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]

Acadian: Thanks for the nitpick. I got a little ocd and thought it looked too messy, then thought I could signpost my way out of it. Not a mistake I'll make again.

McB: Thanks. I've always thought Renault got shafted in the tutorial, one hit and she's gone, and then a quick question from the Emperor and they're on their way.

Grits: Thanks! It's most definitely Tarvyn's though, I'm just along for the ride

DE: Thanks. I've always thought both the Mythic Dawn and the Blades were a little weak in Oblivion. I've decided to beef them up, but I can't say anymore than that yet.


Right, I think it's time for a few answers, don't you?



Chapter 1 Part 2

Tarvyn slowly forced himself to his feet, still reeling from the blow, and staggered over to the bodies of the assailants. Their armour and weapons had disappeared, leaving them dressed in dark red robes. Tarvyn searched the bodies anyway. As he expected, they carried no weapons, not even daggers, though they did at least carry some potions, though most of the vials had been shattered during the fight. His hand itched for the feel of a weapon, so he moved on to search the Captain's body.

The Captain's blade had skittered away as she fell, but Tarvyn had no experience with blades of that sort. Long blades like that were harder to conceal, slower to swing, and relied on a different style of fighting. His search of the body turned up a weapon more to his liking. On the Captain's left hip was a second scabbard, which held a shorter steel blade. Either she carried it as a backup weapon, or she had been trained to fight with a blade in each hand, Tarvyn would never know. He removed the scabbard and belted it around his waist. Then, driven by an urge he couldn't explain, he picked up her fallen sword and placed it in her hands, closing her lifeless fingers about the hilt as best he could.

With that done, Tarvyn searched the chamber, pausing occasionally to lean against the walls and steady himself as the ground seemed to shift beneath him at odd intervals. The door before him was locked, and even if he could find the right stone to press to open the door to his cell, it wouldn't help much. He briefly entertained the notion of attempting to reach the door the attackers must have entered through, but though his dizziness was passing he doubted he could make the climb. The walls were immaculately crafted, the the only flaws in the stonework the product of age rather than poor workmanship. Desperation forced him to dwell on the idea even longer, until the sounds of something crumbling caught his attention. He turned towards its source just as, with a triumphant squeak, a section of the wall caved outwards and a rat burst through.

Again, Tarvyn's training leapt to the fore. Where his earlier actions had been guided by the teachings of the Morag Tong, now the lessons of House Telvanni made their presence felt. Magic surged down his arm, and fire leapt from his fingertips towards the rat. It was only a basic flare spell, designed as a signal rather than a weapon, but was still powerful enough to be used as such in an emergency. The rat was caught in the midsection before it could lunge at Tarvyn, and was hurled backwards by the flare, smouldering as it rolled to a halt. A second flare dispatched another rat that was scampering towards the hole in the wall, and Tarvyn moved through the hole in the wall, the only path left to him.

The darkness in the chamber was near absolute, only a thin shaft of light from above providing any illumination, and that only revealed a skeleton clad in old leather armour. Before Tarvyn could look closer, he heard a scuffling from behind him. He turned, but saw only blackness. He raised his hand to cast a spell of detect life, but each time he tried the spell slipped from his mind, no doubt the legacy of Glenroy's blow to the head. He was forced to launch a pair of flares to peel back the darkness momentarily, and then a third to char the rat as it threw itself at him.

Now free of distraction, Tarvyn returned his attention to the skeleton. Beside it lay an old bow, weakened by age and exposure, and Tarvyn smiled. They might be old, but could simple chance have left them there? Within an hour of leaving his cell he now had armour, a shortsword, a bow, and a quiver full of arrows. Mephala's Web, it seemed, was long in the spinning. A pouch on the skeleton's belt even contained some lockpicks, which Tarvyn immediately put to use; first on the battered wooden chest near the bones, then on the locked door, moving deeper into the tunnels.

Tarvyn stalked through the darkness, clinging to the shadows, and slaying all he came across. Rats, goblins, even a zombie fell to arrows and flares fired from within Tarvyn's sable cloak.

He had spent so long creeping through the darkness of the tunnels that when he stumbled back into the corridors above the relative brightness stunned him for a moment. Once more he was surrounded by pale stonework, on a platform overlooking the old man and his two remaining guards. Their armour was battered and plastered with blood, though little of it seemed to be their own, and several robed figures lay dead around the chamber. Smiling grimly, Tarvyn sat on the edge of his platform, and slid off to the floor below.

He landed softly, knees bending to absorb the impact, but Glenroy heard him and spun at the sound. “You again! I should have killed you, murderous wretch.” Blade in hand, Glenroy advanced on Tarvyn, only to come up short as the old man's voice rang out.

