For My Brother, For Glory, For Tamriel (Vol. 1), The Daedric Invasion through the Champion's eyes. Options

[mALX]

I'm impressed by your attention to detail in this - ex: Jauffre making sure no one is listening when he tells you about Martin - that makes huge sense, and I've never seen anyone do that before. Loved it! More More!!

[Captain Hammer]

@mALX: Thanks, it's something I try to work in that I often feel only gets slightly expressed in the game itself. I know that it's mostly due to system limits, but that shouldn't be a factor in a well written story.

@haute: Yeah, my buddies and I often argue about the separation of pauldrons in Morrowind vs. their integration into the cuirass in Oblivion. Like I said, Medieval history buff, and the best suits of armor had specific joints that made the pauldrons integral pieces of upper body protection. Appreciate you reading the story.

@Olen: Despite our disagreement on armor, I too am one of those guys who likes to count shots. That's what made Heat one of my favorite action movies ever, since they take the time to show clip changes during the shoot-out.

@urienashtram: Good to be back, and thank you. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to get caught up with your work. Glad to see you're enjoying the work.

@all: Thanks for returning, the views have been increasing since I resumed writing, which means people are reading. More to come, eventually !

[Captain Hammer]

For a Cross-Country Journey:

I didn’t know a Night Eye spell. Or rather, I didn’t know a method that would allow me to cast Night Eye on the horse. Myself? No problem. It was a standard spell for any legionnaire that drew night patrol duties, and only the stupid chose not to figure out how to cast it. And soldiers come in three types: the smart, the dead, and the soon-to-be-dead. Thus, in order to avoid crippling my horse, I had to take it slow on the descent down to the flatter territory of County Kvatch. It was still hillier than County Skingrad, but I was able to pick up some speed.

The trip southwest took almost a good week, alternating periods of riding with walking and a few breaks to sit while the horse rested and I conditioned myself with field exercise. The horse, whose name I hadn't learned but simply referred to as "old boy," was easy enough to handle, and early in the second evening we got some rest together. He had an even temper and gentle demeanor, and seemed to manage pretty well eating his fill when presented with the opportunity. The area was like a tamer version of home, and I could see why the Colovians thought to call this their own Highlands. Towards the sixth morning, I noticed an orange glow on the horizon, but it was rapidly drowned out by the approach of false dawn. Shortly after sunrise, I emerged onto the Gold Road before it swung south to avoid the plateau that Kvatch stood upon. As I followed the road, I found myself caught up looking for bandits that prey on the unwary lone travelers. I was halfway down the bend and well into mid-morning before I looked towards the city again.

Kvatch was burning.

The smoke swept up in a dark cloud before the wind could disperse it. Small fires could be seen within the city beyond the walls, glowing dark in the early morning light. The city had been attacked, and my new emperor lived inside.

I put spurs to flanks and gave the horse its lead on the reins. It shot out, taking me down the road towards the twisting path that led to Kvatch’s gate. Dark thoughts and fears raced through my mind. Was Martin alive, or dead? Had this attack been from the same faction that had killed Emperor Uriel? Was it a natural disaster?

As I slowed to make the turn to Kvatch, a high elf came running down the hill, eyes wide and pupils constricted with fear. “Come on! Run while there’s still time! The Guard still holds the road, but it’s only a matter of time before they’re overwhelmed!” My horse reared, throwing me to the ground. I wasn’t an expert rider, and the stupid scared git had startled the beast. I got up, made harder by the Altmer holding on to me in his desperation and fear, and managed to calm the horse down.

Once the horse was calm, and tethered to one of the roadside barriers, I turned to the terrified Altmer. “Run? From what?”

“Gods’ blood, you don’t know, do you? Daedra overran Kvatch last night! There were glowing portals outside the walls! Gates to Oblivion itself! There was a huge creature…something out of a nightmare…came right over the walls…blasting fire. They swarmed around it…killing…”

Great, the worst possible situation. A bloody daedric attack. “The whole city can’t be destroyed.”

The High Elf looked at me as though I was a bloody idiot. “Go and see for yourself! Kvatch is a smoking ruin! We’re all that’s left, do you understand me? Everyone else is dead!”

“Then how did you escape?” I asked.

“It was Savlian Matius…some of the other guards…helped some of us escape…they cut their way out, right through the city gates. Savlian says they can hold the road. No…no, I don’t believe him. Nothing can stop them. If you’d seen it, you’d know…I’m getting out of here before it’s too late! They’ll be here any minute, I’m telling you. Run while you can!”

And with that, the frightened Altmer took off down the road, his shirt flapping in the wind. I turned and headed towards Kvatch. However, before long I came upon a camp full of people. They were civilians by the look of it, most in dirty clothes of various style, the kind the inhabitants of an urban center would wear.

I approached a Redguard male sitting by the side of the camp. “What do you want?” he asked me, barely even glancing up.

“I’m Awtwyr Draghoyn. What happened in Kvatch?”

“Boldon. Late at night, while we were all asleep, a door to Oblivion opened. Daedra came out and set fire to the town. Many people died, but some got out alive.”

Some were alive. Martin, maybe. May Akatosh preserve us. “Is Martin still alive?” I had to know.

“If you mean the priest, I don’t think he made it out of the city. Very few of us did. But Savlian Matius might know more. He’s in charge of the city guard that are defending the camp. You’ll find him at the barricade at the top of the road. He’s still trying to hold what’s left of the Guard together.”

I thanked him, and started to move on, but saw a female Orc with the traditional smock and calluses of a black-smith. I approached her, hoping I could get some additional gear.

“Ma’am? Are you one of the local blacksmiths?”

She shrugged her shoulders, as though it didn’t matter. “I suppose. I’m Batul gra-Sharob. Though I warn you, I don’t have much. I lost everything.”

Worse and worse. “What happened in Kvatch?”

She turned away, looking south, her back to me, and the city. “I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t remember much. I woke to screaming and fire. I ran. I was lucky. I survived. My friends…weren’t so lucky.”

I retrieved twelve septims from my purse, dropping them on the crate next to her.

“What are these for?” the smith asked.

“A repair hammer, if you have one. I might soon have need of one.”

She looked at the coins, grunted, then picked them up and pocketed them. Then Batul moved over to a small crate, and drew out a repair from within a battered collection of gear. It wasn’t a sight to get any hopes up.

“Here,” said the female Orsimer. “Your loss, I suppose.”

I thanked her, and left the blacksmith to her grief. There were others around that could probably tell me more. At least, I hoped that somebody could tell me more. Standing nearby were three women, an Argonian, a Redguard, and a Nord, who was closest and dressed in blue. Her hands were dark with the stains of alchemy, and she wore the appropriate pendant of a Mages Guild member. She saw me as I approached to speak.

“You picked a bad time to visit Kvatch. I’m Sigrid, formerly Evoker of the Mages Guild.”

“What happened in Kvatch?” I asked. Different people meant different viewpoints from the same question.

“Go look for yourself. The town is gone. And most of its people. The Daedra came out of the gate in the middle of the night. People who fought, died. People who ran…they at least had a chance. I’m sorry, there’s not much for me to tell.”

I let it go at that, and turned to approach the Redguard. “What…?” she asked, curtly.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying not to provoke her further. “I just wanted to know, what happened in Kvatch?”

“A gate opened and daedra poured out. Everybody ran. Or they died. I don’t know how the fire started, but it burned Kvatch to the ground.” Her tone was short and to the point, and I decided not press further. The Argonian looked more welcoming, so I went to talk to her.

“We’ve been hit hard. But we’ll come back.”

“What happened in Kvatch?” I asked, yet again. It felt like it was getting old.

“It looks bad. It is bad. But we’re tough. We’ll rebuild. The guards have to clear the ruins first. That won’t be easy. But I’ll be here. This is my town. Nothing is driving me out of here.”

