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]

@SubRosa: It will be a long while yet before Carahil lets him free. And yes, the Runestone has something to do with the overarching mystery behind the story that Derelas thinks he might have just escaped from. And yes, I would say waking up to Carahil's stern, yet concerned face would be well worth any trouble.

@Acadian: Skingrad has always been an unusual place, after all. I'm sure Buffy has heard all the rumors (especially since the NPCs in Oblivion insist on repeating them at least 15 times daily). I'm glad you enjoy my depiction of Carahil, which is not all that dissimilar to her depictions I've seen in other fics, after all.

@Grits: Well, Dere was only unconscious this time, he wasn't actually hurt. Carahil is well experienced enough to know what ailments are urgent and which are not, and this one wasn't really very serious, all things considered. For all she knew, he might have just had a rough evening at the Flowing Bowl, and probably might have if Ariella was not there to tell her the story.

@haute ecole rider: I've heard others say the same.

@McBadgere: Take your time, I'm just so glad that you've joined us! Runestones aren't really very special in-game, as I said in the text, all they really do is give you some Bound equipment when you touch them. So, of course, I am making them more special.

@King Coin: Carahil was the one more interested in getting Dere back on his feet to get him back in the fields, Ariella just wanted to make sure he got well. Oh, and maybe so she might be able to spend the day with him, it seems she has taken to our not-quite-as-depressed-as-before hero quite well. In fact, one might think there could be something between them forming....

Chapter 10-5: Pastoral Morning

Ariella had held up with Alchemist Relas in his laboratory just long enough to wait for me to catch up. Once she saw I was up, she wasted no time greeting me.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she sighed as we exited the Guild to the fields for today’s work. “I had no idea that Runestone would have such an effect on you.”

“Nor did I,” I replied as we passed the central tree of Yokuda Loop. Even in the early morning, I could already make out the sounds of the blacksmith’s hammer pounding away and the children’s youthful glee as they played behind their homes. A solemn-faced, middle-aged Redguard woman was sitting beneath the shade of the plaza tree, her eyes searching for something, or someone. They paused on me, but left just as quickly as they came.

“Shall we go back to the shrine today?” Ariella asked, glancing my way. “There are a lot of plants growing there that Alchemist Relas can use.”

“Okay,” I consented. “By the way, I really enjoyed stargazing with you.”

“Thank you,” Ariella beamed as the city gates swung open to our approach, “It was such a beautiful night, too. I could never have asked for a clearer sky.”

Ariella waved at another Redguard, male this time, toiling away in the stables at Horse Whisperer shortly after we exited Anvil.

“Mornin’, Ariella!” He called out, returning her wave. “Fancy givin’ an old man here a hand with the hay today?”

“Maybe later,” Ariella called back, “Carahil is driving the Guild pretty hard right now. She seems determined to get this potion order finished before Saturalia.”

“Aye, that’s a pretty hefty load the Legion dropped on your shoulders,” the Redguard replied, leaning on his pitchfork. “Well, you just come on back whenever you feel up to tossin’ some hay ‘round.”

He then took his pitchfork back up and continued shoveling dung from the kennel into a giant barrel. Likely the dung was used for fertilizer by all the farmers on the city outskirts. As we passed the Whitmond plantation, I noticed a woman making powerful gestures at a man nearby, who seemed to be shouting back. I was too far away to hear anything over the morning clatter of horses, carriages, and galleons, though.

“That was Ernest,” Ariella told me, “I like to help him in the stables when I’m not doing much for the Chapter.”

“You must see a lot of him,” I commented, “whenever I saw him, he always seemed a bit grumpy.”

“He is a bit of a grouch,” Ariella replied, “but he’s really a good person once you get to know him. And you won’t find another man in Anvil who loves horses as much as he does.”

“Do you know who owns the stables?” I asked.

“That would be Clesa,” Ariella replied, grinning as she pointed out yet another Redguard who was fussing with a customer over a dapple-gray roan mare. “She runs the stables and breeds the horses. Hers are actually some of the most prized in all Cyrodiil, ‘None are hardier than those bred at Horse Whisperer’, that’s what she says, and the rest of the province agrees. She often barters with the Legion to provide animals for their more distinguished officers.”