“Glenroy. I told you before that the prisoner is not to be harmed. You would disobey your Emperor?” Tarvyn's eyes widened a little in shock. He'd known the old man was important, but had figured him to be some wealthy noble fleeing the Capital. He shook his head ruefully, what had Mephala dropped him into?

“No sire. But this scum cannot be trusted. He might be working with-”

“Enough, Glenroy. I'll not have blood shed from suspicion alone. The enemy are all around us, they attack with no regard for their own lives, like fanatics. They know secret ways lost even to the Blades, and they have already slain my sons. What need have they for one placed at my side, when they have dozens willing to trade their lives for mine? This Dunmer is here with purpose, and I would know what it is.” The Emperor turned to Tarvyn, and continued. “What is your name prisoner? And why are you here?”

Tarvyn, suddenly feeling weary under the weight of that gaze, sat down on the floor, leaning his back against a broken pillar. “My name is Tarvyn Dralor. And as I said before, I am like you, sire, caught in the web of another.”

The Emperor smiled at that. “That does not truly answer my question Tarvyn Dralor, any more than it did back in your cell. How came you to be in that cell? Not your crime, but the reason for it.”

Tarvyn sighed heavily. “That will require a longer explanation sire. One I do not believe we have time for.”

“We have a little time left to us. And though my Blades would never speak it, they would welcome a break from the fighting. Tell your tale Tarvyn.”

“As you wish, sire. I came here from Vvardenfell, where I was a member of both the Morag Tong and of Great House Telvanni. I was only a low ranking member of each of them, so it was not frowned upon. Had I sought to rise through the ranks then a choice would have been forced upon me, but as long as I remained where I was my dual allegiances were tolerated. House Telvanni had long kept ties with the Morag Tong, having more use for them than all the other Great Houses save perhaps Hlaalu. And for their part, the Morag Tong discretely encouraged its members to learn a degree of magic, and preferred them to learn from a Dunmeri institution.

The Morag Tong worshipped Vivec, first and foremost. The Temple taught that each of the Tribunal was preceded by an Anticipation, one of the Good Daedra who shaped Dunmeri society before Almsivi. So the Morag Tong held Mephala in the highest regard, even if we did not worship her directly.

Then the Nerevarine came.

The Tribunal were revealed as false gods, and were cast down, save Vivec, who instead lent aid to the Nerevarine. Maybe Vivec recognised that he could not defeat Dagoth Ur. Maybe the stories whispered beyond the hearing of those of the Temple are to be believed, and he wished to atone for his past actions. For whatever reason he helped the Nerevarine, was spared the fate of Sotha Sil and Almalexia, and disappeared. Though he is still widely respected, even in his absence.

When the Nerevarine revealed the Tribunal to be false gods, some of us began to turn back to The Anticipations; Azura, Boethiah, and Mephala. In the six years since the fall of the Tribunal, word spread that the Empire had delivered the Nerevarine to Vvardenfell, and had played a role in events. I felt that a debt was owed to the Empire, though others said it was just the Empire looking for leverage in Morrowind. Whether the motives were good or ill, the Empire played a role in the defeat of Dagoth Ur.

For months struggled with my thoughts. The debt could not be repaid in Vvardenfell, but how could I leave blindly for Cyrodiil, not knowing what I could do there? Eventually I turned elsewhere for answers. I made my way to the shrine of Mephala, the closest and most accessible of the Three, and there sought guidance. Mephala spoke to me, and I followed her instructions, though they ended with my imprisonment.”

“And you know nothing of why she sent you?”

“What does a piece on the gameboard know of the mind that placed it? Or a dagger of the one who wields it? In this I am but a tool, placed in the web without guidance, to act as I feel I must.”

“And how do you feel you must act?” The Emperor asked, an enigmatic grin bringing a faint sparkle to his eyes amid the gloom.

“As I said, sire. I feel a debt is owed to the Empire.”

“Then you shall be given a chance to repay that debt, this very night, I think. Now come, our time here is nearly up.”

“Where are we going sire?”

The Emperor leaned in closer, his next words little more than a whisper. “You know the answer Tarvyn, at least as much as I do. I saw that in your eyes when we first met. You know I go to my grave, called by a tongue shriller than all the music. Where you go from here I cannot say. My dreams of days ahead end this night, and all that I see now is fire and death.” And with that the Emperor called over his Blades and they set off, Glenroy leading, Baurus remaining between Tarvyn and the Emperor.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Aug 14 2014, 12:10 PM