“Thank you,” I said to her. “I’m Awtwyr Draghoyn.” I offered my hand. “Do you know anything about Martin?”

“Weedum-Ja,” she said, wrapping her hand in mine. “And no. But you should talk to Captain Matius. He’s up the hill.”

I thanked her and moved on. As I was climbing the path to Kvatch, I saw a man in priestly robes standing by the side of the path. He was too old to be Martin, but he might know something. “Sir, can you help me?” I asked.

“No. Hope is gone. The Imperial line is dead. The Covenant is broken. The Enemy has won.”

“What Covenant?” I asked.

“The Imperial line is dead, and the gods have forsaken us. Where is our blessing? Where is our protection? Where are our gods? The Enemy triumphs, and we die alone.”

“The Enemy?” I asked, hoping that he wouldn’t repeat what Jauffre had told me.

“Lord Dagon is the Enemy. He is the Prince of Destruction, and the Daedra are his servants. The Chapel is cast down, and the faithful…my friends…all dead. The Enemy has won, and we are destroyed.”

Damnation!! Out of desperation, I grabbed his robe and brought his face up to look into mine. “What of Martin. Do you know if he lives? Tell me!”

“What use. I’m Ilav Dralgoner, former Primate of the Great Chapel of Akatosh. Martin was a priest serving under me. For all I know, he died with the rest. As will the rest of Tamriel.”

The man was broken, and of little use. It was looking more and more like this Savlian Matius would be my best hope. I climbed the switchbacks on the road to the gates of Kvatch, a single point of access that had held against attack since the time of the Camoran Usurper. Yet the Daedra had made short work of the city in the night while I had been busy travelling. I silently cursed myself. What if I had been able to push the horse faster, cast a Night Eye spell on it? At best, I would have shaved an hour or two off my time. What if I had not slept that night at Weye? Then I would have shown up, in the middle of an attack on a city by invading Daedra, tired, worn out, and probably ill prepared.

I made it to the top of the plateau to find more stakes in a defensive ring, manned by armed guards, with a glowing red-orange portal standing between myself and the city gate. Even as I approached, a thin, scowling creature with a foul stench and clawed hands materialized just outside the strange portal, and charged the two closest guards. It didn’t accomplish much, since two other guards rushed to their friends’ aid and the four soldiers worked off each other to dispatch the daedra. I wasn’t an expert on daedric summonings, but I did know that the creature was a scamp, if a small one.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: May 24 2011, 08:19 AM

[Ornamental Nonsense]

I just started reading this, and let me say that the whole comment about killing Lex's mother in chapter 1 had me grinning like mad. Throwing Lex and his obsession into the mix lent humor to the situation that would have otherwise been missing. Also, the dream sequence at the beginning was quite nice, and I like that your approach to the game involves a more direct link between the the main character and more powerful forces. Sure, everyone knows that the gods were involved in the main quest, because the emperor's visions clearly show that the main character is marked for greatness, but all of that is learned from other people. In your presentation, Awtwyr is more aware of fate acting upon him as opposed to other characters that just have the emperor stumble into their cell. I like both approaches, but I haven't seen yours before.

And now onto a suggestion:

This is probably just a personal thing on my part, but I find that stories tend to be more engaging and effective if large amounts of backstory aren't dropped onto a reader all at once. I was a little put off by the whole, "My life story prior to this was as dull as one could imagine," because it was followed by a summary of Awtwyr's entire past. I prefer to learn about characters over time, as it has the ability to add layers and even totally reinvent perception as a story progresses. Of course, you're writing in a first person narrative, which makes things a bit different, so perhaps I'm approaching this from the wrong angle, but I'd say that in general, revealing too much too fast detracts from a character.

[Captain Hammer]

@ Ornamental Nonsense: Thanks for joining, and your comments. I understand your concerns about my character's history, but there is a reason behind it.

Some buddies of mine are finishing up a mod for Morrowind called "Balanced Scales" available on PlanetElderscrolls.com and Awtwyr makes a guest appearance in one of the later quests. Right now it's just in it's demo stage, but I've been helping beta test it for them and the current delays in publication were...unanticipated at the time that I started this story. I was going to be touting it on the mods section of the forums, and wanted people that read my fanfic and played my buddies' awesome mod to get the connection, and the continuity lines I tried to put inside my fanfic.

At this point, going back and editing that material out would involve a heavy re-write of the first few installments. But yes, I do understand what you're talking about.

[mALX]

I love what you are doing with this! Your attention to little details someone else (like me) may not notice - and giving reason for it - that is huge! About the last eight paragraphs you suddenly pick up the tension in such a way that I found myself holding my breath - in spite of the fact that I have played this out over 23 games on the 360 and three on the PC - Awesome Write!!!!

[Captain Hammer]

@Destri: I know, I know, your comment is below, but I have this space so I'm going to address it here.

I used the Morrowind ranks from the Imperial Legion when choosing my character. Champion in Morrowind is the fourth rank (not counting recruit), and after it come five ranks of knight-hood. For a comparison, there are eight enlisted ranks in each branch of the U.S. Armed Services, plus the rank of Recruit, and ten officer ranks (five commissioned ranks, five flag ranks), when not including Warrant-officer ranks or the Senior Non-Com of each branch of the service.

Thus, when I say Champion (ret.), it's roughly the equivalent of making each rank in the Imperial Legion equivalent to two ranks in the U.S. Military (props to my buddies in the Navy and Air Force for helping me understand rank equivalencies across service branch), with discretion based on performance and rating. So, a Champion of the Imperial Legion is either an E-8 or an E-9, depending on seniority, performance, ability, and so on. Since Awtwyr is young, he'd be an E-8, or Master Sergeant/First Sergeant in the Army or Marine Corps., Senior Chief Petty Officer in the Navy or Coast Guard, or Senior Master Sergeant/First Sergeant of the Air Force.

But, there's no real Air Force in Tamriel's Imperial Legions, he's a land soldier, and thus appropriately of Army rank. In today's terms, it would be something like Arthur Dragovich, Master Sergeant (ret.), U.S. Army.

In essence, he's just shy of reaching the peak of the enlisted ranks, but he didn't have the connections, perceived ability, or necessary accreditation for earning a commission, or rather, gaining promotion to Knight-hood in the Imperial Legions.

As for the facial expression thing: It's rare for a child to be the spitting image of ancestor if the grandfathers and grandmothers have enough difference in appearance. What is common, though, is that often when using one facial expression, a son will look like his father or one of his grandfathers, and when using another, it will resemble another male ancestor. Same goes for daughters and mothers/grandmothers. It's less common, but still worth mentioning, that sometimes a son will look like his mother or an aunt, or a daughter will resemble her father or uncle, etc.

Basically, by drawing attention to resemblances in the family, I'm trying to say that, in an era when DNA testing isn't available, Awtwyr is a true-born child of true-born children, and that nobody in his family for the last three generations is an illegitimate child of a mighty king. He's a peasant, who became a soldier, plain and simple. There's just no real fool proof way to prove that on Nirn. In Fallout, sure. In Tamriel? No.

EDIT: Here is a more detailed analysis of the U.S. Armed Services rank and pay equivalencies across all service branches. Also, Wikipedia has a pretty good layout of the system as well.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Aug 10 2010, 07:18 PM

[Destri Melarg]

I have only read the first chapter so far. Here are a few of my impressions. First, I love the way you opened this. You illustrate details that most overlook in the telling of your story. The way you describe the opening of Oblivion as if it is a prophetic dream of your protagonist is a fantastic idea. I wish I had thought of it.