Ariella pointed towards a stall housing a small gaggle of what could only be the most beautiful horses I ever laid my eyes upon. Each had a coat of pure white, gleaming in the morning rays of Aetherius. They held their heads high, as if they were flaunting their beauty for all to see as they slowly swished their long, bushy tails. Finally, I noted a concave profile to their bodies I didn’t see in most horses, which undoubtedly made for a very stable riding position.

Image

“Those are her most prized,” Ariella explained. “No other horse can come close to matching their strength. Those are the horses the Legion purchases.”

“I’ve never seen anything like them,” I replied, following the swishing of one of the mare’s tails.

“They are a breed exclusive to Horse Whisperer,” Ariella continued, “Most of their bloodlines come from Elsweyr, but the color came when she started experimenting with mixing them with trail horses from High Rock. She could not have asked for a better outcome. These horses easily beat out the stamina of both of their ancestors by a dragon’s wings.”

Clesa had just brought another customer around to the stables housing her prized horses and began to show them off. Unfortunately, before I could get a better look at who was shopping, a great bellowing roar befitting of one from Skyrim issued from Whitmond, causing both me and Ariella to jump. My eyes left the stables and returned to the farm, where I was just able to make out a door slamming shut.

“Looks like Maeva and Bjalfi are at it again,” Ariella sighed, shaking her head.

“They argue often?” I inquired.

“Almost daily,” Ariella replied. “Maeva wants a quiet life, but Bjalfi, her husband, wants to adventure. He keeps saying he can make the family rich with spoils from the ruined forts and disused mines around the county. Their relationship has been hanging by a thread for a while now.”

“And I think it might have just snapped,” I commented quietly, as I saw a brute of a Nord carrying a brilliantly glowing bronze mace at his hip make a hasty exit from the farmhouse.

“Oh, no you don’t, you brusi!” I heard Maeva shout out, the ensuing ruckus startling a murder of crows, who took to the skies calling their displeasure. “That’s my family’s heirloom you’re stealing there! Get back here! GET BACK HERE, S’WIT!!”

All she got in response was a very rude gesture as her now quite assuredly ex-husband stormed away. Maeva said nothing more as she stomped into the farmhouse, slamming the door so hard it was nearly ripped from its hinges.

I looked to Ariella; she looked back at me.

“Well, that was certainly dramatic,” I remarked. “And it doesn’t look like he intends to come back at all.”

“Nope, and I’m pretty sure even if he did Maeva won’t be very inclined to a warm welcome,” Ariella agreed. “I wonder what she meant by her ‘family’s heirloom’, though?”

“I think it was that mace he strapped to his belt,” I replied, “It looked magical, but I couldn’t tell the enchantment; too far away.”

“You’re probably right,” Ariella replied, shrugging. “Maeva was completely beside herself when he left. He’s stormed away several times before, but he never got screamed at that hard those times.”

“Well, if he did steal that thing, we should probably tell the Guard about it, shouldn’t we?” I inquired.

“I don’t think they’ll do anything,” Ariella answered, hanging her head. “He and Maeva have been at each other’s throats for a while now. Besides, he’s part of the family that that mace belonged to, so he’s perfectly in his right to take it with him.”

I gave a deep sigh. It was rather obvious the guard would not step in; arguments between married couples are ten to the drake, after all. Besides, it really wasn’t my place to step in to try and fix familial problems, I’m no consulate, I’d probably just make things worse.

“You’re right. It’s probably best we don’t get involved in their dispute. We would probably just anger them further,” I voiced my thoughts aloud.

“Right, so let’s get back to happier talk now,” Ariella replied.

Our desires alike, I returned to gazing at Clesa’s beautiful snow-white horses. Clesa and her customer had long since left, and I could only barely make them out on the horizon. It looked like they were headed for Driftwood Beach, the very same place I washed up all those months ago.

“Do you ever wish you could have one of those horses?” I asked Ariella, turning my thoughts back to the stables.

“Every time I see them,” she sighed. “I love helping Ernest groom them when I’m there. You wouldn’t believe how soft their coats are….”

“How about we go this evening? After we finish gathering, you could, maybe, show me around?”

“Count on it,” Ariella replied, giving me a brilliant smile, one which I returned to the best of my abilities; one that remained etched in my mind long after it was given. Perhaps she really was the one person I needed right now?




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Post-Script: Clesa's prized white horses are based off of a mix real-world Arabians and Andalusians (Elsweyr and High Rock equivalent breeds, respectively).

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Nov 6 2011, 06:40 AM