Redemption, part 2 Options

[mALX]

Re-reading all to get re-oriented to the story, then catching up the chapters I've missed in Part 2:

Part 2 - Chapter 7 - This chapter is huge in detail! This glimpse into the workings of Angoril Bobardi's mind is very revealing - would not want to be this man's enemy, his mind is like a steel trap!

Absolutely love this chapter, from his plan being turned down and then implemented (one of those details I loved so much in this chapter) - to the descriptions/workings of Kvatch/lower Kvatch!

My favorite line in this chapter that tells so much in one sentence is this one:

The list of regular donations he’d discovered in Ocato’s office had caught his eye and like most things that drew his attention once, he kept thinking about it.

***

Absolutely loved the explanation for the disappearing mages robes - Awesome world building!

***

How did I feel? I’d tell him how I felt!

ROFL!!!

Latta and the Emperor - Loved this whole chapter, but the section where she is surprised he knew her name and said it properly - a wonderful detail! (I was comparing it to (Example: Dagoth Ur).

Sorian's personality shined through this whole chapter - his descriptive phrases were perfect! (and funny!)

***
Loved the lore and history of Berius brought in here, the reminders of Tharn and the Imperial Simulacrum! This scene between Berius and Wulfharth was absolutely perfect, easily visualized. GAAAH! A cliffhanger!

***
The delay to act instantly by Berius was a sensational touch of realism - I am in awe of what you did with this entire scene from the cliffhanger end of that last chapter till the end of this one - that split second of hesitation in Berius manipulated the tension of that scene to the NTH power - Huge Write on this sequence, HUGE! This was stunning, I am in awe after reading this!

Not sure if you've ever read Alexander's "Cyrodiil" (the Administrator of this site) - but you just matched him in his ability to throw a curve to the reader and knock them off their feet - LOVED this chapter!

And then Holy Crap, what a fight - then what a result! That was freaky! Awesome creativity on this, I absolutely love what you are doing with this story! It just keeps getting better!

You can't say you haven't done a fight scene properly in ages now, every bit of it had me at the edge of my seat, you had the tension ratcheted up hugely before the assassin even entered - and that killing move was brilliant! I need the "I'm not worthy" emoticon on this whole chapter!

***

The third is that the Emperor mentions sending a messenger to Ocato. Obviously my idea back then was of Mythic Dawn elite assaulting the palace instead of my current idea involving traitors. Anyway, let's get some commanding done.

Oh, please don't change from what you are doing now - this is coming to life and inspired, that is felt powerfully in the read!

OMG, another cliffhanger! Since you introduced Berius, this story has picked up momentum like a juggernaut, relentless force pushing the story and reader along to what we think may happen but aren't sure because you are a master of throwing curves where least expected! This is hugely immersive!

***
"I'll be back..." (said in Arnold's voice)

[mALX]

Sorry, had a busy few days. Adding this:


Your portrayal of Camoran is perfection, you have captured his arrogance and personality traits well! The scene with his initiates had me rolling! This line in particular sums Camoran up:

"Your stupidity astounds me, Initiate...Why would a riot occur in midair outside the palace?"

Then enter Harrow's statement and I completely lost it!

Harrow cheered, throwing his fist towards the ceiling. "Hah! Then we are done here! Let us go now and celebrate our victory!”

...He compared it to peering through a keyhole. The resemblance was there, though keyholes wouldn’t cause bodily harm if its edge was carelessly touched while a portal would.

Amazing detail in this whole paragraph, the rod itself and casting of the portal - huge detail!

Part 1 made the reader love the characters, and stay interested in the story - but Part 2 brings the story to a life of its own. The momentum has picked up and the pieces beginning to come together - this is a huge write, Jack! I am loving it!

Back to reading!

[mALX]

*

Your censor woes: ROFL !!! I have seriously thought about writing myself a PM with every curse word imaginable on it just to see how it would be altered - can never think of any but the basics when I get the blank page in front of me, lol.

As far as not getting Mankar's personality down, I had erroneously thought you were getting him down to a T (everyone was even calling the Camoran in your story "Master") - Then someone mentioned his name, and I realized it was Raven being portrayed, lol. Oops, sorry. Still, the personality was fitting of Raven as well.

The inner dialogue of Renault is outstandingly done here, fine time to realize she isn't fit when Uriel's life is in her hands! Loved that, and her perceptions of Baurus.

Oh crap, what a cliffhanger ending to this chapter! AWESOME Write !!! Loved this chapter!


*

[mALX]

*

"Damn that Berius. Damn us for underestimating him.”

HA! LOVED this whole section!

He replied as he tried to determine what exactly had set off his instinct. For a moment he held hope he’d merely seen shadows, but that hope was dashed by a voice calling for them through the rain.

“Cease running Septim, and you may not die tired! The days of you and your empire are at an end!”

This whole section gave me chills! I have been riveted to this page from the time the chapter opened!

Shehai Shen She Ru

This is AWESOME! Baurus is a Sword-singer! What a huge surprise you tucked in here! AWESOME! I got goose-bumps on my arm from this!


*

[jack cloudy]

McBadgere: Heh, maybe just a little. To be honest, I like to just vent about random things from time to time. The only problem is that my rants end up competing with the actual update in length.

And perhaps it is about time that someone tells Latta their age. I did some math and (if the emperor didn't age those ten years he was banished by Tharn), she stands a good chance of actually being older than Uriel Septim. Which is kind of ironic, given how she measures the respect someone is due by how much older than her they are.

mALX: I'll stop using excuses. Glad you like it at least. And you're not the only one who at first thought that Raven was Mankar. I admit that I aimed for that by not giving his name right of the bat.


The hardest part of the flash-back chapter was probably figuring out how to play the Blades and the Dawn against each other. Both had to look competent, but I couldn't have them guess each other's plans so perfectly you'd think they're reading the story. Also hard were the fight....OK, no excuses! I just want to say that writing a fight between 'normal' people is different than writing one with vastly 'superhuman' combatants. For one, any real injury turns into an instant fight-stopper and movement is restricted much more by obstacles, the relative placement of the fighters and even plain old gravity.

Anyway, back to more Latta.




Chapter 9.6


The proceedings entered the proverbial rapids at that point. As the Tamrielics were obviously unaware of all the intricacies of Pyandonean customs regarding debt bondage and there was no real point in teaching them, we agreed to leave the matter for now and have Jauffre draw up a contract later. I didn’t argue, but I was planning to read it very carefully and not miss even the smallest accidental blotch of ink. To be honest, I just wanted it to be over and done quickly. Not just because of the mental anguish I’d put myself in, but also because the bow I was supposed to maintain throughout the ceremony was far from comfortable. Held too loose, and I’d be insulting the man in the bed. Held too tight, and I would be tearing my muscles. Of the two, ruining my legs was the preferable option. And sometimes, my own thoughts scared me.

“Lady Princess Orgnum, heir to the throne of Pyandonea, are you willing to travel the land on behalf of the Tamriel crown?” The elder asked me. It was a stupid question, even if he couldn’t know. I belonged to him now, in mind and body. If he bade me to walk to Summerset, I would do so. Even if it killed me. My throat squeezed shut and I tried not to think too hard on the knots I’d just pulled.
“If that is Your Grace’s desire, I shall follow all four winds. Though I would request the removal of this leash first.” I said and tapped the cursed band that was strapped to my neck. Still bent over, I craned my head back to look at him. That was permitted, though it only made my stance even more trying.
“It is my desire.” The Septim king answered to me. I was surprised at the strength of his voice. Others might not have noticed, but my eyes shifted across the signs on his body by habit. All of last night’s convulsions were still there, but he forced them down with a self-control I could do nothing but respect. What he was doing wasn’t healthy, but ten lesser men and women couldn’t have done it.
“There are many deeds that must be done and only you, the promised envoy of Pyandonea, can accomplish them.” He continued. More tears tried to break free but I blinked till they went away.
“Don’t think it, Latta. Not now.” I told myself.

“Your Grace, would you permit me knowledge of these deeds?” If I was going to do his bidding, it would be best if I knew exactly what he wanted of me. His House was now my House. I would not bring dishonor to its name.
“In due time.” He said with a slight tremble in his voice. A hand shook beneath the bedcover. That was not a good sign. Yes, it would definitely be for the best if this session was ended as soon as possible.
“I grant you the title of Agent. My Blades will hear my words through your voice. Their ears and eyes are yours, their hands move at your command. You will have need of them.” I couldn’t hide my confusion. What was an agent, and why would I need weapons? Or a private army, if I got the context right. Whatever it was, for the moment I forgot the strain the man was putting himself under.

“Baurus!” The Emperor called. His voice was weakening, but still strong. Beside me, the mudman straightened his back abruptly. I couldn’t help but think I’d already failed him. Did I not bow deeply enough? I tried to make my nose touch my knees again, despite my body’s protests. Little gasps entered his words, but what drew my attention more was the change in tone. It was still recognizably Tamriellic, but different as if it borrowed the intonation of another language.
“My Agent’s journey shall be a dangerous one. Will you be a shield that stands between her and spell and sword?”
“Unto my last breath and beyond I do swear I shall.”
“I have heard your vow, Penald Baurus. May the Divines bear witness and grant you strength and honour in equal measure.”
The back and forth had been quick, obviously rehearsed, and hard to follow, not in the least because the Lord Emperor’s voice broke more and more now. What I did get I didn’t like. I knew I needed a bodyguard and it seemed like I got one. But the open talk about danger made me flush. It had to be a figure of speech, I told myself. Part of this traditional bodyguard ceremony they just performed.

