Ian, I was thinking of something new..... Options

[Lord Revan]

Chapter 8 (cont.)

The conversation was quite civil after that one show of hostility. The youngest monk even offered Ian a sweetroll, to which he declined. Upon the mention of food, he realized he was starving, and left for Chorrol.

According to Juaffre, the heir, Martin, was currently in Kvatch. Ian still wasn't sure why he was aggreing to this insane plan, if that was what one called it. He also doubted it would be as easy as the elderly Blade invisioned.
And then there was that Altmer, Ian had a feeling that she was in Chorrol and was of some relevance. Though how had yet to be seen, he had not asked Juaffre about her on purpose. I might as well find her myself, and get to the bottom of this as soon as possible......
Chorrol wasn't exactly the Imperial City, but it was far from run-down. The houses were all in some state of cleanliness and repair. Following his instincts Ian strode toward the Oak and Crosier, the high-end tavern of Chorrol.

The inn was filled with men around the bar, the Khajiit publican was struggling to kep up with the demands for ale and mead. Ian shook his head, whatever other men see in those poisons, I will never know.
Glancing around, he noticed a robed fingure sitting in a corner, munching on a bowl of grapes. It was clear that this was the woman Ian was looking for, and he sat down across from her. Her face was shrouded by her hood, and her hands were gloved -if he had not known she was a High Elf he couldn't have identified her.
Her eyes, which were partially distingishable, were taking him in. Ian patiently waited for her to speak first. Finally she spoke in a fluent Cyrodiilic voice. "What do you want, stranger?" She did not seem particularly threatened nor was she threatening Ian.
Her Cyrodiilic is too natural to have been raised in Summerset or any other province That led Ian to the conclusion that she was born in this province and had lived her for much of her life, or at least her recent years. "You were at Weynon Priory earlier, correct?" He asked in a measured tone.
"Yes, am somewhat religous and wished to stop by to pray on my way here." She was calm and her voice gave nothing away, but all the same, Ian could tell she was lying. "I seriously doubt that, you talked at length with one of the monks, Juaffre was it?"
He could have sworn her eyes narrowed slightly, but again her words did not betray suspicious in the slightest. "I am an scholar of the Mages Guild, I visited a nearby religous community to pay my respects to the gods, and spoke to one of the worshippers. Is that a crime? I don't know if you believe in the Nine or not, but I do." This might be harder then I thought......... Ian reflected. "Very well, my apologies miss......."
Beneath the hood she sighed and calmed down. "My name is Kirana, I should be the one to apologize I've just been under a lot of stress lately." Ian decided to break one of the most important rules when working with a stranger. "No hard feelings, I'm Ian. Perhaps I could purchase some beverages?"

Something deep in Kirana's eyes lit up for a moment, and she pulled off her hood. Ian thought all elves were exotic, more less then others, but he found it hard to breathe for an instant.
Her eyes were brown like his, and her hair was a metalic grey, it even reflected the light somewhat. Like all Altmer, Kirana's skin was a healthy golden complexion, Ian could have believed it glowed but knew it was also reflecting the light of the candles spread throughout the tavern. Finally her grey hair reached to her shoulders, and loosely caressed her face.
Ian found her utterly captivating, but the wize words of the sensei echoed through his mind. Keep your eye on the pretty ones, don't avoid them, just be careful, looks are what the people who want to kill you will use against you. "I don't like alcahol, I'll have some water."
Those words rang through Ian's head, that's almost word for word what I say....... "Ok, I'd like water myself." As he got up Kirana gave him a ravishing smile, it only motivated him to get the drinks faster. Something isn't right about this woman.........

This post has been edited by Lord Revan: Dec 14 2006, 04:54 AM

[The Metal Mallet]

That last sentence has the exact same sentiments as I do, Revan. Ian should be careful around this one...

Excellent description of her though, mysterious and beautiful.

[jack cloudy]

Oh, suspicions eh? I like Ian. He thinks about his moves.

[Lord Revan]

Sorry, but this is a short one for now.

--------

After a couple hours at The Oak and Crosier, both Kirana and Ian decided to leave before the real drinkers arrived. He found himself watching her as she looked at the horizon, her grey hair blowing in the wind. Crap, this isn't very profesional.

Finally Kirana broke the silence. "Well, it's getting late. Maybe we could talk again tomorow." Ian nodded, favoring the darkening sky. "Right, we might as well get some sleep tonight." She gave him another smile and strode down the road to the Mages Guild.
As she left, Ian sighed and shook his head. If only I was normal and this all could be for real...... He dreadfully wanted to pursue this captivating woman, but he reluctantly pushed aside his bleeding heart. It's for the best, maybe in different circumstances, but not here, not now.

Kvatch, one day later.....

Ian leaned on a tree for support, he'd left Chorrol without getting a horse. That would have required talking to someone, or stealing it, neither of which are practical. But the wisest paths were rarely the easiest on mind and body.
Taking a couple of minutes to catch his breath, Ian took in his surroundings. Let's see, trees, bushes, nearby cavern, possibly abandoned........ and- The rest of the thought was lost when the agent heard something snarl nearby.

