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> Kraven Desselius: The Victory That Broke The Chains., The Best Techniques Are Passed On By the Survivors.
BretonBlood
post Jun 27 2017, 03:15 AM
Post #461


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Joined: 9-March 15



As Acadian said great descriptions in this chapter, it was perfectly described so creating an image of what was happening was very easy. And Glalian is an interesting character, if I were Lycus I wouldn't trust him the least bit. He seems to only be thinking about himself and wants to make some coin on the side from Lycus

Can't wait to see what happens next


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“People love that cliché ‘Time heals all wounds’ but live long enough you realize that most clichés are true. It’s amazing what even the smallest passage of time can accomplish…the cuts can close, the imperfections it can smooth over. But in the end it comes down to the size of the wound, doesn’t it....”
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Darkness Eternal
post Jun 27 2017, 03:22 PM
Post #462


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From: The Hunting Grounds



Acadian, since you mentioned you're not quite sure what's going on I thought I'd explain and get into a bit more detail. Forgive me for not offering an explanation earlier. Several chapters ago Shavaash was sneaking through Tivela's tower on the night of Lycus' transformation and he came across Languorwine. I may be wrong but perhaps you're not familiar with this poison because I don't think Buffy ever was part of the cultish Dark Brotherhood.

Here's a word about it by Vicente: "The blade has been coated with a rare poison called Languorwine. One drop in a normal human bloodstream will mimic the effects of death immediately."

The poison Glalian took from Lycus' satchel causes a deathlike symptom. There was a quest where a man named Francois Motierre owed a large sum to the criminal underworld who felt insulted at his inability to repay and wanted him dead. Long story short he faked his own death when a Dark Brotherhood assassin(the player) struck him with the poison blade in front of the criminal underworld enforcer, who believed Motierre was killed.

The scene I wrote is Glalian offering to "execute" Lycus publically in exchange for the location of Andrano's loot Lycus took with him as he teleported from the tower. Glalian was informed by the old man that Lycus was carrying goods. Lycus would "die" in front of the dark elf multitude, and later pay his due to the Legion captain who also hopes his victory in capturing the infamous Kraven will yield extra boons.


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"Every human spends a night or two on the dark side and regrets it. But what if you only exist on the dark side? We just want the same things that you do: a chance at life, at love. And so we try and sometimes fail. But when you're something other, a monster, the consequences are worse. Much worse. You wake up from your nightmares. We don't."
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Acadian
post Jun 27 2017, 04:38 PM
Post #463


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From: Las Vegas



DE, thanks for that explanation! That makes perfect sense, which enriches this past chapter greatly for me - I understand the 'deal' they are looking to make now. Thanks again! goodjob.gif


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Darkness Eternal
post Jul 5 2017, 02:37 AM
Post #464


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From: The Hunting Grounds



BretonBlood: Hmm, both seems to be getting something out of this, but no one can be trusted quite yet. Thanks BB. smile.gif

Acadian: Thanks Acadian. Glalian is surely an interesting character for however brief he's here. smile.gif


Chapter One hundred And Four:
=Summary Execution=


Lycus hurried toward plaza, where a great multitude of people stood surrounding the statue of a dragon. The Imperial heard booted feet thudding into his back and behind and spine and the fierce sting of the sword from the tavern's brawl cut in his shoulders, the infuriated faces and the dust in his eyes and the gobs of their spit stringing from his nose and cheek and neck, feeling it on his face like an enormous scab, already dried and encrusted by the heat of the sun, and, above all, one anonymous wild voice high and hysterical over the furious uproar: "Burn him! Burn him! Burn the Imperial devil right here!”

And through the stumbling march Lycus' own listless hope and wonder, curiously commingled: I wish they would get it over with, but whatever it is they’re wanting to do, burn me, hang me, put out my eyes, or behead me, why don’t they get it over with right now? But they had done nothing but spit on him, and their spit seemed everlasting, its sourness a part of him. But save for this and the kicks and the shoves from the guards behind him, Lycus had come out unharmed, wondrously so, thinking even as they chained him to a pole as he beheld a masked executioner holding a sharp axe, the guards kept the enraged mob at bay.

