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 for being slow. RL is devouring me just now. I have chapter three finished though so there will be more updates now.

mALX - glad the dialogue worked for you. Just as well seeing as this story seems rather dialogue heavy.

McBadgere - glad you like it. The line you quoted was an important one, so I'm glad that worked. Also thanks for prodding me into polishing another part for posting...

Fawkes - I'm glad you like it. Good eye with the quotes too.

Subrosa - Nits were fixed. I think I've found everything in this piece (though probably haven't). You seem to have picked up on all the foreshadowings, there's no sneaking anything past

And yes I've stolen the odd phrase from the TF world, it's just so much more real to me than the game world now, though there are some differences.

Grits - I'm glad the PoV hops are working. It's easier to avoid bogging things down with back story with the odd head hop. And Ruben is quite fun to write.

This part begins the morning after Ferir met a couple fo old aquaintances for a drink in Carbo's Camp.


2.3 Shopping

"No poppy, I need to be awake today." Ferir's voice was hoarse and his tongue felt like a strip of leather. How can I be so thirsty when I drank so much last night? It was one of life's mysteries.

The trader smiled, "I can give you something for that too."

Ferir shook his head. The stall claimed to be an alchemists but the decent potions looked stolen and the rest was a mixture of wortcraft and snakeoil. "Just the willow bark one with syrup and liver salts please."

"It's your hangover."

Don't I know it, thought Ferir as he handed the coin across. He downed the flask and tried to ignore the nauseating taste, a cheap healing and stamina draught followed it. It was probably unnecessary but at least it felt like he was doing something.

"Thanks," he muttered and carried on to the next stall to catch up with Holga.

"Feeling any better?"

"Nope."

"Me neither," she said. "Still having seen the rubbish in your pack I think more shopping should distract us."

"True, I need soap, and a towel. Guards are disgusting."

"I was more thinking some armour, and a decent weapon."

"That too," Ferir stopped at a large stall. Several tables were laid out with a bizarre range of items. A large and ornate claymore nestled among a mountain of chipped crockery. Books half eaten by mice lay next to soul gems, alchemy equipment in varying states and an unusually tasteless statuette of a ballerina. "I'll get you that if you're not careful," he muttered pointing it out to Holga.

"Please don't," she said. "This can be a good place, it's cheap and stuff moves quickly but sometimes they have something worthwhile. Just don't ask where it came from."

Ferir smiled. "There's shops enough like that everywhere." He turned his attention back towards the clutter. A few mortars and pestles had caught his eye. There was other equipment too but he ignored it. A saucepan would do calcine ingredients in the few occasions that was necessary and distilling was too difficult without a proper bench.

He glanced up and suppressed a grin as the store owner appeared. He couldn't have imagined a more likely candidate. The redguard wore a confused mixture of Cyrodiilic clothing and that of Hammerfell from where he clearly originated. His curly hair stood almost straight up from his head and showed the first signs of grey.

"Ah, what are you looking for?" The stall owner's eyes darted around, "I have the finest silks from Elswer," a yellow scarf emerged from nowhere. "Just your colour and feel the quality."

"No thanks," said Ferir.

"But feel the quality!" There was a manic energy in the man's voice, but the smell emanating from the scarf was even more unsettling. "This silk is the finest. Only the khajit know who to make it so fine from the worm's bottom!"

Ferir could only imagine something had been lost in translation. "No thanks. Do you have any armour? Light stuff and decent quality."

The man put the scarf down and scratched his head. "I have some mail," he rooted through a trunk under a table and pulled out a rusted heap of junk.

"No thanks, too rusty." The seller went to reply and Ferir cut across him, "I don't have time to clean it, I want it to wear now. Mail is too heavy too." It was better to agree with people like this and manipulate them. Arguing was like banging your face against a tree, but less satisfying.

"Leather offers less protection."

"I know."

