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]

Hauling this out of its grave once again. It'll probably take me a couple of posts to get things right, but the story goes on.

Kvatch, the seventh day after The Fall

Baurus' skin crawled beneath his armour. The horses were becoming unmanageable, trying to turn away from Kvatch more and more frequently the closer they came to the city. And the men and women following him spent as much time staring up at the sky as looking where they were riding. And in truth, Baurus couldn't blame them. They'd ridden hard, for as long as the horses could stand, driven by the urgency of their mission. But once Kvatch had come into sight, or rather the thick cloud of smoke above that carried a crimson hue, as if reflecting the fires that must have birthed it, each step had come harder than the last.

But they had their orders, and had ridden onwards. But then the thunder had begun, the air had dried and soured, and the wind carried the scents of smoke and brimstone to them, with a nauseating undertone that couldn't quite be identified. Then, as they rode ever closer to Kvatch, the sky had changed. It had been sudden, the blue sky overheard replaced in an instant by a crimson sky shot through with jagged streaks the colour of blood. That was when the horses had begun to get nervous, and started trying to shy away from their course. One of the Blades, Baurus wasn't sure who, had muttered something about the horses being smarter than they were, the unnatural air carrying the mumbling to all the riders, even over the hoofbeats.

The weary animals trudged reluctantly up the hill towards Kvatch, their riders shocked at the sight of the refugee camp that had sprung up alongside the road; singed tents that had seen better days, wounded people lying on bedrolls on the hard ground, and not one person was wearing clothes unsullied by blood or scorch marks. Baurus turned to Sabine, seeing his own horror reflected in her eyes. “Something terrible has happened here Sabine. Something linked to the Emperor's death, it must be. I'll need to send word to Jauffre; the enemy has beaten us here, we may already be too late.” He spotted a man wearing a torn and charred surcoat emblazoned with the black wolf's head insignia of Kvatch, and called out to him. “You there, I am sent by the Grandmaster of the Blades, I need to speak to whoever is in charge here, as soon as possible.” The man looked at Baurus for a moment, his eyes focused on some distant point behind Baurus, who was about to call to the man again before he turned and hurried away. Baurus dismounted from his horse and turned back to Sabine. “You and I are going to talk to whoever is in command here. Bring five with us, the rest to guard the horses. I don't think they will last long if left unattended.”

Sabine barked out a series of orders, and five more Blades formed up behind Baurus as they waited for the guard to return. The guard didn't return, but a trio of Kvatch guards came down the hill to meet them. The central guardsman caught Baurus' eye; battered and bloody, limping heavily and clutching at his ribs, torn chainmail visible through the rents in his surcoat, more black and red than white. Baurus gawked in disbelief. The man didn't look fit to stand, let alone able to fight. He limped over to the Blades, and saluted gingerly, wincing as he did so. “Captain Savlian Matius, Kvatch City Guard. Or at least, what's left of it.” Matius couldn't keep the bitterness from his tone, and not just for weariness.

Baurus returned the salute. “Captain Baurus of the Blades. What happened here?”

“The Daedra. They opened some kind of portal, larger than the city gates, right in front of the city. We rushed to the wall to defend the gate, but it was a trap. They opened smaller gates behind us, inside the city. Kvatch was lost before we knew it..”

Baurus' jaw dropped. “Daedra? But how?” Captain Matius didn't reply, and Baurus knew not to push for details. Then a thought struck him. “It happened seven days ago, didn't it? During the night?” Matius nodded, and Baurus continued, his first words barely audible. “The Dragonfires. Captain, I need to speak to you in private. The Empire needs your help.”

Something in Savlian snapped. Seven days of pain and rage and grief, of fear and battle and sleepless nights filled with dead faces, had taken their toll. He launched himself at Baurus, with more speed and grace than the startled Redguard had thought possible, and threw a thunderous right hook into the Blade's jaw. “Bastard!” Savlian screamed as Baurus reeled and fell. “Where was the Empire when the Daedra came, when Kvatch burned, when it's people died? Where were you?” He moved to kick Baurus in the ribs, but had forgotten his wounds in his rage, and his leg buckled beneath him as he swung. His fellow guards dashed forwards to catch him, to pull him away from the Blades as they drew their swords.

“Hold!” The Blades stopped, their swords half out of their scabbards. Baurus pushed himself back to his feet, spitting blood and shaking his head against the ringing in his ears. He worked his jaw a few times, wincing as it clicked, before removing his helmet and swordbelt and passing them to Sabine. When he spoke, his tome was deathly cold. “Where was I when Kvatch fell? I was standing guard over the body of the Emperor, in a secret passage beneath the Imperial City. I am the last of the Emperor's Guard, and we failed to protect him, as the Blades failed to protect his sons. The Empire is in turmoil Savlian, the Elder Council fights amongst itself as Chancellor Ocato tries to maintain order. The Empire needs our help Savlian, because it cannot help itself.”

As Baurus spoke, Savlian had pushed himself, with the aid of his companions, to his knees, but seemed to lack the strength to stand. “And what help can I be to the Empire, Baurus? My duty was to defend Kvatch, to safeguard the lives of its citizens. And how completely have I failed. The city burns, its citizens either dead within its walls or barely surviving out here, terrified refugees huddling in the shadow of my failure.” Savlian slumped, his head bowed, as if his reply had drained him of what little strength remained to him.

When Baurus spoke, his voice had lost its hard, cold edge. “None of us chooses to fail, to fall, Savlian.” Baurus knelt beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder. “But to not rise again, that is a choice we make, that is down to us. You and I have both failed, and no matter how many people tell us that it was not our failure, we know that doesn't change anything. But if we fail again, if we choose not to rise now, then it will not be Kvatch that burns, but the whole of Cyrodiil, possibly the whole of the Empire. The Empire is attacked Savlian, but it is not yet defeated. There is one last heir, one last son of Uriel Septim VII, and he can still be saved.” Baurus rose to his feet, the hand on Savlian's shoulder now extended towards him, to help him to his feet. When he spoke again, Baurus voice carried a ring of authority. “Only in death does duty end, Captain Matius. On your feet, the Empire needs us.”

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Apr 21 2015, 03:23 PM