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 the delay again... a mixture of uni and RL dramas.

McBadgere - glad you're enjoying, things should speed up a bit for a while now (in pacing of the story that is, posting is likely to remain erratic to be honest).

SubRosa - The 'new' swear words are nesecary really, when I write dialogue I try to let it flow as people talk, and people swear. There's only so many ways of conveying the same intent as @#$&! It's good to know Ferir staying with Ruben is making sense too.

Grits - Thanks for the comment, it's always good to know the piece is going over well. Not sure who the Malcolm Reynolds tribute is... I certainly am a massive Firefly fan though and on thinking of smugglers he would spring to mind so there's probably a bit thrown in.


3.1 Western Glow

Ferir hummed a snatch of a tune as he stretched in the late afternoon sun. His cloak was spread under him over the dry leaves at the base of a large beech tree, his newly oiled armour next to it along with their gear. Perhaps later there could be a fire, but for now it was warm enough and he didn't want the smoke. A stream babbled a short way from him. The spot was just too perfect to pass up even if there was a couple of hours of good light left.

They would be followed, he was certain of that much. You didn't leave Carbo's without protection and with that much money unnoticed, and there would be commotion over the Camonna. Jerine was going to be annoyed, that tended to end badly for someone. None of it mattered though. He'd kept to the wilds mainly using the tracks cut by animals rather than those laid by men. He was a pathfinder, and knew how to track and more importantly how to avoid being followed. Avoiding the Legion Foresters was part of smuggling, and they were far more skilled than any bandit was likely to be.

So he wasn't worried and the sun was shining and the day was clear. Words joined the hummed tune and soon he was singing softly to himself looking at nothing and thinking of less. Ruben had wandered downstream to wash. Ferir had done so by the camp but the Nord sought privacy. It seemed unlikely that Ruben had anything Ferir hadn't seen before, but he supposed it was possible and didn't care either way. He paused his singing until the first line of the next verse came to him then started again.

Ruben emerged from the trees with his blond hair plastered to his head. He wore a checked shirt Ferir assumed he'd picked up at Carbo's with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and had a bundle of firewood under one arm.

"Don't stop on my account," he said.

Ferir shrugged. He presumed Ruben hadn't heard the words, or that the innuendo had gone clean over his head.

After a brief pause Ruben continued, "I didn't know you sang anyway."

"Doesn't everyone?"

Ferir stretched back into the soft loam as Ruben frowned slightly. "Well I don't."

"Fair enough." The sun was bloated and red above the western sky, the river a ribbon of fire amid the ancient oaks and lengthening shadows. Soon the air would cool so Ferir drank the last of the sunlight.

When Ruben spoke again he turned and saw the nord's gaze was also on the westering sun. "What else do you do? I know precious little about you."

Ferir paused with the thought it brought then voiced it. Why not? "More than I know about you."

"What?"

"You know plenty about me. You know I was cooking skooma and running it. You know I killed two Imperial Legionaries, in self defence as much as anything. I think the story more or less fills itself in. All I know is you were a guard and you killed and Imperial Agent, then others in the guard sprung you."

There was a long pause. "Things went awry. I made some bad decisions." There was a rustle of leaves as he fidgeted.

"I figured we'd get into the wilds then you'd head your own way, if you're following me I'd know more. What led to the guard's death?"

A heavy sigh. "I said," a pause, "I made some bad decisions. Dug a hole." The second pause was longer. Ferir said nothing and hoped the truth would be drawn into the vacuum. Eventually Ruben spoke again. "You know why I'm following." It wasn't a question. "I have nothing else, but where are you heading?"

Ferir took a moment before answering. The night was a pleasant one and if he evaded it would be awkward. He didn't have any reason to anyway. "Where the wind blows. I'll drift, but for now that's towards Sundew."

"Sundew?"

"The cave I lived in. I need to see."

Ruben nodded. "I had wondered. You know it's risky so I won't tell you that, but I will tell you this: it'll hurt."

"So does pulling an arrow, it doesn't make it any less necessary."

"And after that?"

Ferir smiled and let out a half laugh. "I haven't even begun to think about it."

"Oh."

Ferir stood and stretched. There was a hollow pop from between his shoulder blades and another as he pulled his neck. The sun was melting into the hills of the western skyline and the temperature was dropping. He picked up his cloak and the firewood. "Do you want to get some food from the packs? I'll lay the fire." Ruben stood. "There's a couple of bottles in there too," added Ferir.

He'd piled the logs in a circle of stones and was about to put light to them as Ruben dropped some sausage, lard and a bag of oatmeal. An onion and a flint and steel joined them.

