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]

Sorry all, another delay after an unusually crazy week.

SubRosa - when I was writing hmi wanting some whisky made me think of Mímisbrunnr, so I decided to steal borrow it.

Grits - I'm glad you liked it, and I'm sure there'll be more streams, though not in this chapter I'm afraid (at least not ones you'd want to wash in).

mALX - Yes I changed to third person. There's pros and cons, it's much easier to head hop between sections in third person than first which works better for the group based piece I have in mind here. Equally Ferir is definitely the main and we'll be seeing most of it from his head. I'm glad the characters work for you as they're the point of this piece.

All - In the last part Ferir and Ruben reached the deep backcountry and started towards Carbo's Camp to get supplies. Ferir has misgivings however.



2.1 Carbo's Camp

Carbo’s camp sat like a rotting fruit in the bowl valley. They approached up the stream which ran through it. Ruben noted the grey sludge which lay in its bed and the foul smell and wondered what you could catch from the mingled bandits, smugglers and vagabond scum which had used it. The Cheydinhal guard knew about the place, and could have found it easily enough. There was no point though, the occupants would scatter and men would be lost. Better to keep it out here, the wilds were already dangerous. The guard had better things to deal with.

Except he wasn’t one, not any more. But I’ve always been a guard. The fact was simple, they’d thrown him out, and he’d never be welcome back. Would he be welcome in Cheydinhal again? He shook his head hard in the hopes the thought would leave him alone. He had friends, they’d gotten him out but he doubted even they would want to see him again. Ever. His mind probed the thought like a tongue in a broken tooth.

The beginnings of a path had developed. He forced his attention to the present. Ferir was nervous, he’d even tried to smarten up though Ruben doubted the man would agree. He certainly wouldn’t admit how tense he was, but it was in his movements, years as a guard had taught Ruben to see that. They had also taught caution and the nerves were contagious.

Him, entering Carbo’s fetching Camp. He’d have laughed a week before. Ferir had remained silent on questioning, more so than Ruben had come to expect. Something rattled him, that bothered Ruben.

“They’re watching us,” Ferir said it quietly without turning. “See that tree ahead? Don’t do anything rash. Archers.”

Dreck. Ruben followed in silence and tried not to let his seething mind show.

Ferir was correct. As they approached the clearing, far from natural judging by the rotten stumps, a bosmer stepped out from behind a large beech. He wore a velvet smoking jacket which had seen better days and a hat with an outlandish feather wedged in the brim. Ruben might have laughed but the nord and orc who flanked him left any humour crying behind the nearest tree. They towered over the tree-hugger, each had bodies which looked like a construction team may have been involved. Or at least a damned good alchemist, thought Ruben.

It was a moment before Ferir spoke. He sounded surprised. “Squire Aengoth, a good day.”

“That, Ferir, is for me to decide." The bosmer had the whiny voice of his kind. "There’s been wholly too many stories and too little contact from you.”

“I doubt Relthas would let you decide. Things have happened.”

“We had a deal,” the nord stepped forward threateningly at Aengoth’s words. Ruben cursed inwardly but noticed Ferir didn’t seem bothered.

He nodded, “We did. Things change. I don’t like repeating myself so why don’t you take us to Relthas, let the gentlemen sort this out.” The bosmer had turned an unhealthy colour. Ruben wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam when Ferir gave him a smile.

“When I was in Vvardenfell-“

“Spare me. If you want a drink I’ll be in Tashba’s later, but it appears you want to talk business. Poor show I must say.”

Ruben noticed the mockery of the bosmer’s tone but doubted Aengoth did. Surely it was deliberate. Either way it had the desired effect, the bosmer nodded. “Fine, follow me.”

They did. The trees on the far side of the clearing were just thick enough to obscure the camp, an expanse of tented structures which all looked like they had been temporary long ago with the occasional hut or cabin which looked a little more solid. They were arranged in a hodgepodge of colours, mainly faded and dirtied to shades of brown, and shapes which clustered around cooking fires or the stream. In the centre there was a peculiar building which looked like the lovechild of a privy, grown beyond any sane proportion, and a marquee, with a ship’s rigging thrown in for good measure. It was towards this they headed.