Lycus thought, I was never told anything about a headsman.

His mind turned inward upon his predicament. He found himself thinking of his powers of transformation, whether to adopt his true form of the common wolf or the beast that can turn these men into wailing children: I'd be hunted and marked not only by the law but by the Tribunal. Should I risk my fate now, and go with this plan? What if it is a trick?

Then suddenly, and for the first time, with the same kind of faint shivery chill at his spine and shoulders that announced the commencement of a fever—a prickle at his neck as if from the lighest passing touch of icy fingers—he began to fear the coming of his own death. It was not terror, it was not even panic; it was rather an apprehension and a faint one at that, an airless mounting sense of discomfort and uneasiness as if, knowing that he had eaten a piece of tainted steak, he was awaiting the cramps and the griping flux to come, the sweats and the gut-sickness. And somehow this sudden fear of death, or rather this tremulous and hesitant emotion which was more like a dull worry than fright, had less to do with death itself, with the fact that he might soon die, than with his inability to pray or make any kind of contact with Hircine. He meant, it was not that he had wanted to beseech Hircine because he was afraid of dying; it was rather that his own
failure in praying to him had caused him now this troublesome fear of death. He felt a trickle of sweat worm its humid way down the side of his forehead.

Now he could tell that a man of sorts, perhaps a leader of the dark elf community there, was approaching and facing the crowd, no doubt a relative to one of the fallen of Tel Bratheru. He read the names from a piece of parchment, among them were Bratheru Andrano and Tivela, and Lycus knew at once they were the ones who were killed in the massacre.

The dark elf let the paper slip from his hand onto ground and wheeled toward the six magistrates at present at the execution, speaking quickly, almost without a pause, his next words surprisingly quiet but coming in a rush. "People, people! Citizens! Listen! It is self-evident and self-explained why this man is in chains. It would be very unseemly to indulge in a prolixity of words after the simple fact of his presence here and witness accounts—accounts . . . each bloody and horrifying phrase of which reveals the prisoner setting here as a fiend beyond any parallel, an Oblivion-born and degenerate massmurderer the likes of which has been unknown to us."

The Mer paused. "Now, this is no elaboration on the truth; this is truth itself. Search the annals of all time, pry into the darkest and obscurest chronicles of mortal bestiality and you will search in vain for the equal of sech villainy. Scourges of the past—men who ransacked noble estates and kept the population in thrall—beasts with rapacious appetites shared among the mongrel hordes who laid waste to the cities and towns of the past—vipers in men's clothing all, yet not a man amongst them that does not tower as a pillar of virtue andrectitude alongside the monster setting here this day, right here." He pointed an accusing finger at Lycus.

Bemused, the grand names tolling in Lycus' brain like chimes, he felt a kind of horrible, silent laughter welling up within him as the stupid-looking, bull-necked man propelled him thus into history.

He again turned and gazed at Lycus, squinty eyes filled with scorn and hatred. “Yeah, uh-huh, those men, abominable as their deeds may have been, was yet capable of a certain magnanimousness. Even their vengeful and ruthless code demanded that they spare the lives of the young, the helpless, the old and the frail, the pitifully weak. Even their hard rules allowed them a smidgen of charity; and wanton in their cruelty as they was, some spark of grace, some quality of mercy compelled them oftentimes to withhold the sword when it come to shedding the blood of helpless innocence, babies and so on. My friends—and I shall be brief, for this case needs no clamorous protestation—the prisoner here, unlike his bloody predecessors in evil, can lay hold on to no mitigation by reason of charity or mercy. No compassion, no memory of past kindnesses or of gentle and paternal care deviated him from the execution of these bleak deeds. Tender innocence and feeble old age—sech alike fell victim to his inhuman lust. A fiend incarnate, self-confessed, his nefarious actions now stand revealed in all their hideous lineaments. Fellow Imperial soldiers! Captain! The people cry out for swift retribution! He must pay the supreme penalty with all due speed, that the stink of his depraved and hateful flesh be erased from the nostrils of a shocked community!" He was finished. Suddenly Lycus was aware that the man's eyes were spilling over with tears. He had made a prodigious effort.

Dabbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, the dark elf stood beside a woman whom Lycus presumed was his wife; there was no great sound in the courtyard—only a subdued mumbling and a shuffing of feet, a renewed outburst of hacking and coughing through which that solitary noise of hysterical female weeping rose and rose in a soft despondent wail. Across the courtyard Lycus saw Glalian murmuring behind his hand to a cadaverous man in a black cloak, then he quickly arose and addressed the people. And immediately, with no shock, Lycus realized he was now speaking in tones that he always reserved for Dunmer society, not for a prisoner.

“Honorable Justices,” Glalian said, “As part of the Legion and captain, I wish to commend our friend here for his persuasive and fluent account of this prisoner and also for his splendid summation. We heartily concur and submit this case to swift and impartial justice without argument.” He paused, turned to glance at Lycus impassively, then continued: “However, one or two things, if it pleases—and I too shall try to be brief, agreeing with the able magistrate that this case needs no clamorous protestation. Felicitous phrase! I would like to make it clear that I say these words not by way of argument, nor out of the desire for mitigation or extenuation for the prisoner, who to our minds is every bit as black-hearted—no play on words intended!—as he has been painted. Yet if these assizes have been convened to apportion justice to the principals in this conspiracy, they have also been held in the spirit of inquiry. For this terrible event has given rise to grave questions—crucial and significant questions the answers to which involve the safety and the well-being and peace of mind of every man, woman, and child within the sound of my voice, and far beyond, aye, throughout every inch and ell of this Empire where Men, Mer and Betmer dwell in such close propinquity. Not a few of these questions, with the capture and confinement of the prisoner here, have been answered to our considerable satisfaction. The widespread fear—no, conviction—that this uprising was no mere local event but was part of a larger, organized scheme with ramifications spreading out Dreugh-like throughout the slave population—this terror has been safely laid to rest."

Lycus tensed his jaw as the words were spoken. Glalian was no friend of slavery, but his way of speaking was convicing, even to him.

“Yet other questions perforce remain to trouble us. This rebellion was put down. Its maniacal participants have received and will receive swift and impartial justice, and its leader—the misguided wretch who stands before us now—will quickly follow them to the grave. Nonetheless, in the dark and privy stillness of our minds there are few of us who are not still haunted by worrisome doubts. Honesty, stark reality—naked fact!—compel us to admit that the seemingly impossible did, in truth, eventuate: benevolently treated, recipients of the most tender and solicitous care, a band of fanatical slaves did, in truth, rise up murderously like a pack of animals and in the dead of night strike down those very people under whose stewardship they had enjoyed a contentment and tranquillity unequaled anywhere among the members of their race. It was not a fantasy, not a nightmare! It was an actual happening, and its awful toll in ruin and heartbreak and bereavement can be measured to this very day by the somber pall of mourning which hangs like a cloud here—here in this courtyard, days and more after the hideous event. We cannot erase these questions, they refuse to dissolve like a mist, leaving not a rack behind. We cannot wish them away. They haunt us like the specter of a threatening black hand above the sweetly pillowed head of a slumbering babe. Like the memory of a stealthy footstep in a murmurous and peaceful summer garden. How did it happen? From what dark wellspring did it flow? Will it ever happen again as it did in the times of the Ayleids?” Glalian paused and again turned toward Lycus, the square ruddy face impassive, bland, regarding him as ever without hostility.

Lycus had grown only mildly surprised by his voice, filled as it was with eloquence and authority, free of the sloppy patronizing half-literate Captain-to-a-prisoner tones he had used in jail. It was obviously he—not the dark elf magistrate—who was in charge of things. “How did it happen?” he repeated in a slow, measured voice. “From what dark wellspring did it flow? Will it ever happen again?” And he paused once more, then with a flourish toward Lycus, said: “The answer lies here, the answer lies in the flesh."

