Nemesis Options

[Jacki Dice]

This is a little something I've been toying with for awhile. I've decided to bring it out to the forums here. This story will include the original version of Kalila Blackstone, from Madness Helps me Save Myself. This version of her has absolutely no ties to the one borrowed in the story.

Speaking of, Madness Helps me Save Myself will continue as planned. Sometimes working on something separate for a while soothes my writer's block.

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1

“That which is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.�
--Friedrich Nietzsche

In a perfect world, it would have been an assassin. Or maybe a bandit. It would be someone who was out to hurt her, who justifiably deserved to die. However, as Tara Karminova clutched her dagger to her chest, she knew it would be no such person. The world was too imperfect.

She looked around the dark alleys of the Imperial City Market District for someone no one would miss. Guilt weighed in her heart for even thinking that. Did someone’s life have less value just because they had no one to miss them? Of course not. But, she needed someone whose death wouldn’t prompt a thorough investigation. Maybe a skooma addict.

Oh, dear gods, what am I doing? She leaned against the wall of one of the shops. Her heart was no longer fluttering and her stomach no longer churned. Instead, she seemed to simply accept it. That was what scared her. “It’s for Clarissa,� she reminded herself. “It’s for her.� She clenched the grip of her dagger tightly and continued lurking through the alleys.

At first she thought she had blended in quite well with the street urchins in the Imperial City. She simply threw on an old, dirty robe that had torn a little on the bottom. Her brown hair was unbrushed and thrown back in a messy bun. Once she saw the beggars in person, however, she realized how far off she was. Their clothes weren’t just dirty, they were barely intact enough to keep them out of prison for indecent exposure. None of them wore the soft cotton that she was in. They appeared to be stitched together from odd pieces of fabric and sackcloth. Tara was also far too healthy looking. Her cheeks were somewhat plump and the robe hugged her frame tightly, revealing that she didn’t often go hungry. The beggars were nothing but skin and bones. The biggest difference was their eyes. Tara could easily tell who had lived on the street by the hardness or loss of hope in their eyes. There was no way for her to imitate them in that way.

She turned behind the Copious Coinpurse into a small garden. It was empty save for a young woman sleeping on the ground. Tara crept toward her, running her finger over the black soul gem stashed in her pocket. It would have been much easier to cast some sort of spell on her, but Tara thought a stabbing would look far more ordinary than magic.

The girl stirred slightly as Tara approached. Tara straddled her and turned her on her back. She was pretty. She had quite a young face. She was probably no more than nineteen. Tara hesitated for a moment before raising her hand. A violet flash erupted from her fist and washed over the girl. Once that was done she took out the dagger and plunged it into the girl.

The girl opened her eyes wide as blood oozed onto Tara. A scream rose from her throat and Tara quickly covered the girl’s mouth with her free hand, stabbing again and again until the girl stopped moving. She wished she had known where to plunge for a more painless and instant death. That part of her research had been overlooked. Tara took out the soul gem and was satisfied with the glow of the girl’s soul.

She got up and panted, staring at the girl’s body. Did she have parents? A sister? Probably not, since she had been sleeping there alone. Still, Tara was overcome with mixed emotions.

“It’s for Clarissa,� she said to herself.



Tara had to hold in her disgust as she stared upon Clarissa’s corpse.

Three years had passed since Clarissa Blackstone’s murder and time had not been kind. Clarissa’s skin was gone for the most part, only remaining in small patches. On the pieces of skin around her temples, sat dry tufts of her once luxurious black hair, though the slightest brush would turn it to dust. Her bones were not white, like the models shown at the Arcane University. Instead they were a filthy brown. The sockets that once held beautiful grey eyes were now empty and covered by a paper thin layer of skin. The gown she had been buried in had long since been eaten away. Though she went out and bought a new robe, Tara did not look forward to redressing her. Logically that shouldn’t have bothered her any more than digging Clarissa up or even setting her body on the kitchen table.