Next up was some business between Uriel and Jauffre about teaching me the symbols of something. But we were at the end now and in the span of a hundred heartbeats the man whispered the words we’d both been waiting for.
“Rise, my hand and voice. Go now and prepare.” Every muscle in my body trembled with relief and I heard the elder sigh as he sank back in his bed.



“We’ll eat first.” My new bodyguard muttered. I’d sneaked in a few bites of half-raw meats and vegetables while cooking, but was still hungry myself. Renault had put me on finishing breakfast so she could go do the paperwork. It had been a lot though, enough for a dozen or more men. The man took me to a large hall I hadn’t seen yet. A fire blazed on both ends of a long table and swords were hung up on the wall like some obscene decoration. I tried to count the curved pieces of metal and estimate their value, but gave up after I lost count a few times.

The meal I’d prepared was mostly gone already. All that remained of the juicy meatstrips and boiled red and green plantstuff were dirty plates. The dark man spread what was left on two clean plates and had us sit down close to one of the fires. He also poured from a karaff a golden liquid. It was like that mead-drink Sorian bought me. Sweet and lightly alcoholic.
“I’m not sure what exactly I was given, but I take it was something important? The false priest didn’t look happy about it.” I said while we ate. No matter how much I thought on it, I still had no idea just what it meant to be an agent. Only that Jauffre didn’t like it.
“Jauffre? Umm, what should I call you?” He was chewing even while talking. Disgusting.
“Lady Princess Orgnum….No, you may use lady Orgnum instead. From what I was taught that is a neutral form acceptable to most stations and situations.” I said. Lady Princess felt rather short and informal to me, but I knew better than letting him proclaim who I was to everyone on the street. So like I allowed Sorian, I would let my new bodyguard simply address me as lady. Maybe I should change my name as well. Didn’t Levvelyn do that when he infiltrated the staff of maester Braxxin, in ‘Levvelyn and the Iron Mines of Yokuda’?”
“Lady Orgnum it is then. I’m Penald Baurus, just call me Penald or call me Baurus. Whatever you like.” He told me. I still had to tell myself that they did things backwards. So I would have to use Baurus. Using Penald would be far too intimate.

He still had his mouth full while explaining. I looked away cause it made me feel sick.
“And of course the Grandmaster was upset. He’s not used to being overruled, even by the emperor. And as Agent, well you basically just got given carte blanche over all the spies.” Spies? I didn’t know that word either. If I had been taught, I couldn’t remember it right now. So I simply asked him.
“Pardon me, but what is a spies? Are you one?”

“A spy is a…well how to explain. The Blades are made up of two branches. There is the arms-bearing one of which I’m a member. We protect the emperor and his chosen dignitaries, such as you, from any that would wish them harm. The other branch sits in the shadows. They serve as emperor Uriel’s eyes and ears, and sometimes his poison. Jauffre is their grandmaster and Lord Protector Berius is mine. Was that clear?” He mumbled amidst bits of roasted meat. His explanation could have been clearer, but I thought I understood the core of it.
“The spies learn what the Lord Emperor must know, but Jauffre decides what he hears. Am I right?” Which would make him arguably the most powerful man on the continent. And of course he didn’t like me.
“You got it in one. Now as Agent, you are a special kind of spy. Jauffre holds no authority over either your actions or your goals. You are completely free to pursue your mission in any way you see fit. Blackmail, trespassing, thievery and even murder are the tools which you are permitted to use.” Four tools I did not want to use, ever. Actually, I was relieved and quite sure I didn’t have to. Who would trust me, a stranger from far away lands, with such powers? It was really just a ploy to get me out of Jauffre’s grasp. And for that, I was grateful.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cyrodiil

Since the departure of Grey-Tongue, the investigation in the Imperial city had ground to a halt. The lost of the Argonian’s razorsharp mind wasn’t the only cause. Another was active opposition from his superiors. They didn’t admit it of course, but Heironymous Lex saw the words of the Elder Council echoed in them. And he bet the Council was parroting the wishes of the Blades who had refused to tell him what had happened at the vaults. Which reminded him of what his friend had said. Something had been stolen from the vaults and the Blades were now torn between the need to apprehend the suspects and retrieve whatever they’d taken, and the desire to not let anyone know they’d failed in their duties.

The investigation was further crippled when the guard-captain himself was attacked. The healer’s guild sent inquiry after inquiry and demand after demand his way. The law obligated him to admit that he’d allowed an unregistered healer to practice on him and law obligated him to help apprehend this rogue healer. An unregistered healer was an uneducated one and therefore a direct threat to anyone he or she chose to administer, so said the guild. To Hieronymous it was just another unneeded distraction. He’d argued that his injuries had been treated to satisfaction, and that the healer had been educated outside Tamriel. Impossible, the guild claimed. Only the education and certificates given by the guild were suitable proof of expertise. Anything given by an outsider was by definition inferior. Hieronymous had given up at that point. Hearing about the very real of family-trained and effective healers found in every small settlement was the last thing the guild wanted.

Their complaints were so severe and forceful that he saw the hand of the Blades in it again. No, the Guard-Captain decided it would be an exercize in futility to further fight the demands. He went through the motions of searching for the hedgehealer in his district, despite already knowing that she was nowhere near the city. After a few days of that and ever further setbacks and obstructions to his real mission, he’d had enough. He formally requested leave for an undetermined period, using his knee as an excuse. As quick as the guild of healers had been to protest when he continued his duties, so quick was it now to suggest to his superiors that leave and fresh air were indeed what he needed.




He’d begun to pack for his wagon-ride the next day. Now clothing, a few books and personal effects were strewn across his office. His sword also lay ready to be packed, though he opted to leave his armour behind. If he did have to perform his duties as an officer of the guard, he would use the brocaded desk-uniform instead. It was far more comfortable to travel in.
The door behind him opened and someone spoke.
“This place is a mess. You definitely need a woman.”
Hieronymous sighed but did not turn around. “Julius, you shouldn’t be here.” He said.
“I am a grown man now. It is my right to choose who to see.” Julius protested.
“And what profession to follow. I know. Ah, I would be a poor father and a liar if I said I wasn’t happy to see you, my son.” Hieronymous said and embraced the younger man. They didn’t look much alike. Julius took more after Martha, sharing her brown locks and wide ears. But he was like his father in other ways, more than his mother liked.

“I heard you were injured, but my mentors wouldn’t let me leave before week’s end. I even took it up with Hannibal.” His son explained. He was still wearing the smudged apprentice-robes students at the Arcane University wore, showing that he’d come the minute he’d finished his lessons. Hieronymous shook his head at that. Yes, Julius was like him in some ways. He had that same stubborn streak to do what he felt was right, though the talent in magic could not be attributed to either parent.
“And darn right he was. The profession of a mage isn’t an easy one. If the students could go out whoring whenever they pleased, not that I accuse you of that, it would take attention away from their studies. You may resent them now, but nobody likes a sloppy mage.” He scolded his son, only half-serious. Julius laughed. The day he’d visit the Dibellans would be the day he gave up on his future as a battlemage in the legions and from there slip into the city-watch. And a Lex never gave up.
“So I’ve been told a thousand times.”

For a short moment both men were silent. Hieronymous picked up stray pair of pants and tried to fit them in a trunk while his son watched, unsuccessfully. Julius tried not to laugh, and broke the silence before he could.
“But enough about me. I heard rumors, the next worse than the last. But if I see you now, you look to be in perfect health.” He observed with a wry grin. The pants were balled up and tossed into a corner.
“Which is just what I’ve had to say to the damn healers a thousand times. But no, all they care for is that someone threatened their monopoly. Do you want to hear all about the troubles of a lawman?” The older Lex said and chuckled despite his earlier frustrations. Looking at it from an outsider’s point of view, it was sort of funny. Julius did not answer, but the look in his eyes said enough.
“Alright, I’ll tell you. It’s better that you know before you sneak yourself into the footsteps of your old man, thinking its all glory and grateful maidens. But under one condition. You help me pack all this junk.”
“Deal.”

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Feb 24 2013, 03:27 PM

[jack cloudy]

My laptop is making strange noises and I've had a few blue-screens this week. Maybe it's time to look for a replacement.

However, that is not the reason for my continued slowness. No, the reason is the repeated rewriting of the chapter, the cutting out of bits and the re-adding of them. That, and plain old laziness.

In other news, I came across an image of Pyandonea. There were two things of interest to me. First was its location, which placed it to the south of Summerset. Secondly there was its nature as one big solid continent, with placenames that didn't make any sense to me and looked rather static. Maormer-landing? The whole continent is solely populated by Maormer, so why refer to your race in a place? If its the location where they first arrived, it might work. But in that case, I would personally prefer to attach it to an individual.

Fortunately for me, I discovered that image was from a mod for Oblivion, which also looks a bit dead. So I get to keep my Pyandonea, composed of lots of tiny islands, its silly moving palace and its location North-west of Summerset! Yay!

Ok, enough rambling. Back to business.



Chapter 9.7



“Pour me a drink, Brother. Gods, I need one.” I recognized that voice. It was the man who had been guarding the entrance to this place. While Baurus refilled his mug and slid it over to the doorkeeper, I studied his face. He’d left his helmet somewhere though he still wore the rest of his armour. What was his name again? Captain Stef something. The respect he received marked him as a high-ranking Blade. His face though, I felt for him. He was older than Baurus going by what was left of it. But mostly his features were a crisscrossing of scartissue from all kinds of sources. Cuts, broken bone, burns and some injuries whose cause I couldn’t determine. He’d seen war firsthand and paid for it dearly. Whether all the scarring meant he was a lousy swordsman or a good one, I couldn’t tell.
“ It’s been one thing after another since you showed up.” The man sighed after throwing back the mug in one huge gulp. “First the emperor comes to hide, then his sons die. Now Jauffre brought a w…ahem, elven dignitary. And this morning? First Sim flies off the handle, then Kort comes running carrying big news. Sealed envelope and everything. I passed it on to Jauffre and boy, he looked even more pissed than he usually does.” This Kort again. Was he some kind of messenger?

