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> Kraven Desselius: The Victory That Broke The Chains., The Best Techniques Are Passed On By the Survivors.
Darkness Eternal
post May 16 2017, 07:02 PM
Post #441


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From: The Hunting Grounds



Acadian and BretonBlood: The bonds of Brotherhood remain strong between the two, and it'll take some great misfortune or event to break it. It isn't so easily severed smile.gif

Tivela is ever the treacherous one. We can count on her trying something.

Thanks! We're a handful of chapters away from conclusion smile.gif

Previously on A Victory That Broke The Chains: Shavaash and Lycus talk about the latter's lycanthropy. Nilphas, a House Dres member loyal to the abolitionist movement called the Twin Lamps, is still kept in captivity as his original plans took a bloody turn.

Chapter Ninety-Seven:
=The True Test Of A Man=


Lycus made the preparations for his departure from this accursed place. His knapsack full of food, his crates filled with drakes, septims and jewels he claimed as his own after the slaughter. These would set things right when he returns home. Among his items his armor and sword. The Imperial ran his finger along the sharp edge of the Daedric blade, sighing. How much blood this weapon had drank in just two days . . .

As Lycus sat there in the chambers of Andrano's tower, Nachael came into the room. The esteemed Blademaster looked to be recovering from his injuries, and even still he looked the strong and mighty Redguard warrior he was. Lycus and Shavaash owed him their lives, as well as every man who took upon gladiator training.

Nachael emanated a sense of mellow wisdom and a higher principle and great sense of morals; but his great age and vast experience sometimes made him seem a bit removed, even detached. His years in the deserts of Hammerfell and undergoing trials of age led him to naturally take the long view. Lycus, in contrast, had been thrown into a life of paternal issues and slavery and bloodshed. His demeanor was exactly opposite. Lean. Driven. Intense. He radiated incisive intellect and unconquerable will.

"This is what you wanted for so many years. At last you have it."

Lycus knotted his fingers together. A breath brought his voice back to its customary deep, flat dispassion. "A right long overdue, Blademaster. It won't be easy for us to get off this province but I'm hoping for the best. More will come at Tel Bratheru for our defiance. Best we be gone before they even get word."

"Running. Doesn't sound like you." Nachael noted. "You were my most stubborn student. Always looking for a confrontation even when there was none to be had. You were the one among them all that wanted to rise to the top. To be the hero. To be the best."

Lycus didn't meet his eyes. It was true.

Since the start he had wanted to climb to the pinnacle, to become an honored slave. Over the years had he realized the truth: there was no pitched battle. Nothing heroic or colorful. Just an unending series of gruesome killings for the entertainment of slave masters.

Which is why at this hour, soon after the wrath of slaves and soon before the retribution of slavers, as the men leave and warriors go quiet, when only time has meaning, Lycus sits on the chair and stares at his sword, and thinks of tomorrow.

Tomorrow or this week they leave this place.

Back to a province where baths are just clean water in safe places, instead of buckets and jail cells. Back to a province where people often sleep indoors, on bedrolls or beds, with clean sheets.

Back to a province that still lie, however temporarily, within a time of peace.

"I wanted to be," Lycus said. "But I don't think I am."

Nachael smiled. "You may be wrong."

When they left the gloom of Andrano's tower for the deeper darkness in Tivela's, Nachael accompanied Lycus, and he seemed to inhale serenity with the thick stinking air.

Everyone they passed—everyone they saw—There was no cheering, or even shouts; the welcome Nachael got was more profound than anything that can be expressed by voice.

A khajiit woman, huddled against a sweating stone wall, caught sight of Nachael, and pushed herself forward, and her face might have been a flower opening toward the sun. Nachael's mere presence brought light to her eyes, and strength to her legs. The woman struggled to rise, pulling herself up the tunnel wall then leaning upon it for support, and she stretched a hand toward them, and when Nachael gave her a nod of acknowledgment, the woman's hand closed to catch the Redguard's gaze from the air; she pressed that closed hand to her breast as though that one simple glance was precious.