Tara wanted to pass the time doing something other than staring at Clarissa, but she was unable to take her eyes off of her. She was repulsed but fascinated at the same time. When she finally tore her eyes away, she decided to head into the basement to distract herself.

Just yesterday, the basement was full of alchemical equipment. The shelves had been lined with empty bottles and crates full of filled ones ready to be sent off to the different Mages Guild halls. Jars of ingredients sat along the windows. Now it was empty. The windows were boarded. A metal collar attached to a long chain sat in the center of the room. Tara picked it up and tugged it with all her strength. It held fast to the wall. She sighed deeply and dusted off her hands. Hopefully it would withstand the added strength of the undead.

She took a broom from a corner and started sweeping. Clarissa still deserves cleanliness, she thought. But the basement was usually kept neat and there was nothing much to sweep. She finished in seconds. She looked at the Mages Guild banners still hanging on the walls. Her eyes welled up with tears. How could she still keep those up knowing what she was going to do? How could she ever look at Arch-Mage Traven in the eye again?

With a trembling hand, she took the banners down. She tried telling herself that it was to keep them from getting ruined, but deep down she knew it was because she felt unworthy.

When she returned upstairs she was pleased to see that the hourglass was nearly empty. It was time.

For something so complex, it was strange that it was so simple to accomplish. She had imagined an elaborate ritual involving candles and conjuring. Strangely, the hardest part had been obtaining the soul gem. That and getting the soul. She closed her eyes, forcing away the image of the girl she had killed. She couldn’t afford to think about it. All spells, complex or not, required confidence and concentration.

Her home along the Lake Rumare was close enough to hear the temple bell from the Imperial City. As it rang twelve times, Tara placed the soul gem directly over where Clarissa’s heart had been. She focused on the soul inside, transferring it the way she would to an item.

The soul was stubborn. Even in death, it resisted Tara’s demand, almost as if it knew that it would cease to exist as itself. Tara trembled violently. Her heart pounded hard and she broke into a sweat. The soul would cooperate. It had no choice.

Tara grunted hard when the soul finally entered Clarissa. She panted heavily as the gem crumbled into dust, falling into Clarissa’s bare rib cage.

Clarissa’s eyelids fluttered. She sat up, turning her face toward Tara. Though the sockets were empty, she could feel the intense stare going straight through her. Tara backed up instantly. Would Clarissa remember? Or would she react with hostility? Clarissa opened her mouth, though the only sound that escaped was a dry crackle. Her body wouldn’t return to a normal living being until she received more souls.

“Clarissa,� Tara whispered. “Do you remember me?� She took a step forward. “I’m your sister.�

Clarissa tilted her head back and forth. A chunk of skin plopped on the floor causing a surge of bile to rise in Tara’s throat. She swallowed it back down and forced herself to ignore it.

“Everything is okay now,� she said. “You’re back home now.�

She held out her hand. Clarissa ignored it, seeming to be more confused than anything.

“She’s just in shock,� Tara said to herself. She glanced at the robe. She decided to put it on her when she had more skin as there was nothing really to cover.

She led Clarissa into the basement and locked the collar around her neck. “This is just to keep you safe. When you’re back to normal you can have your old room back. I’ll even get you into the Arcane University like you always wanted.� She sighed, not knowing why she said that. That wouldn’t be possible. Everyone knew that Clarissa had been dead a long time.

Clarissa crackled again, though Tara doubted that she understood anything she had been saying anyway. No need to feel like a liar, right? she wondered. “I’m going to go clean upstairs and then I’ll have to fix up your grave outside. I can’t have it looking like it’s been recently disturbed. I’ll be back soon.�

Once she was back in the living room, she locked the basement door and then placed a plank of wood in front of it. She couldn’t chance Clarissa getting out into the open. She would be killed on sight. Tara couldn’t have that. She refused to lose her twice.

