturally loud blade song that reverberated throughout my ears. As it sang, the blade began to glow a blindingly white, and a split-second later the entire chamber was bathed in white-orange light.

I froze. I was not alone in the chamber I just entered. There was a woman, Breton, by the looks of her, and she was clad in a black robe emblazoned with blood-red skulls.

Necromancers.

I was at a loss over what I should do. I was certain she had seen me, I mean, how couldn’t she? The entire chamber was bathed in light as if midday sun was penetrating through the rock and stone. At the same time, she was acting very strange; she was squinting like she was blinded. Perhaps the sudden illumination dazzled her? No, if that were the case, she’d be shielding her eyes….

“Hmm, whatever it was, it’s gone now,” she suddenly spoke, turning her back to the door.

I then had an epiphany. Only I could see the light my blade was providing. To her, it was still pitch black inside, and I was lesser to her eyes than the shadow of a ghost. I slowly eased my breath from my lungs, and took a short time to consider my options. She was a necromancer, and I was trespassing in their lair. This meant that if she did see me, I would be met with open hostility. Necromancers are not known for their hospitality, though I am told their welcoming committees are quite spectacular. Not this time, though. My only adversary was convinced it was just a lowly traveler peeking inside, nothing to worry about. She hadn’t even bothered to light her own gaze or investigate properly. Her mistake would be short-lived.

Creeping forward so to mask my footsteps, I inched my way towards the turned back of the necromancer. The foul stench of rotten flesh made itself well known as I closed distance with her. Revulsion stole through me as I halted, a burning hatred for their desecration of the dead, of the spirits who had earned a peaceful rest. I slowly rose, and in one smooth movement, I brought my right hand to cover her mouth, as my sword rose to her throat in my left.

The keen edge was stopped only by her spine as it drank of her foul blood, though it carried not a drop of the tainted liquid upon its gleaming silver visage. Her scream went unheard, and her death came before she even noticed the blade cleaving her neck.

“Walk with those you’ve defiled,” I whispered, easing her to the ground, “and give back to the dead what you stole from them in life.”

The sickly sweet odor of rotting flesh was soon replaced with the acrid scent of the same thing burnt, and the wound on the necromancer’s neck was smoking as I removed my sword. Though her throat was slit to the bone, no blood found its way out; the heat of the blade had thoroughly cauterized the wound. I was highly thankful for this, as it would mean less blood for me to have to wash out of my clothing when I was done in here. Searching her pockets, I found a small bagful of healing and Magicka potions, as well as a small coinpurse jingling with silver Drakes. Leaving the body, I continued onwards.

The chamber I was in split off to three small hallways. The ones on either side of me remained rather level, but the one directly in front of me sloped up with a set of stairs. I chose that pathway, hoping that whatever was on the other end, it might give me a decent view from which I might figure out what I could do… and perhaps allow me a better chance of finding some Steps.

The stairwell led to a balcony overlooking a large central chamber. Thanks to the illumination provided by the saber in my hand, I could see every detail from wall to wall. There were several alcoves inside, and no less than three necromancers patrolled the area. Each was carrying a staff that was having a strange effect on the light my sword provided. The colors were acting very strange around the mages; one was bathed in blue, and another in green. Their staves were probably enchanted in a similar manner to my blade, only not quite as discretely. I then wondered if it would be possible to turn off the lights for a moment, just to be sure of my thoughts.

Completely on cue, the light vanished, leaving a compressing and disorienting darkness like a veil upon my eyes. However, now I could see that my thoughts were true. It would be a lot more difficult to sneak up on these necromancers; they were ready for trouble, and the Altmer wandering with them looked quite nasty. It would probably be best for me to stay out of that chamber for now. The good news was that the passage I was crouching in now encircled the entire room, so it would be quite easy for me to continue exploring without risking my life. I requested the Kissing Mares illuminate my path once again before I continued.

To my right was a strange cask similar to the ones I saw in Henantier’s Dreamworld… no, Vaermina’s Oblivion. It was small, eight-sided, and crafted from what looked like dark gray glass, but from what my father had told me they were actually Onyx. Upon lifting the lid, a bright blue glow washed over my face, and I gazed down upon a small pile of similarly colored coins unlike anything I had seen before. Each and every one glinted and glittered even though, to them, there was almost no light to reflect, and they each carried the symbol of a pointy-eared Mer being lifted into the heavens by a great eagle. This must be Ayleid currency, I thought.

I gathered the coins into my purse and quietly replaced the lid on the cask before moving on. The passage curved lightly to the left as I made my way around. About halfway from one side to the other after the turn, another passage branched off to another flight of stairs. Deciding I would come back to it later, I continued to move forward.

Suddenly, I felt a very hard object smash into the back of my skull. Stars winked into view before my eyes as my blade left my hand, and I was soon blinded by the lightshow upon blackness; my blade’s luminance had gone out. Flipping over, I saw a tall figure bathed in bright blue light standing over me, his illumination staff poised to strike, and electrical sparks building in his free hand.

“Well, well, looks like we have a new plaything,” the Altmer commented in a cackling voice. “Too bad this dolly’s still stuffed. No matter, we can fix that in a trice.”

My sword clanged loudly as he kicked it away. He then raised his hand to cast the spell he had readied – readied to shock my heart to stillness.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Apr 19 2011, 01:46 AM