Trouble never comes alone Options

[jack cloudy]

Yes, so I just couldn't resist and had to get this off my chest. We'll see how long it lasts. Same deal as with redemption, I'll be using this post as a character list and the first part will be in the next one. For now the list is simple.

A question. Should I add a separate entry for Spar at the very bottom that is basically the extra-spoilers edition?

Spar: A female Imperial and the main character of this story. Is guided by 'Them'.
(Portrait)

Silent Fist: A Companion Spar hires to escort her into Bleak Falls Barrow. He doesn't speak, wear shirts or use weapons. Click here for portrait

Faendal: A wood elf who lives in a small village known as Riverwood. He works as a hunter and lumberjack.

Lucan Valerius: The shopkeeper of Riverwood.

Jarl Balgruuf: The Jarl of Whiterun, a city located in the center of Skyrim between the fronts of the Imperial and Stormcloak factions.

Hrongar: Jarl Balgruuf's brother. Looks like he walked off the set of a Conan-film.

Irileth: A Dunmer who serves as Jarl Balgruuf's bodyguard.

Proventus Avenicci: Jarl Balgruuf's steward.


Vilkas: One of the Companions, a mercenary group in Whiterun
Vignar Grey-Mane: Formerly of the Companions, now retired.

Ulfric Stormcloak: The rebel leader in Skyrim, once on of the Emperor's generals.

Arkarik: Someone Spar was supposed to meet in Cyrodiil.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Aug 1 2013, 06:34 PM

[jack cloudy]

First part is right here. I'll try to get an update for Redemption out tomorrow.



Chapter 1.1: The terrible fire.


"Come on, get up! We have to move now!" The fur-clad man shouts. He doesn't need to. Even though inside I want to curl up and cry from sheer terror, my body has already begun to run from left to right in an erratic pattern but always getting closer to the nearest cover. The woodcutting axe is ditched as well, too heavy for sprinting. It is good that the winds have kept the path swept clear of snow.


Up the stairs, up, up, up. Ignore the sounds behind you. The screams, the wooosh!! of burning oils and the loud rumble of falling stone. Turn right for the door and the protective overhang.
"In there!" The man yells. No need to tell me twice. Slip between the crack and head for the nearest shadow. Look around. Nobody here.


The man comes in, dragging his quiver and bow behind him. He kicks away the wedge that has been slipped beneath the doors and the large metal slab falls shut, shutting out the sounds and the danger. Safe. Control was passed back to me and I fell to the hard cold floor, gasping for air. I hadn't run this far and hard in over a month. Ironically, the reason back then had been the same.
"What is that thing?" The man asked himself. It took me a while before his question registered. When it does, a single word was all I can muster.
"Helgen."


I could more feel than see him stare at the door as if he could see through it and look at the flying impossibility that was assaulting the old watchtower and the thieves who had taken up residence there. Then, he shook his head and turned his attention inwards.
"It doesn't seem as if anyone's here, or has been for a while. Get some rest. I'll see if I can rekindle that firepit." He said and moved over to the ashpile. It was the only lightsource left in the place, standing out as a vague shade of gray in pure blackness.


He brushed aside the ash to expose the last few glowering cinders. Fresh wood and air completed the recipe for fire. I felt too tired to go there, my limbs ached, my feet were frozen solid and my lungs burned. But Them take over once more and force me back onto my feet and closer to the fire. I watch the shadows as I walk. They leap back and forth, never showing more than glimpses of the chamber we are in. There are claws, the hint of a wing and sharpened beaks. At first I think they are actual beasts, but then I walk right passed one of the heads. They are stone sculptures. That doesn't make it any better. There is just something about them, something familiar though it is no creature I can remember.


"What now, Faendal?" I asked the man and sat down to warm my hands and toes by the fire. They stung when the blood began to flow again.
"Now? Now we warm ourselves and eat the food I prepared." Faendal said and opened his backpack. From there he pulled out a package of wrapped meat and bread. He split it, gave half to me and bit into the other half himself. I broke off small pieces to nibble on and looked around some more.


