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]

@rider: You hit the nail right on the head there. Carahil is still human... err, elven, under that cool, dispassionate facade. Now was the time for her to show it. Thank you for your words.

@SubRosa: Abiene is only the second true cameo appearance in this tale, after Julian's little tussle in the Wawnet Inn back in Chapter 1. The rest are simply references. Now, the goal of the previous chapter was to show to the viewers the immediate repercussions of what happened at Brina Cross, and to really bring home the point that he was nearly killed in his duty. I'm glad you thought the shift in perspective felt natural. Oh, and on the topic of Teresa, her being comfortable with her sexuality is enough to make me quite proud of her. I do not care for the circumstances, she knows her alignments, and has embraced them.
Nit picked.

@Acadian: That reference to Jerric and Kvatch was deliberately written to keep the Hero of Kvatch anonymous, so that it can still go either way. Many of the Kvatch survivors fled to Anvil when the city was destroyed, so Jerric could definitely have been among them. Or was he the one who destroyed that gate? Time will tell.
Nits picked.

@Lady Syl: Do not fear about falling behind, I do not wish to pressure anyone to read, but simply let them do so at their leisure. If you have prior commitments, so be it. Still, good to see you back with us.
Thank you for your comments.

@Captain Hammer: Your insight into Carahil's reaction is quite well observed, and you have thoroughly brought to light everything I wished for the reader to experience when the read of Carahil reacting to the whole fiasco. Thank you very much!

@Grits: I am humbled that you think so highly of my interpretation of Abiene's character, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing her to appear in this tale! Of course, there is the reason that there is no other healer I would trust the removal of clothing to, either. I'm sure Abiene has had some very good practice there.

@mALX: I thought you would enjoy this one. Your words are much appreciated, dearest coffee-guzzling squirellicoon!

next: A couple days later, it is time for Derelas himself to come to grips with what has happened, and to learn a little something about himself in the process.

Chapter 9-4: Repercussions

I woke in a warmly lit chamber to the sight of pink morning rays, a softly blustering curtain, and a Breton upon whose face was written hazy tiredness mixed with what I could only describe as unbreakable compassion. It was apparent that she had seen my eyes open, because once she was sure I was looking at her, she gave me a small smile as she put her soft healer’s hands to my forehead.

“You're still a bit cold, I’m afraid,” she spoke, her soft voice filling the room with the warmth of empathy to match the vivid light. “You might need to stay here for about a day longer.”

“Where am I?” I asked.

“Back in Anvil,” the woman replied. “You were brought back about two days ago, seriously injured. Carahil has been fretting over you for most of that time.”

Carahil… Brina Cross… the Altmer in blue hiding in the bushes who did this to me. It was cold like I had never experienced before; it was so terrible it burned me to my very bones. Nothing could have prepared me for such a powerful frost spell. I desperately wanted to be angry with Carahil, enraged that she nearly sent me to my death. After all, she knew of the murderous intent of that mage. But at the same… the anger would not come. I did not know if it was because of my frail state, or because the woman next to me was capable of stopping a raging bull with just a glance, but though I so desperately wanted it, I could find no anger or hatred for Carahil. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened that day, and I would be a fool to believe that she could.

It was at that point the door opened, and the familiar face of Carahil herself glided in.

“I heard voices,” she said in her usual slow voice, but at the same time I noted it was a bit higher pitched than normal. “What has transpired?”

“Derelas is awake,” the woman replied. “Frail, but awake.”

Carahil closed her eyes, and I noticed her shoulders relax considerably as waves of tension left her body. After a few seconds, she found her voice again.

“Thank you, Abiene. Please get some rest now, you look absolutely exhausted.”

The young woman named Abiene hesitated for a moment, but with an insistent nod toward the door from Carahil, she slowly rose to her feet and left. Carahil closed the door after her, leaving us alone. I was shocked when she turned to face me not with her usual manner of cold indifference and dispassionate logic, but with the face of a mother visiting the sickbed of her child. It was enough to make me appreciate that she was in charge of the Healing Hall, as the rest of the Guild called the Anvil chapter.

“I know you must be furious with me at the moment,” Carahil began, “but for now we must put aside whatever differences might consume our hearts, for we still have business to attend to. What happened at Brina Cross?”

“The rogue mage was an Altmer named Caminalda,” I replied meekly, my voice hoarse and frail from lack of use. “She had been staying in the Brina Cross Inn for some time, as far as Arielle had figured out. She took our bait, laid her trap in the night, and waited for me near the intersection between the Gold and Brown roads.”