Cautiously he unslung his dwarven bow, and readied an arrow, searching for the source of the noise. Straining his ears for another disturbance, and was rewarded with the sudden appearance of a long, scaled snout right beside him.
Ian remain absolutly still, he hardly breathed, the thing beside him however made a huge ordeal of sniffing the he was hiding behind. With painful slowness, the Imperial turned his head to evaluate the creature.

The close inspection caused his heart to skip a beat. The creature's head was about two to three feet long, its eyes were like an Agonians, but twice as large. The yellow, slitted eye danced in its socket, studying the forest in front of it. Two-inch long fangs were visible, jutting out of the monster's mishapen maw.
Fighting back against any foolish action that would give him away to the hulking deadroth. Stay calm, stay calm. If you don't move then maybe it will let its guard down..... The faint hope was immediately destroyed when a smaller, frilled creature came from the bushes on the other side of the clearing.

The clanfear quickly spotted the agent, let out a terrifying shriek, and charged forward. But miraculously the deadroth raised its head and bellowed at the oncoming creature. Ian thanked whatever gods had seen fit to give him this chance, and he jumped onto the lowest treebranch.

Once he steadied himself, Ian leapt to the next branch, and heard the clanfear's frustrated cries. The deadroth had spotted the sudden movement, and it looked up at the bowman in the tree.
Alright, Sithis, Mephala, Azura, Akatosh, I don't carem but I couldn't be more happy with worshipping you then ever! Ian thought as he nocked his first arrow......

[The Metal Mallet]

The Daedra cometh! And it certainly looks like Ian is in a bit of a predictament. Hopefully he'll survive this ordeal.

[Lord Revan]

Another short one, I hope to get a nice long update this weekend or so.......
-------

The first arrow flew true, and impaled the clanfear in its tiny chest. The little repilian creature, fell to the ground, thrashing in agony. Ian turned back to the deadroth, expecting it to simply act frustrated by some powerlessness....... But the Imperial only managed to see it spit a fireball from its great jowl.

What!? Was all he could think before the flames splashed over his chest. The pain was excruciating, and Ian's breathing was ragged as he stumbled on the branch. He lost his balance, and landed hard on the ground.

But this was both good and bad, good because he landed in a small pond, which weakened the flames and the suffering they wrought. Ian struggled to his feet, his entire body hurt with every twitch, but through his hazy vision Ian saw a large grey shape moving closer.

The deadroth roared as it charged at its prey, eager for the nourishment of this man's flesh. It opened its mouth wide and tilted it nearly horizontal, giving itself more of a chance to grab the food before it. Ian, though disorientated, thought otherwise, and he ducked under the lethal fangs and claws.

Firmly planting his hands and knees, the agent, pushed upward against the monster's bulk. In spite of the intense protests of his body, Ian (plus the deadroth's forward momentum) lifted the giant crocodilian of its feet and flipped it over.

The fiend slammed head-first into the mud, the rest of its body hit against a nearby tree, its massive inertia splintering the small sapling. The top of the young tree, as though in retrobution, fell on to the crumbled form of the deadric crocodile.

The sickening crack! clearly stated that the beast was dead, head smashed by the wieght of a falling tree. With the sound Ian fell to his knees, exhausted by both the task of throwing something of a deadroth's size, and from the pain that still raked his body with every breath.

He licked his lips, still gasping for air, and tasted blood. With that he remembered how serious extreme burn wounds could be when not treated. Opening his satchel, being as careful as possible not to get too much of his blood on the bag, his burned, blood-caked hand hand pulled out a healing potion.

Ian drank heavily, causing some to drip onto his chest. He threw it to the ground, smashing the vial, when there was nothing left, and he felt the sensation of full-body healing that made one's skin crawl (in this case literally!).
Only when his skin was finished shifting and rejoining did Ian get up and look at the ruins of the city on the hill. Kvatch, Martin septim's last known location...... He let out a heavy sigh. Why am I even doing this? But, ignoring the unanswered question, Ian began to walk down the road.........

[Lord Revan]

As he strode down the road, Ian looked over his cloak. The apparel was now rough and blackened from the deadroth's fire. For the love of, I just bought these and their already ruined...... Ian wasn't into fashion, but it was prudent to dress well when in an influencial person's presence....... and it was his gold he had to pay with.

Ian sighed and checked his satchel, surprisingly it was relativly intact, aside from being soaked from his fall. This must be made of fire-resistant material..... I wish I had clothes like that too. He still had five healing potions, a dozen or so poisons, and some hacle-lo leaves.
Dwarves were fine craftsmen, the metal bow had't taken any damage in the fall or from the flames. Too bad they're all extinct now, sure could make a good weapon, those mer...... The ruins of Kvatch were still burning, but Ian didn't pay too much attention to it, he'd never really visited the city. So he didn't feel particularly angry or frightened by the town's fate.