There were a few things that nagged at me, however: when Awtwyr introduces himself he says that he is a ‘Breton, Champion (ret.) of the Eighth Imperial Legion, Hammerfell and Morrowind Tours.’ He then goes on to say that his former life was as ‘dull as one could imagine.’ Now I’m no expert, but I do have an active imagination. Nothing about being the Champion of the Eighth Legion in Hammerfell and Morrowind sounds dull. If Awtwyr’s previous life was ‘dull’ by his own standards, then that is something that we should find out by his actions over the course of the telling of events in his new life. It just had the feel of a throw away line to me, and it wasn’t needed.

Edit: Ooops, I see that Ornamint has beaten me to the punch!

Also, Awtwyr description of himself as ‘taller than many a Breton, and between that and the brownish-red hair that graced my head I knew myself to have some amount of Nord blood in me’ is very specific and very concrete, as is saying that his eyes are the ‘bright grey-green of his father’. I can see him by this description. But saying that his expression is that of his grandfather and that his scowl is like that of his maternal grandfather is vague if we are never given any indication of what they looked like.

I am enjoying what I have read so far. I will read the rest over the next few days and comment more when I have caught up.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Aug 10 2010, 12:04 AM

[Captain Hammer]

Author's Note: This next sequence is extremely long, and was supposed to include the previous post as well. Also, I had intended to get further in the story, but I think I might have drifted down the Golden Road, as this writing process is composed of bursts of manic creativity, followed by obsessive and demented re-writes. Have Fun, and you have been warned.

****************************************************

For Kvatch!
(Part I)

Even as I stood staring at the corpse of the denizen from Oblivion, a stern looking Imperial in guard armor approached me. He pointed towards the path I had just taken to arrive at the scene.

“Stand back, civilian! This is no place for you. Get back to the encampment at once!” he shouted.

“What happened here? And who are your?” I asked.

“Savlian Matius. We lost the damned city, that’s what happened! It was too much, too fast. We were overwhelmed. Couldn’t even get everyone out. There are still people trapped in there. Some made it into the Chapel, but others were just run down in the streets. The Count and his men are still holed up in the castle. And now we can’t even get back into the city to help them, with that damned Oblivion Gate blocking the way.”

“Martin? Is Martin still in Kvatch?” I had to know.

“You mean the priest? Last I saw him, he was leading a group towards the Chapel of Akatosh. If he’s lucky, he’s trapped in there with the rest of them, at least safe for the moment. If he’s not…” Savlian trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

“What happened to Kvatch?” He might have known something important without realizing it.

“My home…my goddam home, in flames. It kills me that I can’t get in there and DO something. We couldn’t have been any less prepared for this. Seems like they came out of nowhere. There were just so many of them…If only I had a way to strike back at the enemy. But we can’t leave the barricade until that Oblivion Gate is closed.”

“Wait, what is this Oblivion Gate?” This sounded like it could have something to do with ‘the Jaws of Oblivion.’

The hopelessness came through after the rage and frustration. “Some kind of portal to Oblivion. The enemy used them to attack the city—they appeared outside the walls and daedra poured out! They’ve opened one right in front of the city gates. Until that Gate is closed, the best I can do is try to hold these barricades.” By that, Savlian indicated that nobody would be able to get in to the city with the gate in the way.

“What will you do now?”

“The only thing we can do. We’ll try to hold our ground, that’s what. If we can’t hold his barricade, those beasts could march right down and overrun the encampment. I have to try and protect the few civilians that are left. It’s all I can do now.” Even as Savlian spoke, he turned to eye the gate wearily.”

“Can I help?” I asked.

Savlian must have been surprised by the very concept of my question. “You want to help? You’re kidding, right? Hmm…if you’re serious, maybe I can put you to use. It’ll likely mean your death, though. Are you sure?” He appraised me critically.

“I’ll do whatever I can. I have experience.”

“You’ve served?” asked Savlian.

“Legion, sir. First tour in Hammerfell, then Vvardenfell, retired with honors and merit.”

“Well, maybe then.” Savlian’s gaze softened a small amount. “I don’t know how to close this Gate, but it must be possible, because the enemy closed the ones they opened during the initial attack. You can see the marks on the ground where they were, with the Great Gate right in the middle. I sent men into the Gate, to see if they could find a way to shut it. They haven’t come back. If you can get in there, find out what happened to them. If they’re alive, help them finish the job. If not, see what you can do on your own. The best I can say is, good luck. If you make it back alive, we’ll be waiting for you.”

“I understand. If I fail, send word to Weynon Priory. I have...friends there. They’ll know what to do.”

“Good luck,” said Savlian, clasping my shoulder. “It is a brave thing you’re doing.”

I checked my gear over, steeled my nerves, and headed towards the gate. It wasn’t until I got within a man’s height that I felt the sudden amounts of heat that the gate was putting out. Taking in one last deep breath, I stepped through the threshold. There was a momentary disconnect, where I could feel both the outside near Kvatch, and the strangeness of the world beyond the gate. But as soon as I focused my thoughts on that strangeness, I found myself out of the gate, beneath a red sky, in a landscape that reminded me of an active volcano.

“Stendarr protect me.” I muttered to myself as got my bearings. Or at least, I tried to, but almost immediately I heard the sounds of scamps. In front of me two of the small, runt-like creatures were patrolling around. Sighting carefully, I cast my flare spell twice in rapid succession, once at each of the monsters. The fireballs impacted, and briefly singed the daedra. Briefly, but not effectively, giving me the chance to remember that like most daedra, scamps were resilient to fire. It did serve to alert both of them to my presence, and now that they were thoroughly angry, they decided to retaliate by launching fireballs of their own at me. I dodged to the left, allowing the spell bolts to pass through the space I had just occupied. I repeated the process as another two fireballs came at me, only stepping left as I returned to my original spot. Then once more, again to the left, as a third round of fire came searing towards my armored form.

Finally showing some signs of intelligence, albeit not much, the two monsters charged me, howling as they ran. Swearing silently, I drew steel and brought my shield up, stepping to the side so that I could keep them both in front of me, and thus limit the risks of an initial two on one attack. Fighting solo against a group of enemies is much different from being in a group of allies going against a larger group of enemies. For one, everybody watches each others’ back, and if the terrain is in your favor, you can limit the numbers of the opposing force. Second, you can stack your offensive capabilities, focusing on single threats or multiple targets as the conditions dictate.

The first one to reach me received a severe bashing from my shield, and as it recoiled I gave it two quick slashes to the temporarily unprotected torso. The other came around rapidly, forcing me to parry a claw strike before I could bring my shield back to protect me. Instead, I swiped sideways, towards the right side of my body, allowing the metal edge and the mass of the shield to catch the monster and knock him aside. By then, my legion training had kicked in, muscles remembering old movements and instincts learned from prior skirmishes reentering my mind.

As the first scamp came at me again, I stepped forward and left, twisting my body with my shield held close, closing the gap to mere inches between us before punching with my shield and body mass. This sent the first scamp tumbling into his buddy, before I thrust with my blade and killed the first of the monsters.

The second rose and leaped at me, claws up to try to drag me to the ground. Instead, I shifted back, brought my shield up just above my head to catch the monster while stabbing upwards with my sword from the side. I felt the resistance against the blade as the weight came down on the shield, but I managed to throw the creature back over my body, using the momentum to make the blade slide free. As the creature rose again I twisted to face it, and swung at its unprotected back while it tried to right itself. Before it could offer any more resistance, I cut twice more at the thing, ending its existence.

Before I could catch my breath, I heard the sounds of more conflict. Just down the slope, I saw another two stunted scamps fighting with a Kvatch soldier. Taking a few deep, paced breaths through my nose, I quieted my heart just enough as I picked up my speed, entering the half run of the bull-rush. Just before I reached the scamps, I shifted my shield to use it as a battering ram, tilted slightly so that as I hit, the creature was thrown at an angle a few feet from me. Thus freed from defending against a two-on-one attack, the soldier was able to go on the offense against his remaining adversary, while I dealt with the other.