Baurus walked down the length of the table to get the karaff on the other end.
“What happened to Brother Fenasim?” He asked along the way, leading to another sigh from the devastated man. There were just so many scars on him. I had to look away in order to stop thinking of ways to fix the damage. Master Zelthir had demonstrated more than one method to heal such severe wounds but none of them were available to me even if I had all my tools at hand. It was just too depressing. So instead of following the lines and pits of ruined flesh my eyes followed the direction of his own.

He’d been looking at a particular set of swords ever since coming into the room. To me they looked unremarkable beyond the materials used, just one more shattered blade mounted on the wall. I blinked. Most of the swords were damaged in some way or another. They were warped or fragmented, most of them still tainted with old blood and some even looked like half-melted butter. Unremarkable had been the wrong word to describe them. Worn-down was a better word.
“Fenasim, what didn’t happen to him? It turns out that he…Ah forget it, there’s no way to say this nicely. The moment he learned the lady here was a mama.” My mind was only half there as I was now gripped by a morbid curiosity in the murdertools. So I corrected him without really knowing what he’d been saying.
“Maormer.” There seemed to be an order in which the blades were hung. On the one side the grips had rotten away to a few strips of leather but on the other they looked fresh from the workshop, apart from the damage. There was also a small blank space on the walls on this end. A place reserved for more swords?
“Maormer, thank you. Well, he was very eager to cause an intercontinental incident, if you get my drift. I had to talk him down, even though it would likely end with me on his sword.” That brought my intention back in a hurry. If this Fenasim had a personal interest in me, then what did he want? Raise his own social standing through close affiliation with House Orgnum? It wouldn’t be the first time. The name sounded elvish, so was he a Maormer? But there weren’t supposed to be any. Other than warslaves the Altmer caught in their raids, and those wouldn’t be walking around here. Baurus was as dismissive as I was, given his response.
“compassion.”
Captain Stef looked at his empty mug.
“Indeed. That’s the problem with duty, sometimes it makes you do things you just know are stupid.” He muttered.
“I think I need another drink.”




The man excused himself a little while later and went back to his post. Baurus decided that we would go to the armory next and when I asked him what would happen to the filthy tableware, he shrugged. Someone would clean up eventually. I didn’t like what that told me about the priorities here.
“Why did you bring that searat here?!”

I’d ducked behind Baurus at that first outburst and tried to become as small and unnoticeable as possible.
“Hands off, Fenasim. She’s under Uriel’s guard. And mine.” The man spoke with a hand on his sword. After that, silence. Eventually I gained the courage to peek beyond his back only to duck away again with a new panic. It was an Altmer, a real one!
“So I’ve been told.” The badmer spat. “Well I assure you that this is one matter I intend to take up with him. You mainlanders have no idea what you let into your backyard. These mist-elves are treacherous. They can’t be trusted!” He was going to kill me! That’s what the doorkeeper meant! Then why did Baurus move away from me? He was supposed to protect me!
“Save your arguments for the man, not me. I’m here on orders and until told otherwise, I aim to carry them out.” His actions didn’t match his words. The Altmer was right there in front of me! I couldn’t back away through a wall. I was stuck!

He turned away. Thoughts that had been frozen now resumed with the immediate threat gone. I knew I should just vanish and edge to the door.
“What do you need from me?” Good, keep looking at Baurus. Just a few more steps.
“First of all, the princess here has a slave-collar that needs to be removed.” No! Don’t point at me!

I froze again and tried to blend in with the stones. But the Altmer just kept looking right at me and in my frightened state, I couldn’t figure out how he did it.
“You’re not joking. The little witch is actual royalty. We should use her as a hostage to buy off the damn navy.” He said and turned away again, this time to rummage through his desk. Thoughts came back. I continued to move ever so slowly to the door, and safety.
“As I said, save it for him.” Baurus rumbled. Good, keep talking.
The mer tossed something and the man catched.
“Here’s the key. Believe me that it would be best for all of us if you do it yourself. My hand might slip. What else do you need?”
“I’m gearing up. The emperor has sent us on a mission.”
“Us?” The mer repeated and looked at me again. Why?! Though I trembled with fear again, I did manage to squeek out an answer. Barely.
“I..swore a-an oath. Of service.” If the words did anything to persuade him, they failed. But they did provide a foothold to my mind. I did swear an oath. And Altmer or not, I would not run from seeing it fulfilled.
“An oath, riiiight.” The tall one sneered but miraculously, he turned his attention back towards Baurus. “What level of gearing up are we looking at?” I swear, his words were almost business-like.

Baurus looked left and right and answered.
“Hope peace, assume war. Discreet, but not stealthy.”
“Fighter’s guild it is then. Weapons, armour, papers, all of it should be where you left it. Ask Renault for general supplies. She got dismissed from duty earlier.” The golden one said and I wondered. Fighter’s guild?
“Thanks.”
“See if you still feel like thanking me later.”
They both ignored me then. For a bit longer I kept watching the Altmer but even that didn’t last. Stupid as it was, my fear made way for an entirely different kind of emotion. Boredom.

At first still hesitating, I began to walk around myself. The Altmer’s eyes swept to me whenever my feet brought me close to a sword, an axe or a spear. But if I avoided any of those, he focused on a forge instead, on which he was hammering a piece of metal. Well, if that was the case, it was fine by me. I wasn’t that interested in deathdealing tools anyway. There were plenty of other items that did interest me. Armours for example. Unlike weapons, these aimed to preserve life, not end it. It was only a pity one was often used to help do the other.

I saw animal skins, treated, dried and thickened layer upon layer. These I knew. There were armours made from chains upon chains of iron. I knew the form, but not the material. Most common were the bands of steel like what Baurus wore. And finally there was the armour of the Altmer himself. It was a mirror melded to his form like water. And there were gaps in it, ugly ones like a turtle’s shell that had been pried open by a crab.

There were helmets that followed the same pattern. Skins, chains and steel. Most were plain, made to serve their purpose and nothing more. But others were more ornate, like the seashell mask with embedded pearls tracing out the symbols of Yokuda-watch, head of the tower. I blinked and did a double-take. It did say Yokuda-watch. That was my mask!
“Your papers were already brought to an associate” Jauffre had said that at the top of the Imperial palace. Evidently they’d taken more than just my papers. Now that I knew what to look for, I saw more of my own possessions. The traditional riding crop made from a firebird’s tailfeathers. My sandals with the springy soles of thrice-folded leaves and foam. The silverthread belt and attached to it my storing pouch, both things I quickly took and put on. There was my dress, its limbs frozen in rigor and wings torn to shreds. I picked it up, brushed away some of the dirt. Poor thing, it had been so well-trained too. Then it was snatched from my hands.
“Hey! That’s mine!” I said and wheeled around to grab it back. My hands never reached higher than my chest. It was the Altmer who’d taken the garment and looked at it with keen interest. He mumbled something in Altmeri, too quick for me to catch it. Then he rudely shoved something else into my arms.
“This, is yours.” He said and walked back to his forge while shaking his head. I looked at what he’d given me and mumbled something of my own. It was a staff as weathered as the swords in the main hall. Its shaft of golden wood was cracked, warped and blackened and capped with a small sphere of polished glass. A large crack had nearly split the ball in two.

The thing was broken and probably seen as junk by the mer, but I could still feel the magic in the glass. It buzzed and ached in my skull like my own spellsong, but fortunately not as bad. I wondered what it did? Was it crafted to burn people, or cut them from afar? Did it soften walls, shatter arms? I swallowed and summoned my courage.
“Ah, what does it do?” I asked him even though I didn’t expect an answer. His hammer rose and fell heavily on the steel armourpiece he was working.
“It glows.”

I looked at the staff, then at the mer and then at the staff again.
“Maormer. I will be giving your goods a very thorough inspection. I will find the evil you are planning. And how you bypassed our patrols.” What little was left of my fear for him was driven aside by anger over his words. I was not evil nor did I plan it! Almost I’d blurted out exactly how easy it had been for the ship to go around the wooden vessels of Tamriel. Almost. It was a convenient shred of common sense, bolstered by the knowledge that telling would leave Pyandonea open to a new invasion from the Altmer, that made me keep my mouth.

Baurus came and tapped my shoulder, gestured at the door.
“I don’t trust him.” I grumbled once we were back in one of the corridors and out of earshot. Baurus laughed which made me angry. I had not forgotten how he’d basically left me at the mercy of the badmer.
“Well now there’s a big surprise. But let me tell you one thing. If there is a single person here who can be absolutely trusted, it is Brother Fenasim.” He said. It was ridiculous of him, and I told him.
“But he tried to kill me!”
“And yet he didn’t. Love or hate, they don’t guide his sword.”