She immediately set out sweeping up the living room and kitchen. There was so much dirt. Too much. Should any guild mates come for a visit, she felt it would cause immediate suspicion. Maybe it was just paranoia, but at the same time, her sudden insistence to work from her home instead of the guild halls already seemed strange. Sure, months had passed since then, the nagging feeling remained stuck in her mind.

Though it had to be done, she couldn’t keep her mind on her task. She felt drained. She sank to her knees staring at the basement door. She could hear Clarissa shuffling faintly, the chain jingling with her every movement. She glanced at the turquoise banner on the wall bearing the Mages Guild symbol. Her life as she knew it was over. She wept.



This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 07:08 AM

[Jacki Dice]

McBadgere~ I think Traven is one of the easiest for me to do.. simply because I wind up meeting people who make me feel exactly like that! And for the most part, I'm sure they don't mean to, but I'm very paranoid... >.>

SubRosa~ I think the thing I like best about this one over Madness, is getting to add what I know about magic and insert it here to build it beyond mysticism used in the game

Grits~ The journal was inspired by this song. The first time I heard it, I just stopped what I was doing, and proceeded to listen over and over. Its just too perfect! SO the journal will be an ongoing thing throughout

mALX~ Aww thanks mALX As much as I love Madness (and promise that it hasn't been abandoned!) this truly feels better to write.

Lycanthropic Legend~ Aww thanks! Its always nice to have a new reader I hope you continue to enjoy it!

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Chapter Seven: Rufio

Thirteen soul gems had been prepared in advance. Tara had one slipped in her skirt. She ran her finger down the facets as she walked down the path to the Inn of Ill Omen. What a name, she thought. It made her all the more nervous to set foot there for fear that something would go horribly wrong.

The inn was just down the street from another. In comparison, the Inn of Ill Omen had doomed itself, likely due to its name. The other inn was brightly lit and even from the distance, Tara could smell the savory food cooking inside. Her stomach complained loudly. Night had long since fallen and she hadn’t eaten since lunch.

She placed her hand on the door, but pulled away quickly. If there was only a handful of people there, or worse, just Rufio, then she would be instantly named as the killer. Though she would give a false name if needed, there was still the lack of an alibi. If she were named as a suspect and her house searched… She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath at the very thought of others discovering Clarissa. Her name would be ruined. All she worked for would be for nothing.

Tara walked around the inn, noticing windows at the ground. If it was similar to her own house, the windows would lead to a cellar. She knelt down. It was large enough for her to slide into. A dim light shone through the filthy glass. It was a chance, but a better one than storming the door.

She used the dagger given to her by the assassin to break it. She hoped that whoever was upstairs wouldn’t hear it. She crawled down on the ground, overwhelmed with the fertile smell of dirt. It only reminded her of digging up graves.

She slipped into what seemed to be a modest bedroom. She landed on a ratty bed with a tattered blanket on it. A worn dresser sat next to it. A leather bound book was a top it.

Tara sat on the bed for a moment, her stomach starting to twist at what she was about to do. She buried her face in her hands, trying to calm herself down. How was it that other people could kill without a thought, yet it rendered her sick? She never in a thousand years would have expected to wish for that apathy toward another person’s life, yet here she was.

A shuffling caught her attention. She stood up, straightening her skirt, as if she were expecting someone important. She held the dagger behind her back, biting the corner of her lip. The side of her stomach felt like a thousand spiders were nesting inside. Her hands started to feel numb. She wanted to cry.

A man opened the door, jumping a little when he saw Tara. He was considerably older than her. Definitely old enough to be her father, perhaps maybe her grandfather. He looked her up and down suspiciously. “Who in Oblivion are you?” He asked.

Tara couldn’t speak. She couldn’t find the words. Besides, what was she supposed to say? Hello, I’m Tara and I hope you’ve lived well because tonight’s your last!

