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]

Well, I'd originally planned to bounce over to Tarvyn for a while, but following some advice in another thread I decided to cut it. I was having trouble getting into it enough to write, and it's pretty much a sideshow anyway, but the story will shift back to Tarvyn for the next part.

For now, other characters hold the spotlight...


Kvatch, the fourth day after The Fall

Captain Matius awoke with a groan, besieged by the aches sleeping in his armour left him with. It was the fourth day since Kvatch had fallen, and he had yet to remove his armour. None of his command had, unless it was in need of repairs. More than one of the camp's defenders wore ill-fitting armour, taken from a fallen comrade and hastily repaired, because their own was too damaged and the smith too busy. The hard ground and thin bedroll only made the aches worse.

He sat up, only to choke down a cry of agony and fall back, clutching at his ribs where a Dremora mace had broken them three days previous. Only one healer had survived The Fall, and she had more than she could handle with those more seriously wounded, so the bones were only half-healed. As he fought back the pain he felt a nagging sense of wrongness, but between the aches and pains of waking and the lingering grasp of sleep, he couldn't work out what was behind it.

Managing to get to his feet on his second attempt, he left his tent and made his way back to the hasty fortifications, still being added to whenever possible. More than once, he noted the survivors looking even more grim than the day before, and the feeling of wrongness once more assaulted him. He was still trying to figure out what was different when he reached the plateau, where Leond Aerius, his second in command, was waiting to be relieved.

“Something's wrong, Leond, something's different.”

Leond looked at him for a moment, his expression somewhere between shock and sorrow. “Aye Captain. It's the screaming. It's stopped.”

Matius almost reeled in shock. How could he have failed to notice something so obvious? Now he understood the looks of the survivors, the resigned slump of the defenders' shoulders. He nodded. “Then that means-” His voice broke, and he couldn't force another word past the sudden lump in his throat. He knew nobody had said it, that nobody wanted to say it, but that they were all thinking it.

There were no more screams from inside the city, because there was no-one left alive.

Weye, the same morning.

Baurus had never been so glad to leave the Imperial City. He had spent most of the four days since the Emperor's death meeting with various members of the Elder Council, in open meetings or private audiences. Three days without an Emperor, and already the Elder Council was paralysing itself, squabbling amongst themselves over morsels of power and influence while Chancellor Ocato tried to maintain order.

He was glad to be back in his armour too, freshly repaired, the Legion armourers efforts were such that no trace of the damage it had taken could be found. His Akaviri Katana and shield had been similarly repaired, and though he was grateful for their efforts, he felt a nagging sense of unease about his equipment. That feeling only intensified as he reached the crossroads just beyond the village, and before setting off towards Bruma, he hesitated.

Could he return to Cloud Ruler Temple, sole survivor of the Emperor's Guard? Would his brothers and sisters of the Blades wonder at his survival, when more experienced Blades died? Would they ask, in whispers behind his back, how the assassins had known of the secret passage, unknown to any but the Blades? Did he even have a place in the Order, having failed so?

He found neither answers to these questions, nor further time to consider them. He heard the dull thunder of approaching riders, and turned northwards to the sight of a score of riders, every one of them a fellow Blade, bearing down on him. He recognised the Breton woman leading them, Sabine Ernarde, who brought her horse to a halt before him and dismounted. “Captain Baurus, I have a message for you from the Grandmaster.” As she spoke she handed him a roll of parchment, sealed with wax.

“Captain Baurus? I'm no Captain, Sabine.”

“You are now sir. Grandmaster Jauffre sent us out to find you. He said further orders will come from you, after you've read the message.”

Baurus looked at her for a long moment before turning his attention to the scroll. The wax bore the Grandmaster's seal, and showed no signs of having been tampered with. Breaking it, he opened the rolled parchment and began reading.

Baurus,

Firstly, do not blame yourself for the Emperor's death. That such a plot came to fruition makes it my failure, and that of the late Spymaster, long before it is yours. Let the blame fall on those who most deserve it, rather than those who did all they could to prevent it. In my eyes you did not fail, nor did any of the Emperor's Guards who gave their life that night.

Secondly, you did well in sending Tarvyn to me. The Emperor's trust was well placed, as was yours in the Emperor. Tarvyn served his role, and will likely be given another before the end.

Finally, I must entrust you with a new task. The last heir to the Septim line can be found at Kvatch. His name is Martin, you will find him at the chapel of Akatosh, where he serves as a priest. Bring him to me at the Priory as soon as you are able. You are now Captain of the Emperor's Guard, and Sabine and those with her are under your command.

Though the enemy scored a victory in assassinating the Emperor, it cost them dearly. Our only hope lies in swift action, while the enemy is weakened by their losses.

Baurus folded the parchment and tucked it inside his armour. Sabine gestured to one of the Blades, who led over the riderless horse that they'd brought with them. Baurus climbed into the saddle, a little awkwardly, before turning to face his Blades. He thought for a moment about how much to tell them, and decided that if time was of import, then explanations could wait.

“We ride for Kvatch.”