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]

The Thu'um is hard to describe. At times it feels less like the uber-awesome unique hero-magic the game wants it to be and more like a random assortment of effects that were considered cool or didn't fit into the magic schools anymore. In fact, some of the Shouts are pretty similar to old spells we no longer get as regular magic.

For the most part, Thu'ums are indeed relatively unguided. There are ones that focus on the shouter, while others effect the whole world or are thrown forward like a fireball. And yes, a FusRoDa will bowl over anything or anyone unfortunate enough to be in front of you. Thu'ums have no concept of friendly fire and one of the game's expansions added a perk so that your followers stop taking damage from getting in front of your shouts.

Now anyone can learn the Thu'um, which in my book means it is just another school of magic, ignoring all the mythical mumbojumbo the Nords attach to it. The only thing that makes the player character different is that they can instalearn words by looking at a wall found in nearly every Barrow. The one with the text that had Fist throw up a dustcloud here. Each Shout has three walls assigned to it (except FusRoDa since it is learned through plot). Now each wall actually has all words on it, but only one ever seems to be active for vacuuming.


Regarding its use in the story here, I wanted to show that the lich and Fist were both using the same Shout at the same time. The only difference being that the lich was only using FusRo wheras Fist went for the full FusRoDa (basically, Shouts are made up of three components. The more you use, the more powerful and the longer the cooldown.) Except I also didn't want to go right out and say Fist had the Thu'um until he actually used it in battle. I hope it worked out from the reader's perspective.



Chapter 1.12


Though the questions were important, I didn't ask a single one of them. This was for two reasons. The first one was that I needed more information before I could know if it was safe to ask. Proventius told me the Companions were against any form of magic on principle and I had no reason to doubt him on that point. Yet here was one who posessed the knowledge and use of a form of magic. One that was hard to hide. Ulfric could have waved it off as mere luck and charisma, but his cries only made men stumble, not send them flying in pieces.


The second reason was a more urgent one. I wished to be off the mountain before nightfall.


So I simply put some scraps of linen which had been drenched in the restoratives upon his wounds and then gathered anything I felt we might need on the way back. My sword was one such item naturally, even though the lich's knife appeared to be the superior weapon in all aspects but reach. That surprised me even more than its bony material had. Given its age, and the fact it was carved from bone, I would have expected it to be extremely brittle but it was far from such. When I struck an edge of the runed wall, it was the stone that chipped, not the knife. And there was a vague tingling that hinted at some sort of enchantment.
"I guess it is just as with Divine artefacts. They don't make them like they used to. I should see if I can recharge it back in Whiterun."


When I turned away from the wall I spotted the old hero's mask. I stooped down to pick it up and shot a quick glance at the stairs. I could see Fist's head just peeking out above the podium, but he wasn't looking this way. If anything, his disinterest was as unnerving as being watched by him would have been. He acted as if there was nothing left of interest to him here, as if he'd learned and knew everything there was to know about the place. Still, it was for the best. I inspected the mask like I had the knife before burying it in my pack. All I could tell was that it was carved from the same kind of heavy bone the knife had. I figured it would make a nice helmet, if I added a decent amount of padding to the inside, something to cover the back of my head and figured a way to enlarge its nostrils for easier breathing. Speaking about it from a historical perspective though, Farengar would be able to make more of it than I could.


My pack was full at this point and I had to leave out the gold claw to make room for the mask. I strung the key up tight to the outside with one of the backpack's cords so it wouldn't swing and hit me with every step. Finally I picked up, relit the torch and called out to the Breton that it was time to go. We went back the way we came, through the ceremonial entryhall and ascended the looping passages and chambers of the newer tomb. Just because we'd been there before did not mean we walked at leisure. Our eyes scanned every alcove and sarcophagus in case a corpse had decided to become a Draugr to replace the earlier losses. Without thinking, I'd drawn the knife instead of my makeshift blade.



No Draugr or traps stood in our way. Fist filled a sack with random knickknacks, something he hadn't done on the way in. I figured this was on Vilkas' orders as he didn't spend any time appraising the items he tucked in. He also took a handfull of Draugr axes, bound them together and strapped the whole to the filled sack. I was beginning to feel more confident when we neared the spider's chamber. That was, until we came upon Faendal.


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The Bosmer seemed to have recovered from his incapacitating panic attack. In its case, he'd picked up a case of self-entitled anger.

"You evil witch." He snarled at me when we came around the corner. I noticed he was holding the lantern in one hand and his bow in the other. At least it meant he couldn't draw. Not that I thought he was capable of it, but it was good to know. The mer continued to rage and whatever I said to him only seemed to make it worse.
"Do you want me dead as well?! How could you abandon me with those spiders?!"
"I gave you the lantern."
"And that's supposed to make it right? What if it ran out of oil? Then what would you do? Say 'sorry'?! You are not a woman, you're a heartless demon!"