My next meeting with Renault was less heartstopping than the armory-visit, but no less important. The woman turned out to be a healer, one with a cluttered lab that gave me an instant bout of homesickness. Oh, Master Zelthir would have things to say on her workplace, but this was one of the few things were I disagreed with him. A disorderly lab, as long as the tools were kept clean and functional, the ingredients unsoiled, just meant its owner used it as more than a bragging-tool. I admit that Baurus’ surprise and subsequent confusion over our conversation amused me. He stepped outside in the end. It was only too soon that the woman handed us two parcels of restoratives and sent us on our way again.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“There are four tasks I need you to perform. The first two are absolutely necessary, the other two are pursued at your discretion.” The Lord Emperor’s voice was strong and he sat near the fire in a comfortable seat rather than lying in bed. If I knew better, I would have called it a miracle and be glad he seemed to be the healthiest I’d ever seen him. But I did know. The antidote in my hand made sure of that.
“The vital information is on this note. Memorize and burn it before you leave the room.” He continued and eagerly shoved a piece of paper in my free hand. His grip was firm and stable, but the skin felt feverish to the touch.
“Oh Jennifer, I know now how you feel. How do you protect a man like that from himself?” I thought to myself as I took the paper and asked him politely to sit down again.

Uriel Septim began to explain to us and I looked at the letter he’d written. Why he couldn’t tell us everything was beyond me. He certainly didn’t seem to be in too much of a rush to end his current, well, rush.
“The first and second task share a goal. Under no circumstance are you to return with task one unless you also deliver task two.” I looked at the first line that was written on it. It had been jotted down with a shaky hand and a script that was as ligible as it was short. It seemed to me that the venerated elder had chosen to write it down himself instead of asking someone else to do it.
Martin Tanner Kvatch temple Imperial male 180cm 30yrs
First thing that caught me was the age. Thirty years would make this Martin Tanner Kvatch a child. The first question in my mind was how were we supposed to take him away from his parents,but then I idly did the math to translate his height into something more familiar. My estimates made him about a hand taller than me, if my math was right and I was pretty sure I didn’t miss a finger. Just what did they feed their sons here?
Rajn Geydar Kvatch Eight Provinces wood elf female 146cm 57yrs
I did the math again. This one had a more reasonable height. A tad too short actually considering her age, but nothing that made me question her health and dietary background. But again, a child? At least she was at the age were you could motivate them through reason. For a few days.
“I brag about my well-rounded education, but I haven’t been tutored on motherhood yet.” How was I supposed to placate a thirtier? That was right at the point they get rebellious. Too old for sweets and toys, too young for logic. Maybe I could use the older sister to control the young man.

I’d been given a moment to think about it, and memorize what it had said before His Grace babbled on again.
“The third task, I doubt you will succeed. But if you do come across a way to achieve it, do so. I suggest you start by buying a biography in any bookstore.” Biographies? I read the third line and it only brought more answers.
Nerevarine
That was it, just one word. Was it a name, a title? It was hard to say, but the word contained the aspects of birth and child. I hoped this wouldn’t be a youngster. But I’d been adviced to look in at a bookstore. Biographies weren’t written on children, usually. I would ask Baurus about it later.
“Finally, the fourth task. The attempt on my life was not the only incident that night. There was another. See the note.” Uriel Septim said and I read.
The item, you know what it looks like.
My head ran aground. He couldn’t. No, no!
“The ones that posess the fourth task are the same who attacked me. Be careful and avoid taking risks. Use your Blades for this.”

“That sniveling discarded skin of a worm! All this time I’d been worried sick about breaking the covenenant and how to explain it, when he had gone and done it first! By losing the cursed thing! I attached myself to his House for nothing!”

“Permit me a question, your grace. Why send me? I am ignorant of both your people and your maps.” I didn’t keep the poison from my words. To be honest, I didn’t try very hard.
“Because Pyandonea has nothing to gain or lose.” The Lord Emperor answered and looked at me not with anger as I’d expected for my breach of etiquette, but sadness.
“Your isolation goes both ways. You cannot attack Tamriel in force, and no faction has the means to strike at Pyandonea. It is in Pyandonea’s interests to maintain the current state. Furthermore, from what I have been told, and seen, the Maormer greatly value and act to preserve their honorable conduct, a rare thing nowadays.My envoy believed that the static nature and absolute might of its ruler is the cause. Noone has been able to dethrone your king for so long that the political maneouvering has all but ceased.”

“Your assessment is based on few observations.” I said and this time I did control my voice even though I was still furious. He’d lost it! And insinuating that anyone would plan of dishonoring lord Orgnum? It was unthinkable!
“True, but look at yourself. You know now that I broke the treaty but won’t let it affect your actions. “Even if he breaks his word, I will not break mine.” Those are your thoughts. You may hate me now, but you will not willingly see me come to harm.”

That was it. I had to admit he knew me better than I did myself. I hadn’t actually thought it yet, but I could see the truth in his words. From the moment I’d learned my subjugation was based on betrayal and error, I’d thought of all the things I was justified to do. I could have demanded reparations, or simply left at the earliest convenience. The conditions upon which I’d given my vow did not exist and so it was null and void. I’d thought that, but the Lord Emperor had spoken the truth. Even if I could prove breaking my word had been just to others, to me it would still feel like a lie and betrayal.
“I belong to my House. I will not shame its name for my own convenience, nor will I give excuses or justifications. The honour of my House wills me to voice my displeasure with your inability to safeguard that what was lent to you in good faith. The honour of myself wills me to protect your House as if it were my own.”

“Thank you and though it makes no difference, I truly regret placing you in this position. If there was anyone else I could trust, I would send him.”

There was nothing left to say. Baurus read the note for himself, shredded it, sprinkled it into the fire and then added more wood to the leaping flames. In the meantime I let the Lord Emperor breather the antidote and settled him in his bed. Then we were done and left.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Feb 24 2013, 03:27 PM

[Lycanthropic-Legend]

Man, this story is awesome! You paint a good picture of what happened during the Oblivion Crisis and some new places, too!

Just a thing, I think seperating the sentences would be better and have a good space between dialogue. The paragraphs all seem close together and it can be a bit distracting

[mALX]

Still not caught up. I'm still in Florida spending time with my mom, and trying to read while she naps. I should be back mid week (this) and will try to be totally caught up by this weekend. This year has been hell-hectic, but December should be a time to relax and catch up reading (if nothing else goes wrong, lol). - Cindy.

[jack cloudy]

Best wishes to you and your mum, Malx.

And I'll have to think about my spacing a bit more. While it looks neat and tidy all packed together, it can be a pain to keep track on where you were reading.

In other news:
Got my new lappy. I'm currently in the process of moving things and finding out where Word went on Windows 8, so no update yet. Still, I did finish up the main thrust of the next bit so it shouldn't take too long to get it done once I've got everything set up.

Also, there is this

I believe the observer said something along the lines of the following.
"Oh, not again! Can't this world go ten years without me having to save its sorry hide? Get lost ratface, before I put my foot up your flying Scrib-butt and boot you back to Vvardenfell!"


(No, I'm not going to write a story on it. I've got three that still need to be finished already. One at a time.)

[mALX]

Best wishes to you and your mum, Malx.

And I'll have to think about my spacing a bit more. While it looks neat and tidy all packed together, it can be a pain to keep track on where you were reading.

This actually has been a problem for me too (as a reader). With no numeration or title to the chapters I have found myself having to reread chapters searching out where I left off each time I restart reading - hinders catching up when free time is limited. (Although I do love rereading many of the chapters, and on at least two occasions have come across scenes I didn't get the full effect of on the first read - usually due to the zoo of noise and distractions in the background here while I read).

[McBadgere]

Fair dues...That last chapter was both epic and brilliant...

Loved the bit in the armoury, brilliant stuff...

Excellent!!...Looking forward to much more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[jack cloudy]

Ok, I doubled the spacing for now so tell me how that works. I also added a chapter-number to the top and will retroactively add it to the previous ones. (I hope I haven't miscounted) And if there is any character who still needs to go in the list on the first page, please tell me.

The last time we saw the Mythic Dawn they were sitting in their cave doing a grand total of nothing. Today we return to see them sitting in their cave....doing a grand total of nothing!




Chapter 9.8


Mythic Dawn Sanctuary


The 'temple' of the Mythic Dawn posessed an elegance that couldn't be seen from its crude appearance. It was the largest chamber in the sanctuary, blasted out of the rock through the combined efforts of all three Camoran's. But they had employed more than mere brute force. Every casting, every bubbling stream of fire, every crackling blade of thunder, had been tailored to carve out the essentials of a place of worship, making it seem as if the mountain itself had grown the shrine within its heart. They'd coaxed the still halfmolten rock into an elevated platform and upon it an altar. They'd made rows of kneerests for the worshippers to kneel upon, pillars that held pools of slow-burning oil. They'd made all of that and most important of all was the representation of the temple's deity. A statue of Mehrunes Dagon over five metres tall, its four hands reaching over the altar, its brow brushing the ceiling. None of the Camorans were sculptors and the stone figure bore only the vaguest resemblance to the Daedric Prince, but they'd taken care that none of the Dawn were knowledgable enough to point out the flaws.


It was now almost an hour since the last service had ended. The faitful had left to tend to their duties and sacrificial blood cooled and coagulated in the groove running from the altar to the statue. And yet the priestess remained, dagger still in hand. Words repeated themselves in her mind and she shivered at the memory of her tongue moving on its own.
"Do not deny me!"
She reflected that it had been a good thing she'd sent the acolytes away before actually summoning the Daedric prince. The brutish and indiscriminate nature of the real Dagon was not in any way like what the prophet had made them believe.


Do not deny me. The words were the last in a long series of similar threats Dagon had made her speak all the times she had summoned him. But today they held more meaning than before. Today their father wasn't around to placate him and Uriel yet lived. Their plans were unravelling before her eyes and she couldn't think of anything to save them.


