Tarvyn Dralor: Caught in the Web Options

[Grits]

I like the description of the Emperor’s sword. I also like that he drew it to defend himself but the Blades kept that from being necessary. The Blades’ last stand was a treat to read. You did great justice to the fall of Glenroy.

I loved Baurus’s account of the events leading up to the assassination. Very well done. I’m really enjoying this story!

[Callidus Thorn]

Thanks once again guys, glad you're enjoying it.


Sorry about the delay, had a couple of issues with the writing, and a rather nasty week of next to no sleep, which rather put a crimp on things.

Chapter 1 Part 4

By the time Tarvyn crawled out of the sewers, spattered with filth and goblin blood, night had fallen. Before him stretched Lake Rumare, its dark reflection of the night sky crazed by the rippling waters, as if the stars themselves shivered at the Emperor's death. Tarvyn looked out across for a long moment, savouring the first view of freedom he'd had in days. Then his thoughts turned to his task. Swimming the lake was out of the question. Tarvyn was a weak swimmer, and if there were anything akin to slaughterfish in the water, he'd have a hard time seeing them at night. And then there was the evening chill to consider. Tarvyn didn't want to find out how cold that water was.

Instead he hugged the shoreline, never straying more than two or three strides from the lake, and made his way around the City Isle. He moved in short spurts, dashing forward a few strides before falling into a crouch, bow in hand, alert for any sign he'd been spotted. Nothing saw him but mudcrabs, and Tarvyn laughed whenever they started moving towards him. Vvardenfell had mudcrabs that could tear your leg off if given the chance, these Cyrodiilic creatures were pitiful by comparison. Though after torching one with a couple of flares he conceded that the Cyrodiilic variety were tastier than the ones back home.

Somewhere on the northern side of City Isle he found a wooden bridge across the lake, and, after crossing, continued heading what he believed to be west. He remained as close to the lake as possible, still moving in the same pattern of dashes and halts. Each time he strained his ears for signs of alarm, and each time heard naught but the wind, insects, and the gentle music of the lake.

After a time the vast bridge that led to the Imperial City became visible against the night sky, as much through the stars it blocked out as the braziers that burned on it, and Tavyn moved with more confidence knowing that he was headed in the right direction. The shoreline turned towards the bridge, and Tarvyn continued to follow it, hoping it would bring him close enough to the road that he might be able to spot a road sign.

Soon after a flickering light came into view, which revealed itself to be carried by a Legionnaire on horseback as it drew nearer. Tarvyn dropped into a crouch, hoping to avoid being seen by the patrolling soldier. The last thing he needed right now was some Legionnaire asking too many questions. If anyone found out he had the Amulet of Kings, the Legion would have him back in a cell so fast his feet wouldn't touch the ground.

As the Legionnaire drew nearer, following his patrol route along the road, Tarvyn dropped even lower, stretched out on his belly to provide as low a profile as possible. So intent was Tarvyn on the Legionnaire he almost didn't see the signpost illuminated by torchlight. He was too far away to read it, but as soon as the Legionnaire was out of sight Tarvyn was on his feet again, creeping over to the signpost. It was difficult to read by starlight, but one of the arms pointed in the direction Baurus had described, or so Tarvyn thought. A few moments of close study confirmed it, and Tarvyn darted back off the road.

He moved far enough away to be out of sight of anyone on the road, but kept close enough that he could find it easily. He mimicked the path as best he could, creeping back into view of the road occasionally to gauge its direction. It was hard going, trying to remain stealthy as he struggled through tall grass, skirted wild-growing bushes and even a few times climbed over the trunks of fallen trees. Tarvyn was no woodsman, and night was no time to learn. Even animals were a danger to Tarvyn, as more than a few times he was forced to draw his bow to defend himself from berserk rats or wolves. Each fight made keeping track of the road harder, and he once lost it completely, rediscovering it again only through luck.

Last Seed 28

It was shortly after dawn that he reached Weynon Priory, with not one person having seen him since he left Baurus. He made his way inside, and after asking one of the monks about Jauffre, headed upstairs. Despite the early hour, Jauffre was already sat behind a desk, with another chair placed before it, going through a small stack of papers. He glanced up at Tarvyn and sneered, though it lasted only a moment, as if he'd forgotten he was a monk. Without saying anything, Tarvyn reached into a belt pouch he'd taken from one of the Emperor's attackers and drew out the Amulet of Kings, placing it on the desk. Jauffre's face ran through a gamut of expressions; from astonishment to outrage before settling on stunned fascination. “Who are you? And how did you come by the Amulet of Kings?”

Tarvyn sat down, grateful to be off his feet for a time. “ My name is Tarvyn Dralor. The Emperor gave me the Amulet, moments before he was murdered.”