High over the flat land thunderheads loom, their undersides churning, promising a storm. Lycus felt the sweat rolling down his back. After a bit he let his eyes close, and he smelled the rich odor of guar droppings as he made a silent prayer.

“Kraven Desselius! Step forth!”

Lycus took a step as the guard unlocked him from the pillar. It was hot and very still, and for a long time as he stood clumsily in his chains leaning against the pillar where there was no interruption to the silence save for the panting and breathing of the people.

Glalian spoke again. “Have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced against you?” His voice was tremulous, feeble, dead.

“I have not,” Lycus replied. “My deeds are known to all. I've done what needed to be done. As long as slavery persists, more dark elf blood will flow. I would do it again if I had to."

The crowd of dark elves roared in anger and protest.

Glalian raised his hands. "Enough! Enough! Silence!" He turned to Lycus "Attend then to the sentence. You have been arraigned and convicted of one of the highest crimes resulting in the Death Warrant. You have been convicted of plotting in cold blood the indiscriminate destruction of men, of helpless women, and of infant children . . . The evidence before us leaves not a shadow of doubt but that your hands were imbrued in the blood of the innocent, and your own confession tells us that they were stained with the blood of a master—who sadly, was, too indulgent. Could I stop here your crime would be sufficiently aggravated . . . But the original contriver of a plan, deep and deadly, one that never could be effected, you managed so far to put it into execution as to deprive us of many of our most valuable citizens, and this was done when they were in a moment of celebration under circumstances shocking to us all . . . And while upon this part of the subject, I cannot but call your attention to the poor misguided wretches who have gone before you.” He paused for an instant, breathing heavily. “They are not few in number—they were your bosom associates, and the blood of all cries aloud, and calls upon you as the author of their misfortune. Yes. You forced them unprepared from time to the afterlife. Brought down by this load of guilt, your only justification is that you were led away by fanaticism and a unrighteous thirst for vengeance.”

He paused again, gazing at Lycus from the awful and immeasurable distances where not alone his eyes but his dying flesh and spirit seemed to dwell, remote as the stars. “If this be true,” he concluded slowly, “from my soul I pity you, and while you have my sympathies I am nevertheless called upon to pass sentence of law. Your execution is at hand, and your only hope must be in another world . . . another life. The judgment is that you stand here, and on this day, at sunset, not face a swift and merciless beheading, but to be hung by the neck until you are dead! dead! dead!—"

The crowd was in an uproar, and Lycus saw moment all at once, from the front, the sides and he felt something behind him. He turned almost by instinct and saw a black-robed figure that came rushing in. Lycus took a step back and the man slashed at his throat, the world became wild. Lycus twisted from the knife, just enough so it barely grazed his skin. I'm cut. When he put his hand to the side of his neck, blood welled between his fingers. The black-robed man punched again with the knife, this time the blade entered his belly. When the third strike took him in his chest, he gave a grunt and fell over as he felt something foreign swim through his veins like tendrils. The dagger stayed where he had buried it.

"Guards, guards! Assassin!" someone cried out as the black-robed man fled from his sight.

The crowd went wild.

Lycus' world became shadow.


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"Every human spends a night or two on the dark side and regrets it. But what if you only exist on the dark side? We just want the same things that you do: a chance at life, at love. And so we try and sometimes fail. But when you're something other, a monster, the consequences are worse. Much worse. You wake up from your nightmares. We don't."
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BretonBlood
post Jul 5 2017, 05:08 AM
Post #465


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A wonderful setup for Lycus's execution. You could feel the emotion in the Dark Elf's words and you could sense how good of an actor Glalian is. Very wonderfully written.

Lycus has been cut, and stabbed, although in Oblivion Morrtiere only had to be sliced once for the poison to work it's magic, I wonder if the assassins may have gone overboard here in slicing Lycus and stabbing him. Time will tell, but I hope it works out and we find Lycus free of the Legion and Dark Elves hunting him.


