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]

Thanks once again guys, glad you're enjoying it.


Sorry about the delay, had a couple of issues with the writing, and a rather nasty week of next to no sleep, which rather put a crimp on things.

Chapter 1 Part 4

By the time Tarvyn crawled out of the sewers, spattered with filth and goblin blood, night had fallen. Before him stretched Lake Rumare, its dark reflection of the night sky crazed by the rippling waters, as if the stars themselves shivered at the Emperor's death. Tarvyn looked out across for a long moment, savouring the first view of freedom he'd had in days. Then his thoughts turned to his task. Swimming the lake was out of the question. Tarvyn was a weak swimmer, and if there were anything akin to slaughterfish in the water, he'd have a hard time seeing them at night. And then there was the evening chill to consider. Tarvyn didn't want to find out how cold that water was.

Instead he hugged the shoreline, never straying more than two or three strides from the lake, and made his way around the City Isle. He moved in short spurts, dashing forward a few strides before falling into a crouch, bow in hand, alert for any sign he'd been spotted. Nothing saw him but mudcrabs, and Tarvyn laughed whenever they started moving towards him. Vvardenfell had mudcrabs that could tear your leg off if given the chance, these Cyrodiilic creatures were pitiful by comparison. Though after torching one with a couple of flares he conceded that the Cyrodiilic variety were tastier than the ones back home.

Somewhere on the northern side of City Isle he found a wooden bridge across the lake, and, after crossing, continued heading what he believed to be west. He remained as close to the lake as possible, still moving in the same pattern of dashes and halts. Each time he strained his ears for signs of alarm, and each time heard naught but the wind, insects, and the gentle music of the lake.

After a time the vast bridge that led to the Imperial City became visible against the night sky, as much through the stars it blocked out as the braziers that burned on it, and Tavyn moved with more confidence knowing that he was headed in the right direction. The shoreline turned towards the bridge, and Tarvyn continued to follow it, hoping it would bring him close enough to the road that he might be able to spot a road sign.

Soon after a flickering light came into view, which revealed itself to be carried by a Legionnaire on horseback as it drew nearer. Tarvyn dropped into a crouch, hoping to avoid being seen by the patrolling soldier. The last thing he needed right now was some Legionnaire asking too many questions. If anyone found out he had the Amulet of Kings, the Legion would have him back in a cell so fast his feet wouldn't touch the ground.

As the Legionnaire drew nearer, following his patrol route along the road, Tarvyn dropped even lower, stretched out on his belly to provide as low a profile as possible. So intent was Tarvyn on the Legionnaire he almost didn't see the signpost illuminated by torchlight. He was too far away to read it, but as soon as the Legionnaire was out of sight Tarvyn was on his feet again, creeping over to the signpost. It was difficult to read by starlight, but one of the arms pointed in the direction Baurus had described, or so Tarvyn thought. A few moments of close study confirmed it, and Tarvyn darted back off the road.

He moved far enough away to be out of sight of anyone on the road, but kept close enough that he could find it easily. He mimicked the path as best he could, creeping back into view of the road occasionally to gauge its direction. It was hard going, trying to remain stealthy as he struggled through tall grass, skirted wild-growing bushes and even a few times climbed over the trunks of fallen trees. Tarvyn was no woodsman, and night was no time to learn. Even animals were a danger to Tarvyn, as more than a few times he was forced to draw his bow to defend himself from berserk rats or wolves. Each fight made keeping track of the road harder, and he once lost it completely, rediscovering it again only through luck.

Last Seed 28

It was shortly after dawn that he reached Weynon Priory, with not one person having seen him since he left Baurus. He made his way inside, and after asking one of the monks about Jauffre, headed upstairs. Despite the early hour, Jauffre was already sat behind a desk, with another chair placed before it, going through a small stack of papers. He glanced up at Tarvyn and sneered, though it lasted only a moment, as if he'd forgotten he was a monk. Without saying anything, Tarvyn reached into a belt pouch he'd taken from one of the Emperor's attackers and drew out the Amulet of Kings, placing it on the desk. Jauffre's face ran through a gamut of expressions; from astonishment to outrage before settling on stunned fascination. “Who are you? And how did you come by the Amulet of Kings?”

Tarvyn sat down, grateful to be off his feet for a time. “ My name is Tarvyn Dralor. The Emperor gave me the Amulet, moments before he was murdered.”

