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

[Darkness Eternal]

I was beginning to think you abandoned this story for good. It is a relief to see another fanfiction returning, and by the looks of it, improved and better than ever! We'll be on standby, waiting for some good storytelling

[Callidus Thorn]

I was beginning to think you abandoned this story for good. It is a relief to see another fanfiction returning, and by the looks of it, improved and better than ever! We'll be on standby, waiting for some good storytelling

I wouldn't hold your breath on that front. I'm a little rusty, and this part's been an unholy bitch to write.


So here's the next part, and I feel I should stress a few things: All the previous parts were written, then revised and edited two or three times, often changing substantially with the second draft. This part has not been through this process, because the damn thing's been fighting me all week, and frankly, I'll be glad to be done with it. So it's rough, it's kind of rushed, and I'm certain it needs some more work, but if I didn't get it out of the way I'd never get anywhere.



Kvatch

As the sun gave up its struggle against the horizon, and night began to coil its shadowy arms around Kvatch, a weary Captain Matius made his way back to the barracks. It had been a long day, at the end of an even longer week, which had dropped several unwelcome mysteries on him. First; the murders of the Aurilies, a Breton couple found dead in their homes four days ago. Then there was the matter of Crassius Ancrus, found dead at the bottom of the stairs in his home, an empty bottle of Cyrodiilic Brandy beside him. Yet all of his friends were adamant that not only did Crassius never drink, but he didn't even keep alcohol in for guests. And finally, there was Alusannah, a Redguard woman who ran a popular bookshop, apparently the victim of an attempted mugging that went wrong.

His thoughts were brought to a halt as an unnatural sound tore through the air. Something partway between a scream of agony and the sound of tearing cloth, something that ran fingers of fear up and down his spine without him understanding why. A wave of heat rippled across the city, and veins of crimson twisted the night sky, bathing the city in a bloody red light. Sweat pricked his brow even as he turned, and his mind reeled at what he saw.

Towering over the city, nearly as high again as the wall, and as wide as the city gate itself, was what looked like a curtain of fire. Girded with dark stone columns shot through with crimson traceries, the flames flickered and wept energy, like pus from a wound. Even from where he was, halfway across the city, he could feel the heat from it as if he stood before a blacksmith's forge, and just looking at it turned his stomach. Weariness forgotten, he raced across the city towards the gate, joined by more and more guards, fighting against the tide of civilians fleeing towards them.

As he arrived he heard the voice of his second, Captain Calidia, directing the archers from atop the wall. With legs of lead he scaled the nearest fortification ladder to the battlements. Without the wall shielding him the full force of the inferno washed over him, the sheer heat rolling from it forcing his eyes closed. “It's a portal! That Nine-damned thing is a bloody portal.” He heard Calidia shout at him, between directing volleys from the archers. Forcing his eyes open, he looked out from the wall, and had to cling to the battlements to keep himself from falling as the sight left him weak at the knees.

The portal stood on the open ground before the city, and before it stood an ever-growing horde of daedra. Some of them, tall and humanoid, armoured in black plate edged in crimson, formed up in disciplined ranks. Other daedra; lizard-like creatures large and small, sorcerous wretches that hurled fire at the wall, unarmoured figures wielding heavy weapons with ease, and monstrous blendings of woman and spider, formed in loose clusters. Those with great-weapons were almost as ordered as the ranks of armoured figures, while the rest were marshalled by more of those same figures, wielding barbed lashes. And behind them all, the portal, through which was now being dragged some vast and arcane engine, a siege weapon of some sort. Captain Matius felt an icy current of fear run through him, setting his heart racing, and his grip on the stone tightened until he wondered if it might crumble beneath his fingers.

Then a voice came to him, echoing across time, from when he had been promoted to Captain: A leader must not show weakness, he must be as stone, the foundation from which others draw strength. That was what you were, and that is what you will be again. Though the words had been said a decade and more ago, he heard them as clearly as if they were freshly spoken, and with them came renewed resolve. His fingers eased their grip on the stone, his knees regained their strength, and he buried his fear deep inside himself, where those under his command could not see it.

