Nemesis Options

[Jacki Dice]

This is a little something I've been toying with for awhile. I've decided to bring it out to the forums here. This story will include the original version of Kalila Blackstone, from Madness Helps me Save Myself. This version of her has absolutely no ties to the one borrowed in the story.

Speaking of, Madness Helps me Save Myself will continue as planned. Sometimes working on something separate for a while soothes my writer's block.

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1

“That which is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.�
--Friedrich Nietzsche

In a perfect world, it would have been an assassin. Or maybe a bandit. It would be someone who was out to hurt her, who justifiably deserved to die. However, as Tara Karminova clutched her dagger to her chest, she knew it would be no such person. The world was too imperfect.

She looked around the dark alleys of the Imperial City Market District for someone no one would miss. Guilt weighed in her heart for even thinking that. Did someone’s life have less value just because they had no one to miss them? Of course not. But, she needed someone whose death wouldn’t prompt a thorough investigation. Maybe a skooma addict.

Oh, dear gods, what am I doing? She leaned against the wall of one of the shops. Her heart was no longer fluttering and her stomach no longer churned. Instead, she seemed to simply accept it. That was what scared her. “It’s for Clarissa,� she reminded herself. “It’s for her.� She clenched the grip of her dagger tightly and continued lurking through the alleys.

At first she thought she had blended in quite well with the street urchins in the Imperial City. She simply threw on an old, dirty robe that had torn a little on the bottom. Her brown hair was unbrushed and thrown back in a messy bun. Once she saw the beggars in person, however, she realized how far off she was. Their clothes weren’t just dirty, they were barely intact enough to keep them out of prison for indecent exposure. None of them wore the soft cotton that she was in. They appeared to be stitched together from odd pieces of fabric and sackcloth. Tara was also far too healthy looking. Her cheeks were somewhat plump and the robe hugged her frame tightly, revealing that she didn’t often go hungry. The beggars were nothing but skin and bones. The biggest difference was their eyes. Tara could easily tell who had lived on the street by the hardness or loss of hope in their eyes. There was no way for her to imitate them in that way.

She turned behind the Copious Coinpurse into a small garden. It was empty save for a young woman sleeping on the ground. Tara crept toward her, running her finger over the black soul gem stashed in her pocket. It would have been much easier to cast some sort of spell on her, but Tara thought a stabbing would look far more ordinary than magic.

The girl stirred slightly as Tara approached. Tara straddled her and turned her on her back. She was pretty. She had quite a young face. She was probably no more than nineteen. Tara hesitated for a moment before raising her hand. A violet flash erupted from her fist and washed over the girl. Once that was done she took out the dagger and plunged it into the girl.

The girl opened her eyes wide as blood oozed onto Tara. A scream rose from her throat and Tara quickly covered the girl’s mouth with her free hand, stabbing again and again until the girl stopped moving. She wished she had known where to plunge for a more painless and instant death. That part of her research had been overlooked. Tara took out the soul gem and was satisfied with the glow of the girl’s soul.

She got up and panted, staring at the girl’s body. Did she have parents? A sister? Probably not, since she had been sleeping there alone. Still, Tara was overcome with mixed emotions.

“It’s for Clarissa,� she said to herself.



Tara had to hold in her disgust as she stared upon Clarissa’s corpse.

Three years had passed since Clarissa Blackstone’s murder and time had not been kind. Clarissa’s skin was gone for the most part, only remaining in small patches. On the pieces of skin around her temples, sat dry tufts of her once luxurious black hair, though the slightest brush would turn it to dust. Her bones were not white, like the models shown at the Arcane University. Instead they were a filthy brown. The sockets that once held beautiful grey eyes were now empty and covered by a paper thin layer of skin. The gown she had been buried in had long since been eaten away. Though she went out and bought a new robe, Tara did not look forward to redressing her. Logically that shouldn’t have bothered her any more than digging Clarissa up or even setting her body on the kitchen table.

Tara wanted to pass the time doing something other than staring at Clarissa, but she was unable to take her eyes off of her. She was repulsed but fascinated at the same time. When she finally tore her eyes away, she decided to head into the basement to distract herself.

Just yesterday, the basement was full of alchemical equipment. The shelves had been lined with empty bottles and crates full of filled ones ready to be sent off to the different Mages Guild halls. Jars of ingredients sat along the windows. Now it was empty. The windows were boarded. A metal collar attached to a long chain sat in the center of the room. Tara picked it up and tugged it with all her strength. It held fast to the wall. She sighed deeply and dusted off her hands. Hopefully it would withstand the added strength of the undead.

She took a broom from a corner and started sweeping. Clarissa still deserves cleanliness, she thought. But the basement was usually kept neat and there was nothing much to sweep. She finished in seconds. She looked at the Mages Guild banners still hanging on the walls. Her eyes welled up with tears. How could she still keep those up knowing what she was going to do? How could she ever look at Arch-Mage Traven in the eye again?