The monster rose, and cast another fireball at me, the proximity preventing me from directly dodging the attack. Fighting through the pain of the momentary blast of fire, and thanking the gods that I was a resistant Breton instead of an easily roasted Altmer, I closed with the monster, using swift blade work to hack at the creature’s limbs. Tripping it up, I smashed again with my shield, then cut it rapidly with my sword. As the corpse slumped, I turned to see the guard cut down his opponent, temporarily making the area safe for us.

Two applications of my healing spell patched my skin up and undid the effects of the fire, but I was still heavily fatigued from the mad rush in fighting three enemies at once like that. While I stepped back and slowed my breathing, the guard cast a few minor healing spells on himself as he dashed towards me.

“Thank the Nine!” he said between gasps. “I never thought I’d see another friendly face…The others…taken…they were taken to the tower!”

“It’s all right.” I said. “I’m Awtwyr Draghoyn. What’s going on?”

“I’m Ilend Vonius. Captain Matius sent us to try and close the gate. We were ambushed, trapped, and picked off. I managed to escape, but the others are strewn across that bridge. They took Menien off to the big tower. You’ve got to save him! I’m getting out of here!”

“Fine. Captain Matius needs your help. Get back to him, he’s at the barricade. Tell him what happened.”

“The Captain is still holding the barricade? I figured I was the last one left alive. Alright, I’ll try to get out of here and let the Captain know what’s going on. You saved my life. You brought me back from hell. I won’t forget it.” With that, Ilend rushed off, exiting through the same portal that I had used to enter.

Meanwhile, I worked to get my bearings in this world. Across from the gate was a huge tower of black and grey stone, a damaged bridge leading towards it but blocked off by closed gates of red and black metal. Just as Ilend Vonius had said, there were human corpses strewn over the bridge, marred and burned even after their deaths. To each side of the massive tower, there was a single smaller tower, both of which were connected to the large tower by small horizontal beams, suggesting that they were bridges.

To my left, which appeared to be West, was a path, and a fourth tower, about the size of the smaller two far ahead of me. To the right was a broken and shattered bridge. Since it appeared that the path on the left eventually made it past the lava, it was my only real option. I checked over my gear, repaired a few dings in my shield and sword, and set out through the ashen wastes. I moved slowly, not wanting to attract any more gang-ups without necessity.

I had not taken notice before, but the landscape seemed to support various plant forms. Extremely abundant was a red, grassy plant that grew in tufts of thick shoots. I harvested some, noting that it could be used for a chameleon potion, and collected several samples of the stuff. If it came down to it, I could always chew some up to try and escape if I became overwhelmed by the opposition in this wasteland. However, I lost awareness of my surroundings while I was harvesting the red plant, when I suddenly felt the sharp pains of what seemed like a scourge or barbed whip hit me in the back. Staggering away from the pain, I turned just to see a thick growth of dark, spike-covered vines settle into a rested position.

Stepping carefully, I slowly approached the odd plant, trying to see what had disturbed it. Only when I was just at the plant’s reach did it move, striking towards me in a rapid and aggressive fashion, forcing me to back pedal rapidly away from the seemingly predatory plant. Now aware that some of the local flora was actually eager to kill me, I stepped around the plant to approach the unguarded portion where the stems plunged into the ground. Carefully, I brushed aside the loose ash around the base of the stems until I unearthed a single root progressing upwards, probably an offshoot growing into a new plant from its parent. Tugging the root from the ground, and mindful of the damaging properties it probably had, I stowed it with the samples of the grassy plant I had harvested and moved on, casting the minor healing spell to regenerate from the plant’s attack.

Progress towards the closest tower was interrupted by the occasional lone scamp. Ilend had been clear that I was, for all intents and purposes, alone in this hostile word, so I was careful about only engaging one of the monsters at a time. I quickly picked up the basic pattern: Get the attention of the monster, dodge a few fireballs to make it discharge its magicka reserve, then close for melee. Use shield and sword both for defense and offense, since brute directionalized force from a shield bash can stagger an enemy, and a parry with a sword can over-extend or incapacitate a limb, opening up enemy for attack. Meet probing attacks with shield-work, cut fast and hard with sword, and check corpses for loot.

The first real surprise came when I heard the clanking of armor.. Moving cautiously forward, I soon saw the source, a heavily armored figure about my height, maybe shorter, and outfitted all in red and black armor. It didn’t fit well, though the spikes on the upper arms looked fierce enough, and he was outfitted with a wicked looking mace. However, he lacked a shield, and was marching about in a patch of odd looking flowers. When his back was turned, I moved up, only to hear the flowers hiss as I brushed past them, a foul and poisonous gas being released in a low, dense cloud.

My enemy became aware of me much sooner than I had hoped, since I was still in the middle of my approach when he suddenly turned and hefted his mace, shouting a war challenge in a tongue I didn’t fully understand. Rushing through the rest of the poison-spewing sick flowers, I managed to get my shield up and deflect his first blow as I tried to stab at him with my sword.

It did not work nearly as well as dealing with the scamps had been. Despite what the bardic stories might say, it’s rather tough for a swordsman to deliver a single killing blow against an opponent wearing heavy plate that knows what to do with it. In addition, the stunted scamps were, for lack of a better word, stupid. Sure, they had some measure of mean instinct, but that was far different from the abstract and conscious thought of a humanoid with intelligence. My blade slid to the side, as I turned and readied for the next exchange of blows. The Dremora had spun with the attack, twisting his arm for the reverse swing on the mace that I would have greater difficulty blocking with my shield.

Instead, I caught his backswing with the flat of my blade, hooking it just below the striking points and redirecting the arc to stay well away from my face, his own momentum and follow through taking his arm down across the length of the sword. As he untwisted his wrist for the upswing, I lashed out with my sword, targeting his unprotected neck and head. He shifted back at the last moment, then rocked his weight forward to bring down a power attack at me before I had a chance to move out of the way. Instead, I brought my shield up and turned, angling my body to force the blow to glance off instead of taking the full force head on.

As the Dremora’s attack over-extended him, I struck at the unarmored wrist, just beyond where the chain of the cuirass’s under-protection ended. Blood stained the longsword, but my opponenet retained his weapon, clawing at me with his off-hand. I was forced back a step, nearly back into the range of the damned poison spewing flowers, before catching myself just long enough to duck another cross swing of the mace.

Surging upwards, I stabbed at the face of the armored Daedric warrior, catching him on the underside of the chin and driving the point through the right side of his neck. Before he could recover, I kicked out his left knee, the one closer to me, and as he staggered to the ground I brought the sword down to cut across the left side of his neck, the cut opening his windpipe when I stepped back and yanked my blade free. He slumped to the ground, the animus abandoning the empty shell of the body that lay before me.

Searching the body, I realized that the armor he wore was of truly shoddy material, and was actually worse than my own steel, iron, and leather. He did, however, have a potion of magicka restoration, which I was glad to confiscate for future use. With a few moments recovery, and a few applications of restoration magic, I investigated the odd, pale-looking flowers, careful to not accidentally make contact and trigger another release of the poisonous gas.

It turned out that my caution was still insufficient. Much like the lashing vines, they seemed to detect when anything from Mundus was in close proximity. After dodging the poisonous cloud, I waited for it to dissipate, before quickly moving in and grabbing a handful of stalks and popping off the flower heads. Of the handful, three looked usable, and went into my pack. The rest I dropped on the ground next to the dead Dremora.