The blood drained from Jauffre's face, and for a moment Tarvyn thought he was going to collapse at his desk. His hands shook briefly, and Tarvyn could see the strain in the monk's features as he fought to master himself. When he spoke his voice was thick with emotion held barely in check. “Then the enemy have succeeded, damn their hides. Tell me what happened, all of it.”

“First, I must explain why I was in that cell. It was not by chance. I was meant to be there, though I do not yet know why.” Tarvyn told Jauffre everything; his reason for leaving Vvardenfell, the murder he committed upon arrival, and Baurus' tale of the Emperor's Guard in the Imperial City. One of the monks brought up a tray of breakfast for the two of them, cups of water with slices of cold meat and bread. Jauffre ate none of it, but Tarvyn ate ravenously. After days in prison even such simple fare was like a banquet for him. Jauffre's expression darkened as Tarvyn told him of the death of Captain Renault, and Glenroy's heroic end. As he spoke of the Emperor's murder, Jauffre looked as though he was torn between nausea and despair, only for the two to be swallowed by grim resolve.

“Then all is not yet lost. As long as one Septim lives, there is still hope. And for the moment, we hold the advantage, tenuous though it may be. Nearly a score of my best may be dead, but from what you've told me the enemy may well have lost hundreds. I'll have a force of Blades sent to retrieve the heir before sunset. Speed may yet save us all, if they need to rebuild their numbers.” Jauffre tossed Tarvyn a key from a pocket in his robes. “This key opens the chest over there, supplies I keep for travelling agents. Take what you will, I'll also see that you're pardoned. I'll let you know when I have need of you.”

Tarvyn was moving towards the chest before Jauffre had finished speaking, but pulled up short. “Have need of me? My debt to the Empire is repaid, by the Emperor's own word.”

Jauffre's expression grew colder, and Tarvyn had to fight down a shiver. This was no feeble old man sat across from him. Though age had taken it's toll, at heart Jauffre was still a warrior. Tarvyn could hear the steel in his voice, and see the fire in his eyes. And from the way Jauffre spoke, Tarvyn suspected that if you were to cut his heart in two, you'd find the word 'Duty' carved through it. Jauffre's next words seemed to prove Tarvyn right.

“You've paid off one debt, Tarvyn, but what of the others? You took the life of a Legionnaire, do you not owe the Empire for that? And if delivering the Amulet of Kings repaid the debt that brought you to Cyrodiil, do you not owe the Empire for the pardon you're receiving? Two lives you now owe the Empire, one you have taken, and one you have been given. In time, you shall repay both. You would not be the first to aid the Blades under such circumstances. More than a few men and women have joined the Legion rather than face the hangman, and gone on to become Blades. I myself was once given that same choice, by the Emperor himself.”

Tarvyn could hardly believe his ears. The Grandmaster of the Blades had once been sentenced to execution? Before Tarvyn could ask, Jauffre spoke again, “Take what you will, Tarvyn, and leave. There is much I must do. In time you might hear from me. If you receive a letter, speaking of repaying a debt, then come here as soon as you can. Until then, act as you will, but do not leave Cyrodiil, or your pardon will be forfeit.”

Tarvyn grimaced, but did not argue the point. The Morag Tong instilled in its members a sense of honour, and though Tarvyn's was a little more twisted than most, it was still present. He nodded his acceptance and opened the chest, finding a surprising array of equipment within. He replaced his old iron bow with a steel one, and swapped out his cracked leathers for a new set. He also took as many potions and scrolls as the chest held, intending to sell what he couldn't use. Before donning his new armour he went outside and poured a few buckets of well water over himself, washing away most of the filth.

Tarvyn left the Priory, running the events of the last day through his mind. The debt he felt owed had been repaid, but Jauffre had had a point. To repay the debt that brought him here, new debts had been incurred, debts that trapped him in Cyrodiil, at least for the moment. Was Mephala simply toying with him? Was she a manic spider in a crazed web, watching Tarvyn dance as she tugged at the strands of the web? Was there some purpose to her making him further indebted to the Empire, when some mysterious force assailed it? What cause could Mephala have to place him beside the Emperor, in the hour of his death?

Tarvyn shook his head and continued on the road to Chorrol. Trying to guess the designs of the Webspinner was a sure path to the Madgod's side.




This puts Tarvyn's story to rest for a short while: the narrative demands a shift in focus, for a brief mini-series.

Next time: The Fall of Kvatch

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Aug 14 2014, 12:21 PM

[treydog]

First- I simply love the way Tarvyn acts like an escaped prisoner. Of course he avoids Legion patrols and, for that matter, any other travelers.

Your Jauffre is also quite excellent- a man with a past, and not all of it savory.

Two lives you now owe the Empire, one you have taken, and one you have been given.

