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]

@Hammer: Welcome back, glad to see you still with us! Your interpretation of Derelas is quite close to what I want out of his character, so I am very glad you find him endearing in that way. And don't worry, there are still plenty of people out to kill him who need a good backfiring of their plans.
By the way, did I mention I hate High Elf names?

@SubRosa: Actually, I think I prefer the Flaming Tide to be a sign of Kynareth, so I've changed that part up a bit. But this is not the game, this Mages Guild doesn't kill people with fireballs, they kill people with explosions, lectures, and gum disease!

@Acadian: Derelas has been getting caught with his pants down a bit too much now, so it was time for me to break the cycle. I always love me a new village, and I made Brina Cross because I thought it fit what the town was supposed to be. It isn't nearly as deserted now, but since we have a bit of a problem with a rogue, murderous mage, having the square empty seemed a prudent choice. Who wants to sell their goods in a town they have to risk certain death to leave?

@mALX: Yup, those were rather blatant code phrases as we harkened to bad spy movies, but I also really wanted to throw in a small reference to Tennessee Williams at some point, so there you go.

@Grits: Flaming Tide is when the evening light reflects off the Abecean Sea on a clear day, turning the water a brilliant red-and-gold. It's a little reference to an old sailor's saying: "Red sky at night, sailor's delight."

next: There are some dangling plot threads that need to be gathered. Just what have the rest of the crew been up to so far?

Chapter 9-2: Three’s Company

“What have you managed to decipher so far?” The man with flaming eyes demanded of the ebony-haired woman in an elegant ivory dress nearby. She was deep in a meditative stance with a strange book in hand, and did not respond to the man’s voice at once. It was only when he grew impatient and opened his mouth again that she spoke in a voice of such resounding command, even this man, driven by cruel determination, faltered.

“The secrets of the Fingers of the Mountain do not lightly reveal themselves,” she spoke, her two fangs gleaming like silver daggers despite the lightless room in which she studied. “I require more time before I might unlock the book’s power. Perhaps you should busy yourself with locating the quarry you lost?”

“And you think I have been doing what for this past week?” The man scathed, eyes flaring in anger. “He has proven much more resourceful than I anticipated, and it is proving rather difficult to worm information out of the people of Bravil.”

“The skooma stores are right across from your chambers,” the woman responded without interest.

“I know,” the man replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve been saving it for… more special occasions.”

At his response, the woman looked up from her book, fixing her red-tinged eyes first on his face, then on his hips. She stared at that spot for a full three seconds before she spoke again.

“I see.”

“It would do you well to mind your tongue,” the man practically whispered, the malice in his voice chilling the air around him.

“And you would do well to mind where you put yours,” the woman bit back. “Even with your favorite… seasonings, the blood of a harlot remains ever the blood of a harlot.”

To this the man did not respond. When it became clear that the lady in white had won the verbal spar, she grinned faintly as she returned to her book.

“Regulus Terentius is quite observant of the goings-on in his city, as I’m sure you know. Your goods will be more than enough to loosen his tongue.”

“The stalkers shall be dispatched at once,” the man slowly replied, making his way out of the dim chamber.



----




“He’s going to have to go to Terentius at some point. Once he does, the Count is all but guaranteed to let loose the gossip.”

“He can’t be sure to give away our secret, though,” Faith replied to Tadrose’s concerns. The older Dunmer was currently taking a break from her forge while the blade she was hammering reheated in the furnace. The smoke from the roaring fire, hot as the Deadlands in Midyear, clouded the tiny room with smoke that was only barely visible caked onto Tadrose’s ashen skin. The effect was not unpleasant, though, rather it looked as though she were wearing a rather exotic makeup made just for her kind. It made Faith wonder why she had yet to find someone to settle down with, despite her insatiable desire for work.

“You know how the beggars gossip, Faith,” Tadrose replied edgily. “The moment something interesting happens with our friend at the center—and it will happen—the beggars will be the first to know. Next thing, the rumors reach the patricians, and the news is circling Tamriel before the day is gone. I don’t know how they do it, but it is all but assured that we cannot truly guarantee safety in this time.”

Tadrose turned away to check on the blade she was heating. “Besides,” she continued with an air of awful finality, “if the Ancient brings Skooma, the secrecy of our friend’s whereabouts is certainly lost.”

“Then we best prepare for the worst,” Faith replied slowly, failing to hide the tension thick upon her own voice. “How long until the Brotherhood catches up?”

“Hopefully never,” Tadrose replied, retrieving the once again glowing blade and picking up her hammer. “I have an agent seeing to that problem, he’ll keep the Brotherhood busy for as long as he can.”

“Tadrose!” A booming male voice called down into the basement forge. “Hurry up and get up here! The shoot starts in an hour and I want every guild member present for the qualifications!”