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“People love that cliché ‘Time heals all wounds’ but live long enough you realize that most clichés are true. It’s amazing what even the smallest passage of time can accomplish…the cuts can close, the imperfections it can smooth over. But in the end it comes down to the size of the wound, doesn’t it....”
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Acadian
post Jul 5 2017, 06:56 PM
Post #466


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Ahah, I see how Glalian implemented his plan now. It seems he is good to his word. Hopefully the ‘assassin’ was precise enough at his craft that Lycus’ flesh can recover from the convincing wounds after the sleeping poison runs its course.


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Darkness Eternal
post Jul 11 2017, 04:01 PM
Post #467


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From: The Hunting Grounds



BretonBlood: Thanks BretonBlood. Glalian certainly has learned the art of acting. He's spent more than enough time with the dark elves tongue.gif

If I'm not mistaken it has been mentioned a single drop was enough to put a mortal to sleep. Lycus, being more than mortal, required a bit . . . more. Time will tell if Lycus is free from the law, but judging by the way things are going, I'm sure we all know how this is going to end. wink.gif

Acadian: This will be addressed in this chapter. Thanks Acadian wink.gif

Glalian's plan indeed has worked so far.

Previously on Victory That Broke The Chains: Lycus has been publically "executed" for his crimes in a summary execution, though the manner of his "death" was at the hands of an "assassin" that surprised the mob of spectactors.

Chapter One hundred And Five:
=The Walking Dead Man=


Lycus woke to find himself laying to the cold stone slab of the crypt. Sputtering torches threw writhing shadows on the moldering stone walls. Rats chittered in the corners, alarmed by his sudden movements. A blazing brazier failed to dispel the dank, frigid atmosphere of the surroundings. Darkness clustered beneath the high domed ceiling.

In truth, he was amazed to find himself still alive. His bruised arms and legs ached from the chains. Lycus tried to reach up and massage his neck, only to feel a sudden stiffness. The damp floor stones sent a chill through his bones, and he trembled despite himself. Hunger and thirst added to his misery. How long have I been unconscious? he wondered. Is it day or night? All he could tell for certain was that he was indeed alive and well.

Lycus felt as if he’d been drained by a spell when he finally staggered out of the stone slab. Thank the gods! he thought shakily, both relieved and surprised that he actually had survived his nerve-jangling encounter in the courtyard. He had forgotten just how bloodthirsty some dark elves could be.

He began again to gather power, but the icy steel of the blade that had slid easily through his flesh gnawed at his concentration, causing him to look at his wounds. The sensation—not very painful—made his skin crawl, and he spent some attention destroying the mist that fogged the perceptions of his mind: he looked around his surroundings and saw that he was in a crypt styled like the ones back home, the only light to confirm the fact was the torch Glalian held next beside a black-robed man that held an empty vial in his hands, the contents presumably poured into Lycus' body as the antidote.

Glalian smirked as he handed Lycus a parchment, in which the Imperial grabbed with shaky hands. His eyes scanned the paper, reading the headline: "Justice Is Served! Madman Executed! Tribunal Be Praised!"

When the realization hit him, Lycus had to smile. He was dead in the eyes of the dark elves. Dead. Dead. Dead. Executed. And yet here he was. All he had to do was slip undetected from Morrowind, and into a quiet peaceful life. No one would ever know, save for Glalian, who wasn't planning on spilling the secrets lest he's willing on ushering self-destruction. His death was so brilliant it made Lycus laugh aloud. The sound echoed through the transepts and crypts and chapels, as if the dead interred within the walls were laughing too.

"Words alone can't express my gratitude," said Lycus with a hushed tone now. "They wanted me dead. The reasonable thing was to submit one final time for them . . .If they only knew."

"Reasonable, indeed," Glalian purred. He rested his elbows on the slab and steepled his fingers before his face. "You know, my friend, a reasonable man adapts himself to the world: an unreasonable man persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Thus all progress would depend on the unreasonable man."

Lycus moved, and felt a strange sensation where the dagger had cut. He looked at his healed wounds, and then at the "assassin", confusing wrinkling his forehead. "You cut me deep, three times."