With a trembling hand, she took the banners down. She tried telling herself that it was to keep them from getting ruined, but deep down she knew it was because she felt unworthy.

When she returned upstairs she was pleased to see that the hourglass was nearly empty. It was time.

For something so complex, it was strange that it was so simple to accomplish. She had imagined an elaborate ritual involving candles and conjuring. Strangely, the hardest part had been obtaining the soul gem. That and getting the soul. She closed her eyes, forcing away the image of the girl she had killed. She couldn’t afford to think about it. All spells, complex or not, required confidence and concentration.

Her home along the Lake Rumare was close enough to hear the temple bell from the Imperial City. As it rang twelve times, Tara placed the soul gem directly over where Clarissa’s heart had been. She focused on the soul inside, transferring it the way she would to an item.

The soul was stubborn. Even in death, it resisted Tara’s demand, almost as if it knew that it would cease to exist as itself. Tara trembled violently. Her heart pounded hard and she broke into a sweat. The soul would cooperate. It had no choice.

Tara grunted hard when the soul finally entered Clarissa. She panted heavily as the gem crumbled into dust, falling into Clarissa’s bare rib cage.

Clarissa’s eyelids fluttered. She sat up, turning her face toward Tara. Though the sockets were empty, she could feel the intense stare going straight through her. Tara backed up instantly. Would Clarissa remember? Or would she react with hostility? Clarissa opened her mouth, though the only sound that escaped was a dry crackle. Her body wouldn’t return to a normal living being until she received more souls.

“Clarissa,� Tara whispered. “Do you remember me?� She took a step forward. “I’m your sister.�

Clarissa tilted her head back and forth. A chunk of skin plopped on the floor causing a surge of bile to rise in Tara’s throat. She swallowed it back down and forced herself to ignore it.

“Everything is okay now,� she said. “You’re back home now.�

She held out her hand. Clarissa ignored it, seeming to be more confused than anything.

“She’s just in shock,� Tara said to herself. She glanced at the robe. She decided to put it on her when she had more skin as there was nothing really to cover.

She led Clarissa into the basement and locked the collar around her neck. “This is just to keep you safe. When you’re back to normal you can have your old room back. I’ll even get you into the Arcane University like you always wanted.� She sighed, not knowing why she said that. That wouldn’t be possible. Everyone knew that Clarissa had been dead a long time.

Clarissa crackled again, though Tara doubted that she understood anything she had been saying anyway. No need to feel like a liar, right? she wondered. “I’m going to go clean upstairs and then I’ll have to fix up your grave outside. I can’t have it looking like it’s been recently disturbed. I’ll be back soon.�

Once she was back in the living room, she locked the basement door and then placed a plank of wood in front of it. She couldn’t chance Clarissa getting out into the open. She would be killed on sight. Tara couldn’t have that. She refused to lose her twice.

She immediately set out sweeping up the living room and kitchen. There was so much dirt. Too much. Should any guild mates come for a visit, she felt it would cause immediate suspicion. Maybe it was just paranoia, but at the same time, her sudden insistence to work from her home instead of the guild halls already seemed strange. Sure, months had passed since then, the nagging feeling remained stuck in her mind.

Though it had to be done, she couldn’t keep her mind on her task. She felt drained. She sank to her knees staring at the basement door. She could hear Clarissa shuffling faintly, the chain jingling with her every movement. She glanced at the turquoise banner on the wall bearing the Mages Guild symbol. Her life as she knew it was over. She wept.



This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 07:08 AM

[Jacki Dice]

Grits~ I am happy to be updating and working on this again!

haute ecole rider~ The Dark Brotherhood does make it fit very well and the walking skeleton that wanders the area brings some ideas, though I'll let you all see those soon.

SubRosa~ I'll have to check out that video! That's usually my thought when I see the rats and the zombies hanging out. Like one would want to nibble on the other, right?

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Chapter Thirteen: Cheydinhal

Tara heard many times that the Mages Guild in Morrowind could teleport members from one guild to another. She found herself wishing such magic could work in Cyrodiil. Most scholars agreed that the mysterious magic in White Gold tower kept teleportation magic from working. It wouldn’t do if someone could just teleport into the Emperor’s chambers and behead him in his sleep. She sighed thinking about it. It would be such a time saver, instead of having to take a carriage to Cheydinhal.

When the gates to Cheydinal opened, Tara couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of home. The Cheydinhal Mages Guild was her destination after graduating from the Arcane University. It was the first and only time in her life that she had not been charged with the care of her younger half-sisters or her mother’s lakeside home. Her time there had been sublimely independent.

She wasn’t sure if she should stop by the guildhall. Falcar, the guildmaster, was a horrible, cantankerous old coot. He was quick to criticize in the most brutal and condescending of ways. Tara knew of several good mages that either transferred to a guildhall out of Cyrodill or quit entirely because of him. Just thinking of some of the things he said made Tara’s blood boil. Her reason for being there was bad enough without him making things worse.

