Tarvyn Dralor: Caught in the Web Options

[Callidus Thorn]

Well, here we are, my third assault on the bastion of fanfiction

They say third time's the charm, and I really hope they're right. And if not, well at least I'm having fun writing and playing. I'm pretty sure I've avoided making the same mistakes I did with my previous attempts, so any mistakes I make this time round will be all new ones. If I'm lucky

As ever, comments, criticism, suggestions, and nitpicking are all welcome, and as before, don't feel you need to pull your punches!

Since we have a thread for character trailers, I thought "why not write one?":

Trailer

Here goes nothing...


Prologue

As the sun sets on Cyrodiil, washing the sky with its myriad gentle hues, forces gather within the Imperial City.

As the shadows deepen across the city figures swathed in hooded robes make their way to access points to the sewers. Others, clad in the same robes, conceal themselves in shadowed alleys. They have been arriving in the city for days, and will quit the city tonight, through forgotten passages beneath the streets. For months they have prepared, finding secret ways lost to memory, and tonight they will exploit them to terrifying effect. They speak as little as possible to each other, though most intone prayers in near-silent whispers as they ready themselves for what is to come. The citizenry carry on about their business as usual, blind to goings on that didn't concern them, and those few that did catch a glimpse of the figures are quietly dealt with.

The heart of the Imperial City, White Gold Tower, buzzes with activity. A score of heavily armoured men and women prepare themselves for battle, checking the buckles of their armour and the edges of their blades. They are silent and serious, grim countenances dwelling on the thought of what is to come. Word has reached them that their brothers and sisters have failed in their duties, and each of them swears anew the oaths they took when they were granted their posts. They know the weight of responsibility that falls on them, heavier than the armour they bear, but they take pride in knowing that they are trusted beyond all others with this duty. They know too the cost of failure, and that thought weighs upon them heavier still, letting fear and doubt gnaw at the edges of their minds.

The Imperial City Prison, on the other hand, is still. The only sounds to be heard are the guards drilling outside, the gentle lapping of the waves from the lake, and the whispering breeze. The prisoners are oblivious to the preparations throughout the city, though one among them has been patiently waiting for such events, not that he imagined they would be so severe. He sits calmly in his cell, on a rough stool pulled towards the far wall of his cell, leaning back against it. His arms are folded across his chest, and he rests his feet casually upon the rickety table, beside his jug of water. The feeble torch by the gate fails to light the cell fully, leaving his corner darkened, his face swathed in shadow. Only his eyes are visible, gleaming crimson in the darkness. Though his face is cloaked in darkness, robbing it of expression, the prisoner exudes an air of calm, the surety of one who knows he is exactly where he needs to be, even if he doesn't know why.



And above him, in the dark corner where walls meet ceiling, a spider sits in its web, patiently waiting for flies to blunder into it and become ensnared...

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Sep 29 2014, 02:48 PM

[Callidus Thorn]

McB: Swaggy? Heh, I hated that line about the spider, took me five attempts to get it to sound right.

Acadian: I'll be honest, not even I know the full extent of the web Thanks for the advice.

DE: Glad to be back here.

Well, I've started spinning a web of my own, now to keep it going


Chapter 1, Part 1

The cell stinks. It's cold, damp, and filthy. The bed is little more than a blanket over stone, and the table and chair provided for civility are poorly made and covered in splinters. None of this bothers Tarvyn. He sits amid the squalor as if he were relaxing in a tavern, much to the bewilderment of the guards. Tarvyn has been in the cell for five days now, and by this point the guards have given up on insulting and beating him. Even Valen Dreth, the spiteful Dunmeri prisoner in the cell opposite, failed to make an impression on the enigmatic prisoner. Were it not for the shadows concealing Tarvyn's face his smile would mock them all. He leans back against the wall, as if oblivious to his surroundings, and watches the thin shaft of light as it saunters across his cell.

Time passes...

The sound of armoured footfalls echoed down the stairs. Tarvyn's eyes flicker open, and he strained his ears to make out the faint voices accompanying them. He couldn't hear the words clearly, but he heard the voices. The first was female, her voice taut with tightly reined fear and anxiety. The other was that of an old man; tired, and carrying an undertone of resignation. The voices grew louder as they made their way down the stairs, but Tarvyn had stopped paying attention to them. Instead he listened to the footsteps, counting the steps, the timing, trying to discern how many approach.

Two ornately armoured figures appeared before Tarvyn's cell. The first was a woman, Breton or Imperial, Tarvyn couldn't tell, but she was too short and slender to be a Nord. Beside her was a Redguard, brow furrowed and eyes filled with anger. And behind them, in robes even more ornate than the armour of his companions, stood the old man. This close Tarvyn saw the weariness in him; the tired eyes, the resigned slump of his shoulders. Before him Tarvyn saw a man who knew he was marching to his death, and that all hope has fled.

The door above slammed shut, and a third pair of heavy boots thundered down the steps. Another Redguard, breathing heavily and sweating from exertion. “Captain, the rearguard hold the gate, and will fall back to the bridge when they need to, but they cannot hold for long.”

“Understood.” She looked to the other Redguard. “Glenroy. Get that door open.”

It wasn't until Glenroy opened the door that they noticed Tarvyn, half concealed by shadows and still as the wall at his back. The Captain drew her sword. “What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off-limits. Never mind. Glenroy, make sure he doesn't move.”