As I approached the tower, however, I realized that it too was located behind a set of massive war gates, and that the way ahead involved a further detour to the west, which headed across a bridge before it seemed to curve around in the far distance. Between myself and that goal, however, more denizens of this realm patrolled.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Oct 24 2010, 08:12 PM

[Destri Melarg]

Okay, I am all caught up. I took some notes on each chapter as I read it. Please forgive the length of this post:

Chapter 1: For the Emperor

It was a subtle thing, but the look that you have Baurus give Awtwyr when he takes Renault’s katana spoke volumes. It always bothered me that the Blades would let you take the katana then, and be so dead set against you keeping it later.

I also loved Awtwyr’s reasoning for the attack of the rats. It added a sense of foreboding to those darkened tunnels while also providing a justification for the otherwise inexplicable fact that you would encounter a zombie in the Imperial subterranean.

Another detail that I really enjoyed was when the assassin’s blade caught in the Emperor’s robe, preventing him from blocking the blow that resulted in his own death. The way you wrote that gave me the impression that Uriel sacrificed himself to save Awtwyr. That is an interesting way to motivate Awtwyr to fulfill the Emperor’s last wish. I imagine that he would have done it anyway, being a retired soldier. Still, this just gives it a personal touch that gives urgency to his quest. I also thought that you cleverly used the information about Jauffre to allay Baurus’ suspicions. I don’t imagine that there was ever a time when a Blade came upon the body of his dead Emperor with an escaped prisoner holding the Amulet of Kings standing over him that the Blade would aid in that prisoner’s escape!

Now for a few nits:

We came to another gate, and hear the emperor turned to me and bade me farewell.

This should be ‘here’.

But no sooner had the thoughts flitted through my mind, then the wall to my crumbled as rats came through, hungry, and looking directly at me.

Was this supposed to be ‘the wall to my right’?

For The Grandmaster:

The explanation for the change in armor styles was excellent. You ability to find and focus on a single detail to add layers of realism to the world that you create is impressive.

I also liked the way that you handled what, for me, is the single biggest pain-in-the-you-know-what quest in the game . . . Go Fish. I particularly enjoyed the idea of Merowald standing on the shore giving commentary while Awtwyr was getting eaten by the slaughterfish!

I am not quite sure about the way that Awtwyr handled himself at Weynon. It seemed as if he were trying to remain discreet, yet he still let it slip that he knew that Weynon was a base for the Blades and that Jauffre was the Grandmaster without any prompting whatsoever by Prior Maborel. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just walk in and say that he needed to speak to Jauffre?

For Brother Jauffre:

This was a pretty straight forward transitional chapter. I could hear the Jauffre from the game in the way that you portrayed him. I did notice the repetition of the word ‘that’ in one sentence:

That, that was a sobering thought. Without a legitimate emperor, and no Dragonfires . . . I was worried.

Also, I must express a slight bit of disappointment that Awtwyr didn’t ask Jauffre the most pertinent question of all. Why send me?

For a Night’s Journey:

The first thing that struck me was the ominous image of Kvatch burning in the mid-morning light as seen from the Gold Road. That is a detail that the game should have had!

However, before long I came upon camp, full of people.

This is an awkward sentence. I’m not sure if you want to add an ‘a’ before the word camp or not. What I am sure of is that you don’t need the second comma.

I approached a Redguard male sitting by the side of the cam.

Was Awtwyr so sick with worry over Martin’s fate that he forgot to add a ‘p’ at the end of cam, or was the use of the word cam intended?

I liked Awtwyr’s justification for asking the same question of the harried survivors of Kvatch. You also manage to use the in-game dialogue while still making each answer slightly different. That was just great.

For Kvatch (Part 1):

Even as I stood staring at the corpse of the denizen from Oblivion, a stern looking Imperial in guard armor approached me, point towards the path I had just taken to arrive at the scene.

I think you should do away with the commas and make this two sentences instead of one:

Even as I stood staring at the corpse of the denizen from Oblivion a stern looking Imperial in guard armor approached me. He pointed towards the path I had just taken to arrive at the scene.

*BTW let me know if it bothers you when I try to re-write your sentences. Speaking for myself I get a little irritated with people who think that they can adjust my prose after a simple read through (which is, of course, why I try to do it with you ). I find that there are only a few people, like SubRosa and Acadian, who do it well.*

“I understand. If I fail, send word to Weynon Priory. I have...friends there. They’ll know what to do.”

Such a simple statement from Awtwyr, yet it says so much. Another brilliant detail!

The battle against the scamps was fantastic! And I am glad that you chose to portray Vonius in all of his cowardly glory.

“You’ve got to save him! I’m getting out of here!”

One can almost see the twin plumes of smoke that attend his mad dash for the exit!

Finally I have to compliment you on the way that you handled the harvesting of alchemy ingredients in Oblivion. The description of flora that Awtwyr can’t identify goes a long way toward underscoring the alien nature of this world in which he must complete his mission.

[Captain Hammer]

@Destri: Don't worry. I'm typing on a laptop, and so if you see any further punctuation or grammatical issues like missing letters, commas, etc., let me know.

As for the rest, most are mistakes that I intend to correct. However, Awtwyr's failed attempt to be discreet was intentional: he's a soldier, not a spy, and so he's bound to screw up his first attempt at handling such discreet matters.

The whole "That, that was a sobering thought" sentence was intentional, trying to emphasize the sudden realization that comes with Jauffre's information. I tried it a number of ways, and that worked the best for me, so it stays.

[treydog]

Good introduction to the character of Awtwyr. The addition of Lex to the prologue was a nice touch.

Awtwyr has a distinctive “voice,” an important trait for first-person narrative.

You keep the necessary “tutorial” section fresh by adding the main character’s reactions and thoughts; even though we all go through the same intro dungeon, this keeps it from being generic.

A nice interlude with Aelwin; and good operational security at Weynon. I also like the fact that, being a veteran, Awtwyr established a base before going to see Jauffre.

I am going to do a long block quote here, but I think I need it to illustrate my suggestion (this is from the conversation with Jauffre):

Well, the first was simple enough. “Who is the Prince of Destruction?”

Jauffre seemed…upset, probably that I didn’t know such basic information. I was a soldier, not a cloistered scholar. “The Prince of Destruction he referred to is none other than Mehrunes Dagon, one of the lords of the demonic world of Oblivion. He was involved with Jagar Tharn’s plot against the empire years ago. It doesn’t surprise me to find his hand in the current calamity. The Emperor’s words – ‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion’ – certainly suggest that he perceived some threat from Oblivion. But all the scholars agree that the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers.”

“Wait, ‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion’…that’s unclear to me.”

Jauffre nodded, his eyes flicking upwards, trying to recall some thought that was important, but not coming up with anything. It was a chilling sign, since spymasters had minds more refined than a steel trap. “His meaning is unclear to me as well. The Emperor seemed to perceive some threat from the demonic world of Oblivion. The Prince of Destruction, Mehrunes Dagon, is one of the lords of Oblivion. But the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers.”

[end quoted materil]

I realize that both of Jauffre’s paragraphs are direct in-game dialogue in response to different questions. However, the word-for-word repetition of phrases and sentences, especially so close together, is jarring for what is supposed to be a conversation. I would recommend dividing Jauffre’s responses to each question into the parts that have a direct bearing on the specific thing being asked. For example:

“Who is Mehrunes Dagon?” [Leave your lead-in as is; it provides excellent “flavor.”]

“The Prince of Destruction he referred to is none other than Mehrunes Dagon, one of the lords of the demonic world of Oblivion. He was involved with Jagar Tharn’s plot against the empire years ago. It doesn’t surprise me to find his hand in the current calamity.”

This still was far above my head, but I wanted to show I was paying attention, so I said, “Ahh.” As I recalled the Emperor’s words, another question surfaced: “He told me to ‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion’…that’s unclear to me.”