The abandoned house by the eastern wall… Tara thought. The part of town east of the river was locally known as “Ash-town” because of the concentration of Dunmer in the area. Before, Tara’s only business in Ash-town had been the food. She could smell the spices from the city gates and she laughed a little, wondering how she ever managed to get any work done with such an effective distraction. With that thought in mind, she headed over to Ash-town for a quick bite.

Both sides of town had similar architecture. The lower halves of the buildings were generally stone with wood framing while the tops were coated in white clay. The roofs had a concave curve to them as they reached their points. Even the parts of town that were less ornate were made of similar design, though on a smaller scale. In Ash-town, however, some houses or businesses hung flags with different patterns. Most of the words on them were in Dunmeri and Tara only knew the swears and very basic phrases.

After stopping in a cornerclub, as the Dunmer called them, Tara took a seat under a large tree with her plate. It was piled with deep fried sliced yams, fruit with chili powder sprinkled on top, flat dough with meat and cheese baked inside topped with pickled cabbage, onions, and carrots and a hot sauce for dipping, with a bottle of cold comberry juice. For the longest time, she tried to re-create Dunmeri dishes at home but either Clarissa found it way too spicy or the food was just too expensive to have imported. Maybe as Clarissa’s tongue literally developed, Tara could train her tolerance for spicy food. Or maybe not. A zombie flailing around because the food was too spicy would be a horrid sight. Daedra and Divines, she might even rip out her tongue in an act of desperation! The thought of having to sew it back in almost made Tara lose her appetite.

Almost.



There was a house on a lonely street that no one would enter. The windows were all boarded up, though the glass peeked out between the wood. The windows were so dirty that Tara couldn’t see inside. A few stones had fallen out of place, leaving gaps in the walls. Words written in Dunmeri were painted on the door, along with a few malevolent symbols. It was such a contrast to the rest of Cheydinal’s perfect story book houses.

If people had to pass it, prayers were whispered. Voices lowered and heads bowed. Some, usually teenagers, attempted to slip in but all nerve was lost and soon enough, they would come running out.

The official story was a case of the corprus disease brought over from Morrowind. A notice was pinned to the door, written in both Tamrielic and Dunmeri, that the house was contaminated with spores carrying the horrific disease. Everyone knew that was false, but no one argued it.

For once, Tara regretted her plate of food as she stood at the door. The pit of her stomach began to twist and churn violently as she put her hand on the knob. She looked around to make sure that no one had seen here before twisting the knob and slipping inside.

The door scraped loudly against the dusty tile as she closed it. With a flick of her wrist, a bright orb appeared in front of Tara, lighting her way. A few scattered footprints led to a door across the room. A few tapestries hung on the wall, though they were so neglected that she couldn’t see what they had been. Cobwebs were everywhere. The urge to clean was almost overwhelming. Tara wasn’t sure if she would have preferred to come in contact with corprus or this disaster!

Careful not to touch anything, Tara made her way to the basement. She wouldn’t even hold the handrail as she carefully descended the rickety stairs. It didn’t seem possible, but the basement was even worse. Not only did she sneeze a hundred times due to the dust and molds, it smelled of animal waste and death. Sure enough, she noticed a decaying rat under the stairs.

By the Nine, what sort of people were these? How could they stand seeing this every time they came in? Had they no dignity? Tara recalled hearing about a rival guild of assassins in Morrowind. She had a feeling that they wouldn’t stand for this filth. The fleeting thought of trying to join them floated through her head before she shook it violently. Divines, was she losing it, fretting over which guild of thugs to join up with? What would Kalila think of her if she knew? The fried yams threatened to snake up her esophagus before she forced it back down.

Tara continued on until she was faced with a door that glowed blood red when she approached it. A large skull was the center, with a dark handprint in the forehead. A woman was depicted , looking down at four smaller figures. The woman seemed to be holding a dagger and a hammer in her hands. There was no knob nor handle. Tara hesitated before placing her hand in the print. It glowed at her touch.

“What is the color of night?”

The whispering voice made her shriek. The orb of light puffed away, leaving her alone in the bloody glow. Her heart was thudding so quickly that it sent painful waves through her limbs and she wouldn’t have been surprised if it burst, leaving her dead on the floor.

When she finally regained composure, she looked back at the door. That question must have been the key. The more she thought of it, the more sense it made to use this sort of magical lock instead of a physical one. So all she had to do was answer the question. She remembered Lucien telling her what to say, but it was so long ago that the specific words were a blur.

Placing her hand back in the indentation, she spoke. “Black.”

The door remained shut. She thought that would be far too obvious, but people often said that the simplest answer was usually the right one.

“Blue...Purple.”

Nothing happened for either color.

She stood there for a moment. “Red?” She studied the glow of the door. That was it, but not that color. As much as she did not want to picture that man’s face, she closed her eyes to try and summon the memory.

“Sanguine, my brother,” she said, slowly opening her eyes.

“Welcome home,” the voice said lovingly.