The Eight Bells Options

[Foster]

Part 1

The road was long and weary. Somehow it never seemed to end, because around the bend, just when it seemed it would run into one of the mountains, off it weaved down into a dell or round into a cleft, making each stop seem further. He'd been travelling nonstop now for five days, resting only for a few hours, tending to a campfire in the hope of keeping the wolves at bay. He could hear them, all around, howling in the peripheral gloom of the mountains, and he was suprised they hadn't made their move. He had no weapons that would have put up much of a fight; a rusty old shortsword, a bow with the strings torn and feathered. It was hardly a fair fight.

Shivering in his furs, he forced he continued to ride wearily on, his skin raw and his eyes narrow. The snow had nearly made him blind at the top of the pass, but now he was at least descending into the fertile basin of Cyrodiil, and that gave him a gleam of hope that maybe, just maybe, the worst of the journey was over.

He drew in a deep breath of the cold mountain air, and breathed out slowly to watch it spiral into the atmostphere of the morning. He'd only been walking two hours, and already he felt as though he would drop. Licking his lips, now a blistering mess thanks to the wind, Tor rubbed his arms against his sides and continued to draw his horse forward.

The sad part was leaving his home behind. It was now several months distant, and although he'd been foolish enough to select the path through Skyrim rather than Hammerfell - especially considering it was now into Frost Fall - he wasn't sure the path really mattered. Had he gone the other way, he'd have been complaining about searing heat that would parch his mouth. He smiled wearily. Either road, he still wished he could be at home, sitting with his eyes closed listening to the home fire cackle, or gazing casually as the ships sailed the seas outside of his window.

All of it was gone now. The house a ruin, the fire a mess of choking ash that had long since burnt out. The only fire in that wreak now was the glowing embers of the support beams, occasionally brought to life by the wind and the heat that resonated from the stones the night they had gutted his home.

He closed his eyes, fighting back the memory. One dark night, one pale moon that did not show their approach, and his entire family had been slain. He was the only one left. Tor Beldric, a boy that had been tempered to manhood amidst the destruction. He tightened his fist in hatred, memory of the oath, and memory of the task that lay before him. He stooped and reached into his saddle for some corn.

It all came down to the eight bells. His mother had known it, which is why her death had been ordered. His father and sister had little to do with it, except perhaps their natural gifts for defence. It was all due to the eight bells. He gently altered course along the pass, watching the hooves of his steed slip near the edge to send rocks scrambling down the side before the horse righted itself and pressed prints into the soft crunch of snow. He closed his eyes and recited the verse that his mother had taught him.

"Eight keys for eight locks, each one a bell,
Seven songs of fairness, one trembling death knell,
Open the Serpent, shift the wake, push forward to Bregale,
Slide the door as dark as night, do not heed the hail,
Eight bells to lift it high, eight to riches and glory,
Eight to purge the Blue Ring Tryst and end their dreadful story."

"Cute."

His eyes opened. On either side stood two warriors. On the left a vicious, snarling Dark Elf had a bow levelled at his heart, and a smaller man with an evil glint fingered a dagger. On the right stood two Nords, twins by the look of them. Dead centre were two more figures, one with sword, one with bow. He swallowed and tried to think. He didn't like where this was going.
"Please." he said, in an almost subdued fashion.
"Pleeeease." One of the men said, walking forward and flapping his arms in a mocking, laughing gesture. The others smirked. The leader turned to the man next to him. "Shamus, you know what to do."

The other bandit at the front pointed at Tor's purse.
"Money. Gold. Mullauh. Call it what you will, we're having it."
Tor swallowed, and shrugged. For all his will desired to drive the horse off the cliff rather than to submit, that wouldn't help his situation. He reached down and threw the purse at the bandits.
"Here." he said. One green bag with his entire lifes savings. Thirty Septims. Shamus gave it a look of scorn, and pocketed it, before looking up. His keen eyes caught something around the boy's neck.
"That necklace. Ours. Hand it over, now."

Tor looked at them with his ice blue eyes, trying feverishly to decide what to do. Beg? It wouldn't work. Defiance? He'd die. No matter. He couldn't surrender it.
"No." he said, simply. The bandits laughed. Shamus grinned, and made a motion to someone behind Tor.
"Mungo, if you please." he asked.

THUD. Pain, red, blinding bright neon, then nothing but darkness. Tor collasped, his head a bloody mess as he slid off the horse. From behind him, Mungo grinned, pleased that he'd had the oppotunity to hit something. Hard. Shamus walked forward, stooped, and grabbed at the neck of the traveller, ripping away the necklace.
"Mungo do good!"
Shamus looked up. "Yeah. He's still alive, but he's going to have one hell of a headache. Come on." he said, pausing only to look at the trinkets his fist now contained.

On the necklace were a few stones of little import, and eight minature bells. Shamus pursed his lips, looked around to make sure the others were more intrested in the paltry thirty septims, and pocketed it.

Eight minature bells. Strange, but he guessed it would fetch a good price.