By this point I was starting to lose my patience with him. It was clear to me that the mer was still shaken by everything that had happened. The dragon, the big spider, the thief that tried to kill him, then the undead. He'd pretty much snapped.
"Faendal." I said evenly and walked closer, moving slowly so he wasn't aware of it in his anger. It did however, meant that he saw what now hung to my backpack. His eyes narrowed and his grip on the bow tightened enough to make the wood creak.
"The claw." He hissed. "Now I get it. I thought you were an innocent lass who'd lost her home in the war, but now I know your true colours. Clearing your name wasn't enough for you. You had to steal the claw again so you could get whatever those Nords put here! You tried to kill me just to make some coin! You're just another cutthroat, not caring what happens as long as you get to fill your pockets!"


Just then Fist stopped beside me. He made a show of shaking the kinks out of his neck and cracking his knuckles. I still didn't believe Faendal was going to attack me, and he was too stiff to succeed if he'd tried, but it made the mer reconsider his behaviour and back off for a bit. I tucked the knife behind my belt and handed the torch over to the Companion.
"I don't care what you think." I said then, "Now if we're done debating my morals, I suggest we leave."


"If it wasn't for Camilla I'd never..." The elf still sputtered but by now I'd truly had enough. I wasn't going to say that the hunter didn't have a point, that perhaps I should have at least tried to explain to him why it was safest for all of us to leave him here, or perhaps I should have taken the risk of waiting till he got over the worst of his shock. But I was not going to waste time on him now. If we had to spend the night inside the tomb, he'd never stop complaining.
"Yes, yes." I cut him off. "You want to make little Faendals with her. I get it. Now shut up before I walk off without you again."
Quickly, not giving him a chance to object, I stepped in and snatched the lantern out of his hand. "While taking this."


All three of us went back through the spider's chamber and Faendal had no choice but to keep up and stay within our light. Up we moved in silence, to the massive doors that sealed off the tomb. Fist and I pushed to open them and the Bosmer was the first to move outside. At the moment, I didn't mind. He was likely of mind to just run off ahead of us, back to mines near Riverwood. It didn't matter to me or my mission. But I'd forgotten about the dragon.


The Breton and I slipped through the crack we'd opened, just in time to see the elf turn on his heels and dash behind one of the thick pillars that held up the overhang. I made a split decision, tossed away the lantern, dove forward close to the ground and rolled behind the same pillar Faendal had taken for cover. Not even a moment later a deafening roar of overheated air crashed on the other side of the pillar and surged passed us. I could feel the air burn upon my skin, in my nose, my mouth and exhaled before it could get to my lungs. Then the fire had passed and there was nothing left but scorched stone and the hot steam of boiled away snow.


Faendal and I were both coughing up a storm of our own but we appeared to be unharmed. It was a good thing the pillar was so wide. Three people could have stood side by side and still hidden behind it. Fist, who had evidently retreated back inside, now came upon us like a shadow in the fog. He cast a querying glance passed the stones we were using for cover but said nothing.
"The dragon woke up." I muttered and Faendal groaned.
"So I noticed!" He said.


I crawled to the edge of the pillar and peered around it. The fog was rapidly being blown away by the wind but for now I couldn't see the dragon and it probably couldn't see us. It was there though, I was sure of it. This wasn't some stupid animal. A mudcrab that challenges a rock it doesn't remember. This monster was smart, at least as smart as a wolf and probably even beyond. I remembered now more details on how it had operated at Helgen. For the most part it had been out of my view as I'd crawled through wreckage and played dead among the corpses. But the pattern in which the legionnaires had been picked off. First the battlemage, then the archers, and always from the rear. The dragon was aware enough of tactical formations and coördinated combat to counter them.


We weren't archers, or mages. Well, Faendal was an archer, but his bow was a smoldering ruin at this point. The dragon would be sitting right on the other side of the pillar, with a good dozen meters of open ground between us and it so it had a generous killing-zone for its fire.


I listened intently to my mind in the hope that Them would know a way out. But the other me was remarkably silent. Them worked on memories, past experiences. And I didn't have much experience with dragons, beyond running away and hoping it doesn't see me.
"Think. The mist isn't going to last long. The dragon will kill the first person to move. We can't wait it out. If starvation doesn't get us, the spiders will. No fire is going to stop them when it is time for the exodus." I said to myself.
"It is one enemy, and can therefore only focus its strength on one position. Split up then. Maximize the chance that at least someone survives. I should use the rope again. It doesn't know about that and will expect us to take the path. But if we all go for the rope we'll just have hung ourselves out as bait. Someone needs to be the bait, and risk the road."


The mist was getting dreadfully thin at this point. I could make out the barest hint of the dragon's silhouette, right where I'd already expected it to be.
"Faendal?" I called out over my shoulder, softly so the dragon would hopefully not hear. It had only seen the elf so far and with luck, it assumed that the Bosmer was the only one here.
"What? You have an idea?" The mer whispered back. I turned to see him peeking across the other side of the pillar. Then my hands were on his back and shoved him into the open.
"Yes. Run."





OOC: Spar's decision to betray Faendal would have been more shocking if he'd saved her bacon in the fight against the lich as per my original plan. But still, I had this scene planned for a long time as it almost perfectly shows a key aspect of her character.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Sep 13 2013, 10:47 PM