“Captain Calidia, stay with the archers. Take down as many of those bastards as possible, and do what you can to stop that siege engine.” Not waiting for her response he raced back down the ladder, grabbing the first guards he found. “Dahlia. Get to the Mages Guild, tell them I want every mage who can hurl a lightning bolt on the wall, and everyone who can wield a weapon down here with me. And tell them to bring any healers they have too, we'll need them. Astius. Get to the Fighters Guild, we're going to need every fighter we have.” The two raced off towards the Guildhalls, and he turned his attention to the others gathered before the gates.

He saw the fear in their eyes, magnified by the crimson light that tainted everything, but he had nothing to say. Some men lead by words, others by example. Matius was one of the latter. He had stood when others had lost their nerve, fought when it had been deemed hopeless, and inspired others by doing so. Rousing speeches to give heart to those under his command were as unknown to him as the portal before his city. But he knew he had to say something, so settled for what little he knew, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of bowstrings from above. “The daedra are attacking the city, an army of them has come from that portal. I don't know why, I don't know how, but those questions don't matter. What matters is that we deny them, and we will deny them.”

Astius came jogging back to Matius, notably lacking in reinforcements. “I'm sorry Captain, but the Fighters Guild has been celebrating the anniversary of their branch being founded. Most of them have been drinking since mid-afternoon.”

“How drunk are they?”

“Well, if we propped them up and gave them a torch they could probably belch out a few fireballs, or give them an hour and a torch and they could rain fire from the battlements, the men anyway.” Despite the situation, Astius couldn't help letting his usual levity slip through. The fact that three of the women (and two of the men) had been dancing on the tables in varying states of undress hadn't helped matters.

He was spared from having to reply by the arrival of the mages, half of them racing up the ladders to join the archers, the rest coming to a halt before him. He recognised the three at the front; Arnand LaRouche, a Breton, Norionil, an Altmer, and Miara Felas, a Dunmer. All were aspiring Battlemages, who trained regularly with the guards. Each of them was clad in steel armour, wielding a warhammer, a battleaxe, and a claymore, respectively. Behind them were three robed figures: an Altmer, an Imperial, and another Breton, each wielding smaller, lighter weapons than the Battlemages. Captain Matius guessed them to be the healers.

“Hail, Captain Matius! The Mages Guild stands ready to aid you.” Arnand shouted, even as the crackle of lightning bolts began to accompany the sounds of archery. “What's the situation?”

“Daedra have opened some manner of portal before the city gates. A horde of them has assembled, and they're bringing through some form of siege engine.”

“A portal? That's impossible.” Norionil butted in, his expression a mixture of anxiety and curiosity.

“Impossible or not, it's bloody well happening. Once that siege engine starts working on the gates, I want them reinforced with shield spells. The longer we can keep them out, the more the archers can thin their ranks. When they break the gates it's going to be bloody.”

“But-”

Captain Calidia's shout cut him short. “Captain Matius! The Daedra are retreating!” Matius wasted no time in joining her at the battlements, arriving just in time to see the siege engine disappear back into the portal. The archers and mages continued to fire on the retreating Daedra, though Matius could see how little effect they'd had. Perhaps one in thirty of the Daedra lay dead between the gate and the portal, though many of those retreating were visibly wounded by arrow or spell.

“Something isn't right” He turned towards the voice, finding the statuesque figure of Sigrid, head of the Kvatch chapter of the Mages guild, standing beside him. A detached part of Captain Matius wondered how her hair could be so artfully arranged at this time of night, and why it was that mages seldom dressed appropriately for battle. She was looking out, as he had been, watching the retreating daedra, the confusion clear to see on her face.

“Norionil already told me that opening a portal like that shouldn't be possible”

“It's not that. Those armoured daedra down there, the ones herding the others through the portal, they're Dremora.. They're a warrior people, reputed to be honourable, even though most of them worship Mehrunes Dagon. To assemble in such numbers, only to retreat without even launching an attack, would bring dishonour on their leaders. Not to mention enraging Mehrunes Dagon.”

“So why would they retreat? They're not going to be able to catch us off guard, now that we know they can open portals like that. Why waste an advantage like that just to flee without attacking?”

Sigrid turned to answer him, but as she opened her mouth a chorus of hideous screams sang out behind them. Terror crystallised in their stomachs as they turned, both knowing what they would see, but unable to ignore it. As they looked out across the city, the sky turned crimson once more, and a half-dozen lesser portals tore their way up from the ground. From them emerged the same hordes of Daedra that moments before had stood before the city, and the night air grew thick with screams of horror and cold, bestial laughter...