"No need for the flint," said Ferir with a grin and raised his hand. Ruben crashed backward as he thrust it towards the wood. The little fireball happened almost by itself. He'd used it so many times there was no need to catch the magic and form it. If it had been a physical action Ferir supposed he would have called it muscle memory, and he'd read books which compared the mind to a muscle.

Ruben picked himself up, "Warn me before you do things like that."

Ferir shook his head, "I assure you it's safe. I assume you're planning on cooking, I have no idea what I'd do with that."

"Skirlie and sausage. An excellent combination. The wine should cut through the grease well."


Ruben was right, Ferir decided, as he washed the last of the lard from his mouth with the wine. It was cheap stuff but that worked, the harsh tannin seemed to lift the layer of grease left by the fried oatmeal and it had enough body to overcome the taste of onion and pepper. It wasn't what he'd usually eat, but the energy was exactly what he needed. He lay back with a satisfied groan.

Ruben's bottle glugged as he tipped it back. He prodded the fire and sent a shower of sparks skyward to join the first stars which were appearing in the night sky.

"You seem to like plans," Ferir broke the silence, "What are yours?"

Another glug from the bottle. Ferir heard a rustle which might have been a fidget and might have been a shrug, his eyes were on the low fire. After another moment Ruben spoke, "I don't know. Maybe see if I can start in another town with a new name after this has blown over a bit. Kvatch perhaps, there's work there and it's on the move, not dead like Skingrad and Chorrol. Or I suppose I could get a job on some caravan in some backwater and skip Cyrodiil, though I'm not sure I'd want to live in the other provinces."

"Morrowind might be okay."

"Are you joking? It's the worst of the lot, full of dark elves and madness."

Ferir shrugged, "Each to their own." He threw another stick onto the fire.

"Anyway there's the Camonna."

"They're nasty fetchers," said Ferir, "but not so much worse than others. Why them."

"History." Ferir stayed silent and the poison started to ooze from the wound. "You know the Orum Gang?"

Ferir nodded. Inefficient, brutal, bunglers, but the best the Camonna had in Cheydinhal.

"When I was young, probably before you were born, I moved with a rough crowd. Got out of it in time mind but kept some contacts after I started training as a guardsman. My wife settled me a bit I suppose, about all the wench ever did except moan."

Ferir left the pause which opened.

"She never liked the gambling, well not when I lost. It was fine if I won of course. Then there was the patrol..." He grimaced. "I'd hardly got my uniform and I was selected for a job into the wilds. They all died. And..." his tongue snaked over dry lips. He sighed, "I saw things." He opened his mouth to say more and paused, "No." He shook his head.

Ferir took a slow draught from his much diminished bottle. Ruben's matched his in length but was far from slow. There were only dregs left once he was done.

"Open another," said Ferir. "They were the necromancers you mentioned?"

"Yeah," said Ruben as he rummaged in the packs. "Only I returned, things weren't the same. The wench never understood why I drank. You know the drill. I made some bad decisions. She left."

"Dreck." Ferir finished his bottle, Ruben was well into the second.

"I gambled more, and more often, and hit the bars harder. A guards salary ain't much and I never did get promoted. Same old story I suppose. Owe the wrong people the wrong drakes. I couldn't pay so I hit up some contacts."

"How long ago?"

"Four years. It was small stuff at first, just info. Then just a small thing, a record erased or some evidence lost. Nothing major."

"To start with." Ferir didn't much care if he insulted Ruben, the man needed it. The story seemed to repeat like a mill horse in its worn circle.

"Yeah. It got bigger, there were more of us in it, more leaks and harder to cover all our tracks. We sprung a few people. Someone noticed and the Imperials were called in."

"How did you end up killing one?"

"He got too close. Enough evidence to send us all down so I paid him a visit."

Ferir was stunned for a moment. He knew Ruben wasn't that bright, the last few minutes had confirmed that, but to think that murdering someone investigating you in cold blood could ever go well. He shook his head, the man really was a wolf. There was something hard in there, a rock of psychotic self interest hidden like a cat's claw. There were nutters in the skooma trade, but Ruben held is own among them.

Ferir held out his hand for the bottle and took a drink until he thought he was steady again. "Damn," was all he could manage.

"I know it sounds silly now, but I felt trapped." Ruben took the bottle back, "Anyway it's hardly different than you."

"He was doing his job and you killed him to try to cover it up."

"And the two legionaries you killed?"

"Yours didn't burst into your home in the early morning and set about butchering your friends with similar intentions for you."

"Near enough. If we escaped the gallows how well do you think prison goes for a guard?"

"No, it's diff-" Ferir didn't get further. His eyes were on the northern skyline.

Ruben said it first. "What in oblivion is that?"

This post has been edited by Olen: Feb 29 2012, 01:15 AM