Jauffre nodded, his eyes flicking upwards, trying to recall some thought that was important, but not coming up with anything. It was a chilling sign, since spymasters had minds more refined than a steel trap. “His meaning is unclear to me as well. The Emperor seemed to perceive some threat from the demonic world of Oblivion. But the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers.”

That's just one way of avoiding the repetition- there are others- just food for thought.

Prior Maborel’s offer of Paint-

“The look on his face made him rephrase the offer.”

I think you mean, “The look on my face…”

“Kvatch was burning.”

Bam! Now that is a perfect sentence.

Each author must make choices about how much to include- it is what gives each story its own style. I am a bit uneasy with your decision to include the Q&A for every refugee from Kvatch. You migh t be able to accomplish the goal of showing that Awtwyr is a thorough investigator by providing a couple of the conversations verbatim, and then wrapping up with: “I queried the others scattered around the makeshift camp and heard more of the same- surprise attack, Oblivion gates, daedra raining destruction down on the city.”

Then you can pick up with Ilav and his despair.

Good fight scenes in the Deadlands.

[mALX]

Your fight scenes are great!

[Captain Hammer]

@ mALX: Thanks for reading, and your compliments. I use Deadly Reflex as a mod, since the realism of combat is important to my RPG experiences. Hope you enjoy.

@ Treydog: You've got a point about the scene at Kvatch, but what can I say? I'm a dialogue lover. That's one of the things I liked more about Morrowind than Oblivion, even if all the dialogue was voiced in Oblivion. Thanks for reading, and I hope you continue to enjoy the fights as well.

@ all: Thanks for staying with me, the view counter shows that this story is at least getting attention. For your reading pleasure, I bring the next installment. As always, comments and grammatical nitpicks are welcome.


**********************

For Kvatch
Part II

The bridge in front of me was slightly tilted, a reflection of the broken nature of the landscape. To my right the drop off was straight into boiling lava, and to the left rocks loomed menacingly. On the bridge was another dremora, accompanied by another small scamp. This presented a major problem. The beasts were mindless on their own, but if the Dremora used it as a distraction he would have a significant tactical advantage over me. I stayed behind the cover of rocks while I considered my options. Peeking out, I noticed something about the piled stones to one side of the bridge: they were unstable.

It should be appropriate to note at this point that Flare has multiple uses. One that is rarely applied for good benefit is that the heat release causes air to expand rapidly, throwing a small force outwards. I once saw a Telvanni mage use the effect, on a massive scale, to level a group of mercenaries hired by an in-house rival. While the flame damage itself was pretty mild, the sudden blast managed to knock most of the archers and opposing spellcasters down, leaving him free to shock the remaining melee specialists to within an inch of their lives. It was brutal, inhumane, and unbelievably effective.

Once again deciding to apply my great level of Breton Intellect to the battle, I charged towards the enemies, a war cry drawing their attention, and their response. The Dremora allowed the scamp about five feet of lead, expecting to force me to commit to the beast while giving him a chance to engage me before I could recover. Instead, as I approached the rocks, I shot my flare into the side of the piles, aiming for one of the tall ones sandwiched in place by the weight of the stones above it. To my immense satisfaction, and unobserved by either enemy, the shift resulted in a massive destabilizing of the entire pile. I stopped myself short as massive and not so massive stones came tumbling and rolling down across the tilted bridge. The Dremora tried to dodge, but found himself caught in the middle of a minor rockslide, and was quickly tripped up, before being smashed clear off the bridge and into the lava below.

The scamp made it through with considerably more luck, forced by the changes of direction to try coming at my side. Instead, I simply stepped past the creature, turning and slashing, circling around to put it between me and the lava. Instead of giving it a chance to try its own magic, I kept the thing off balance with forward moving sword strikes, forcing it backwards towards the edge. Sensing the drop and the hazard, it steadied itself and prepared to counter-attack. Instead, I simply brought my shield up and threw my weight at it in a short burst. I knocked the thing back about three feet, directly beyond the reach of anything solid. As the beast fell and screamed as it hit the lava, I stepped back and continued my progress in this hellish-wasteland.

By the time that I had killed the third of the Dremora I encountered, I realized that I could do with some form of back-up weapon in the event my sword became unusable or knocked from my grip. Though I was armored, I was still unprepared to fight with only my gauntleted fists, a skill that soldiers considered the only appropriate combat skill for the bar. A drunk man with a sword was dangerous, to himself and those around him. Since I wasn’t out drinking with friends, or alone as I had been when I got started in this mess, I decided that it would be better to take an enemy’s mace, even though it was of comparably poor quality. Even if it broke on me, I would have ample chance to acquire a replacement from the next weapon holder I ran across.

At the point of having decided to take the weapon, as well as usable material off a dead Dremora, I had come to a fork in the path. One led back towards the tower closest to the entry point, and the other would keep me close to the three towers I was suddenly at in a rather uncomfortable way. However, both choices did seem to branch, giving me some choice of options, as well as indicating the possibility of multiple points of ambush.

Whatever the logical or tactically optimal choice of the time, I decided to go with my gut, and took the path that wound through the three main towers. However, instead of going under one of the spindly bridges connecting the largest of the three with the closer of the two secondary towers, I took a branch that led behind the entire complex, only to see yet another, albeit exceptionally tiny, tower previously hidden by the chief tower of this island in a sea of lava. I took my time going forward, hoping that a less protected back way might present itself.

It’s a little-acknowledged fact that thieves make the best guards, and guards make the best thieves. You realize this fact late at night, while watching as a sentry or performing rounds if you’ve got sentinel duty. The mind needs to be kept busy to be kept alert, and so whenever you have guard duty, you start to plan against yourself. What’s the best way in? “Why, through that gate on the east side, closest by that stand of trees.” Approach through the complex? “Jerome’s blind in his left eye, wait for him to turn. Yggor’s a drunk, cut by him when he’s distracted. And the watch fire ruins the night vision of sentries closest to it, so their field of vision won’t catch till you’re on top of them.” Hells, we had even been used to discussing such things with thieves enjoying a brief stay with us, since good information often meant semi-edible bread in return. It was no wonder that things never really seemed to change.

My scouting around revealed no discernable back entrance into the primary tower, nor any entry for the small tower behind it. But I did find a cave system with minimal resistance that led me to a buried entrance to that small tower. It may have possibly been used as a retreat, or storeroom, since I found a few nice potions and scrolls, a repair hammer, and a couple flawed gems, for whatever its original purpose was. Mostly, though, I found myself a quick spot to make some repairs to my armor, and fix my sword before it broke on me. And it gave me time to think. I realized that I couldn’t storm the central tower without clearing the area around me. I didn’t know what was out there, and even if I cleared the tower I wouldn’t know what was waiting for me as I came down. And I still needed a way to close that damn gate, preferably sending me back to Kvatch in the process.

After getting my gear back into workable condition, I decided that my first prerogative would be to tackle the landscape, and then take the tower closest to the portal back to Kvatch. I needed to minimize surprises, and its proximity to the portal meant that the forward tower possibly held the control to close the gate. Instinctively, I started to recall the words that had been imparted to me by that crazy Nord Tjyrfoll the Silent. You’re not a trooper, so don’t try to be one. The ranks are the hurricane, we’re the lightning. Know where you’ll strike. Find the path of least resistance. And for Tiber’s sake, don’t get surrounded! Good words for any soldier in specialized operations.