He noticed something else, smaller fires, too small to be anything but campfires. Refugees, Ian concluded. His guess was proven correct as he left the main road and made his way through the trees. There were several crude tents, only big enough for a single bed, a couple of fires, each with a group of exhausted looking people sitting around it.

As Ian walked into the camp he was partially disgusted that everyone seemed to brim with so much self-pity and fear that they simply sat there, hardly taking in his presence. Do these people honestly think that the world isn't like this all the time?
Ian knew that normal citizens looked to the watch to protect them, and they never thought about what sort of tragedy could befall them in the future. Their like leeches, they can't live without a structure to surround them..... Having no true home for himself, Ian couldn't help but feel a measure of revulsion at these people's weakness.

After several minutes of watching the scene, Ian decided that if he wanted to find Martin he'd have to find whoever was in charge. That is if he's still alive...... He began to ascend the winding trail to the gates of Kvatch, but a man in a priest's robes stopped him.
"Don't go up there, you'll be killed like all the others. If you leave then you might be safe!" The priest gripped him tightly on the shoulder, but Ian grabbed him on the wrist and lifted his hand off his shoulder. Staring the old man hard in the face, Ian released the man's hand.

"I have a reason to go up there, and I can handle myself." The priest rambled, "there's no point. The covenant has been broken, the Emperor and his heirs are dead, and the enemy slaughters us. Where is our protection? Where are our gods? Lord Dagon spills our blood and we are helpless against his legions!"

Ian's eyes narrowed and his voice was full of contempt. "Look at how pathetic you are, you kneel before a statue of some deity and mutter at the air all your life. When something razes your city you whimper like a frightened animal, while others take up arms to fight back, and you claim it is the work of something that might or might not exist."

"I don't care if I go to hell, I'm going up there to do what must be done. Sit with the other refugees, but don't spread this non-sense about some devine's inevitable conquest, because they're bad enough as it is!" With that he brushed past the priest, angry and disgusted he to marched up the trail.

This post has been edited by Lord Revan: Jan 14 2007, 01:38 AM

[Lord Revan]

Chapter 9: This is sacred ground, it was built for mortals, by mortals.......

The further Ian ascended, the more dramaticly the atmosphere changed..... for the worst. The starless night sky was replaced by a sanguine sea of dark storm clouds. Every few moments there was a flash of white lightning and the rumble of thunder.

Well, there's no way this could be natural...... Ian mused, humor often helped lighten the suffocating pressure of dread. The grass gave way to cooled magma and steam vents; it appeared that everything was being affected by...... whatever was going on.

At the crest of the winding path up to the ruins was an improvised barrackade, with around twenty guardsmen milling around behind the palisade fortifications. Most had a look of hopeless resignation mingled with a burden of guilt and loss.

Still there was a few who were obviously holding together the surviving guards. An Imperial, in his early thirties, stood glaring at a pair of carved rocks. No, Ian thought. Those aren't carved rocks....... The guard captain was staring at a pair of curving prongs of blackened rock. And between the twin prongs was a wall of roiling ruby light.

Ian noticed the resemblance the structure had to the avatar of conjuration magic; he managed to put two and two together. Are these things related to Oblivion? As if to answer his question a swarm of black shapes broke the shimmering portal.

The guards rose to combat the new arrivals, with Ian in tow. The agent didn't unsheath his blade yet, the invaders were a pack of clannfear and five deadroth. While the two groups collided and unleashed chaos, Ian looked back at the gate and slowly approached it.

No more than two meters away, two new forms appeared silhoueted in the haze. They were humanoid, one had sharp spiked apparel -armor?-, yet the other wore what could be robes. Both forms emerged, resolving into two dremora.

The armored one surveyed the scorched landscape with smoldering red eyes that blazed through his ebony-black helmet. His companion, a mage apparently, payed more attention to the battle between the Kvatch Guard and their subordinates.

Finally after an eternity the warrior's firey eyes rested on the human man before him. "Mortal," its voice rasped like metal grinding against metal,and Ian stiffened, bracing for the inevitable attack. "I, Arayth, Markynaz of Lord Dagon challenge you to a duel."

The dremora pointed a single finger at him with unmistakable authority, but Arayth's partner gave hima questioning look. "Come now, brother, surely we can simply blast this mortal apart and be done with it. Our orders are to exterminate these mortals, not hail them as equals."
The Markynaz met his kinsman's comment, "I can show anyone I want honor; it is my right. He will die, either by your deathcraft or mine."

Arayth returned his attention to Ian, "face me mortal. Prove to us the prowess of a mortal champion!"

[The Metal Mallet]

Oh boy. Ian looks like he's in trouble. But I also have to say that your descriptions of the scenery were quite vivid; you get a perfect sense of desolation. Great stuff!

[jack cloudy]

I'm surprised he managed to creep up that close without being spotted (and consequently, intercepted.)

And yeah, it looks like he is in trouble. I don't know about the strenght of Oblivion creatures, but I think that a Dremora is more powerful than a Daedroth. (Or at least a highranking Dremora.)