She remembered the dagger in her hand and laid it down on the the altar, next to the Khajiit she'd killed and whose heart she'd offered for the summoning.
"At least we no longer have to turn over every tenthpiece to buy the furballs. That should please my brother." She thought, and then, "He must hear this."




Raven was exactly where she'd left him. If he'd moved at all, it hadn't been much. He was still buried in the same stack of books, scrolls and loose pages which he read and reread over and over. Occasionally he rubbed his tired eyes, or reached for the cold coffee at his side. Even his thoughts were still the same, as evidenced by the absentminded greeting he gave her.
"I have said all I intend to say, Ruma. Please, don't bother me any further. I am quite busy."

The Altmeri woman bristled at the idea that Raven still believed she only cared about Harrow. While the man was important to her, as a rare source of comfort and companionship, she was a true Camoran. If needed, she could and would leave him to do her part in securing the family's future. She shoved aside most of the clutter on his desk and put her fists down on it.
“Don't ignore me! Dagon says he’s tired of our pitiful sacrifices and wants to see if we are as good as we say.” She yelled at him, making him reel back. He looked at her, then at the bloody palm prints she'd left all over his desk and documents. Then he sighed.


“In other words, he wants more blood and more screaming. What else is new? If he wasn’t so easy to manipulate, I would have spoken against aligning ourselves with the Prince of Destruction.”


Ruma wondered if she'd gone too far. Raven needed to be told, but was it worth destroying whatever he'd been working on? No, she decided. She had done the right thing. Raven was like their father, Mankar Camoran, with his desire to have everything planned out and written in paper before he did anything. But sometimes one had to forego planning and play it by ear. Such as now.
"Pay attention, brother. We can't cage his nature with pretty words forever. The honoured user called our bluff. We have to act now." She warned but the other mer reacted as she'd feared, true to his nature.
"Give it some time." He answered her. When she sneered at him, he raised his hand and continued in the same exhausted and disinterested tone of voice.
"One day, Ruma. That is all I ask. If father hasn't returned by then, we’ll make our own choice.”


Ruma was silent as she tried to figure out how she could make him see her way. Raven was a good mer. He was exceedingly smart and driven. Though they'd both been honed by their father into nigh superhuman creatures, masters of many skills that would be considered a lifetime pursuit on their own by lesser beings, they had not profited from this education in equal measure. Her brother had been superior to her in the ways Mankar valued the most. And he knew it. It made persuading him nearly impossible.





She moved to turn away but then the paper she'd rested her hands on drew her attention. Whatever it told, it was now too obscured by Khajiit blood to tell, but the few words she could still see had not been written by her brother, or her father. Raven who had noticed her pause, answered the unasked question.
"Do you remember the simulacra I made and inserted into Cloud Ruler?” He said with a nod to the stained letter.
She remembered only vaguely. All of the shapechanging monsters had been put in their positions years ago, before the Dawn existed. But there was one who had infiltrated the Blades' secret base, putting it right at the heart of the Imperial intelligence network. Meanwhile, Raven continued.
“It chanced to send us word. The emperor arrived at Cloud Ruler a few days before the writing of this letter. First, the general things are as we already expected them to be. The Emperor is paranoid, rightly so. He is always guarded by one and often two of the four he still trusts. Fenasim of the palace guard, and three of the fighting Blades who were being inducted that night"


The Blades. Warriors of almost legendary prowess, each worth as much as the complement of an entire fort. Under the right circumstances, and the Blades were masters at making the right circumstances. Even the simulacra would need the advantage of surprise or superior equipment to overcome one. The thought of having the monster kill the emperor died with Raven's news. She knew that this had been the first thing Raven had considered himself. Given the situation, he would choose to keep the doppelganger as a source of information rather than risk it in another assassination. Besides, the Septim was mostly harmless as long as he was trapped beneath the gletsjer.
“Including the one who nearly murdered Harrow.” Ruma growled. The emperor could stay, but she wanted that man. She wanted him on her altar so that for once, she could enjoy plunging down the ceremonial dagger and tearing out a still beating heart.


“The very same. The other thing we guessed is that the Grandmaster himself has given up his usual carefulness and stormed to Cloud Ruler for answers. What we did not guess however, is that he didn't arrive alone.” She instantly forgot about Harrow. Raven didn't need to elaborate on why this was important. Jauffre rarely went to Cloud Ruler and he always went alone. Even his most trusted bodyguards were left behind. For him to break his own rule could only mean that his mystery companions were now the Dawn's utmost priority. More important than Uriel in any case, who wasn't going to leave the Blade's hideout any time soon. Who were they?


Raven pinched his nose, then admitted that he'd told her everything the letter had said.
“She, actually. And I don’t know. Jauffre’s companion is only described as an elf, most likely wood elf.”
“Most likely?” Ruma repeated the words to herself. The three species of mer in Tamriel were almost impossible to mix up by mistake. The Dunmer were grey and red-eyed, the Altmer universally tall and with a golden tan mere sunlight could not produce. The wood elves, were short and backwards barbarians. That Raven’s simulacra actually harbored doubt was to say the least, troubling. Its mind might be less stable than they’d foreseen. Perhaps it would be best to spend it on an assassination before it degraded entirely.
“Apart from the gender, this woman is one large question-mark. Name, profession, background, age. It’s all a blank. Worst of all, she came carrying nothing but the clothes on her back. Who travels like that?” Raven said and threw up his hands in disgust.


“Someone very confident, brother. Or desperate. Peasants and mighty mages.” Ruma answered. The man shook his head.
"Scratch the peasants. Jauffre makes for a good spymaster, but he doesn't do charity."



Ruma could think of few kinds of people who travelled unencumbered, and even fewer who would be connected to the Blades' Grandmaster. She supposed the woman could be another Blade, someone trusted by Jauffre and brought in to help guard the emperor. Four people was too small a guard detail to maintain for an extended period. But the flaws with that idea were self evident. The only Blades that were beyond suspicion were those who had been stationed far away in other provinces, the ones who had been ignored by the Dawn for being too far from the emperor. But that same remoteness that prevented their replacement with simulacra, now kept them away from where the action was. There simply had not been enough time for Jauffre to summon him or her. And there were no women at the old Breton's usual base of operations.
“Then who, brother?" She asked him, "Have you any idea, or even a guess?”


Raven waved at the bloodied notes scattered on his desk.
“Several," He said, "each more unlikely than the last. The best I can give is that this woman is an up till now unrecognized heir of the big man. I'm sure you see the problems with that hypothesis.”


“A woman, and a wood elf at that? These Cyrodiliics are supremacists. They want their emperors to be Imperial like they are. Of course I see the problems!” Ruma laughed and shook her head. The idea was simply beyond ridiculous, even if it was the best they could come up with.
Even if the Septim claimed the woman took her mother’s features, as was often the case with mixed blood, and even if he managed to sell the Elder Council on accepting his elvish daughter. If! The counts and all the common folk would never accept such a heir.
“And there, Ruma. There you have my problem. She wouldn't function as a heir. Besides, a political pawn is the last thing he needs right now. For the moment Ocato is competant enough to keep the Empire whole and running.”





The woman began to pace back and forth through the room. Her brother was right again. Bringing someone whose value was measured in connections or gold to the remote temple would be counterproductive. What the Septim needed now was a strong arm. But why directly contact this woman? And why only one? Why not hire an entire hall of fighters?
"The question isn't who Jauffre's friend is, but what the Emperor knows." Ruma muttered to herself. The plan had not been for the emperor to survive. But he had and with that survival, came a certain amount of knowledge. Now what did the old man know and what would he do with that knowledge?
"He survived a direct encounter with a simulacrum. And Jauffre has gone to the palace first. So he also knows what you took from the vaults. But other than that, I doubt he knows anything." Raven said with a shrug.


He picked up the stained letter to see if he could save it. When it turned out he couldn't, he began to transcribe it onto a fresh leaflet from memory. In doing so, he gave Ruma more time to think. Time she spend well. Time enough to reach an answer that satisfied her fully.
“Aha! The Eternal Champion!” The sorceress exclaimed at once. Her eyes glittered with pride at having solved a problem her brother could not. Raven however, merely glanced up for a moment before he returned to his work.
“Pray tell, what of the Champion? He has been dead for thirty years. There’s a big mausoleum and annual procession in his honour. We were there at the burial. They even opened the coffin!” He muttered.


It had been the first day of the fifth century, supposedly one day after the defeat of Jagar Tharn the usurper and the restoration of the real Uriel Septim to the throne. The Black Courier had been as efficient as usual at delivering the news throughout the province and even beyond while the mages' transportation services had worked throughout the night to teleport tens of thousands of people from all Tamriel to the capital. It had been a fantastic procession. A thousand bards singing in perfect unison, the entire first legion marching in full ceremonial gear. The coffin, carried on the Septim's golden wagon, was a slab of solid ebony crafted into a seagoing galleon. Figures of gold and silver manned the rigging. At its prow, greater than the others, was one carved from emerald glass. A figure whose features where concealed by a robe, striking a heroic pose. A sword made of diamonds pointed ahead in one hand, the other cradled a staff. There was no room left on the wagon besides the coffin and rather than riding in a second vehicle, the Imperial family, as well as the Elder Council, all walked behind it. If the grandness of the preceding elements hadn't convinced any onlooker of the importance of whoever lay withing the coffin, the humility Tamriel's elite showed by walking through the dust scattered in its wake left no room for doubt.


