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]

McBadgere - Glad you're enjoying it. Here's another part.

SubRosa - Thanks for picking up on the nit, I do try! I just can't see the difference between them until someone points it out. The 'tail oil' line just came to me as I was writing. As for what Ruben did, well...

mALX - It's good to know that this piece is growing on you. Glad you liked the lines.

Grits - Shopping trips are great, I find writing normal stuff just as fun as the magic/ action etc.

The last part saw Ferir doing some hangover shopping before Ruben appeared looking flustered.


2.4 Fortune

"What?" Ferir looked at Ruben with mixed confusion and irritation.

"Dreck went down badly last night." Ruben glanced behind him, there was nothing but other shoppers perusing the stalls, "people are trying to kill me."

Azura's balls, what is his problem, thought Ferir. "It happens sometimes. Kill them back, better." The distraught look didn't shift. He waited a moment before continuing with a sigh. "Details?"

"I had a few drinks, chatted with a few people. Kept it safe and close like, everyone here seems to. Anyway I got a buy in on a poker table-"

Ferir groaned, that was rarely a good start. "Who with, where?"

"A dingy hole over the other side. Called itself the Caravan Club-"

"Dreck," Ferir cut him off, "Frek." He spat. "Any mention of the Orum gang? Walker camp perhaps?"

Ruben's face told him all he needed to know.

He shook his head. "You only hooked up with the frekking Camonna you plank. What happened?"

Ruben swallowed and glanced around again. He looked more rattled than before. "There were a few. They were playing Low Bravil, that should have warned me. It was a big table to start with but I'm good, and I know the tricks. A couple of the dark elf scum were daubing, once you see the system it works for you too, or you can wipe them..." He coughed. "The dealer started double duking. Anyway once you're know they're cheating you can piggy back. I won five hundred drakes."

The terms meant little to Ferir but he understood numbers. "So you cheated."

"No," Ruben held up his hands. "I wouldn't do that. Not here anyway. They cheated, I just made sure it worked to my advantage."

"So you wandered away from a game the Camonna had rigged with half a grand? And that didn't seem like a bad idea?"

"They tried to kill me! I managed to escape into a crowd and hide in a logpile for the night." His voice was almost whining.

Ferir paused. It was bad, but he'd dealt with bad before. He could send Ruben on his way and be rid of the man, but he already knew he wouldn't. Friends were few and far between, Carbo's Camp probably wasn't safe for him and certainly wasn't for Ruben. Ruben would follow him too and bad company was better than none, especially company who could handle himself.

There was always Relthas. He could go crawling back - the five hundred would almost cover the debt. Never. That was one vow he had no intention of breaking. The five hundred might be enough to convince a suitably large, and insane, group to sort out the Camonna problem. It was attractive but other than the issue with dealing with marauders there was politics to be thought of. Hitting the Camonna, even in Carbo's, would upset the balance and if it led back to him his life expectancy would suffer.

He sighed. "We run," he said. Ruben nodded and Ferir continued, "it would be too hard to sort out here, and frankly keeping the money sounds better."

"Good," Ruben nodded, his gaze hadn't stopped roving. He was breathing hard too. "I have my pack... Do you need to collect yours?" He added it as an afterthought.

"No," Ferir snorted, "I wouldn’t let anything out of my sight in this place, I've grabbed most of the supplies we need too." He turned to Holga, "Looks like I need to bounce," he gave a half grin, "I'll stop by next time I'm in the area."

"And cause chaos again no doubt. If I'm not here I'll leave word with someone."

"You're thinking of leaving?"

She made a face. "What is there here really? I was going to talk about it but-"

A shout cut her off. Ruben almost spun he turned so fast, Ferir was only an instant behind. "Oi, there he is."

Three imperials pushed their way through the crowds towards them. Ruben already had his sword out, Ferir reached for his axe but kept the head down for the moment. Instead he freed his right hand for casting and let a smile flicker around the edge of his lips.

The three stopped just out of lunging range. Each had the brown hair and sharp features of a Colovian and wore mismatched armour. The man in the centre had the best of it, a face like a rotten apple rose from a battered steel cuirass. It was more scarred than even his equipment. But it was the woman on the right who spoke first. Her hair was long, but in need of care and her nose had a kink where it had been broken.

When she spoke her voice had the gritty sound left by smoking heavily for a long time, or taking the cheap stuff too often. Ferir shuddered. "We hear there's a hit out on you," she said to Ruben in the cocky tone of someone who was used to bullying others.

"Yes," the man in the centre took over, "but we also hear you have coin. We might be willing to let you live." He tipped his head.

"I might be willing to let you live," said Ferir. Holga had dropped back into the onlookers - nothing attracted a crowd like a promise of death - and was working her way behind them. Ferir allowed the smile to linger, "but I'm not sure about my friend."

Ruben made a big show of lifting the coin bag and looking at it. Then he tossed it halfway between him and the leader and met the leader's eye, "I'm willing to die picking that up," he said with with a calm certainty. "Are you?"

For a moment the leader looked uncertain under the fury of the nord's gaze then the woman shouted, "Frekking get them!"

Ruben sprung into action. The leader scarcely blocked a thunderous swing which sent his sword arm back as it passed then whipped round at his leg.

Ferir looked away and back to the woman who was surging forward at Ruben. He called on the thread of magic inside and let it form in a torrent to his fingers. It glowed and he threw the flame. It was weak though and did little more than scorch her dry dandruffy hair. It was enough distraction though as he swung in with his axe. There was a male scream, not Ruben. It was all his attention bothered with as the axe was deflected by a sword and scratched other the edge of the woman's armour getting a snarl from her. As the weight carried him on she flicked her sword into his arm.

He felt the flesh open and dampness pour out. He jumped back but her blade was up to defend and she didn't press. He shifted the axe to his left hand and she stalked forward. He needed a moment to stop the blood. Pain blossomed in the arm, he couldn't feel where exactly, as he threw it forward. She flinched back expecting a fireball. He took the moment to cast a frenzied healing spell, the biting cold of it burned in the wound for a flash then the pain was less. He swapped the axe back as she pressed again. He blocked the first then as she returned with the back swing he leapt forward with a speed she couldn’t match in her armour and was behind her. He left hand raked at her face finding eyes and he dug his fingers in and pulled back. Her head tipped as the swing carried her round and off balance. A firm stamp through her knee felled her. Ferir didn't waste an instant in delivering a solid axe blow to her gut. The narrow blade struck plumb and went though the armour effortlessly. He twisted it and pulled it out in a torrent of red.

He turned to see the leader in a pool of blood with his face caved in and Ruben pressing the final mercenary hard. He stepped back then a large figure in a checked shirt stepped from the crowd with a bottle. Holga. She broke it over his head and swore viscously as she drove the broken end into his side. He fell dropping his sword as he did.

Ruben stepped up to finish the job.

"Don't," said Holga, "Jerine doesn't like fights in the streets. Says it lacks decorum, whatever that is. She'll want words with this." She prodded the writhing man. "You boys had best run before more come," she gave half a smile then turned to the stall keeper behind her. "And so had you worm. Sheen jars aren't meant to break when you hit people with them. That was full."

Ruben scooped up the coin bag and Ferir grabbed his arm and headed for the edge of the camp.