[Foster]

Prt 15

"How far do you think this goes?" Tor asked, leading through the tightly twisting passageways, looking at the glow of the torchlight as it reflected upon the surface of the cave, causing the rock to glisten and shimmer where it was damp. Behind him Kiera walked, her arms tucked tightly into her chest to avoid touching anything unpleasant. She was already in some discomfort after being uncerimoniously booted, though in truth she wasn't injured. It was more the indignity of what had happened that made her lash out at Shamus when he had come down, hitting him with frustrated, limp attacks in a constant, continual motion. He'd let her, laughing it off before passing her a healing potion when nobody had noticed. Wellin had tried to fight him over it, but had quickly backed down when Mungo made it apparent whose side he was on. Now the five made their way through the cave system, underground, unsure.
"Who knows." Shamus said, looking into the pitch black up ahead. "could be metres, could be miles."

The mood in the group was, overall, one of apprehension. Everyone had tight stomach muscles as they thought of what could lunge out from th dark, and everyone was on guard for any possibility. Nervous thoughts caused their breathing to be sharp and their hands to quiver, which only made things worse as the torchlight flickered violently. After half an hour of walking they were nowhere nearer the end of the road; at least, no nearer than any of them could tell. After an hour they were beginning to believe that the passage never ended, and it was probably after an hour and a half that Wellin began to get nervous, wondering about the strength of the ceiling and what would happen if it were to cave in. It wasn't the only thing he wondered about, he just didn't know how to say it.

After two hours they first heard the sound, echoing violently in a swirling, swishing sound that hissed in their ears, but it took another fifteen minutes to find the source. They emerged in a circular cavern, open and wide, with a violent stream rushing past them. Even in the dark light of the cavern they should see the foam and strength of the current. Each member looked at it with apprehension.
"It's loud." Kiera said, shouting above the noise. Tor turned and nodded.
"I think it must be the Larsius, maybe the source of it." he said, over the din that filled the air. If he was right from his geography, that meant they had gone even further into Elsweyr, though in truth he was finding it hard to think. The noise was distracting, and above it Mungo had started to groan, as if in pain from the racket.
"What should we do?"
"What?"
"What should we do?"
"Uh..." Tor said, closing his eyes to try and remember the phrase. Open the serpent, shift the wake, onward to Bregale... "there has to be some kind of lever!"
"What?"
"Lever! Turn handle! Crank!" He screamed, motioning with his arms. Mungo watched him, and then begun to spin around. Wellin heard, and began to look. In the far corner of the cave, outside of the flickering torchlight, there was a switch. He pulled it.

The cave filled with a different noise, as a dam swung up out of the floor. One side of the river raged against it, the other became a calm trickle. The noise lost some of it's intensity, but not enough. Tor smiled.
"Shift the wake." he said. Shamus didn't hear, but didn't care. Within thirty seconds they had all begun to wade across. Then, as if on a time delay, the dam dropped down again, returning the underground stream to it's usual path.
"Onward to Bregale?" Tor asked.

Half an hour later they were in another cavern, this time resting. They were all tired through their subterrainian trek, and were glad that the noise of the Larsius had died down in their ears. Tor and Shamus took the time to check their weapons. Wellin decided on a different use. He rose up, and moved across to Kiera.
"Lady..uh... Dorian." He began. She looked up at him with her beautfiul eyes, and smiled.
"Yes, Wellin?"
"Uh...can I ask you something." he said, sitting down next to her.
"You may ask."
"Uh... your family estate is here, yes?"
"Yes."
"And...uhm...you said you and your guards were returning from you being in the Imperial dungeon?" The moment he said it, he winced as if in pain, or broaching a taboo subject. Kiera nodded.
"That is true." she said.
"Well," he furrowed his brow, "how come you were on the road from Bruma?"

Kiera paused, sucking in her breath and closing her eyes. She nodded.
"Yes, I can see how that could require an explaination."
"I was just..."
"No." She said, raising a hand to keep him quiet. "Do not tell this to your companions, however. Especially that filthy, disgusting degenerate and his walking corpse."
"Of course." Wellin said, having decided that if they hadn't thought of it, they didn't need to know.
"I was on the road from Bruma because I went to visit someone who has the power of foresight." she said, simply. "You see, I wanted to know if there was a way that I might...exert...more aggrevance upon my mother, given that she had done so to me. However, I was not told this. I was told instead that I would go on a journey, with unlikely companions who would come to me whilst I was in mourning, under flames. As you can see, that rather fits the description of how we met."
Wellin remained silent. Kiera cast an eye over the others, and continued.
"I was told that, on this journey, there would be much blood and hardship, but that I would reclaim a legend my family had long since lost."
"That would be the mine?"
"I assume so, yes." Kiera nodded.
"Then why not tell them?" Wellin asked, unsure as to why she'd kept silent.
"Because I was told about who they would be." she said, softly. "One will justice, one will find joy, one will be dead, and..." she choked for a moment, "and the other... will die."

This post has been edited by Foster: Apr 2 2006, 10:34 PM