When they'd actually displayed the fallen hero amidst respectful silence, Ruma had to admit she was dissapointed. The scorched body was smaller than she'd expected and burned to the point it was impossible to tell whether it had been a man or a woman, elf or human. She did think she saw what might have been the base of a tail once. But that had to be an illusion played on her by the distance from which she looked upon it. No beast would ever amount to anything, especially not the greatest hero in history since Tiber Septim.


“I thought the Hand was supposed to be smart." Ruma said, "Tell me, my clever brother. How hard would it be for the Septim to obtain a random corpse and declare it to be the Eternal Champion?”


Raven sighed and put aside his pen. He looked at her for a long time before answering.
“It would have been as simple for him as ordering bread from the baker. But I must warn you, my dearest sister. There is a line between conjecture and wild fantasy, one which you are about to cross. Even assuming that the Eternal Champion lived, why now? Why wasn’t he…she, why wasn’t she involved with the miracle of peace? Or with that business in Vvardenfell recently?”


Ruma let out a sigh of her own. Both incidents where still mostly mysteries, even after all the money and connections their father had thrown at them. The Eternal Champion could have been involved, she may not have been. For all they knew, the Nerevarine and the Champion were the same person, though overwhelming evidence from Morrowind had fixed the reincarnated Dunmeri hero as a Redguard man, not a female mer.


"Uriel has been chased out of his own palace, at the hands of his personal guard no less." She began to explain, "He needs someone who he can send back out into Tamriel. Someone who he knows won't betray him and someone who can't be stopped by any opposition. The Septim will be looking for top-ranked knights, peerless sorcerers and uncatchable thieves. Heroes. Someone who is to a Blade what the Blade is to the regular bread-and-butter thug. And as you said, he knows what we're after.” Ruma grinned and patted the pocket in her robe where she kept an knobbly rod like Raven's. One of the two world-pieces they now posessed.
“So who better to call in than the Eternal Champion? After all, no one has as much experience with the simulacra and the world-pieces as she does. It would also explain your informant’s confusion. Berkman theorized in his treatise that the Champion developed the arts of illusion in response to Tharn’s own. Even today she must be maintaining a veil to hide in obscurity.”




Raven heared her out and presented questions to test her theory but Ruma remained convinced of her theory. In the end the Hand of the Dawn made his verdict.
“I see no flaw with your logic, but it remains farfetched. I think you see connections where there are none. With that said, I learned what we get from underestimating our enemies. It can't do any harm to overestimate the Septim's allies for a change." He said and gestured towards the door, bidding for her to leave and let him work.
"We will proceed with the assumption that the Eternal Champion does indeed still live and has come into play. I’ll have to sketch up some plans for dealing with her. Not to mention find a way to appease Mehrunes Dagon. We simply can't afford to play our hand yet.”


Ruma turned in the dooropening and looked back where Raven was already stacking his endless papers, oblivious to her presence.
“You do that, brother." She whispered with a grimace.
"You fool. You plan and plan. Every minute you spend now, thinking up counters to counters, is a minute the Septim spends acting! I know what must be done and by the Aedra, I will do it."

[Lycanthropic-Legend]

What a lenghty chapter indeed! One full of descriptions, too. The fact that the three Cameron's made the shrine of Dagon within the cavern shows their artistic talent! I like how you wrote that here.

What truly captures my attention aside from your storytelling gifts and knack for writing descriptions is that you wrote some of it in the point of view of the characters in the Mythic Dawn. Ruma, for example. This was all on her perspective. I like how you took us on the Mythic Dawn side. Most stories here are during the time of Oblivion and that's good and all, but they are almost always anti-Daedra or anti-Dagon. It's good to see you changed this a little and offer us a humorous and yet darker side of the story!

I wonder what awaits Ruma and Raven next! Ruma has a change of heart while Raven is still much like his father. I do wonder what filial conflicts will arise from this! Juicy story!

[McBadgere]

Most stories here are during the time of Oblivion and that's good and all, but they are almost always anti-Daedra or anti-Dagon.

*Must...Restrain...Self...*...

Nope, not getting into it today... ...

Aaaamywho...

Brilliant stuff matey!!...

It is a brilliant thing to be showing both sides of the story, I am loving how you're doing that...

That the characters are wonderfully interesting is also a fantastic bonus!!... ...

Oooh, the much history contained in this post is so well done...Speaks of a good long think about things...I like that a lot too!...

Fantastic writing...An excellent tale...

Oh, and I went and looked at the Dramatis Personae at the start, the only ones that stood out as being missing are Jennifer Renaud and that cool Altmer from the CRT armoury...I identify with grumpy older characters for some reason... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[mALX]

Only two more chapters to catch up, but my PC keeps crashing and losing the notes I was making to comment. Really frustrating. You are doing an excellent job with the characters of the Blades, especially Baurus - what an interesting character you have developed here!

Another place you've excelled is with the Mythic Dawn, the personalities and subtle skewering is hugely entertaining. I'm loving seeing the two factions written out as separates and watching as they slowly converge. Your storyline is so in depth for this, I am loving it! Great Writing, all of it!

[jack cloudy]

This took way longer than it should have. So another Angoril part next.


Lycanthropic-Legend: This story still is mostly anti-Daedra and anti-Dagon. I mean, the guy is called Prince of Destruction. I honestly can't think of a way to portray him in a neutral or positive light. But yeah, I wanted to make the Mythic Dawn into more of a mindless horde of cardboard targets for the hero to cleave through. I think I'm managing that well so far.


McBadgere: Renault and Fenasim? Thanks, I'll add them to the list. And I also kinda identify with grumpy old characters. It must be the beards. (Do Altmer even have facial hair?)

mALX: Ah, computer crashes always suck. Even if there is nothing lost and no damage done, you just keep worrying it's gonna break for good!


Anyway, onto Angoril getting some lunchtime.



Chapter 9.9

Kvatch


He missed the eatery at first, even with the sign hanging outside the door. It was one of the guard-towers along the wall, looking identical to its sisters on each side. The same foreboding grey stones stacked atop each other in a massive cylinder and even the banners shared the same wolf's head that was Kvatch's code of arms. The only features that set them apart were the aforementioned sign, the glasscovered firingslits and smoking chimney on the one, and the elevator that supplied the catapult atop the others. It told him both of the wealth the Geydars posessed, and the peace Kvatch had known for quite some time. Any other combination, and the count or his commander of the guard would never have permitted a guard tower to be turned into a diner, especially one so near the main gate.


The inside of the tower was a different story. Though the thick walls made any large alterations impossible, its owners had seen fit to cover up the unsightly stone with fine woodpanelling, lanterns and carvings of the Cyrodiilic landscape. Vines writhed along the ceiling whose flowers spread a nauseatingly sweet smell. It was as if someone had transplanted a part of Fallinesti, the living and mobile treecity of Valenwood, to Kvatch. In fact, that was likely the case, Angoril reflected when the floor reached out with a hundred tendrils to scrub and polish his shoes. He hadn't seen a trained plant like this anywhere else.
"This must be what Tanner meant when he said Bosmeri through and through."


He followed the goldplated signs through the narrow corridor and out a door on the other side of the tower. The actual dining area was a balcony just outside the city walls. There commoner and highborn alike dined around tables, though there seemed to be an invisible divide between the classes. Angoril paid them no significant interest. There were no familiar faces from the old days, and he knew nothing of the new.
"A stranger? I love strangers!" Something tiny rushed in, grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him to one of the empty tables with more force than he would have believed possible.
"Just plop your shiny butt down here and forget about all your worries! Taendril, this big fella is your type! Give the hunk some fun, would you?!" It yappered and was gone. In its place came an Altmeri woman who sat down opposite him.




He did give the mer the attention she deserved. Garbed in the traditional dress of central Summerset, her face etched just right and her poise nothing short of perfect elegance. Angoril held no illusions regarding her role. She was part of the service, a hostess, there to entertain and make sure the customers kept coming back to spend their coin. She was a professional in acting just the way the customer wanted. He discarded the idea of using simpleminded Tennil on her. She might just see through it. And being in the proverbial den of the wolf, he wasn't going to pull the 'old friend of a relative' card either.
"That was?" He merely asked and pointed at the little Bosmer who ran from one table to another with nary a pause, holding what looked to be three different conversations at the same time.
"That," Taendril remarked with a sweet smile that made his heart flutter for an instant. He pushed down that feeling. "little whirlwind of boundless energy is the lady Geydar, proprietess of this here fine establishment."


He watched the Bosmer, who he now knew was Rajn Treesap/Geydar, rush to an alcove, grab a plate and then dash up to deliver it at the same speed. Was she always this wild? She looked older now that she was in her sixties, with a few graying hairs, but physically she seemed to have the energy of a young child. Even for a Bosmer, it was a bit much.
"And here is your menu, sir. Please ask me anything. And I mean, anything." His own hostess giggled and produced a booklet from somewhere. Angoril idly flipped through the pages without reading it. He doubted he could get anything substantial out of the target herself. Just from this first observation he could see that there was no way, barring obvious magic use, to hold her attention long enough for an indepth conversation. All he could say for now was that she looked happy, and that prying her away from this place would be difficult. And he didn't have a reason for prying her away from anything. Having the wood elf search for the emperor's assassins was an exercise in futility as only a fool would keep wearing a disguise used in a crime once already. And they got too close to success to be fools.


"Alright, I'll bite." He said to the Altmeri in front of him. "What's the secret behind the little one's success? I very much doubt it was her reasoned and well-educated econimical planning."