She didn’t notice her hand drift out from behind her, the dagger gleaming in the candlelight. He did. "No,” he hissed. He must have known that someone would be coming for him, because he fell to his knees, gripping Tara’s skirt. “Please! I didn't mean to do it, you understand me? She struggled! I... I told her to just stay still, but she wouldn't listen! I had no choice!"

By time Tara realized what he just said, she felt like a thick grease glazed over the spiders in her gut. “By the gods…” She whispered, taking a step back. Suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so bad.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said again. “Do you understand me!” He got up, trembling violently. His eyes were bulging out of his head. “She made me do it! Dammit, you can’t punish me for that!” He took a step toward Tara, grabbing her shoulders. “It wasn’t my fault!” He screamed, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Let go of me,” she said.

“All you wenches are alike!” He said through clenched teeth. For an old man, he had a tight grip. His hands travelled down to her arms, holding her tightly. “And now you, you come into my room and you think you’re going to kill me? Huh?” He threw her to the ground. The dagger skittered across the floor, under his bed. “You stupid, little tramp!”

Tara turned and with a wave of her hand, he was bathed in the purple glow or a soul trap spell. She crawled toward the dagger, but he grabbed her ankle and drug her toward him. She wanted to scream, but she knew that if she did, it was all over. As long as he was touching her, she couldn’t cast a shock spell.

There was a bowl on the floor. She grabbed it and threw it at him. It hit him in the face, making him lose his grasp for a moment. Tara took the opportunity to dash under the bed and grab the dagger. She had to hurry before the soul trap wore off. She hated to waste magicka.

She stood up and the moment he lunged for her, she held the blade out. He ran right into it. He froze, clutching the gaping wound in his gut. Tara closed her eyes. She thought she would take pleasure in it after know what he did. Just a little. A smidgeon. But she didn’t. She felt the same filthy feeling as the last time she did it. She took the soul gem from her pocket. As his eyes dulled, the black gem glowed. She threw his body off of her. Just as she feared, she got his blood all over her clothes. She sighed, sitting on the bed. Even if she got home without running into a patrolling guard, it would take ages to get the stains out.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Tara said to Rufio’s corpse. She could still feel his bony fingers in her arms. She was about to climb out of the window when a familiar chill swept over the room.

The assassin, Lucien Lachance, appeared in the doorway, smiling down at Rufio’s body. His smile was colder than the air around him. Tara couldn’t suppress a shiver.

“So, the deed is done,” he said. “You are now a part of the family.”

Tara folded her arms. She didn’t feel comforted. In fact, she felt even worse. “Now what?” She asked.

“Now, you accept your fate. The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio's blood, the ink.” He ran his finger in the puddle of blood that formed under Rufio. He dotted it on his lips, and then smeared it on Tara’s forehead. She flinched at his touch.
“As a Speaker of the Black Hand,” he continued. “I directly oversee a particular group of family members. Every Dark Brother and Sister is a child of Sithis. He whom we call Sithis has many other names. Chaos. Doom. Discord. Sithis is the Void. We of the Dark Brotherhood serve the Night Mother, who is the bride of Sithis. The Night Mother rules her children with a terrible Black Hand. The Black Hand is the ruling body of the Dark Brotherhood. It is made up of one Listener and Four Speakers. Four fingers and a thumb, if you will. As a member of the Dark Brotherhood, you must abide by the Five Tenets. They are the laws that guide and protect us. Welcome to the family.”

She said nothing.

“I still sense your hesitation.” He laughed a little. “No matter. In time, you will feel the embrace of your family. When you are ready to meet them, you will go to the city of Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house near the eastern wall. Enter the basement, and attempt to open the black door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly: "Sanguine, my Brother." You will gain entrance to the Sanctuary. Once inside, speak with Ocheeva. We must now take our leave of each other, you and I, for there is much work to be done. I'll be following... your progress.”

Just as he had before, he vanished. The air slowly returned to its normal temperature, this time accompanied by the coppery scent of blood. As silently as she had slipped in, Tara climbed out of the small window.

This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Aug 12 2012, 06:58 PM