I started with the exteriors. I soon realized that this place was like one large plain, with rock formations and stone walls breaking up the field into a type of maze, albeit one that didn’t feature repeated dead-ends where an ambush could lie in wait. In fact, it was quite the opposite, and I realized that these were more akin to defensive redoubts that allowed for troop movement without sacrificing cover. More importantly, a few key passages could be guarded, requiring a far greater use of manpower to assault this place than it would take to defend it. But I was alone, hoping to accomplish by intelligence that which had failed by strength. Or was it trickery? Either way, I had been using “ungentlemanly” tactics. Damn it Awtwyr, even as you try to reach salvation from Molag Bal, you turn to Mephala and Boetheia instead. I stopped the self-chiding. Now was no time to worry about my soul, when my death would leave me with an eternity in Dagon’s grasp. The important part was to finish the mission.

Clearing out the landscape yielded little more by way of intelligence, although I did manage to knock a few more notches into my sword and harvest more of the local flora. Now that I was on the other side of those imposing black and red metal gates, I at least had a basic idea of direct distance between me and the gate in. However, my current goal was the forward tower, the one that had the war gates on the main bridge to one side, and another set of gates close to the path that I had used for progress. I entered, finding it occupied with yet another scamp and a set of spikes in the center. The scamp’s fire was becoming less bothersome, if no less damaging, possibly damaging the nerves in my skin from repeated exposure. After another corpse was added to my tally, and healing spells applied, I took a closer look at the spikes. There seemed to be some sort of platform, with holes in it to accommodate each pointed stake, resting on the floor. I stepped on it gingerly, heard a click, and immediately jumped off and onto the ground, covering my head and back with my arms and shield.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be any type of explosive. Instead, I heard the ratcheted clanking of machinery, and as I turned I saw the platform rise up, attached to the larger center stake that sat on the tip of a grooved pillar. An elevation device. And deadly, too. It came to a stop at the level above me, forming a complete floor with holes about half the size of a Bosmer marking where the spikes would slide through. On the wall, a crank handle had lowered just as the platform reached the top. Moving to it, I slowly reset it, and was rewarded to hear the return of the ratcheting pattern as the platform lowered itself.

My second time boarding was immensely more successful. I avoided impaling myself, and rose to the second level of this tower. As I stepped off I noted that there was another set of crank-switches on this level. Leaving the platform where it was, I began making my way up the spiral ramp towards the top. Halfway up I saw a Dremora on the top level, and he saw me. He charged down the ramp, intending to slam me off. Instead, I backpedalled, meeting the charge about a quarter way down the ramp. Even as the force of the attack came, I dove and twisted, trying to minimize the difference in our speeds and shunting the mass of armor and fighter to one side. It was mostly successful, and we both ended up on flat second level, though I was now closer to the ramp.

In our next exchange of blows, a wide shot knocked the switch, sending the platform slowly down, while I gave ground as I backed up the ramp. However, at the second landing, I stopped, refusing to give another foot. As we battled for inches, the Dremora over-extended with a forward blow, giving me a chance to get him away from the wall and use my shield to push him over the edge. As he fell, he roared in fury, only to be silenced when two large stakes impaled his gut and shoulder. Even as he died my anger and frustration washed over me. I leaned over and spit upon his corpse from my perch before resuming my assent.

At the top, I found a set of gears, and a switch of massive scale compared to the ones that controlled the platform. I pulled it, and the gears began to spin, grindingly slow at first, but then more quickly. The tower itself rumbled from further unseen machinery, and in my panic I ran to the window to see if the portal was closing. Instead, I saw the massive war gates that had blocked my earlier progress across the main bridge open. Further inspection of the tower yielded no other indication of closing the portal that led to Kvatch, just some more potions and a lock-pick. I repaired my sword, checked the Dremora’s body for useful items and was rewarded with a petty soul gem. My next target was the main tower.

As I made my approach, Ilend’s words came back to me. They took Menien off to the big tower. You’ve got to save him! Menien sounded like another soldier, one that had been taken alive instead of being killed. Which probably meant interrogation and torture, if the attack had failed to kill Martin by now. I had spare weapons and potions that I could give him, provided I could mount an effective rescue. For all I knew, this Menien was already dead. Having already realized that there was no back entrance to the main tower, I checked for entrances to either side tower, only to meet failure. They were clearly support structures for the main building, and as such access seemed restricted to the bridges leading from the central spire. The only way I’d be getting in was through the main door, labeled ‘Blood Feast’ in Daedric runes.

Inside, I found a large circular room with a lava pool in the center, and an intense beam of fire shooting straight up the oddly hollow looking inside. Before I had time to see how far up the high-energy beam went, I had to deal with attacks by the ground floor occupants. For the first time, I had to deal with two mace wielding Dremora working together, and very nearly lost my life. As it was, I had to deal with two fighters while not getting myself flanked, pushed myself past my limits in trying to fend off two attacks at once. A blow to the chest knocked me onto my back, but they didn’t capitalize by trying to kick me into submission. Instead, I managed to stab up at one underneath the faulds of his armor. It was dirty, and extremely offensive, and based on his reaction I had cut through muscle and the equivalent of a femoral artery. As he hobbled back and my sword dropped from my hand, I swung my feet out to bring the other Dremora onto the ground, using the momentum to swing myself on top of him.

I pressed my weight onto his right side with my shield, pinning the weapon arm. I had managed to draw a steel dagger that I raised and plunged straight into his eye, feeling the pop as I punctured bone and hit brain. I twisted as the last resistance gave way and the rattle of his dying breath escaped his body. Well, maybe not dead, just banished. It still left one opponent, who was staggering up to me, trying to beat me in before I could turn. Rather than allow that, I kicked at the knee on the good leg, sending him off balance and away from me. It gave me the chance to retrieve my sword, and then use the reach to back him towards the lava. He staggered, and in that instant I moved forward with a severe attack that left a large cut in his neck, ending his current incarnation as dark blood bubbled through a severed windpipe.

I searched the bodies, and decided to do some experimentation. After taking what I could use from the two, I hoisted their bodies over and into the lava pit, dropping in a beat up mace, but allowing me to toss the other through the intense beam shooting up. As it made contact it jumped upwards half a foot without losing any forward momentum, but the head and the handle flew away from each other. The beam had melted the mace clean through with barely a second of contact. A wrong touch on that would be lethal.

Taking a long swig of a restore fatigue potion, I had a chance to see that this tower, like the others, featured tiered platforms and a number of ramps, but nothing that led to the first floor. There were alcoves and doorways, and given the layout inside compared to that outside, it suggested that there were other hallways with ramps connecting everything. Sure enough, on the ground floor was a doorway leading to the ‘Rending Halls.’ Swallowing my apprehension, I entered.

The progress up was met only with another scamp, quickly dispatched now that I was recognizing their tactics. Upon reaching the balcony, I found two possible choices: one led outside, the other to the ‘Corridors of Dark Salvation.’ I figured that these would probably lead to more ramping halls and upward progress, so I took the indoor option. Unfortunately, after clearing out that set of corridors I found my way blocked by doors with locks not even the best security master could pick. I would need a key, or another way up.

I back tracked and exited the tower, finding myself on a bridge connecting me to one of the two support towers. I plodded forward, careful about my step in the winds as I moved down the narrow walkway. Inside, I found myself in another tower with a spiraled ramp leading to the top, and a pit with the same elevation-mechanism on a bed of spikes. Above, I could hear voices, the guttural tones of a Dremora, and the surprisingly clear defiance of a Colovian Imperial. Menien! He’s alive! I crept upwards, and through the odd floor saw a man in a cage being questioned by a Dremora.

The timing was critical, since I wasn’t a naturally good sneak. Still, I waited until his back was turned before taking the rapid final few steps up the ramp and lunging at him. I didn’t achieve surprise, but I did have the jump on him and got a solid swing in that cut at the opening beneath the elbow. My foe turned, mace now in hand, and spoke in deep tones like that of a volcano’s screams. “You should not be here, Mortal. Your blood is forfeit, and your flesh is mine.”