"A sizable starting capital," Taendril said with the slightest lift of her shoulders. "enough to survive all beginner's mistakes such as taking a loan from the wrong people. How she got that money is anyone's guess. She would tell you she got everything from Uriel Septim's own treasury. Well, most of it."
The page with Argonian meals. From experience, recipes from the Black Marsh were more focussed on removing or neutralizing poisonous ingredients for the health of anyone who wasn't an Argonian with their extra strong stomach-acid, than they were on presenting something edible. He moved on.
"And you don't believe that version." He muttered over the menu.


"Haha, I believe half of it. It is obvious that before this she'd never done an honest day's work in her life. I mean, you should have been here in the beginning. Plenty of nice-sounding ideas, but no idea on how to do anything from cooking to cleaning to drawing in guests. Her husband isn't any better. But that she stole her money from the emperor? No, I don't believe that. She says a lot of things."
That was his key. Taendril loved to gossip, and not because it was her job. He let her talk freely, prodding her only when she trailed off and pretending to weigh each meal offered as if he was an Altmer of the most delicate Summerset bloodlines. What was he looking for? He didn't know himself. Probably nothing, or merely a hint at the past that had gone by him while he meditated in his cell.


"Like that dragon-shaped clasp she keeps over the fireplace. Looks like it's been shoved down an Atronach's throat." He remembered that. It had been his after all.
"Always keep this on you, my students. The Spire guards its heart with neither rest nor mercy. Hold the mark of its master, or perish at its hands."


"Have you seen her man? Looks like a thug, one of those dark elves." He vaguely remembered Aran Geydar. A tall imposing figure, forged by the storms of Red Mountain and battle. With his spear, he knew few equals and in a different time he would have been a Blade. Or a primitive hunter in his tent. Perhaps he had been the one who assembled the Vvardenfell section of the menu, offering ash yams and Kwama eggs stewed in Scrib yelly.


"The plants are wonderful, don't you think? The Bosmer can weave it like a carpet, or train it like a dog. Give them the right carrot, like that crystal ball mounted over the door there..." Her mouth snapped shut as he jumped up, toppling his chair in the process. Angoril stormed to where Rajn Geydar was pirouetting with a full plate. A wave of his hand, and the plate and its dishes went flying towards the horizon.




"You unbelievable idiot! Are you out of your mind?!" The Altmer screamed at her. The air around him crackled and shivered and the viny carpet fled from the murderous heat.
"What in the Nine possessed you to do this?! Did you even care to think first?! Did you stop and think about all the people who bled for it, or did you just see it as a shiny trinket! And for what? Because it is incomplete it is now a harmless piece of junk? Did nobody teach you how to be responsible?! Ten years! Ten years it took me, ten years of trudging through the damndest places! And you treat it like some ornament! You goddamned Pillow!"


His words sputtered in his throat as he had to draw his breath. At this point everyone had scattered as far away from the raging sorceror as they could, either leaning against the railing, or squeezing through the former guard-tower's door. All, that was, but the very target of his anger. Only the Bosmer, who looked positively like a midget to him, had stood her ground. Only the Bosmer seemed unimpressed with the magic that ran out of control before her eyes. Only the Bosmer had the courage to speak in that moment his lungs lacked the capacity to form further rebuke.
"Out. Get out of my home and get lost."


Angoril fellt a hand tighten around his shoulder. Instantly the man's flesh began to sizzle and smoke, but the hand was not withdrawn. He gritted his teeth. How dare anyone interupt him! This was a matter of life and death! He didn't have time for wannabe heroes!
"Come along, sir." The man slurred around the two fangs that protruded from his lower jaw. "Ye can sober up outside. Ya don wan to let ya'r guild hear 'bout dis."


For a moment Angoril's fury subsided enough for his caution to return. He realized that he'd made a massive mistake. Not only had he potentially exposed himself to Rajn, who had all the reason to recognize him and shout it off the rooftops, and not only had he drawn everyone's attention to him. Not only had he possibly brought the mage's guild down on his head with his blatant display of sorcery, but he had also drawn attention to the artifact the little elf had been stupid enough to keep on display as a souvenir. The fact that it was still there suggested that no one had seen it for what it truly was. But now...


Angoril let the bouncer lead him away without putting up any resistance. He was almost, but not quite, thrown out onto the streets. Even the Orc, brave and apparantly immune to pain as he had been, was of a mind to give any reason for the Altmer's anger to reignite. Standing on the streets and aware that he should make himself scarce before the gossip left the Eight Provinces, Angoril's stomach found the time right to remind him that he hadn't ordered anything in the end.
"Bosmer!"

[McBadgere]

Temper temper!!... ...

Love it!...Brilliant stuff...

Sounds like a brilliant place to eat!!...

Absolute brilliance in the character department, loved them all...

Looking forward to more, as ever...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[mALX]

WOO HOO! Numbered chapters! I haven't reached them yet, just read the last chapter before the numbering starts, lol.

*

I didn't take notes on what I read at my Mom's, but now that I'm back I've got my JC comment pad access again, lol.

I absolutely loved this line:

Cuts, broken bone, burns and some injuries whose cause I couldn’t determine. He’d seen war firsthand and paid for it dearly. Whether all the scarring meant he was a lousy swordsman or a good one, I couldn’t tell.

Your attention to detail is always spot on perfect, never too heavy so it is intrusive. It is ambient so you (we, the reader) absorb the details without them being a part of the storyline - really excellent!

Talking about the Spellsong reminded me of the Sixth House/the Poison Song/Tay (Dagoth-Tython) - I don't know why, but that is how it hit me in this chapter.

This chapter was excellent, really showcased your ability to take raw emotions and run them as an undercurrent in your characters, hatred/anger/defensiveness/defeat/distraction - really huge talent! Awesome Write!







This post has been edited by mALX: Jan 25 2013, 12:33 AM

[mALX]

Chapter 9.8:

Words repeated themselves in her mind and she shivered at the memory of her tongue moving on its own.

"Do not deny me!"

…the real Dagon was not in any way like what the prophet had made them believe.

This whole segment was bone-chilling! The implications that Dagon was more involved with the Mythic Dawn than the figurehead shown in game is an immensely powerful idea I have never seen in any fic before - extraordinary thinking here!

You have really upped the level of intrigue in this chapter! I have to number this up there among my top favorite chapters in the whole story, Awesome Write!

Will be back to catch up the last chapter!


*

Chapter 9.9 - GAAAAH! He should have just grabbed it and run out the door with it, urk! Oh no, there will definitely be repercussions from drawing notice to it, and now he can't get back inside and remove it ... GAAAAAH! Awesome Write ... and portentious for unfortunate consequences. Urk!





This post has been edited by mALX: Feb 8 2013, 09:32 AM

[jack cloudy]

Ugh, I'm finally done with this part. This also means that chapter 9 is now officially over! (Angoril needs to do some breaking and entering, but that's a small piece I'll tag onto chapter 10.) Speaking of which, he really should have kept his cool and swiped the thingy of doom in the middle of the night.


As for the spellsong thing, I wanted to give Pyandonean magic a slightly different feel. Singing was the first thing that came to mind and why not? Dagoth Ur and his ilk had sound-based magic so it wasn't as if there's no precedent for it. Of course, I don't actually do anything with the Maormer spellsong beyond mentioning it because Latta sucks at it.



And now for the update. Sorian the Redguard and Grey-Tongue the Argonian investigator have chased some 'thieves' to the slopes north of Bruma.


Chapter 9.10

Ysmir's Tongue


We'd taken up residence in the gletsjer-guide's shack while we waited for him to return. It wasn't going to win any prizes. Fireplace, bed, table, two chairs and a beaten book that was two reads away from falling apart. Still, the shack was the best place to stay. Wickedly cold winds streamed in from Skyrim and without the cover offered by the building, we would have frozen to death in the night.


I heard them before I saw them. The sound of snow and ice being crushed underfoot were unmistakable. It almost made not lighting a fire worth it. Almost.


I crept to the window and gripped my sword with one hand and the black knife with the other. The argonian rapped his tail on the floor and waved at the blank wall behind him.
"They're coming from the gletsjer." He hissed. As if I didn't know that. It's where he sent the Skyrim brute after all. I just hadn't expected him back this soon. Actually, I hadn't expected him back at all. It made no sense anyway. Why would a thief come back with its tail tucked between its legs because someone sent it a letter and asked nicely? And speaking of the gletsjer, wasn't the other side at least a full day away just getting there? It hadn't even been that long. This stank like a setup to be honest.
Grey-Tongue looked at the sword and gestured me to leave it sheathed. Was there any furniture by the door? No, fine then. I could probably draw in time if needed.
"This had better not be a trap." I muttered.


The crunching passed behind the shack to the front and then there was the rattling of the key in the lock. I pinched my nose and swallowed. The moment of truth.




Kort, the Nord guide, came in with his hands held up and horns of ice hanging down his beard. He had been under the gletsjer. Was Skyrim closer than I thought? I waved him to the side of the door where I could see him. But he hadn't come alone. An old legion scout followed him in. And then a Redguard, and a shorter man covered top to bottom in thick furs. I looked from one to the other. They were all coated in the ice that told me they'd ventured through the tunnels of Ysmir's Tongue. But who were they? The legion man, looking crossly at Grey-Tongue and me, he was too old for the job. Legion men and women passed their fighting prime were either moved to a desk or command.


The Redguard though was far more worrysome than an old grump too incompetent to get promoted. He was like a walking arsenal, two swords, a bandolier full of knives and dressed in a patchwork armour of leather, a few bits of plate and some chain. A sellsword if there had ever been one, and a good one at that.
"Ok, stay there." I told the lot of them and decided to keep my distance from the mercenary. He gave me the chills. With the way he kept his arms, he could draw either sword or a knive with only a slight movement. Definitely not an amateur.

