Shades of Ending, set after the oblivion MQ Options

[Olen]

Well it’s been a while, a long while, since I posted anything. I have been writing, some stuff which was non-TES, a false start which I spent too long fighting… There’s also another ~80k piece which I’ve left on a hard drive in Scotland so I’m taking a hiatus. Anyway I decided I fancied posting something.

This is unplanned and unfinished. I prefer to write all of something with a lot of planning and then post, but this time I thought I’d just let it flow and see what comes. Hopefully it won’t be too unpolished and I intend to make it more episodic so if I do lose interest for a bit it shouldn’t matter so much. The plan is to post one section while I write another, that way any criticisms can be addressed as I go.

Anyway without any more waffle a short intro.

Shades of Ending

1.1 Questioning

The prisoner met Verus’s eye across the scarred table. The watchman swallowed. “It does not look good for you,” his voice was quiet. He knew he should feel disgust, hatred even for what the man had done. But it was tempered. Perhaps it was because the man had more brain than most of the scum they dragged into the Cheydinhal prison. Or perhaps it was because he understood why, though he’d never admit it. Or it could just have been the passing resemblance to his son. Same dark hair and eyes, and not so different features.

Damn he hated this place, the sooner the investigation was over the sooner he could go and see the real thing back in the Imperial City. Not that distraction like this helped.

The prisoner looked back, “I’m fetched aren’t I?”

Verus winced at the tone and nodded. “Ferir,” he said the man’s name, gave him that much respect, “double murder of Imperial guards only leads to the gallows.”

“And it doesn’t matter that it was self defence, that they were trying to kill me? Had already killed my friends. We didn’t attack them.”

“It doesn’t matter. And even if it did you’re guilty of enough else to string you up. Possession with intent to supply – don’t tell me that much skooma was for personal use, our mage says you’re clean anyway. Bootlegging. Smuggling. As little as I like it you had it coming.”

Ferir nodded.

Verus could hardly believe it, they were always full of guar apples. Fake bravado to start with which slowly decayed into pleading. There was fear there certainly, he reeked of it, it was in the way he sat and moved. There was pain too, but mainly Verus thought it was resignation in the prisoner’s voice when he spoke. “Can you at least tell me who you killed?”

“I’m not meant to.” The gaze from the dark eyes flashed fierce like glowdust on a fire. It was the same spark which had cost the lives of two of the Imperial Legionaries who had raided the smugglers cavern, and it caught Verus off guard.

“You have a family.” It was a statement. “The people in that cave were as close to family as I’d found. You come and kill them, and within the next couple of days…” His gaze dipped to the scored boards of the table in the interrogation room. It slid uneasily round the manacles which held him. “I just want to know if any of them lived.”

“The patrol killed five. A two humans, a man and a woman, two khajit and a dunmer male.” If you had better luck you’d have been in that list. Verus didn’t add the thought, its truth was too bitter.

The eyes screwed closed. “The dunmer, what colour was his hair?”

“Red.” Verus watched Ferir deflate. His eyes shut and he thumped his wrists against the table, the chain which held them didn’t allow space for it to make more than a dull thud. He muttered something Verus didn’t catch, and decided not to press.

When Ferir finally opened his eyes again they were bloodshot. “Have you got what you want now?” There was anger in his voice, but also sadness, enough to suppress the flames, if not entirely quench them. “You know someone got away, you’ve got our contacts. I’m in pain, several of my closest friends are dead. Have you done enough?”

Verus frowned, it wasn’t something he was used to. Lines about choosing this fate when he chose crime seemed flimsy, paper props for the tragicomedy which passed as justice in this town. Ferir hadn’t lied about the pain either, the man was a mass of bruises. The legionaries had worked him over, and who could blame them? He wasn’t the only one to lose friends. Occasionally his hands would sneak towards the lower ribs on one side only to be rudely stopped by the chain.

Not that they’d waste healing on a condemned prisoner. You should have died in that cave. Verus shook his head, trying to dislodge the malaise which had built. He stood, this was too discomfiting. For a moment he struggled for words, then gave up and offered Ferir a single nod before leaving.

[Olen]

HER - nit fixed, silly letters and their orders...

Subrosa - occasionally trying to edit round swearing in the rough draft is impossible, I'm glad frek worked. I could have drawn form another language but it sort of begs the question what makes that okay if English isn't.
I'm glad my vision of post crisis Cyrodiil works for you.

Desri - There are other ways of escaping prison, but with the help of the guards seemed most feasible. I'm not following the game that closely and don't understand why they would provide prisonders with lockpicks .
Mercury would fit the setting I'd say, it's been known since pre-history (a Chinese Emperor died after an eternal life potion of mercury and powdered jade turned out not to work so well).

Acadian - thanks for the best wishes, and I completely understand. There's lots of stories I'd love to have time to read here but don't have time for.

Grits - Ruben certainly shuld know how to handle himself. Glad you're enjoying.

1.4 Escape

An eyebrow rose.

Ruben gestured to Ferir and continued. “He’s a known mage.” The nord’s voice took on a mock story telling tone. “He magics the door open and lets me out because I know the castle and the city. We escape and the guard heaps it on him. Andel will take it like a sweetroll, he’s always wanting to blame rouge mages since Farwil got himself killed in that gate.”

“Aye and we lost enough bloody men trying to get him back.”

“Well then it’s time he saved one isn’t it.”

The dunmer nodded, “It’s less risky, if we play it right…” He looked hard at Ruben, “You know what he’s in for?”

He’s the bright one, decided Ferir. He took the chance to answer himself. “Yea, he knows fine,” he said, “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same in my place.”

“I’d never have been in that place,” the dunmer sounded like he’d stood in something unpleasant.