Glenroy immediately stepped forward, drawing his blade and levelling it at where he guessed Tarvyn's throat to be, “Don't move prisoner. Try to stand and you'll hit the floor before you find your feet.” Tarvyn made no response, but his smouldering crimson eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Glenroy spat at the indifference he found there.

The Captain slammed the pommel of her blade against a nondescript stone in the wall of the cell, and a section of it behind Tarvyn's 'bed' swung away on hinges, creaking and groaning from disuse. The Captain waved the other Redguard forward, along with the old man. “Sire, we haven't much time.”

The old man's gaze, however, was locked on Tarvyn. “Who are you, prisoner? And why are you here, of all places, on this night?” The old man stood between Tarvyn and the torch, leaving his face as shadowed as Tarvyn's, only his eyes visible. Tarvyn met his gaze, and beneath the sorrow and resignation that filled those blue eyes, caught a flicker of something else. For an instant Tarvyn could have sworn he saw fire in those eyes, as if they looked upon flames and reflected them.

“I am, like you, caught in the web of another. My crime is murder. I killed a soldier of the Legion.”

Glenroy scoffed. “How could a wretch like you kill a Legionnaire?”

“With ease. I walked up behind him and slit his throat.”

“Hmph. So you're a coward as well. How far did you run before you were caught, craven scum?”

“I didn't run. I stood over the body until I was arrested and brought here.”

Glenroy was completely thrown by that, and his face crumpled in confusion as he tried to make sense of it. Before he could reply the old man asked “Why would you kill one of my Legionnaires, and then wait to be caught?”

Tarvyn did not meet the old man's gaze as he replied. “Because those were my instructions.”

The Captain cut off any reply the old man might have had. “Sire. We don't have time for this, we need to get out of here now. Glenroy, execute the prisoner, he knows about the passage.” Glenroy smiled coldly as he raised his blade to strike.

But the old man caught Glenroy by the arm, arresting his swing. “No, Glenroy, do not kill him. He is not here by chance, some agency guided his steps. Perhaps to help, perhaps to hinder, perhaps simply to watch. Until we know, Glenroy, stay your blade.”

Despite the obvious deference of the three to the old man, Glenroy tried to argue the point. “But sire, he might be working with the enemy. Why else would he be in this cell, on this night?”

“Will you kill any whom you do not trust, Glenroy? I'll not have my Blades stained with the blood of innocents.” He turned to the Captain. “He comes with us.”

“Your will, sire. On your feet prisoner.” Tarvyn rose from his seat and stretched languidly, shaking the lethargy from his limbs while the Captain spoke to the others. “Sire, follow me, Glenroy, Baurus, You come next. Let the prisoner follow, but keep him behind you.” She threw a dark glance Tarvyn's way “Is that understood, prisoner?” Then she turned and started off down the tunnel, not waiting for a response. As they passed through the doorway the Captain slammed the pommel of her sword into another nondescript stone, and the passageway swung shut behind them, slowly enough for Tarvyn to get through without rushing.

The darkness swallowed them. The rough rock tunnel gave way to a corridor of well finished white stone, and light seemed to filter down from above. Instinct and training screamed at Tarvyn to move with stealth, to cling to the shadows and hang back from the heavily armoured guards. Tarvyn smiled and fell back on his training, his footfalls no more than whispers drowned out by the clash of armour ahead. He stuck close to the walls, almost scraping along them as he went, to minimise any silhouette he might cast. He did not know what might await them, but his teachers had spent hours drilling into him the knowledge that caution was its own reward.

The passageway led out into a larger chamber, with raised platforms to either side and a pair of short staircases leading down towards a door. The pale stone of the walls caught the feeble light that filtered in from above and threw it about the room, seeming to deepen shadows rather than dispel them. The Captain raised a hand and Glenroy and Baurus stopped, one standing before the old man, the other behind. Tarvyn stopped also, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, checking that the wall behind did not leave him silhouetted. If there was a threat here he wanted it unaware of his presence. The Captain advanced towards the stairs alone, her head turning this way and that as she searched for potential threats. Finding none, she turned to wave the others forward.

That was when the shadows fell on her.

Three figures leapt from the darkness above, bodies wreathed in magic as armour congealed around them, called forth from the waters of Oblivion. Maces likewise materialised in their hands, and the three pounced upon the Captain, laying her low in a flurry of frenzied blows. Her cries of pain and rage were all but lost amidst the hammering of maces on steel, but the sharp crack of the blow that snapped her head round rang out above the din. She fell limply to the ground, dead long before she hit. Baurus and Glenroy surged forwards, their blades flowing through graceful, powerful strokes that left the attackers reeling backwards under the assault. The training of the Redguards showed as they outclassed the assailants, battering aside their maces and laying them open from shoulder to hip with smooth, sweeping slashes.

Glenroy didn't bother checking to see if the Captain was still alive. “Baurus, take point, I'll cover the rear.” Baurus opened the door below and stepped through, followed a moment later by the old man. Glenory waited by the door as Tarvyn approached, and as Tarvyn approached the door, struck him across the face with the pommel of his sword. Tarvyn fought to keep awake as blackness gnawed at the corners of his vision, and heard the Redguard speak. “I hope you rot in here, murderous scum.” Tarvyn heard the door close, and the squeal of a key turning in an ill-treated lock, and knew he was trapped.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Aug 14 2014, 11:48 AM