"Aye," the skeletal man said nonchalantly. "You didn't fall the first time as you should have. Must have potent blood." He shrugged. "And I had to make it convincing. I assured Glalian's your wounds weren't fatal. We had enough potions to keep you from slipping into a true death."

"I owe you something Captain Glalian." Lycus said at last. "Four-thousand septims was it?"

"Your end of the bargain," Glalian noted. "And your word that you will never return to Morrowind. Promise that you will so much as not breathe a word to anyone."

A cold hand reached into Lycus' chest. "Of course I won't. What's that supposed to mean? After all this, you don't trust me?"

"I know. . ." Glalian mused, "I know you're a fellow who'd rather kill a man than lie to him . . ."

"Killing is simpler," Lycus said, with a thin laugh that tried to sound hearty. "You do it, it's done, it's over. A lie is like a pet—you have to tend to it, or it'll turn on you and bite you on the ass."

"Do you still believe that?"

He made his voice as flat as his thumping heart would let him. "I'm as honest as circumstances allow. I have nothing here. I want nothing to do with the dark elves."

"Hmpf. A truthful answer, that. Very well. We'll give you some appropiate clothing, and I think this belongs to you." Glalian handed Lycus a long piece of steel wrapped around in old cloth. Lycus unfolded the material and caught a glimpse of black and red, and proceeded to enfold his sword again. While glad he had it returned to him, there was something else still missing.

"What of my armor? I'm taking it home with me."

"Waiting for you just outside Ebonheart, dead man. You know we'll have to replace your 'corpse'. The dark elves are debating whether you are to be buried in a decent and becoming manner. Some wish your 'body' to be skinned, and your flesh made of grease and given up for necromancy. I bet some even wish to make a coinpurse of your hide. And they call us Imperials animals. Can't say I blame them, I mean look at you."

Lycus gave the "assassin" a scathing look, then stalked wordlessly about the crypt. Glalian turned toward his hired "assassin", an amused expression upon his wizened face. “Congratulations. I think you just made the top of his [censored] list."

The Imperial warrior pissed in the darkness, downed a flagon of water, and donned a clean set of black woolens, laced up a black leather jerkin, and pulled on a pair of well-worn boots. For last he covered his head and face with a cowl. Both men watched with shrewd eyes. He allowed the two to lead the way out the crypt, and out into the open.

Passing on the courtyard, he could go about without hesitation because he'd seen his goal before him, solid in front of his eyes and the path between where he was and where he needed to be was physical, was an actual expanse of dirt and road.

Although the execution obviously had taken place a day ago judging by the courier news, it was child’s play to walk around Ebonheart with nothing but a few extra laters of clothing. Lycus raced after the guards through the city until the smell of men and the din of raucous voices caused him to slow his pace and advance more warily through the city. He crept furtively away from the noise and toward the outskirts of Ebonheart, taking care to stay clear of whatever lay ahead. Glalian gestured for him to move quietly as well, so that the they passed through the night like specters, barely disturbing a single soul.

The incessant rain that began was not improving Lycus' disposition. A never-ending trickle of cold water ran down the back of his neck as he and Glalian lurked in the shadows of a dismal alley in one of Ebonheart's less savory areas, only a few blocks away from the drunkard-infested fleshpots of the squares. Broken glass and urine littered the cracked pavement beneath his feet as rainwater drenched them.

The only good thing about the miserable weather, Lycus reflected, was that it had emptied the adjoining avenues of unwanted tourists, carousers, and street rabble. Even Ebonheart's growing population of homeless indigents appeared to have sought drier domiciles elsewhere. Good, he thought sourly. He hunched beneath his black coat, keeping his face hidden behind his collar like a turtle retreating halfway into its shell. The fewer eyes that witness tonight’s escapade, the better.

They reached a carriage waiting just outside Ebonheart, and Lycus climbed on the back alongside his personnal belongings, as Glalian sat next to the rider in the front, commanding him to move the horses forward. Upon inquiry, Lycus revealed to Glalian the location of the loot he took from Andrano's tower, and the rider made haste to the location.

