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]

And another delay... This will progress albeit slowly. More RL, uni and a failing hard drive to blame this time.

McBadgere - Glad you like it, and yeah there is darkness. It tends to creep into things I write, and trust me this gets darker.

SubRosa - Good catch on the nits, both fixed. I'm glad Ruben's past makes sense there will be more at some point I should imagine.

Grits - Passing a bottle can be a good way to subdue bad memories, and it takes about 20 minutes so regardless it's probably more convenient to have him drunker... As for what's on the horizon, well we meet some if it in this chapter.

Athynae - I glad you enjoyed it, welcome to the slowest moving story here... It's good to know that you like Ferir and Ruben too, it was my intention to make them likeable protagonists even if they are a bit morally questionable at times, it's a fun thing to play with.

Where we were: Having fled Carbo's Camp they are now in the wilds. Ruben told a bit of his past then they were distracted.

3.2 Old Secrets

A purple glow blazed on the northern horizon. It flashed into being like exploding lamp oil. The light seemed greasy against the moonlit cloud, shimmering and ethereal like a mirage. As they watched a burning filament reached down. Or up, thought Ferir, it was hard to focus on it as if his eyes were afraid to see. When he stared it hardly seemed there, but when he looked away it blazed like a column of eldritch fire connecting heaven and Nirn. And whatever lies beneath. The thought came unbidden.

"Its like nothing I've seen before. Magical I'll bet though."

"It looks evil," muttered Ruben; his tone did not make light of the words. "Every time I look away I half see a column of light as well as the glow."

Ferir paused. "You don't see it all the time? It's clearer if I don't look at it..."

"What? How..."

"No idea," Ferir shrugged, "I can do a few spells but I'm no mage." He paused. There was no sound, the still night had fallen silent but for the rustle of the fire and Ruben's heavy breathing. "What do you think it is?"

Ruben didn't answer.

"Doesn't it make you curious?"

Still no answer. Ruben glared into the darkness.

He knew it was foolish, but risk had never stopped him before. It was only later he wondered how much the wine stilled his nerve and filled his soul with Leyawin courage. Ruben had drank all but a mouthful of the third bottle too. Curiosity had its claws in him, he couldn't quite imagine what foggy ruin might have awoken or what ancient ritual might be happening. Treasures lost to time fleeted through his mind replaced by old secrets and arcane knowledge. Chanting elven figures robed, or better without robes...

Wild conjecture. "We should have a look," he said.

Ruben looked at him. "Sounds crazy."

"Why not?"

"We don't know what it is?"

"Exactly, and what else are we going to do?"

"Stay here? Sleep?"

"Really," Ferir flowed up onto his haunches, "With every shadow staring at us, ever whisper a breath of darkness? Better to be out hunting than waiting by this fire."

Ruben's gaze flickered to him than went back to darting around the trees. Ferir stood. "Gather the stuff in case we don't want to retrace ourselves."

A few minutes later Ferir was picking his way through the moonlit forest on a northerly path towards the light. Ruben followed. The man was trying to be silent but without much success. Ferir had suggested that Ruben watch his own movements as a crash course in sneaking. Light was not a problem in the trees, they were sparser here where rocks jutted from the ground like broken teeth. The two moons and the weird glow cast shadows tinted with blood and madness.

A feeling was growing in his gut. It coiled his nerves like a spring. He had felt similar and generally sought the comfort of his bed in Sundew with its other distractions until the morning sun brought peace. Tonight was different though, there was a dark undertone to it. But Sundew was gone, many things seemed dark now, and after the preceding days was it any wonder he felt odd? He returned his focus to the night while his fingers sought the loop from which he had hung his axe.

There was a crash from behind him as Ruben fell over. The nord swore as he picked himself up. "Bloody tree root or summin," he muttered.

Ferir glared and nodded. "Shhh," he hissed.

He was about to continue when he half heard something in the darkness ahead. He froze and held up his hand. A foot crunched down then Ruben was silent. Ferir strained into the trees but the wild shadows confused and twisted his gaze. The purple glow covered most of the northern horizon now. Either it was close or truly vast.

A crack. Not from behind but to his right.

Tension thrilled through him, his left hand found soft loam and his gut drew in ready to spring. His eyes tried to penetrate the darkness and bored into shadows. Was there the sense of a more open space there?

"Probably nothing." The voice was muffled. Even so the bottom dropped from Ferir's stomach. An instant of nausea passed as feet crunched to his right receding away.

With infinite care Ferir twisted on the spot. He held his hand flat at Ruben. Wait. The nord nodded. His pupils were huge and made his eyes eerie in the gloom.

Ferir kept low and used his hands to steady himself as he slipped into the shadow of a tree. It was hard. The wine isn't helping, he thought. Walking on a bottle was fine, but sneaking required speed and dexterity. He wanted to fall back, but not without knowing who might be following. His mind was sharpened, but not to the fine point it usually would. He felt sickness return as he crept further forward.

There was a clearing and they had been only paces from it but the confused shadows of overlapping red, white and violet had concealed it. He stopped and looked, not staring this time, just letting his eyes wander. Sometimes not looking worked better than glaring at the dark. Sure enough three figures resolved in the shadows. The first was given away by its slow swaying movement. The second stood still next to it. The final one, that he could see at least, was barely visible sitting on a rock behind. As he looked the second figure turned towards him.

Ferir's heart lurched. He was suddenly acutely aware of its pounding like a drum in the dark, of his breathing and the noise it made. The air was hot in his lungs. Stifling. He knew no more of who these people were, but they were three and in the wilds and whatever the purple light was they didn't seem to be giving it much attention. Dreck. He wanted out and away from the place. Could they sneak it? He hoped so. Why had this seemed like a good idea?