Their path through the mingled dwellings was a tortuous and often olfactory experience. Ruben wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything quite like it. A pocket of what he assumed to be whores stood smoking outside one tent while the smell of skooma drifted from the next. A dozen musics mingled though the canvas - guitars, drums, lutes and dunmer singing. Unless someone was skinning a cat and had forgotten to kill it first. The effect was similar. Just as suddenly they were passing some scarred and armed men, still wearing battered armour, sharing out clothes and jewellery.

His lawman’s eye, developed by years on the beat, was overwhelmed in a deluge of crime. Drunk and disorderly vied with dealing and in at least two places soliciting. He thought a few counts of conspiring to corrupt public morals wouldn’t go amiss either. But this was Carbo’s Camp, this was where the criminals, the bandits, the nutters and the pushers mixed. The down and out rubbed shoulders with those running, and if the rumours were true no one much cared what from. But the rumours hadn’t held a hundredth part of what he saw. How much pain spread like an infection from this place? How far did it’s groping lines of malignancy reach like mould from a festering peach?

They never got to the central structure, the peculiar bosmer instead led them to a low wooden house. He nodded to the orc who threw the door open with a flourish. The nord stepped in and Aengoth followed.

“Serjo Relthas, I have brought Ferir and his escort.” He swept his hat off and bowed in a clatter of gold chain.

Ruben followed Ferir in and looked around the plain interior. Cheap wall hangings, a few chests and a thick rug by the fire. He could see a large bed through a crooked door opposite. A dunmer, the room’s only occupant, sat in an easy chair in the light of the window smoking a calabash pipe sized like a small incinerator. Otherwise he seemed normal, for the camp and particularly next to Aengoth. He could pass as a minor noble easily.

He surveyed them for a moment and raised an eyebrow, “I should hope not.”

Ferir shook his head. The eyebrow returned to its accustomed position.

“Well done Aegnoth. I have some hot gems I’ve cut a good deal for with the black bows, but I want them checked.”

“My pleasure. Have my shoes come back from the cobbler?” Only then did Ruben notice that the bosmer was barefoot.

“No, I believe the gilt parts are proving tricky. Now I must speak with my guests,” Relthas turned his attention firmly away from Aengoth.

He looked at Ferir for a time, Ruben suppressed the urge to shuffle. The place made him uneasy, and he didn’t know what was going on. Not enough. Then the gaze turned on him. The red eyes were unusually intense, almost penetrating. He held them, but was glad then the dunmer looked back to Ferir.

“I’ve heard disturbing rumours.”

“About?”

“Raj’arn’s company have vanished, I’m not sure what yet. Might be trading with the Commona, or the Altmer. I assume that’s why you didn’t deliver the goods.”

“Supply was part of it.”

“We’ll need compensation obviously." Relthas gave a half shrug, "But I know you well enough that I'd be willing to negotiate another deal.”

“You won’t get either.”

“Really?” Ruben didn’t like the mixture of curiosity and threat in the dunmer’s voice.

“You haven’t heard the latest.”

Relthas made a circle motion with his hand.

“We were shut down. Imperial agents stormed Sundew.”

Supirse flickered over the dunmer’s face. Ruben had the idea that it wasn't often found there. “Damn..." He paused, "I didn't know. What’s the damage?”

“That I know? Total. Except Teemva and maybe Torvas they’re all dead. The cave will be scoured. I’m double murder and jailbreak high on the wanted list. It’s done. We’re done, gone.” It came out in a torrent of words like bile the morning after.

Relthas was silent for a moment, he blinked and put the pipe down. It fell over spilling the smouldering contents, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Arvyn?”

Ferir opened his mouth then shut it and shook his head once. His eyes flickered to the floor.

“Sorry." The dunmer was quiet for a moment. "Look, don’t worry about us troubling you.” He stood and walked over to a chest and pulled out a sack. “I don’t mean to be insensitive but I know you need it. For old times if you must.” Ferir caught it with a clink. “That offer of a job still stands...”

"Cooking for you? The answer's still no, sorry."

Relthas frowned but didn't look surprised. "Think of the cash as an advance then, let me know if you start elsewhere or need a hand. I might be able to help. Anything else you need?"

“Just a drink.”

“You going to Tashba’s?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll let Senril know.”

“Thanks. And thanks for this,” Ferir held up the bag, “and well… everything.”

“That’s fine, if you ever need work you know where I am, oblivion, if you need a chat even. Now if you’ll excuse me a certain khajit needs dealt with.”

This post has been edited by Olen: Dec 11 2011, 07:23 PM