Ferir shrugged, “Perhaps not, but don’t you think a smuggler might be of use in the wilds? Assuming you mean for Ruben to survive.”

“And you’ll help us?” This from the jailor.

Ferir cocked an eyebrow at him. It was the dunmer who spoke, “He doesn’t have much choice.”

“Indeed,” said Ferir, “And running away isn’t exactly arduous.”

The guard frowned. “But there’ll have to be magic.” Ferir stood and walked to the bars of the cell next to the speaker. Their eyes followed him. Two of the guards stepped back, only the dunmer stood his ground. Ferir raised his wrist and brought the iron against the bar with a clack.

The jailor flinched slightly. Idiot, still a necessary one. “You’re the man with the keys. These things aren’t ornamental.”

The dunmer glanced at the jailor. “Jarl,” he addressed the tall man, “Go and grab some gear for them from the store.”

“An axe for me,” Ferir put in.

The dunmer glared a him and he tipped his head. Yes?

“Unlock them, if we’re going to do this I might as well see it done right.”

The jailor didn’t reply as he opened the door to Ruben’s cell and set to work with a finer key on the man’s wrist irons. The former guard was rubbing his wrists as the lock of Ferir’s cell clicked open. He presented his wrists.

The jailor shook his head. “You see a keyhole?” He asked with the cocky tone reserved exclusively for the dull witted when confronted by a mistake.

“Well I’m guessing you can get them off. Enchantment, if that’s what it is, is expensive.”

“Yea, they use magic, you’d need a mage. That way the scum in here can’t fiddle them and start a riot.”

Ferir closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them he looked at the dunmer who said. “I knew there was something. There’s a file somewhere as I recall, can give you that. We’ll have to do without magic.”

A noise.

The dunmer glanced back up the stairs. His flickering speed belied his nerves. It was the guard, Jarl.

He passed a sack to Ruben, “You should find most of what you need in there. Your sword is in evidence but there’s a similar one. We got the armour off a couple of corpses found on the road, it’s better than nowt.” Unceremoniously he ditched another bag in front of Ferir. “I can’t believe we’re giving you this. I’m not sure what you like but it’s going to do you.”

“Thanks,” muttered Ferir in a tone which didn’t reveal how much he meant it.

“Pull another pair of trousers on and get a cloak around you, we need to move now.” The dunmer glanced around again.

Ferir had barely pulled the cloak, a moth-eaten green thing which smelt of damp, on and they were leaving. The dunmer paused at the door to the barracks. “Jarl, check it out. If it’s fine go on patrol, I’ll see them out the city.” He turn his red gaze on the jailor, the look was like nails, “Set a fire. We need havoc to cover this and make it believable.”

“Where?”

The dunmer’s lips curled back, “Do I look like I give a damn? Just try not to get caught.” Jarl passed through the door and didn’t return. “Move,” the dunmer growled at them, “and for Vivec’s sake be quiet.”

The door led into a slumbering barracks. The detritus of a meal lay scattered on a table. Opposite a stair curved upward to a mezzanine. Rough snores drifted from it. The dunmer walked quickly and quietly across to the main door and pulled it open. Ferir followed. He barely dared to breathe, his complete concentration was focussed on not bumping anything, not tripping.

The air outside was cool. A soft breeze ran its cold nails over the bruises on his face. Ferir allowed himself the ghost of a smile. The moons hung high, the phrase brought an instant’s emotion which fell away like a weight. He wasn’t going to hang. Not this week at least. That was enough, next week was a foreign place.

“Stop.”

Ferir froze. The dunmer had spoken. Ferir followed his gaze and saw a pair of guards patrolling by the outer gate of the main keep.

“Come on, walk, don’t look suspicious. Not to fast or slow. It’s not invisibility but at this time of night in this city it’s as good as.”

The dunmer, Ferir wondered if he’d ever discover his saviour’s name, most likely not he thought, started down the slope which led away from the castle. Ferir relaxed, at first he had to force it but as the edges of calm seeped into his mind it spread like syrup stilling his worry and choking the frantic clockwork of fear.

Walk. Not to fast, not to slow. Don’t glance about. Don’t look like you’re doing this. The final was hardest, but a trained eye could spot someone pretending to be calm. You had to be calm. He could do it, had done it enough times before.

But this was different from the time he’d passed through an unexpected checkpoint with twenty pounds of black-tar moontreacle from Kvatch. That had been a thrill, an almost erotic mixture of adrenaline and calm, to be savoured afterward. This had him scared. He hurt, and anything more than a casual glace would reveal him. The city felt enfolding, a threatening maze of darkness. He glanced back at the dunmer who looked from side to side.

“Don’t look around so much. Trust me I’ve done this a lot.”

He didn’t need to see the dunmer frown. But the guard stopped glancing about like a spooked guar.

“We’d be safer cutting through the old town and out by the East gate,” said Ruben. “Who’s on?”

“Lerar and some new kid.”

“Lerar will be drunk and anyone new will go charging into the Newlands every time there’s a fight.”

“I’m wearing a guard uniform, we’d be noted if we pass through the old town.”

“Which is why you’ll go home now. You owed me one for taking that guy down, but I reckon you’ve paid it back now.”

The dunmer licked his dark lips. Ferir noticed. He also saw the guard’s throat bob as he swallowed. “Good luck. I doubt we’ll meet again on this side.”

“Aye,” Ruben replied, “until then.” He gave a quick nod.

“Whatever you find I hope it’s better.”

Ruben had already turned and started towards the tangled mat of alleys, hovels and squats which made up the old town. Ferir gave the nameless dunmer a nod in thanks and followed the other man.

This post has been edited by Olen: Aug 16 2011, 09:44 PM