It looked as if the thieves have made camp here. The firepit was theirs obviously, but there was also a quartet of unfolded bedrolls and backpacks lying around us. Faendal and I both began to rummage through them once we were done eating, which didn't take long. There was more food in mine, bits of charred meats and berries. A torch on a loop, an old knife, little more than a broken shard of iron wrapped in leather. And finally a small book. I flipped it open, noting the rough handwriting. Skyrim of course, useless to me. But Faendal might be able to make something from it. I handed it over and watched him as he reads.


"Hmm, looks like those poor bastards at the tower were right. Their bosses have gone into the barrow. With the claw." Faendal muttered. The only words I got were 'barrow' and 'claw'. One was the place we were in right now, the other the thing we were looking for. Or rather, the thing Faendal was looking for. If I hadn't been accused of stealing the damned piece of junk along with the knife-eared hunter, I would never have come along. It wasn't my problem. I hadn't done it! I could just punch the batty old hag for insinuating me. And for what? Because I spoke with the elf whenever I got the chance? I did that because he was one of only three people in the village that knew proper Cyrodiilic. Not because I had been planning a crime with him.


So why did I come? Curiosity I guessed. Curiosity in the big structure that dominated the mountain. That's why I came, not for the claw, not for Faendal but only because I didn't have anything better to do. With that monster out there, maybe I shouldn't have come anyway.
"Better here than down in Riverwood. The town is very visible and undefended." Them told me. I felt a bit sorry for master smith and the others, but Them were right. I'd seen the flying beast ravage a town much larger than Riverwood, one that had been swarming with archers and spearmen. Riverwood, had nothing.
"The only defense those people have right now is praying that the monster's belly is satisfied with the thieves up here."


"Alright, they were last here two days ago. And the camp is still here so they didn't leave either." Faendal muttered to himself. Did he know the danger his home was in? He looked at me and nodded.
"We go in deeper to see what happened to them. It's not as if we have anything better to do while we wait for...whatever it is, to go away. But at the first sign of danger we're out of here. This isn't worth dying over."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


He got up far too soon for my liking, gesturing at the torches and the fire he'd made. The message was clear even without words. Light a torch and follow behind so that Faendal can keep his bow prepped for trouble. I did as he suggested though I would have preferred to just sit by the fire, perhaps take a nap, and then leave instead of trying to find what had so obviously killed the four thieves. Unless they carried a second set of backpacks and bedrolls and made camp again further up ahead, which didn't make any sense. Speaking of backpacks, I took one for myself.
"Come danger. Push him into it and run. This isn't your fight." I told myself as we moved out.


There was a passage hewn out of the rock that descended deep and straight into the mountain. I hadn't seen it yet, but the elf had which didn't come as much of a surprise. When a man can read lips in a snowstorm at a hundred metres, it is a waste of effort to try and beat him at a spotting contest. It just isn't natural.


Broken coffins, rolls of ancient linen, iron candlesticks, an assortment of gems. The Barrow was not only bone-bitingly cold, it was also utterly dry. A perfect place for keeping anything in perfect condition. The iron wouldn't rust, and the bodies inside those sarcophagi would remain intact for millennia. Except they didn't. There were no bodies at all even though the coffins looked like they'd been used. No bodies and a lot of valuables lying around in plain sight? It was as if the local tomb-robbers had done things in reverse. Why would any robber be interested in old meat instead of treasure he could actually sell?


A memory comes to me, then another. A tomb in the shadow of the fire mountain. An ashpit holding the bones of some worshipped ancestor with a magical ring lying in the skull's mouth as an offering. The ring would be worth a nice bit of coin so I reach out to take it. The skull bites down on my hand, tearing off fingers. Then the ash moves and rises into a mocking resemblance of man, holding an axe.


