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: Imps will be imps! Oh, by the way, did I mention I hate Altmer names?

@SubRosa: A dangling shoe to be dropped quite soon, you will find. I am always on the lookout for interesting and believable ways to hook the game's quests into the story, and Garlas Agea did quite a lot for me with that.
Nits picked.

@haute ecole rider: Maybe.... Or maybe he's just doing what imps love to do. Either way, he wins.
Nit picked.

@Acadian: And she has a lot of reason to push, as you will soon find. There is plenty of strife to deal with, and she needs a few foolish young minds brave volunteers to sort through a few glaring problems.
Nits picked.

@mALX: Your input is always welcome, as is your playfulness.


next: Another journey, and even more danger. This time to a nearby town I recently created a mod for. If you wish to fully visualize Brina Cross as I see it, you can download here.
[/shameless plug]

Chapter 9-1: Brina Cross

“You have proven yourself quite willing to take risks in your services to the Guild, so I will assume you are prepared for what I am about to ask of you,” Carahil told me, scanning my map with her deep brown eyes as she spoke. “This is the real work, the work that matters, and we are all just as much a part of it.”

“Your destination is the town of Brina Cross,” she continued, making a marking on my map. “The village has seen a small boom of late, and a number of facilities have opened up to the traveling merchant who might pass by. Unfortunately, this has also attracted the attention of thieves, and they have wasted no time in setting up ambush points along the roads.”

“Shouldn’t the Legion be taking care of this, then?” I asked quizzically.

“Yes, they should,” Carahil replied, a definite note of aggravation mixed in her comforting voice. The effect was quite unnerving. “But we must remember that these are trying times for the Empire. What with Kvatch being so close by and Oblivion Gates opening all across Cyrodiil now, the Legion claims to be a bit too… preoccupied to see to such petty matters as armed robbery.”

The emphasis Carahil placed on her words told me that she didn’t really seem to believe in what she was saying. She gave a deep sigh before continuing.

“Nevertheless, despite Fort Sunset Vista being right on the town’s doorstep, the Legion is refusing to get involved, so that is where we step in.”

“Which brings us back to my task,” I finished for her. Carahil gave me a quick, yet faint smile before proceeding.

“Indeed. There has been considerable trouble lately with a robber whom despite their best efforts, the town watch in Brina Cross simply can’t locate. We know that the robber is a mage, as all of his victims’ bodies, yes, bodies,” she reaffirmed, no doubt noticing the look of horror that crossed my face, “bore the distinct markings of Frost magic, but apart from that, they have no more information than we do, I’m afraid to say.”

“And that is why we are performing this job over the Fighters Guild, I’d wager,” I quipped.

“Correct,” Carahil replied. “I have already sent two Battlemages on ahead, but considering this robber has managed to keep himself hidden so well for so long, it is doubtful they can do anything about this on their own. That is where you come in; you are a nonentity to the Guild in these parts, and you will be the one to draw this rogue mage out of hiding.”

“So I’m the bait?” I demanded, my voice flaring with my temper. “Why is it every single time I get asked to do a job by this Guild, I have to put my head on a stake? I thought the Mages Guild was dedicated to the furthering of magical knowledge?”

“Enough,” Carahil snapped. Unlike mine, her voice remained completely calm, but it contained just enough force to bring my attention firmly back to her and seal my lips. “I have already spoken to you about this. Not every lesson in this world can be taught through rainbows and butterflies on the amber hillsides. The world is ugly, and we do what we can to make it better. Be it educating those who wish to learn the arcane arts, or bringing a rogue mage to justice, this is what we do. I see no reason to shelter you from the affairs this Guild must deal with on a daily basis. If you think there is one, then I have no more to say to you. If you wish to continue your advancement through our ranks, you know what you must do. The decision is now yours.”




----




As the sun sank beneath the azure waves of the Abecean Sea, I was passing by the grand spire of Fort Sunset Vista on my way to the nearby township of Brina Cross. The great stone tower was so tall that it could be seen for miles around, and afforded the Legionaries who resided within a superb view of the surrounding countryside. County Anvil was made up largely of verdant steppes of golden sedge, every so often broken by the growth of deep green conifers or large, mossy boulders. The hills rolled like the sea, which bordered the province to the west, and at sundown, they lent a subtle golden glow to the already incredible playing sparkles of red and orange along the water. The result was astounding, and is best described by the name the residents have given this phenomenon: the Flaming Tide. From the little I heard so far about the Flaming Tide, it was a symbol of Kynareth; of the beauty of the land these people inhabited. Many of the local sailors tended to wait until Flaming Tide to set sail, as it is believed to set to sea then would bring the blessings of Kynareth to their journey.