Tadrose repressed a sigh as she regretfully placed the blade she was about to hammer into the water trough. She would have to pick this work up later, as she desperately needed to clean up and change.

“I really do need to go,” Tadrose told Faith as she put away her smith’s hammer. “I can’t show up for the tourney like this, and Mara knows Teresa would never forgive me if I missed her shoot.”

“It’s alright,” Faith responded, waving a hand in dismissal. “There wasn’t really much more to discuss anyway. I think I should be off to Anvil now, if the Ancient tries bribing Terentius, I’ll want to be someplace where I can do some good.”

“I will notify White Wolf once I return,” Tadrose replied. “Light of Dawn guide your steps.”




----




“I know you’ve been holding things back from me,” the vampire accused a man in a cloak black as midnight. “You can’t hide this from me forever, Lucien.”

“What your Speaker chooses to share with you is not your business to question, Vicente,” Lucien responded coolly, his eyes never leaving the malformed face before him. “You may enjoy a different view from those harlots you so enjoy courting, but it would do you well not to pry into the Night Mother’s will.”

“Now see here, Lucien,” Vicente continued indignantly, “what I do with my brothers and sisters is nowhere near your business. You simply represent our sanctuary to the Mother; I am still in charge of things down there. You have been holding back information on the contract I offered the blood of my kin to the Mother to cement, and I am not about to let it pass lightly. I do not let such sacrifices go, and I do not enjoy having to find and train new murderers.”

“Really?” Lucien inquired, his composure never slipping. “I was under the impression you took rather well to his replacement. Did I not hear you raving two days ago about the Marie Elena job?”

“Times change,” Vicente quickly quipped, fangs flashing menacingly.

“Indeed they do, look what you’ve done to him now,” Lucien continued, “stuck him in some festering swamp-hole of a city trying to find leads? Perhaps he’ll enjoy the Tournament of Archers, but it seems an awful waste of good talent to me, so forgive me for thinking you are not doing a particularly good job with your duties, Valtieri. The Night Mother is most displeased, as if I recall correctly, you are once again behind on your contracts. Perhaps if you were to stop whoring around with young Antoinetta, you would discover a rather apt talent in her.”

“I am perfectly happy with her talents, thank you very much!” Vicente cried out.

“I mean outside of your coffin, you pillock,” Lucien snapped, his voice rising ever so slightly. “You will take the contracts I pass because your Night Mother, bride of the Dread Father Sithis himself, commands they be done. You will set your personal stakes, no matter the blood ties you have made, aside.”

Vicente did not speak for some time. The silence within the dank chamber in which the two spoke was palpable, and Vicente looked ready to slit Lucien’s throat. Finally after many moments of careful consideration, Vicente spoke again.

“Very well, I consider your point made. But know this, I have sealed my pact with the Night Mother on my contract just like any other client. The taking of that one’s life is a certainty now, and I will not be held back by you bloody bureaucrats. Not now, not later, not ever.”

“And you are perfectly entitled to pursue him again once you have cleared the contracts we have been provided.” Lucien replied. “The power is in the coin, my friend, and that is the difference between you and our clients.”

“I know,” Vicente growled.

“Then tell me, which of these next lives do you wish for your sanctuary to claim?”

Vicente looked down at the several scrolls Lucien had brought with him to the sanctuary, and after a moment’s consideration, Vicente selected one, rolled it up, and pocketed it.

“I shall deal with Baenlin,” Vicente replied.

“Very good,” Lucien responded with a light grin and a small bow. “Until we meet again.”

Vicente stood seething for several minutes after Lucien’s departure over the loss, once again, of his ability to follow up on his own needs. The sooner he could take the life of that fetching Valenwood immigrant and stop the Ancient from getting his hands on him, the better. He knew what might happen if that Bosmer met the Ancient, and if his fears came to pass, it would be his life coming to an end. Lucien was an utter fool to hold him back like this. The demon within screamed at him to push Lucien aside, to forget the family he was so much a part of now, and finish this job himself before the threat to his unlife became even more dire, but he must suppress such feelings. He had the might of the Brotherhood at his disposal, and so long as he played his cards well, everything would fall into place.

The light creaking of what sounded like a coffin lid opening shattered Vicente’s thoughts, and he turned to see a slender blond Breton emerge from his sleeping coffin.

“Is he gone?” she asked. “Why don’t you come on back inside?”

“Not now, love,” Vicente replied to Antoinetta. “I have a job for you.”

“Now?” Antoinetta inquired, the grin on her face faltering. “But…”

“Now is not the time, wench,” Vicente growled slowly, thoroughly irritated. “I am not having a very good day, and what would please me best now is your obedience. Please remove yourself from my sleeping coffin, and we may discuss this contract together.”