Sacred.

As though it was exactly the one thing she needed to keep on living.

And that's what their presence there was: that woman, multiplied by a multitude. The warriors and the wounded. The aged. The sick and the infirm, the children—Lycus was more than a bloodthirsty killer to them. Not a god of some kind, they are not easily impressed by his powers. He was, to some of these people, a totem. He is to them what a hero should be to everyone, but writ so large upon their hearts that it has become a form of madness.

He was their hope.

"These people have nowhere to go," Nachel said. "Listen to me: We have to save them."

"I—I don't understand—there is no way—"

"They are coming. This entire place will be surrounded by enemies. These people are going to die, or worse."

"There's nothing that can be done. They can survive." Conviction faded in his eyes, and Lycus sagged. "But of course it's true. How could I have thought otherwise? How could I have thought I would win this for these people?"

"There is a path that can be taken. If they wait here, they won't have a chance. Whatever chance these people will have, we have to give them. You have to give them."

"Me? What can I do?"

Nachael handed him a key to one of Andrano's rooms. He dangled the chain between them.

"You can make a choice."

He looked from the key to his eyes and back again; he stared at the small metal as though it might whisper the future. "But you don't understand," Lycus said faintly. "No choice of mine can matter here now . . ."

"It does to me."

"Have you learned nothing, Blademaster? Even if we do save them—it doesn't matter. Not in Morrowind. Look around you. This isn't something you can fight in one battle and win."

"Of course it is."

"It's not an enemy, Nachael. It's just the law. We're all fugitives. You can't do anything about it. It's just the way things are. We secured our freedom and now they must secure it by their own efforts."

"I think," Nachael said gently, "that you're the one who has failed to learn the lessons you have been taught."

Lycus shook his head hopelessly.

"Don't tell me you can't fight the system here," he said. "That's what warriors do. Don't you understand that? That's what men like us do. We are fighters. Combatants. But what is a man's greatest battle?"

"A riddle for your student?" Lycus said bitterly. "A lesson? I am done with lessons."

"We are never done with lessons. Not while we live. The answer is right before your eyes. What is a man's greatest battle?"

He opened his hand as though offering him the answer on his palm.

Lycus' eyes fixed on the key that held Lord Nilphas locked, and something entered him then: some faint whisper of breeze from a cool clean place, a breath of air to ease his suffocating pain.

"The greatest battle . . ." His voice was hushed. Reverent.

Awed by the truth.

"Are the ones within ourselves . . ."

"Yes."

"But . . . but . . . you can't fight the way things are . . ."

"But we do. Every day. That's what warriors do."

Lycus sighed. "You can never win—"

"We," Nachel corrected him gently, "don't have to win. We only have to fight. You've fought, in your own way, and done terrible deeds in the name of your quest. But for these people, there is a way to fight. A different way."

"You can't . . . you can't just forgive me . . .for what I've done? For what I am."

"I have told Shavaash this many years ago: there are great things given to us in this life but what we do with such blessings . . . that is the true test of a man. As your former instructor—you're right. I can't. As your Blademaster, I won't. As your friend—"

His eyes stung. The smoke of the flames around Tel Bratheru, perhaps.

"As your friend, Desselius, I can forgive everything. I already have."

Lycus shook his head speechlessly, but he lifted a hand.

His hand shook. He made a fist, and sighed.

Nachael said, "You did not do the things you did for revenge only. You did it to save these people and to rescue me. The worth of a man is not based on the people he's killed or the great exploits of his battles, or the riches he possesses. He is judged by the people he helps. The difference he can make. There is value in life, Desselius. Remember this. Laurels do not seize here. The gods bless us for every good we do."

Despite the lashes Nachael inflicted, Lycus had a deep love and respect for the man. The Blademaster was not only knowledgeable of various fighting styles, but was also skilled in multiple ways of fighting, and had several years of training dating back to his childhood. He stood among the highest echelon of fighters. Combined with his expertise in swordplay and pugilistic, as well as his speed and strength, he was almost unmatched in combat. But his wisdom was priceless alone.