The fort was named Sunset Vista because, as the name would suggest, it was perched on the ideal hilltop to view the Flaming Tide. I would think that, given the well polished uniform of the soldiers stationed there, that to be assigned to Sunset Vista was something of a privilege in the Legion; the polar opposite of a place like, say, Fort Frostmoth. There was plenty to like about such a fort, as well. It was constructed not in the boxy modern Imperial style, but in the elegant-but-purposeful architecture of the many First Era forts that now lay in ruins all across Cyrodiil. Only four of these old style forts remained, and all were erected in the most picturesque locations possible. I did not know where the other three stood, but if they were in any way similar to Sunset Vista, then the Cyrodiil Legion are very lucky soldiers indeed.

Brina Cross was only a bell’s toll from Sunset Vista, and the first thing that stuck out to me was just how empty it looked. The square was all set for what looked like a market, with rows upon rows of open-air stalls with gaudy canvas roofing spread all throughout the square. But every last one of them stood deserted. This coupled with the small clock tower rising from the center, its hands indicating a solid eight hours and twenty-five minutes after-zenith, gave an air of foreboding to the square that made my neck hair stand on end. Such a busily set market square should be bustling with people making last-minute purchases before heading off to the inn for dinner, but therein lay the problem… there wasn’t. Not a soul was to be seen in the entire village. No one except the two guards out on evening watch with eyes glazed over from boredom, that is.

The Inn shared the loneliness I found outside. Most of the tables were empty, with no places set and chairs flipped on their ends and placed atop them to keep them out of the way of the few guests around. The only people there were the innkeeper stood behind his bar on the opposite wall, a brown-shirted Breton, and a golden-skinned Altmer in a deep blue dress.

“Greetings, and welcome to the Brina Cross Inn!” The innkeeper greeted me, far too warmly than seemed natural. “Could I interest you in something to eat, or maybe a bed? Or would you be looking for a drink, perhaps? You’ll find it all here! Quality goods at a bargain price!”

“Just a bed, for now,” I cut across his rambling. “It’s been a long journey, and I really must get some rest before I continue on.”

Of course, I had no intention of ‘continuing on’, at least, not too much farther. I was to cover as a traveling merchant for the entire course of my visit. Much to my displeasure, this had meant leaving all my weapons behind, as a magical gleaming saber that glowed in the dark and set fire to her victims might have been a bit of a giveaway. Carahil wanted me to look like I was not expecting a bit of trouble, otherwise, the robber might cast me off as a bad job--not worth the risk.

“Oh…” the innkeeper looked a bit crestfallen that I was not interested in more, and when he continued, his voice had lost a considerable amount of its previous spark. “Well, do enjoy your stay, at least. Our beds are quite comfortable, and available by Drakes on the Septim, of course.”

As I handed him the ten Drake fee, I spoke: “You haven’t received that much business lately, have you?”

“Well, truth be told, no,” he stated simply. “Not since the… well… the murders. I don’t like to talk about it, though, as it’s bad for business. Either way, enjoy your stay, and if you need anything else, let me know.”

Collecting the key, I silently made my way upstairs. The Altmer showed no interest in me whatsoever, but I noted the eyes of the Breton quietly following me.

The room was small, but well furnished, and the bed actually was quite inviting. I began to strip off my clothes, but the sudden appearance of footsteps sent me racing to put my shirt back on. As I pushed my arms through the sleeves, there was a knock at the door.

When I answered, I saw it was the Breton. She gave a small smile that did wonders to accent her auburn locks before she spoke.

“May I come in? We have much to discuss.”

“Really?” I inquired skeptically. “For whom does the southern bell toll?”

“Alas, but only the glass menagerie may tell,” the Breton replied. This settled that she was my contact, so I stepped aside and allowed her entry.

“I assume you must be Arielle?” I inquired as she took a seat on the bed.

“You assume correctly,” she replied, “I didn’t want to speak downstairs for fear of making a scene, and I’m glad you only drew as much attention to yourself as was needed. This operation is quite delicate, after all.”

“Here’s what we know,” she continued briskly, yet quietly, “The robber’s favorite site is just east of here, on a curve of the Gold Road that gives you a good view of Kvatch. You are to make your way along the road until the robber makes himself known. We will be following out of sight. Make no attempt to contact us, and trust that we will protect you. We are taking every precaution necessary to ensure you don’t get hurt. Now, best get yourself some sleep, you need to be well rested for tomorrow.”

She turned to leave, but hesitated at the door before turning back while reaching into her pockets. She then pulled out a set of scrolls and handed them to me.

“Take these. We know the mage prefers the use of Frost magic, so these should help prevent the worst of the damage he can do to you. Be ready to leave early tomorrow morning. Good night.”

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: May 21 2011, 03:28 AM