"Hello. I was hoping you would come. Please have a seat. I made some tea." Grey-Tongue said behind me. The furmummy made muffled noises behind his scarf as he stared right at me with his pure white eyes. Oh, crap.




The Dark Brotherhood had come to kill me! My fingers felt like wax as I fumbled for my sword. Maorlatta pulled down her scarf. I finally managed to get the Shamshir out. She was going to kill me! She and that sellsword! How was I going to fight against elf-magic?!
"Seriously, I go away for a few days and you get your face bashed in? Do you like picking fights you can't win or something?" Wait, what?


Before I could even get over the surprise, the sellsword had gotten his own sword out. The Shamshir flew out through the window and the back of my head smashed into the floor. I blinked at stars and looked at the sword that was terrifyingly close to my throat. It was a simple type found in any legion of Tamriel. Double-edged, no decoration, triangle-tip. Good for hacking and stabbing, though not perfect for either. It's almost funny how one's mind becomes occupied with the stupidest details when looking death in the eye.
"Baurus! Step back! He is not an enemy!" The Wood-elf yelled. So she wasn't brainwashed afterall. I suppose I should be happy. That didn't make what she said next any better.
"He's a friend, though he's also a total idiot with the self-preservation instincts of a generic masked underling. Seriously, sir Redguard. What did you do this time?"
Well excuse me for worrying about you. And did no one ever tell you that throwing stools at people is cheating? I heard Kort laugh. The honoured user.

At least the sellsword listened to her and pointed his sword somewhere else. Was he on her payroll and if so, where did she get the money? I was still carrying all the coin we'd made from the Ayleid haul.


I held up my hand in the hope that the Redguard would help me back on my feet, but no such luck. Instead it was Maorlatta who pushed me back down, scolding me about trying to get up before she'd checked my injuries. Meeting her here, unmolested even, was an incredible coincidence. The kind that didn't happen without the hand of a Divine to help it along. Was this what it was? The Divines telling me my fate was with her?
"Well, one thing is for sure. Life hasn't been boring ever since I let myself get dragged into her problems. Wished she actually did something about my wounds other than poking them though."



While the pale-eyed wood-elf poked and fussed, while the Redguard hovered behind her like a particularly frightening scarecrow, while Kort was the only one to help himself to tea, Grey-Tongue and the forester had pegged each other as the brains of their respective outfits and begun negotiations of some sort. I quickly lost what they were talking about as they threw too many technical terms back and forth. In the end I asked Maorlatta. Maybe she knew. It didn't seem like Grey-Tongue was interrogating the thieves. Where these people even thieves? Surely the little elf-girl would never let herself in with criminal scum.
"Sir Grey-tongue is arguing why you and he should not be executed right now."
He's what?!


Arguing why we shouldn't be killed? What kind of situation were we in?! We hadn't done anything wrong. Why would that forester want us dead? I don't even know how to hunt, I couldn't possibly poach anything! Maorlatta clasped her hands against the sides of her head and recoiled.
"Don't yell in my ears! I think he's winning. He just used pragmatism as an argument. That's always hard to beat." She screeched.
"But still, why?" I asked. The girl sniffed and for a moment she looked as if she'd swallowed a sour lemon.
"Because Jauffre is an ill-mannered controlling person with extra-legal privileges and responsibilities. Now shut up and stop wiggling your nose so much."


She continued looking at me from all angles and tapping with her finger till I had enough. Asking me to not sniff was one thing, but whatever she was doing wasn't working. There had to be an easier way to fix things. I remembered the last time she had tried to heal someone and did not look forward to being filetted like a fish. I was keenly aware that the knife she'd used for that now rested in its makeshift sheathe on my sash. It was definitely better to distract her before she worked herself up to Maorlatta the Ripper.
"Can't you cast a spell and actually do something about it? It would save time. Or are you some pointy-eared freak of nature who can't?" I asked her. It seemed to light a match.





She put her hands on her hips and pouted with trembling lips. Then, she burst.
"Well unlike someone whose name I shall not mention, I know my limits and don't go stepping over them at every opportunity. First the living corpse, and now a fight in a tavern? What are you, an overly excited fiftier who thinks he's immortal and has something to prove to his childhood sweetheart? Grow up already instead of swinging that metal weedwhacker of yours!!" I may have touched a sore point, but no way was I going to let an insult to all Redguard's prowess stand.
"Hey! Don't forget the vampire. I kicked his butt!" I yelled back at the wood elf.

She blinked, frowned and silently mouthed the word vampire over and over.
"What vampire?" She mumbled in the end. At this point, I was as confused as she was. Where was the vampire anyway? The Dark Brotherhood was as tenacious in keeping its recruits as it was at killing people. So why was she here now, as huffy as always and with a complete hatred of fighting? It made no sense.
"The one that you know, took you and all. I saw it, he saw it too!" I stammered, waving in the Argonian's direction and began to think again that this may be a trap.


"Sir Sorian, " The girl started, "there was no vampire. I am quite convinced I would remember such an occurence."


But it had happened. How could it not? I'd been there, I'd seen it! I looked to Grey-Tongue for help, but found none. When the Argonian did stop his argument with the forester, he only did it to back up Maorlatta.
"The princess is indeed correct. The fire curtain was ineffective the second time around, there was no sugar next to my tea and there were no footprints all over the carpet. A memory is an unreliable thing next to the truth of the world, Sorian. Especially a fabricated one. Ergo, what we both saw was something the Blades planted in our minds so they could steal a most important witness from me. I do however have a question. Princess, may I have a moment your time?" I broke my head on his explanation. It made sense if magic could do that, but why would the Blades of all people want her? And wait, did the lizard just call her princess? That had to be a joke.




She turned to him with an air of 'anything's better than talking to this idiot'.
"Certainly. How may I be of assistance?" How she did not pick up on the obvious sarcasm was beyond me. Where was her castle? Her crown and faithful manservant with a sword of silver? She was as far away from being a princess as you could get.
"When we first met, you asked me to bring you somewhere. Are my services still required?" Heck, when I first met her, she was dressed in rags! She was a delusional and strangely smart beggar!
"No, that matter has been resolved. But I thank you for your concern."
"Excellent." The Argonian hissed with one of his bare-toothed smiles. "I apologize for not recognizing the name before, princess. The university's librarian was most forthcoming in resolving this failing of mine however. It won't happen again." SHE WAS NOT A....but the Arcane University knew her name. That place was the biggest vault of knowledge for the sake of knowledge in all Tamriel. So did that mean, it was all real?

Grey-Tongue nodded and turned his attention back to the forester. The balding man gestured to the door.
"What are you still doing here?" He barked. "You have your mission, now go undertake it!"
Kort was laughing again when we left.



"Wait, you are really a princess?" I asked her as I followed her outside the shack. I was stunned. Meeting an actual princess? No, fix that. Meeting an actual princess and saving her life as the first thing you do? That was the kind of thing heroic songs were all about! I'd gotten myself half a kingdom and the king's favorite daughter's hand in marriage without even knowing about it!
"Did I ever say I wasn't?" I looked at her with new eyes. It explained so much. Her general haughty attitude, her fussiness over getting dirt on her, her general uselessness in anything that wasn't brain-stuff. Yes, she was princessy now that I thought about it.


"Well," I began. She'd said she was a merchant. Royalty did not trade, it was beneath them. But I wasn't going to say that to the face of one, especially when she had a Redguard bodyguard at her beck and call.
"I didn't know. I thought that at the gate when you told that guard. I thought you were lying, bluffing." What else was I supposed to believe when the elf you found in an alley starts talking down the guards like that? She looked at me sharply before answering.
"I wasn't. The only lie I told then was that you were part of my official entourage. I am Maorlatta Orgnum, of the House Orgnum, of the ruling family of Pyandonea. My g, father is the king so yes, I am a princess. I own land, a kelp farm, a fishery, collect taxation, speak law and if I find the time for it, I do charity. Any other questions?"


I tried to think of anything, but couldn't think of something to say without setting her off again.
"Err, no. Not really. No, I am completely without questions, your highness." I said and tried my best bow.
"Good, now don't mention it ever again." Know what? I'd take the kingdom, but I'd pass on the king's daughter's hand.




She suddenly dug into a satchel on her belt and took out what looked like a fishhook and a tweezer. I looked at the two tiny instruments in her hand and felt my eyes grow big. The ripper had come out.
"Oh, and speaking of favours." She said in an innocent voice that didn't fit her intentions. "Please hold still for a moment, I wish to do something. It's not magic, but I do have a few ideas on how to fix your face." Yes, I really should settle on just the kingdom.
"Err...I think I'll pass. Yes, definitely. There is no need to concern yourself with your humble servant. It is but a scratch."


The elven princess rolled her eyes.
"Humble, you? Auri-El have mercy upon me. I think the world might be ending." She groaned but to my relief, she didn't press the issue. I could feel the sellswords eyes on my back. He was obviously not happy with her decision to bring me along, but couldn't speak against her. As for me, I did feel kind of bad for abandoning Grey-Tongue, but the Argonian was a tough one and escorting real royalty was definitely the bigger job.
"Fine, it's your body and as far as I can tell, not fatal. But don't blame me when you can't win over any free women with it. Now come along. I'm not letting you out of my sight again." Maorlatta said and turned down the path towards Bruma, still muttering. "You would probably try to wrestle a flying tree the moment I turn around."

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Feb 16 2013, 04:14 PM