"I am blessed to be alive because of your training. Free men create their own fortune, Nachael. Your instruction has made my victories possible. Grab a bottle of wine and we'll raise cups in celebration and gratitude after this is over."

Nachael smiled. "The offer is well-received, but wine has not passed my lips in many years."

"Your gods forbid it?"

"No," laughed the Redguard. "But it is a matter of discipline."

Lycus chuckled. Often times his mother had tried keeping from from drinking his father's wine. "My mother cautioned towards the same."

"A wise woman," Nachael noted. "And now you return to her and your father. The gods have truly blessed you."

Alessia was always a devour follower of the Nine Divines. Steadfast in her faith.

"If she knew what I've been through, she'd say the same."

Nachael tilted his head. "And you?"

Lycus lowered his gaze. "The gods and I do not tread common ground, although my mother has made efforts on placing us at equal footing."

"Wise and understanding, to love a man despite his shortcomings. To find a love such as this is a rare and fortunate thing." The Blademaster said. There was something there . . . knowledge or perhaps experience.

"You speak from experience?"

"A wife," Nachael said. "The thought of her ever upon my mind."

Lycus paused. He's never seen Nachael's lover nor seen him with any woman in all these years of service to Andrano. He had to ask: "Does she live?"

Nachael took a moment to reply, and sighed as his jaw tensed. "Only in memory."

Lycus nodded. "I would have desired to meet her and tell her of her husband's worth."

Nachael smiled faintly. "Come. Let us see these people free."

And Nilphas, Lycus thought. The man is owed his freedom.


****


Nilphas stared at Lycus with a contemptuous glare as he sat atop the pack guar outside the back gates of Tel Bratheru. Blood and wine still soiled his expensive attire, and the man looked fatigued both mentally and physically.

Lycus spoke to him. "Have hope, Nilphas. You are free to go."

"Hope of what?" a man said bitterly. His face was gray; he wore a patch over a chest wound and clutched a broken hand. "Everything I have fought for you've destroyed."

"No, I haven't," Lycus said: "You can still make a difference as I hope to make."

"I'm supposed to just take your word for it?"

"I promise."

The man spat blood on the ground. "We know what that's worth."

Lycus wanted to tell him that he had nothing to fear, but that would be a lie. He wanted to tell him that he wouldn't let anyone hurt him. That was another lie: he already had. Nilphas ran the risk of being discovered by his fellow dark elves as a helper of slaves and murderers.

There were so many things he should say that he could only keep silent. There were so many things he should do that he could only stand with his arms dangling at his sides.

When all choices seem wrong, choose restraint.

And so he stood motionless.

"As long as I live I'll never forget what you have done for us. You are an honorable man, Nilphas. And your honor shall not go unnoticed nor pass unrewarded."

So a group of slaves, young and old, men, women and children, climbed in a wagon which Lycus' most trusted men would use to deliver them to Nilphas' manor, and always Lycus was haunted and perplexed by the docile equanimity and good cheer with which these simple people, irrevocably uprooted, would set out to encounter a strange and unknown destiny. Although they might cast backward what appeared to be the faintest glimmer of a wistful glance, this final parting from a place which had been their entire realm for years caused them no more regret than did the future cast over them worry or foreboding: Freedom was once something thought of as far away as the stars, or as near as the next plantation, it was all the same to them, and with despair Lycus marked how seldom they seemed to bother even bidding farewell to their friends who decided to tarry behind. Twittering and giggling, they mounted the wagon poised to carry them to an impossible fate at the uttermost ends of the Morrowind, and they could speak only of an aching knee, the potency of a hairball from a horses stomach as a charm against witches, the proper way to train a hound to tree a squirrel, and mumble incessantly about eating.