“Take it if you can,” I retorted. Not the best of lines, but in the heat of battle I didn’t have the time to come up with a proper one-liner. We closed, and a few short and brutal strikes later I was standing over his body, blood running down my side from at least two cracked ribs. I staggered to lean myself against a wall, casting my healing spell in rapid succession until it no longer felt as though there was a knife in my lung.

“Quickly, quickly!” the man was shouting at me. “There's no time! You must get to the top of the large tower. The Sigil Keep, they call it. That's what keeps the Oblivion Gate open! Find the Sigil Stone. Remove it, and the Gate will close! Hurry! The Keeper has the key-- you must get the key!”

“Menien?” I asked, picking myself up to a slightly more upright position. “You are Menien Goneld?”

“Yes, I am, Now, take the key. Get to the Sigil Keep, and find the Sigil Stone. It's the only way.”

Following his instructions, I searched the body and recovered a potion of healing, a potion of sorcery, as well as a single twisted looking key and a scroll. “There’s only one key,” I said. “How do I get you out?”

“You don’t. The cage was sealed with a spell, and only the correct counter-spell will open it. Just go. Don’t worry about me; there’s no time! Get moving!”

I took another look at the cage, and I could see his point. There was no mechanism that would open the cage, no lock where a key would go or a pick would force. As it stood, there was no way for me to save him. Looking down, I realized that I could at least do one thing. I unstrapped the steel dagger, still in its sheath, and passed it through the bars to the soldier. “Take it. I have less need than you. If you get a chance, escape. If you must, take one down with you. If not…” I let it trail off.

“A soldier’s mercy?” he asked, his voice clear. “What is your name?”

“Aye, a soldier’s mercy. I am called Awtwyr Draghoyn.”

“Thank you. May Stendarr keep you, Awtwyr. Akatosh-speed, soldier.” Menien pocketed the dagger in his pants, from which I noted he could pull it with ease. I saluted him, fist to chest and then out, before turning and leaving with a final swallow of my regret. My chances of forcing a Dremora to release him were abysmal, and we both knew it.

My anger fueled me for much of the rest of the way. I cleared out the other small tower, finding useful gear to augment my possessions but nothing that would let me free Goneld. My progress was aided by strange things called blood fountains, which healed me entirely, and magicka essence fonts that revitalized my spell-casting abilities. Scamps and Dremora fell, many of whose bodies I would search before tossing them into the fire pillar before they fell into the lava below. Finally, I came to the top of the tower. The pillar of energy shot upwards through a red dome, while two doors led to the ‘Sigilum Sanguinis.’

Goneld had mentioned the ‘Sigil Stone,’ which meant this was my last stop. Taking the time to slow my breathing some, I entered the farther doorway, to find myself in a tunnel leading up. At the top of that tunnel, it joined with a mirror passage that led to the other door, with a large opening into the vast room whose floor was the same red dome I had seen earlier. I heard the sounds of both scamps and Dremora, three total by the sound of it.

To either side of the floor were two sets of large spikes that spiraled upwards like stairs, leading to a circular walkway that ringed the room. Above that was a balcony of some red leathery material, with ramps leading down either side and a projection that came to a metal ring. The ring itself was held up with chains, and it encircled the fire pillar with some glowing, humming stone sitting at the top of the pillar. The Sigil Stone! Now, how to deal with those in my way? Looking at my armor, it came to me. I was Breton. In addition to the innate magic resilience, my race was blessed with a useful once-a-day power called the Dragon Skin. Hopefully, it would last long enough to finish the job.

I charged up the left ramp, shouting and bringing the attention of everything else in the room. The closer scamp tried a fireball, but I sidestepped with my shield up and invoked the power of my blood. Feeling the resilience that I associated with the shielding effect, I allowed the scamp to claw at me while I moved. It paid off, as the fireball from the other scamp hit the first and gave me a chance to nearly hack his head off. One down, two to go. I circled around the far side, hearing the charging metal of the Dremora has he descended the ramp to pursue me. The scamp’s aim was off, its fireballs missing me entirely as I moved around the circular platform. With the Dremora on my heels I met the scamp head on, going for impalement and running the thing through. It died on my sword, but the weight dragged my blade out of my hands as I continued my progress up one of the red leather ramps. Two down, and now just a Dremora left.

The distance had been closed before I made it to the stone. I felt the impact drive me forward and to the wall, as I reached for the backup mace I carried. I turned to engage the Dremora, only to be forced back against the wall in the exchange of blows. Pinned to the wall by the mass of muscle and armor of my enemy, I took advantage of my helmeted nature against his bared head and drove my forehead into his face. He reeled back, but when I tried to strike he knocked the mace out of my hands, leaving me weaponless. I smashed with my shield, repeatedly bashing his arm sideways until he too was weaponless, before sending him sprawling back and towards the pillar of fire.

I dropped my shield and closed to grappling range. With my hands around his throat we struggled ever closer to the pillar, before I finally grounded him as he tried to punch his way out. The position of my arms prevented him from jabbing at my face, forcing him to attack my sides. Thankfully he didn’t have gauntlets, and my Dragon Skin had yet to give out. I used his struggles to get up against him, progressing until the heat of the fire pillar all but consumed us.

“You cannot stop us!” he roared in a voice like the other. “Our Lord’s progress is inevitable!”

“Yeah, tell him that personally.” A final shove and his head entered the fire pillar, carving out a burnt whole in his skull as he died. Panting with exhaustion, I sat back, before retrieving my gear. Once fully re-equipped, with some more potions and a new, backup shortsword strapped to the inside of my shield, I reached for the glowing sphere of stone. As I touched it, trepidation flowing through me for fear that it would burn my hand, I felt swirling spells dance across my fingertips. When it shocked me briefly I yanked it out, and suddenly had it cradled in my shield arm with my sword hand over it.

The pillar of fire, now unbound, shot up to the open sky of this place. I felt a deep, growing rumble, and I backed away to try to run out, but before I could do so fire erupted up as the metal ring and walls started collapse. In that moment, I felt heat without pain and momentary weightlessness, before hitting ground again.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Dec 16 2010, 04:52 AM

[treydog]

Excellent fights. I also loved the internal dialogue regarding how best to scout and infiltrate. And giving Menien the dagger was inspired. He is a brave man and deserves the option.

[Destri Melarg]

Like trey, I loved the fights and Awtwyr’s infiltration of the Deadlands.

You have transformed flare from a simple spell that it seems every child in Tamriel knows into an effective weapon to use in any engagement. That is quite a feat considering how weak a spell it is. Keeping that weakness while showing an extremely useful application of the spell is brilliant.

I also love the explanation about why there is no freeing Menien. That is something that always bothered me in the game. Here you make his sacrifice as noble as I imagine the game intended, and you give Awtwyr something meaningful to do by offering ‘a soldier’s mercy’.

It's good to have you back at this, Hammer!

[Captain Hammer]

@ Trey, Destri: Thanks guys. Dealing with Menien was the hardest part I had when playing through the game, and eventually I ended up just dropping a steel dagger in the cage with him out of frustration (and encumbrance). That, and watching "Gladiator" made me go back and add the dialogue in for the story.

[mALX]

Oh, you are one of those writers like Olen that makes us jump out of our chairs at the last few paragraphs so we will be hungry for the next chapter !!!! Great Write !!!

[Ginner]

I enjoyed reading this,its the main questline from a different perspective from the one which I feel.

[Captain Hammer]

All: I've gone back and re-written some of the material. Specifically, I've extended the travel times to and from Chorrol, so that Awtwyr arrives at Kvatch about two weeks after the death of the Emperor (instead of just the third day). I realized that I needed more time in the story for the immersion aspect.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: May 24 2011, 08:20 AM