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 19

"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."

He couldn't believe it was almost over.

"Barricade the door!" Tor shouted as the burst inside. Wellin turned, heaving on the large wooden frame to seal it behind them. Screams were echoing outside in the cavern of Bregale, cries of definance that sounded almost like Shamus, steel on steel. Wellin heaved, pushing his battered, wounded and cut side against the door to slowly push it closed. At the last moment a figure slipped through, causing him to pause and look at her in relief.
"Kiera!" He said, finally closing the door and picking up the wooden barricade, pushing it on the door lock to close it behind the trio. Tor spun around to look at the girl.
"Kiera...how...what happened?" He stammered. The girl rushed towards him, looking at his wounds.
"The bow Shamus had melted... it was enchanted. They must have conjoured all their weapons."
"What? He..." Tor paused, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. "he didn't betray us?"
"Betray you?" Kiera asked, her voice rising with fury. "He's out there at this moment, covering your entry! Fighting them all! Dying for you!" Her voice strained as her eyes flooded with hot, salty tears. Wellin finished with the door, and walked forward to touch her shoulder. She flinched, and his hand immediatly withdrew.
"I...we... thought that..."
"He thinks that there is a link between the deed and the enchantment. That you need to destroy it."
Tor and Wellin looked at each other. "Destroy it?" They asked in unison. To do so, they knew, would forfit the rights of the Dorians forever. The mine would fall on Imperial land. It would be the province of Elder Counsil.
Kiera nodded. "I know." she said, quietly.

There was a thud at the door that snapped them out of all their thoughts. Multiple thuds, more than one man. It wasn't Shamus. Quickly, they turned to the temple. Inside the building was a gilted mass of gleaming, shining silver. The walls were coated with precious stones, and upon the roof hung deep polished mushrooms that seemed out of place with everything else. Everywhere seemed to be richly and lavishly decorated, but no more so than the final pew. Where an altar should have been there was nothing more than a black door, a night-polished ebony, decorated with seven silver bells. They all looked at it and edged forward, barely able to speak. It was beautiful in it's ornate brilliance. Above it, in bold words of silver, marked a warning :

Whoever shall open this door shall be cursed and the legions of the fourteen planes of Oblivion shall stalk him forevermore.

Wellin paused. "Maybe we shouldn't..." Tor shook his head and smiled in reassurance.
"Do not heed the hail." he said, simply, reaching for his necklace and removing it. The eight bells hung down from his palm. "Do you see the mushrooms above us?" he asked. Wellin and Kiera looked up at the strange, dome-sprouted things.
"What of them?"
"They're for acoustics." Tor said, before his finger shot out into the air, and clipped one of the hanging bells.

The entire chamber echoed with the sound, forcing Wellin and Kiera to cover their ears. The sound was loud and overpowering, infinately more powerful than it should have been, a high pitched singing voice of angelic beauty yet devilish ferocity. They swallowed to keep their pressure equalised as they tried to mute the sound. Tor clipped another. And another. For every bell he run, one of the locks on the door seemed to break, the symbol of the bell to crack, and the Ebony door sway a little. Finally, he hit the seventh bell, wincing at the sound. The ebony door slid open, and his eyes focused on the prize. Rising from a pillar in the ground, the manuscript, the deed, appeared. He walked forward, and took it into his hand.
"Destroy it!" Kiera urged. Tor turned and smiled, watching as the assassins finally broke the door down and rushed into the temple. He understood now. He watched as they rushed forward with their enchanted weaponry, aiming to slay the three companions that remained.
"Destroy it before they kill us!" Wellin screamed. Tor looked at them both, watching as the assassins charged.
"No." he said. "There's a better way."