"Have a look." With unexpected strength the man lifted the trunk onto the table sending pots and pans scattering with a clatter which made Ferir's brain grate the inside of his skull. Before Ferir could look a second trunk joined the first and the seller had pulled a suit of leather armour out. The cut was poor and the build looked shoddy to Ferir.

He grunted and began to look ignoring the seller's spiel. A suit of dark cuir bouillie caught his eye. He lifted it out and was surprised to find it in reasonable condition.

"Ah," the seller sounded almost regretful, "an excellent piece. Very good, feel the waxiness. This piece was made with beeswax, that gives a good waterproofing you know."

Ferir nodded. You haven't got a clue have you? The question was how much did the man know about price? "How much?"

"For you? Fifty drakes."

"Hmmm," Ferir wobbled his head. The rest of the box was musty and foul smelling. As he raked his hand through another piece caught his attention. It was the studded leather the Imperials used in some provinces, how it had come to be in Carbo's was a mystery. It's condition was okay but not great. It needed a waxing that much was certain. So why had it caught his eye?

It hadn't. That was the simple answer, it had caught his attention. He picked it up and felt it again. Enchantment, but there wasn't the characteristic glitter and it was hard to detect. A decent pawnbroker would know, and know exactly what it was worth. But the man was a lunatic.

"I'm not sure that cuirass will fit me, this one will though. The quality isn't quite the same but I didn't really want to spend that much."

"But it's not a set then."

"You're left with a better cuirass though," said Ferir. Will you disagree? If he did that was an excuse to pull the price down, and the man might believe him anyway. "How does twenty five sound?"

"No no. This is worth much more. With this cuirass forty five."

"I only wanted to spend thirty. Sorry." Ferir started putting the armour back.

The man blocked him. "Thirty five. My final offer."

Ferir made a show of looking at the suit again. "I need to get other things though. I wanted a mortar and pestle from somewhere."

"I have many mortar and pestles," the man threw his arms wide to indicate just how many. Coupled with his beard the frantic gesticulation made him look like one of the strange men who spent their time on street corners alternately damning passers by and soiling themselves.

"Put in a cheap one and we call it thirty five."

The seller smiled and raked in another pile which seemed mainly to consist of over-stuffed dead furry things and plaster busts of past emperors. The smile was still evident when he put down a slightly battered and very thin mortar and pestle. As Ferir picked it up the seller spoke. "For another three I give you a better one. That one very thin." He pronounced it 'theen' with a slight screech.

As Ferir looked at it it was his turn to smile. The man hadn't got a clue. "No no. This one will do, I'm only starting anyway." He counted out the coins, three larger gold ones and a smaller one. The sellers eyes darted to them the back to the merchandise with a sort of longing. "I assume you will throw in some neats wax, the leather needs it and you'd have to do it soon if I wasn't buying."

The seller paused then threw his hands up. "Fine. Yes." He scooped up the money and pulled a small bottle from yet another case. "Good bye, unless you're interested in-"

Ferir shook his head and smiled. He met Holga's eye and raised his brows. She grinned. He wandered a short way away to look at the wares of another merchant, by the range a fence, before he spoke. "He doesn't have a clue does he?"

"No, he pulls prices out the air. You did alright, well except for that mortar and pestle which looks like junk."

Ferir raised his eyebrows.

"It's not is it," Holga said, "I know that look."

"It certainly isn't. I'm not sure exactly what it's made from but it's strong. Mithril doesn't work, but there are other unusual materials. Either way it's definitely light." He spun it between his fingers to demonstrate.

"I saw the same look when you switched the cuirass."

Ferir nodded and drifted on to the next stall. It was a lizard place, all scale polish and tail oil. There was a stand of the musty stuff which passed for perfume between them too. "You did," he said. He glanced back to check the seller wasn't too close but saw something quite different. It took him a moment to notice the hulk of a man bustling through the crowd at speed but then he did. Ruben.

He was red faced and wheezing slightly. "We need to leave," he said.

This post has been edited by Olen: Jan 30 2012, 10:58 PM