I squeeze my empty hand into a fist and look at the darkness around us. This place is also tomb and therefore dangerous. Any moment the dead can rush us, to kill and murder. To turn us into another pair of guardians! Loops, loops on the walls, the floor and the ceiling. Loops of stone writhing, twisting, crawling. Biting at my ankles. Eyes, eyes everywhere. Watching, judging, warning.
"Pull yourself together!"


I became aware of the loud and rapid gasps that is my breathing. The torch was now in both hands like a sword and I thought I'd singed some of the elf's brows. I must have swung at him when he yelled. I focussed on my breathing, drawing in slow and deeply till I stopped feeling lightheaded. Then I mumbled an apology.
"Sorry." Just one word didn't cut it though and I could see him consider whether or not he should send me back up to the entrance. In the end he shook his head though and waved with his hand that we both should continue on.
"The ground has changed. Stay behind me." He said and looked at me for a second as he put an arrow in his hand.
"Far behind me."



My second apology stopped somewhere in the back of my throat with the realization that the ground was indeed different. It was sticky like some oils but didn't splash. I held my torch low to see better, being careful not to splatter anything in case it was oil after all. It wasn't, but the silvery strands that crisscrossed from floor to ceiling in a thick pattern was possibly even worse.
"Faendal. Spiders." I whispered to the elf who had already gone ahead outside my circle of light. I could hear his footsteps stop and the scritch scritch of the webs as he turned. There had to be thousands of them. I heard a loud hiss and with a heavy thump something fell, right on top of Faendal. The loud snap! must be his bow breaking. Not good. Control was taken away.


Get into the nearest coffin for cover. Assume multiple spiders and that their senses in the dark are superior to yours. Keep the torch as a shield, fire scares most creatures. Where is Faendal? I can hear him yell and the spider struggle to keep him pinned down. That means he is still an active combatant. Use him. What is the precise species? Wayrest Tombdweller-related? Think of weaknesses he can exploit. Fire? No, the torch is a last resort for your own escape. Anatomical weaknesses. The tombdweller has a direct passage to the brain, unarmored and open at the moment of its attack. Right through the poison-glands.
"Between the mandibles! Hit it!"


It shrieks and falls with that one fatal blow.
"Way ahead of you." Faendal gasps. It is not safe yet, there could be more arachnids lurking in the darkness. We will guide till the danger has passed. Now, get up and move to the elf.
"I've fought Frostbites before, you know. Though I usually get to keep my distance." He says. He doesn't take the knife he'd stabbed into it but turns back to the entrance.
"I'd say this counts as a clear sign of danger. Let us leave, sister."


Them became silent and I gladly walked back the way we came.
"Is anyone out there?! Wait, please!" Who was that? No, I knew it was best ignored and so I didn't hesitate even if Faendal froze. It had to be one of the thieves, preserved in silken bonds for when the spiders get hungry.
"Faendal! Let's go!" I said. It wasn't worth it.
"Please! Get me out of here! I don't want to be eaten!" Faendal turned again. I waved the torch to the tunnel and said his name again, more urgent this time.
"Faendal!"


"Be quiet. This time of the year there is only the motherspider and her eggs. We'll be fine." He said. Would we? Tombdwellers were colonial creatures, one mating queen and its workers. These frostbites, why would they be any different?
"It is his life he risks. The hunter speaks truth." Them couldn't lie. Not to me. But the elf was involved in a mating contest. Who knew what risks he was and wasn't willing to take for winning the Cyrodiil woman's affection? And what about the tomb's own guardians?
"The spiders ate them."

Yes. I couldn't trust the hunter's judgement. But Them were wiser than me. Them would steer me away from danger. So I followed him. I could use his help getting back to town. Or to another one if Riverwood had been torched to the ground. I followed him and the thief's voice till we came to a cocoon holding an ashen-skinned elf.
"Oh, thank Mara." He yelped. "Cut me loose, friends."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~









OOC: The main character is a damsel in distress again. I have issues.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Mar 18 2013, 11:13 PM