After some time has passed, they had arrived there just outside of an ancestral tomb. Within the tomb, flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a long procession of doors that marched ahead, one by one, into the dark. Lycus has banished the ghosts from here in his first arrival. The place still was vacant.

Here, no sepulchres or sarcophagus held the dead. Mortal remains were placed in circles surrounded by ash. The only exception to this dark elf custom was a corpse unbelonging to the family who owned the crypt; a form shrouded in silk, pierced by arrows, in the far corner of the crypt. Dark elves believe it is sacrilege to bury the dead, and leave them to rot in a coffin. Instead they burn their dead, their ashes and bones deposited in a family tomb.

Lycus gave Tivela's remains a passing glance, and turned to Glalian. "There is the mistress of Tel Bratheru." He walked over to the corner of the tomb, where he found stacks upon stacks of small crates, within them coinpurses and satchels full of septims and between them jewels and rings. Glalian took it upon himself to search it and after a thorough inspection, he nodded at his hired "assassin", and shared some of the coin. He turned to Lycus at last with a fistful of septims in his hands.

"There is a silt-strider waiting for you. I suggest you continue wear that cowl, and if I might suggest tying your hair into a pony-tail. Better yet, shave that beard of yours and get passage out of Morrowind as soon as you can. You have more than enough coin now."

Lycus nodded, and thanked the man. "You don't have to tell me twice, Captain Glalian."

Lycus took whatever he could from the ancestral tomb over his shoulders, while he carried two crates on his hands that could pay for his voyage out of this forsaken place. Glalian and his thug followed wordlessly behind, shivering in the subterranean chill. It was always cold down here in these places, it seemed. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the crypt. Lycus looked once more at Tivela's body. It'd be the last time he would see her. He couldn't say he would miss her.

Once outside, Lycus was given permission to ride on the carriage to a silt strider. He'd be in Seyda Neen in a few hours. At night, the roads were sparsely traveled. In the skies, only cliffracers reigned supreme. He'd have no trouble with them.

He only prayed Shavaash and his friends would be there still. They left the cornerclub in haste, and never made it back to the ancestral tomb for the gold they would use to pay for the passage out. Lycus would be their salvation . . . that's if they are indeed still there.

Before he departed to the silt strider, he gave one final look to Glalian, who waved him off on his way. "Safe travels home, Imperial. This is a new life for you. May the Nine Divines protect and guide you on your journey."

Lycus could only nod. "Likewise, Captain, likewise."


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"Every human spends a night or two on the dark side and regrets it. But what if you only exist on the dark side? We just want the same things that you do: a chance at life, at love. And so we try and sometimes fail. But when you're something other, a monster, the consequences are worse. Much worse. You wake up from your nightmares. We don't."
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BretonBlood
post Jul 11 2017, 06:11 PM
Post #468


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Good so Glalian held up his end of the bargain, I was half expecting someone to betray the other here lol. Like Lycus kill them in the tomb or something.

Lycus has his freedom in reach, and the coin to get there. Now we just have to see if his friends made it to safety. I'm hoping since they didn't come back for the loot that means they are waiting for lycus's return.


--------------------
“People love that cliché ‘Time heals all wounds’ but live long enough you realize that most clichés are true. It’s amazing what even the smallest passage of time can accomplish…the cuts can close, the imperfections it can smooth over. But in the end it comes down to the size of the wound, doesn’t it....”
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Acadian
post Jul 11 2017, 06:54 PM
Post #469


Paladin
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Joined: 14-March 10
From: Las Vegas



Of reasonable men and pet lies. . . plenty of fun insights herein.

I’m happy to see no doublecrossing among Glalian, his assassin and Lycus.

It seems like Lycus has the tools and trappings he needs to make good his escape. It speaks highly of him that his first free thoughts are of Shavaash and his friends. Like Lycus, I hope he can find them and get them all outta Morrowind!


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- Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 23rd July 2017 - 07:39 PM