Slumbrous in broad daylight, Lycus was certain they would flop asleep against the side boards of the wagon, lips wet and apart, nodding off into oblivion even before they had been taken beyond the gate, even before they were carried past the bounds of the land which had composed the entire smell and substance and geography of their lives and whose ashen fields and meadows and shimmering coast now dwindled away behind them, unseen and unremarked, forever. They cared nothing about where they came from or where they were going, and so they would snore loudly or, abruptly waking, skylarked about, laughing and slapping each other, and trying to clutch at the passing overhead leaves. Like animals they relinquished the past with as much dumb composure as they accepted the present, and were unaware of any future at all. Lycus prayed that they would find the best.

Nilphas had agreed, though bitterly, to take them to safety. Lycus reflected on the dead dark elves and the men outside all in the name of freedom, and as he saw the wagon wobble away in the light of the sun, Lycus chased it down for one final, parting word.

"Nilphas!" he shouted, as he reached the man who had helped and sheltered him. The dark elf did not so much as offer a gaze into the Imperial's eyes. He stood fixed, staring ahead.

Lycus swallowed a lump in his throat. "Nilphas, be the lamp, and guide them to freedom. I have done both great and unspeakable things for my cause. Fight for your quest with more honor than I have."

The dark elf turned to him and said his old name. The voice was familiar, but it seemed to come from very far away; or perhaps it was only an echo of memory of their mutual treatment. "Kraven . . ."

And that was all Nilphas said as he left to his uncertain future.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 16 2017, 07:04 PM


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"Every human spends a night or two on the dark side and regrets it. But what if you only exist on the dark side? We just want the same things that you do: a chance at life, at love. And so we try and sometimes fail. But when you're something other, a monster, the consequences are worse. Much worse. You wake up from your nightmares. We don't."
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BretonBlood
post May 16 2017, 09:57 PM
Post #442


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Joined: 9-March 15



An excellent conversation between Nachael and Lycus, great words of wisdom were spoken. And I'm glad that Lycus heard them and acted on them.

Nilphas's feelings towards Lycus are understandable, but at least he is doing the right thing by helping the other slaves.

So now Lycus and the rest need to use tivela and get out of tel bratheru as fast as possible.


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“People love that cliché ‘Time heals all wounds’ but live long enough you realize that most clichés are true. It’s amazing what even the smallest passage of time can accomplish…the cuts can close, the imperfections it can smooth over. But in the end it comes down to the size of the wound, doesn’t it....”
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Acadian
post May 17 2017, 09:03 PM
Post #443


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From: Las Vegas



A wonderfully philosophical discussion between Lycus and his old blademaster. Lycus is, in my humble opinion, actually adjusting and evolving in a favorable direction. He’s not overly beating himself up over the carnage, yet neither is he proud of it. He is his own man but it is nice to see the subtle impact that the wisdom of both Nachael and Shavaash have on him. Lycus respects them as warriors so they are well-suited to offer him balance and advice.

Nilphas is (predictably) not a happy Dunmer! I suspect he’ll get over it and is doubtless clever and established enough to make up something about how he survived. I don’t expect his position in Dunmerland is in real jeopardy.

I am nervous about what I imagine to be legions of angry dark elves racing on guarback to cut down whoever is responsible for taking out so many of their nobles. Hope he and his crew can avoid them. But I figure we still have to get back to Tivela before leaving the stronghold.


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Darkness Eternal
post May 23 2017, 05:59 PM
Post #444


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: The Hunting Grounds



mALX: No, those drawings are from Elder Scrolls: Legends. The artwork is amazing, isn't it?

Acadian: Indeed. No doubt Shavaash and Nachael are the people that anchor Lycus to sanity and keep him balanced in the face of his decisions. They have had a positive impact on him. The direction he's taking will at last be for the better.

Nilphas has his ways with words and septims. He won't be in too much trouble. We'll hear from him in the next story wink.gif

We'll see what will happen wacko.gif

Thanks Acadian!

BretonBlood: Yes, he did. Let's see what happens now.

Thanks Breton!