I shuddered when I came to the next part; I will never forget that feeling… the feeling of being frozen so badly it burns your very soul. It burned until my body could no longer stand it, and she did it again… and again… until I was nothing but a frigid heap on the cobblestones. I then lay still, waiting for nothing more than for her to walk up to me and break my head from my shoulders like an icicle.

But she never did. I heard far off shouts; sounds of battle a million miles away. I could hear the screams of a woman in flames, and the squawking of a impish creature… a scamp, as he buried his claws deep into the leg of the woman in blue. A male in a light blue hood and shining steel armor then dashed forward while Caminalda doubled over in pain. And with a quick and precise strike from his silver blade, he cleanly separated her head from her body as my world went dark.

“They killed her,” I then said simply. It was too much for me to speak of now, what happened to me. “One of the battlemages. He decapitated her.”

The shadow of shock and disgust passed through Carahil’s face, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.

“Well… Arielle and Roliand did what needed to be done, then. No more innocent deaths… though it pains me to think of how close we were to yet another.”

“You’ve had plenty of time to reflect on any misgivings, Magister,” I replied, reaching out with my right hand, but it was then I caught a sight that sent my heart into my throat.

“Where is my ring finger?” I stammered, bolting upright, my breathing going shallow. “What happened to my finger?!”

“Frostbite,” Carahil quickly responded, having flown to her feet in surprise. “We did what we could, but there was too much damage done to that finger. The flesh had already died. I’m sorry, Derelas, but we had to remove it. Now please, lie down before you black out.”

I complied, feeling very faint. I raised my hand, and gazed upon the pathetic stump that once was my finger… a reminder of the cost of living, the cost I thought I paid three years ago, when my life became torture. It was now becoming woefully clear why my anger for Carahil was impossible.

“You look awfully troubled, Derelas,” Carahil voiced quietly. “I know it may not be my domain to ask, but what pains you so?”

“Why am I here?” I asked the Altmer. “What purpose does my life have to this world now?”

“Don’t speak like that, child, you have served a great purpose for our Guild. With your assistance, we have brought down a murderer. Your Guild is quite proud of your sacrifice.”

“I should have died that day,” I continued, ignoring Carahil’s stammered compliments. “All these years, I’ve been searching for something I thought would bring back my family….”

“By the Gods, child, silence yourself!” Carahil nearly squealed, her eyes round as dinner plates. “We have all lived through troubles in our day, but what could possibly be worth your life?”

I said nothing at first. She would not understand. She would not understand living with the pain of having your heart torn from your body when a young man came to realize his parents would never come home. She would not understand why that young man would throw himself into danger at the voice of whim time and time again. She would not understand… not while her life still meant something to her. My old life was gone, stolen from me many years ago when my parents never returned from that expedition to Nornalhorst. And now I had three factions tugging for control, the Vampire Ancient, the Dark Brotherhood, and the Children of Dawn. It now felt to me that it was simply too much to ask to have my life back in my own possession now. There was nothing left in this world for me, everything I held dear was lost three years ago.

“Now, as I said, I know you must be furious with me for allowing this to happen…” Carahil began, but I interrupted.

“I’m not,” I said bluntly. “The world is a safer place for what we have done today, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Selfless of you,” Carahil responded, giving me a faint smile, “but nevertheless, you shall be recognized for your actions. I have provided my recommendation for your entrance to the University. I hope it helps you towards your goals… whatever they may be. Now please rest, you are still very weak.”




----




Carahil closed the door to the healing ward and made her way upstairs. Something about the Bosmer’s reaction to this whole state of affairs deeply troubled her. The way he spoke about his near death… as if it was welcomed. What could have happened to this poor child to make him so willing to toss his life aside? At first, Carahil thought she would be glad that Derelas was not angry with her, but now… now she would have given anything for him to have shown his rage, for him to show he felt he meant something to himself. What she knew now was there was something deeply wrong with that child, what with the way he so briefly spoke of life like a constant chore, just another activity to be endured. She would have pressed him to answer the one question he did not if he were in a more fit state, but for now, all she could do was wonder….

What could have happened to someone so young and exuberant to make him lose his desire to live?

Closing the door to the library behind her, she found a chair and sat herself down. So much has happened in so little time, she thought. It’s probably just the wooziness talking, and the missing finger. He’ll come around once he can get himself off that bed. I hope he finds himself when that happens.

----

Post Script: Character Abiene from Jerric's Story used with permission from Grits.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Jun 1 2011, 01:30 AM