The blood drained from Jauffre's face, and for a moment Tarvyn thought he was going to collapse at his desk. His hands shook briefly, and Tarvyn could see the strain in the monk's features as he fought to master himself. When he spoke his voice was thick with emotion held barely in check. “Then the enemy have succeeded, damn their hides. Tell me what happened, all of it.”

“First, I must explain why I was in that cell. It was not by chance. I was meant to be there, though I do not yet know why.” Tarvyn told Jauffre everything; his reason for leaving Vvardenfell, the murder he committed upon arrival, and Baurus' tale of the Emperor's Guard in the Imperial City. One of the monks brought up a tray of breakfast for the two of them, cups of water with slices of cold meat and bread. Jauffre ate none of it, but Tarvyn ate ravenously. After days in prison even such simple fare was like a banquet for him. Jauffre's expression darkened as Tarvyn told him of the death of Captain Renault, and Glenroy's heroic end. As he spoke of the Emperor's murder, Jauffre looked as though he was torn between nausea and despair, only for the two to be swallowed by grim resolve.

“Then all is not yet lost. As long as one Septim lives, there is still hope. And for the moment, we hold the advantage, tenuous though it may be. Nearly a score of my best may be dead, but from what you've told me the enemy may well have lost hundreds. I'll have a force of Blades sent to retrieve the heir before sunset. Speed may yet save us all, if they need to rebuild their numbers.” Jauffre tossed Tarvyn a key from a pocket in his robes. “This key opens the chest over there, supplies I keep for travelling agents. Take what you will, I'll also see that you're pardoned. I'll let you know when I have need of you.”

Tarvyn was moving towards the chest before Jauffre had finished speaking, but pulled up short. “Have need of me? My debt to the Empire is repaid, by the Emperor's own word.”

Jauffre's expression grew colder, and Tarvyn had to fight down a shiver. This was no feeble old man sat across from him. Though age had taken it's toll, at heart Jauffre was still a warrior. Tarvyn could hear the steel in his voice, and see the fire in his eyes. And from the way Jauffre spoke, Tarvyn suspected that if you were to cut his heart in two, you'd find the word 'Duty' carved through it. Jauffre's next words seemed to prove Tarvyn right.

“You've paid off one debt, Tarvyn, but what of the others? You took the life of a Legionnaire, do you not owe the Empire for that? And if delivering the Amulet of Kings repaid the debt that brought you to Cyrodiil, do you not owe the Empire for the pardon you're receiving? Two lives you now owe the Empire, one you have taken, and one you have been given. In time, you shall repay both. You would not be the first to aid the Blades under such circumstances. More than a few men and women have joined the Legion rather than face the hangman, and gone on to become Blades. I myself was once given that same choice, by the Emperor himself.”

Tarvyn could hardly believe his ears. The Grandmaster of the Blades had once been sentenced to execution? Before Tarvyn could ask, Jauffre spoke again, “Take what you will, Tarvyn, and leave. There is much I must do. In time you might hear from me. If you receive a letter, speaking of repaying a debt, then come here as soon as you can. Until then, act as you will, but do not leave Cyrodiil, or your pardon will be forfeit.”

Tarvyn grimaced, but did not argue the point. The Morag Tong instilled in its members a sense of honour, and though Tarvyn's was a little more twisted than most, it was still present. He nodded his acceptance and opened the chest, finding a surprising array of equipment within. He replaced his old iron bow with a steel one, and swapped out his cracked leathers for a new set. He also took as many potions and scrolls as the chest held, intending to sell what he couldn't use. Before donning his new armour he went outside and poured a few buckets of well water over himself, washing away most of the filth.

Tarvyn left the Priory, running the events of the last day through his mind. The debt he felt owed had been repaid, but Jauffre had had a point. To repay the debt that brought him here, new debts had been incurred, debts that trapped him in Cyrodiil, at least for the moment. Was Mephala simply toying with him? Was she a manic spider in a crazed web, watching Tarvyn dance as she tugged at the strands of the web? Was there some purpose to her making him further indebted to the Empire, when some mysterious force assailed it? What cause could Mephala have to place him beside the Emperor, in the hour of his death?

Tarvyn shook his head and continued on the road to Chorrol. Trying to guess the designs of the Webspinner was a sure path to the Madgod's side.




This puts Tarvyn's story to rest for a short while: the narrative demands a shift in focus, for a brief mini-series.

Next time: The Fall of Kvatch

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Aug 14 2014, 12:21 PM