Previously on A Victory That Broke The Chains: Lycus' true plans of escape lay in the form of teleportation, and he voiced his plans to Shavaash. While Tel Bratheru faces a counter-attack from the law, Lycus wants to use Tivela to spirit them away from harm's path and into freedom's road.

Chapter Ninety-Eight:
=The Treacherous Kiss=


Tivela felt trapped in the presence of the man before her. Lycus was wearing a long, flowing robe of red silk; a finely used cloth by Dunmer nobility. His long black hair hung loose, and around his neck was an elegant gold chain and a sapphire pendant signifying his false lofty station within House Telvanni. He didn't wear these robes out of any desire for fashion; it was to blend in incase they were spotted.

She wore only a lowly slave's clothes and a bracer. She was, essentially, a servant. She swallowed hard, feeling more conflicted than ever. She understood now why slaves desired so passionately to escape from captivity. Being someone's servant filled her with dread. She could also think of no other recourse to an escape. She had to oblige to his whims.

The four gathered around the circle that would be used for teleportation. Tivela was in the center, surrounded by Nachael, Lycus and Shavaash as well as horses, a carriage and a few supplies for the road. This caused her to think much of their plans. There was a reason they wanted to go this route rather than escape through the gates, and they trusted her enough to allow her to teleport them all to a safe location as she often did when she ran away for the night in her adventures when her father was not looking.

May his soul be at rest.

Tivela had a burning passion then for Lycus and the men responsible for killing her father. Temptation to call upon lightning or fire to burn them away, or even steal Lycus' soul and trap it into a soul gem so that it could be used and discarded to the Soul Cairn was ever strong. She could disintigrate Shavaash, blast Nachael away . . . perhaps.

But Lycus . . .

Tivela had to think twice about so much as engaging the man who called himself Lycus in combat. She had witnessed how he was swept up in a mindless rage at the night of the slaughter, carving a bloody swath through their numbers, hacking and slashing at his helpless enemies while relying on the impenetrable steel of his armor to protect him from their blows.

He was a slave to the primal bloodlust that overwhelmed him. With her knowledge in sorcery and magick, she could attempt to destroy him but he wasn't the mere mortal slave she had been infatuated with years ago. She's seen his monstrous form from Oblivion, a curse by the Daedric Prince Hircine. She's read about the tales here and there about werewolves and their abilities that were far more ancient than the known magicka taught in the Mages Guild or any other schools of magic. They were formidable and dangerous to even the most powerful mage.

Even if she did manage to kill all of them, how could she escape Tel Bratheru? Her home had been transformed into a den for thieves and murderers. She couldn't so much as run off without being shot at by archers or have the nix-hounds after her. Her spells could only do so much . . . and she was tired and fatigued from malnourishment. She figured she had to do something now once she was out of Tel Bratheru with fewer enemies to worry about.

She had to obey him.

"Open the portal," Lycus said, "or you die. "

I won't, she wanted to say. I won't do it. You've taken everything from me. My dreams, my father, my hope. But she couldn't speak. She could barely even see him. The entire chamber was dark save for the few candles that burned. It was the only way out.

It took several seconds for her to even respond, and her delay caused the man to growl. He grabbed her by the neck with both of his massive hands and began to squeeze. "Do you understand?"

She understood, but she felt no relief as Lycus' terrible grip loosened and she fell painfully to the ground. Cool air rushed into her lungs. She coughed as though retching, feeling pain all along her windpipe.

"You will use this portal and teleport us to Zafirbel Bay," Lycus said. "If you refuse, you die. "

Tivela said nothing. Maybe she nodded, maybe she trembled.

"You will not attempt to use any spells against us, " Lycus went on as he drew out his sword. "If you do so, you die. "

Nachael and Shavaash only watched. Tivela nodded in submission, her hands wrapped around the chain that bound her wrists, and she twisted it taut, wishing for the strength to snap it in two. I'll show that Imperial fetcher where to sheathe his sword.