He steeled himself to ease back into the shadows when there was a definite crack of a branch breaking from across the clearing.

"What is this," the sitting figure stood, it's voice a breathless growl. A hand shot out from a deep sleeve and suddenly a blazing light illuminated the scene.

Ferir blinked the burning from his eyes. Three figures, two wore black robes the third... rotting flesh. There wasn't time to think. The nearer robed figure turned to him as the bushes on the other side of the clearing exploded. Ferir's distraction was matched by the figure who half turned. A woman burst for them with a scream and levelled a staff. Lightning erupted from it and arced between the zombie and other mage. The zombie staggered back, flames licking it but the mage didn't move. His hand flew out and there was a ripple in the air. It lifted the woman from her feet and she landed backward.

Ferir tore his attention back to himself, it had only been an instant. "Ruben!" he screamed. The second figure's hands were moving. Mage. Ferir stepped from the trees and the hands flew towards him, a purple light flew towards him. He dived sideways.

Too slow. Too clumsy. He should have dodged but he took it in the abdomen. A weird feeling suffused him, he felt oddly disconnected and pulled. It was deeply wrong. The mage frantically wove another spell. He was already moving when this one came. Fire. The mage was trained and the ball tight and hot, it brushed his side and under his arm before vanishing behind. The clothing was consumed, there was an instant of empty still then the white pain burst in. A scream escaped him and he glanced and saw black charred flesh.

Glancing back up he saw the mage working again, more slowly this time. The face under the cowl was that of a young man and was contorted in effort. Ferir knew he wouldn't survive another. How long did he have before his injuries incapacitated him? The spell couldn't finish. He charged.

It was a risk. But the gamble was the best one. One step, two, each bound he pushed into the earth as hard as he could gaining all the speed and momentum he could. At two yards he threw himself headlong. The mage was distracted, his spellweaving, whatever it might be, slowed. The magic dissipated as a flicker of awful light as Ferir hit him shoulder first in the gut. They both went backward in a heap.

There was no pain. No time or light or clearing. Ferir's world narrowed to him and the mage and the bare ground around. The mage flailed a feeble punch into Ferir's face. The fist hovered where it had hit above his jaw. Ferir saw it and sunk his teeth in. He bit without thought and closed his teeth until he heard the crunch of bone through his head and released. The mage wailed as his other hand made its way down. Ferir brought his elbow across the man's face and followed it. His burnt arm was useless now. The mage was going for a dagger. They reached it at the same time but while the mage went for the dagger Ferir grabbed his hand. It slipped leaving him two fingers. He broke them both backward grabbed the knife and drove it into the mage's gut.

Ferir knew screams, but even the darkest moments had never held anything like the one he heard now. It was agony. He could almost feel it himself, a burning in the gut, spreading in clawing lines of malignancy. He glanced down and saw the flesh around the wound was decaying, black tendrils crawled under the man's flesh at an unnatural rate. Then the burning began, his scorched side and arm started to burn, they felt sickly wet. He couldn't see the mage as his eyes watered for a moment they screamed as one then the mage gurgled to silence. A moment later the pain faded to an ache, then nothing.

Ferir gasped and pushed himself upright. The he realised he'd used his injured arm. There wasn't time to think. He was dimly aware of commotion behind but it paled to nothing compared to the walking nightmare which approached. The zombie staggered, half its face had burnt away under the lighting, the blacked flesh and bone still smouldered in places, its other eye rolled at him with with a milky gaze. One side of its chest was a nest of maggots writhing like a sea creature.

Ferir staggered back and let the rage he'd felt moments before back in. The thing advanced, its jaw hung limp. Rotten gasses farted from splits in its yellowed skin. He felt for the magic and found an inferno. Fear drove any question from his mind, he seized it. All of it. The power blazed through him like a tempest, his thoughts clung to the spell like a drowning man to a barrel. The magic twisted and rolled as he wrought it, melded it with his rage and fear. The raw emotion opened more. Sundew. The legion. The Empire, how he hated the Empire. The devouring self serving beast which chewed lives and crushed people into their place. He could barely hold the magic, his rage and will stretched paper-thin under its onslaught and still he fed it. Prejudice. Hatred. Hypocrisy. Everything the Empire stood for.

The creature was almost on him when he let the spell out. It burst forth in a torrent of flame. It erupted over the creature blackening it and scorching the earth behind. It fell back and Ferir stepped forward holding the blaze on it. He realised he was shouting incoherently, spittle flying from his mouth and running down his chin. He didn't care. The black yet slightly porky stench of burning flesh rose into the air. Where bones were exposed they had started to crumble, any sharp edge glowed like iron in a forge.

The spell petered out and Ferir staggered back slightly slumped. The corpse was a burnt ruin with steam and smoke still rising from it. The ground around was blackened and scorched bare and dead. Sound from behind permeated and he turned. Ruben stood over the final figure plunging his sword in and out of its back in splashes of red. Ferir assumed it was excessive until he realised the figure was still struggling. A final huge sweep made the muscles in the nord's back stand out and the sword crashed into the mage's neck taking the head half off.

Only then did Ferir notice that the mysterious woman had her hand pointed at Ruben while mouthing a spell. He grabbed his axe and ran at her. She dropped her hand and collapsed down to one knee. "No," she was breathless, "I'm not with them. Stop."

This post has been edited by Olen: Mar 28 2012, 11:57 PM