Shavaash had the keys. He unlocked the bracers that silenced her, and Tivela at once felt the energies about gather around and with them Lycus' arms wrapped around her. They were linked together, in a way, and he made sure she wouldn't teleport without him via magical construct she once used to take him along with her.

This is my only chance of escape, she thought. I'll have to take them with me to the Bay.

And so she cast the spell with all the magicka she had left; it took a great deal to teleport everything within that circle. A spinning full-length mirror appearing out of nowhere, and at once she felt the dank atmosphere of her tower, her beloved home, shift at once.

Globes glowed, or pulsed feebly; she saw flashes of rooms, bare and dark, the only life flattened foliage or spiders across walls in tiles or rats on the floor; she heard the hard clap of boots on stone, harsh breath rasping through her dust-filled throat, over lips and teeth coated with sand . . .

The walled chamber, tables, chairs and candles vanished and became . . . the sea. She saw the sea before her as she fell, and around the shore were stones and islands surrounding the area. Nothing grew on the rock but lichen, and even the seabirds shunned the place.

She lay there in the dirt, half stunned, gasping, wind knocked completely out of her, staring at the sudden constellations that wheeled around her head. Shavaash had been thrown into the water, Lycus was several feet away from him on the ground, and Nachael seemed perfectly fine.

At once came a plan for escape; she could swim to safety. There were other rocks visible from ahead in the sea, distant stony spires taller than the next one. The nearest stood a good forty feet above the water, she guessed, though it was hard to be sure at this distance. A cloud of gulls swirled about it constantly, and Tivela thought of crossing over to escape her captors. But the water was cold here, the currents strong and treacherous, and she knew she did not have the strength for such a swim. That would kill her as sure as the slaughterfish would would.

Tivela thought of casting a spell, but the one she did drained her levels of magicka; she couldn't gather enough concentration to cast another one. By then Lycus had reached her, chains in hand as he grabbed her wrist and clamped the iron gauntlets over her hands, severing her abilities and silencing her.

He certainly would have killed her then and there but her salvation came in the form of people. Fishermen and hunters. The area was very broad here, but shallow, some of the shore all mud and reeds. Fisherman came to these parts to hunt dreugs and slaughterfish and clams. With Nachael and Shavaash loaded the horded loot into the carriage(that made it in one piece), she saw a handful of fishermen on the other side of the bay walk about. One wandered off toward the southeast and soon vanished amidst the horizon, while another, straighter and stonier, arrowed due south. Lycus considered them briefly, and took another route with her after they had loaded the carriage.

Lycus and the two discussed about killing her and all the while she only gazed out into the endless sea past the stones. It was so beautiful . . . so serene. She had to live. She had to.

The Imperial grabbed her by the arm and commanded her to climb the carriage, in which she did. One of the horses did not survive the teleportation as it hit his head on one of the stones in the water, so she would have to share a seat with Shavaash. It was decided that they would dispatch her in a more private area . . .

Tivela wished she had some fight in her to cast one last spell. She learned every bit of magicka while she could, from the different schools. Some possessed raw elemental power of destruction; able to unleash storms of lightning or fire or frost from their fingertips, or move mountains with their mere thoughts. Others are more gifted in the subtle intricacies, blessed with the ability to affect the minds of friend and foe alike through the arts of persuasion or illusion. She knew of weapons but they weren't all at her disposal at the moment.

She stayed quiet as they moved away from the sea and toward land. For fifteen minutes they traversed the area, keeping an eye out for any potential dangers. Raiders, ashlanders, cliffracers, Daedra or conjurers or the justice of the Ordinators. There was nothing there . . .

Save for an old man that wobbled by with his pack guar along the road. A merchant by the looks of it. He was a dark elf, and looked to be in his sixties. He guided his mount with a rope and paused as he saw Lycus, Shavaash and Nachael. Once his eyes reached Tivela his brow furrowed but he was quick to put on a smile.

"Beautiful day in the bay, isn't it? Where are you headed, then, my lords?" asked the old man. To either the khajiit in his lavish robes, or the Redguard in his expensive silks, or the Imperial in his Telvanni robes.

"West." Lycus said curtly. "You?"

The elderly dark elf glanced at her, his gaze inquisitive and it remained far too long. "On the way to Tel Fyr. Hm, she's a fine looking one. Where did you buy her from?"

"The market at Tel Aruhn." Lycus said with a smirk. "A hefty price for this one. She's not for sale."

"Aye, I wouldn't sell her either," he chuckled.

"Wise man." said the Imperial with a nod.

"Well, you lords have a safe trip."

"Same to you."

Tivela would not say a word; she would be cut down in an instant. The old man in his fragile state most likely would have been no help, either. She watched with a plummeting heart as he headed away from them, though not without casting a few glances back at her.

Lycus picked up on it and his hand touched his sword. "He knows who she is."

Nachael shook his head. "He doesn't."

"Maybe you're right but what if you're not? What if tells someone?"

Nachael stared at the departing man. "We're not doing it. He's an innocent man."

Lycus did not have it; he hopped off his horse and told Nachael to stay behind and trailed behind the man. After a moment Nachael followed suit, leaving Shavaash to watch over her.

Tivela wasted no time at all. The magickal bracelets may keep her from casting spells, but it did little to hold back the power of her birthsign. She was a Lover even in her sorry state. She brought her body in closer to him. "Shavaash, please, don't do this to me," she whispered, and his muscles tensed in anticipation of what she would do next. She was more careful then. "Help me."

He held his ground as she leaned in slowly, poised to react at the first hint of threat or danger. He let his guard down only when she brushed her lips softly against his.

Instinctively his hands came up and seized her shoulders, pulling her away, but she pressed her lips and body hard up against his own as she drank him in. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and neck, returning his insistence with her own urgency.

Her heat surely enveloped them. The kiss seemed to last for all eternity; she knew her scent wrapped around their entwined flesh until he felt he was drowning in it. When she at last broke away she did not hide the fierce eagerness in her eyes. He had tasted the fire in her lips . . . and surely he could taste something else, too.

Bedazzled by her kiss, it took him a second to realize what had happened. He fell back in the carriage like a rock, paralyzed and unable to even shout. Her hands fumbled for the keys in his pants and she at last found it, unlocking the irons around her wrists.

As it clanked to the side, Tivela prepared to at last cast a spell against Shavaash to end his life forever.


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"Every human spends a night or two on the dark side and regrets it. But what if you only exist on the dark side? We just want the same things that you do: a chance at life, at love. And so we try and sometimes fail. But when you're something other, a monster, the consequences are worse. Much worse. You wake up from your nightmares. We don't."
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Acadian
post May 23 2017, 08:08 PM
Post #445


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I love that you told this piece of the the tale from Tivela’s perspective. You well-described the feeling of empty helpless frustration a mage suffers when severed from her fount of magic.

Refuse to teleport her captors and die for sure, or teleport them with the slimmest chance that somehow a window of salvation will open? She wisely chose the latter. Many a foe has been lulled into complacency by the fragile appearance of a sorceress and that ‘magic’, with a bit of help from her star sign, has saved her (for now).

Unshackled and rejoined to her magicka, Tivela is now a formidable foe. Can’t wait to read what happens next!


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BretonBlood
post May 24 2017, 01:57 AM
Post #446


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Joined: 9-March 15



Noooo! Tivela you sneaky snake! I really loved this chapter from her perspective, as Acadian said it really made the chapter that much better.

Let's hope Lycus or Nachael comes back in time! I don't want to see Shavaash die!

I really like how you took the power from the birthsign the Lover and wrote it into the story, it fit and was really cool.


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“People love that cliché ‘Time heals all wounds’ but live long enough you realize that most clichés are true. It’s amazing what even the smallest passage of time can accomplish…the cuts can close, the imperfections it can smooth over. But in the end it comes down to the size of the wound, doesn’t it....”
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- Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 26th May 2017 - 08:25 AM