Had to highlight that one. Tarvyn may (rightly) be concerned about Mephala- but he is finding there are many powers in the world- all with demands and expectations.

Excellent work all around!

[Acadian]

Your opening sentences were fabulous. Within moments, we knew exactly where we were, and you did a great job of painting the scene outside the sewers.

I enjoyed Tarvyn’s very tense trip, scampering and hiding all the way to Chorrol.

I cheered when Jauffre said he was going to send a force of Blades to fetch the heir. Finally he gets it! It makes vastly more sense than assigning the task to some unknown stranger just out of prison. Good for you!

[McBadgere]

Brilliant!!...Loved this so much...

Jauffre was awesome!!...I loved how you wrote him here...Proper excellent...

I thought the way you got Tarvyn to Chorrol was wonderfully done too...

Looking forward - very much - to the Kvatch bit...And seeing what lies in store for Tarvyn too...

Nicely done Thorny-Boy...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[Callidus Thorn]

Thanks again guys. I've really got to find something better to say than that...

Anyway, I'm afraid I have to put this on hold for a while while I reevaluate a few things. I'm running into issues on pretty much every level, and need to work out some ways through or around them.

[Acadian]

Sorry to hear this one's going on hold for awhile. But this fiction writing stuff can get complicated, can't it?

What counts is having fun. Are you perhaps overthinking things too much? I know that can deliver me right into the jaws of inaction when trying to write.

Anyway, best of luck. You are a talented writer and I look forward to you continuing this, or starting off in a new direction.

[Callidus Thorn]

Well, this got put on hold for a couple of reasons, but I've dusted it off again. Hopefully I can keep it going.

I've made a few tweaks to some of the parts. Nothing major, just a few changes due to Tarvyn's modified skillset. Now he's specialised in stealth(rather than magic), has his magic options limited(destruction, mysticism, alchemy, minimal illusion(just light and nighteye basically)), he also wears light armour now and can pick locks. The setup he had originally could have covered two characters(in fact, it did), so I figured he needed to be more focused.

The whole "Fall of Kvatch" idea has been scrapped. No matter how many times I tried it, I just can't keep the focus where it should be. I invariably end up covering events across Kvatch during the invasion, rather than focusing on the important character. So now it's going to be a cut-down prelude to the invasion, with the character delivering their take on events at a later point. Or at least, that's the plan.

I hope to have that up in the next couple of days, Monday at the latest.

*Crosses fingers*

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Aug 14 2014, 04:39 PM

[Acadian]

That's good news, CT! Make sure when you do put up your new episode that you make a new post here in the thread - if you simply edit the above post, I'm afraid folks will miss that you've added the new episode. Good luck and I'm looking forward to it.

[Grits]

I’m glad you’re writing some more of Tarvyn’s story, Callidus. I look forward to the next part. In the meantime I’ll go back and enjoy the beginning again with the changes you’ve made. This is great news!

[Darkness Eternal]

I was beginning to think you abandoned this story for good. It is a relief to see another fanfiction returning, and by the looks of it, improved and better than ever! We'll be on standby, waiting for some good storytelling

[Callidus Thorn]

I was beginning to think you abandoned this story for good. It is a relief to see another fanfiction returning, and by the looks of it, improved and better than ever! We'll be on standby, waiting for some good storytelling

I wouldn't hold your breath on that front. I'm a little rusty, and this part's been an unholy bitch to write.


So here's the next part, and I feel I should stress a few things: All the previous parts were written, then revised and edited two or three times, often changing substantially with the second draft. This part has not been through this process, because the damn thing's been fighting me all week, and frankly, I'll be glad to be done with it. So it's rough, it's kind of rushed, and I'm certain it needs some more work, but if I didn't get it out of the way I'd never get anywhere.



Kvatch

As the sun gave up its struggle against the horizon, and night began to coil its shadowy arms around Kvatch, a weary Captain Matius made his way back to the barracks. It had been a long day, at the end of an even longer week, which had dropped several unwelcome mysteries on him. First; the murders of the Aurilies, a Breton couple found dead in their homes four days ago. Then there was the matter of Crassius Ancrus, found dead at the bottom of the stairs in his home, an empty bottle of Cyrodiilic Brandy beside him. Yet all of his friends were adamant that not only did Crassius never drink, but he didn't even keep alcohol in for guests. And finally, there was Alusannah, a Redguard woman who ran a popular bookshop, apparently the victim of an attempted mugging that went wrong.

His thoughts were brought to a halt as an unnatural sound tore through the air. Something partway between a scream of agony and the sound of tearing cloth, something that ran fingers of fear up and down his spine without him understanding why. A wave of heat rippled across the city, and veins of crimson twisted the night sky, bathing the city in a bloody red light. Sweat pricked his brow even as he turned, and his mind reeled at what he saw.

Towering over the city, nearly as high again as the wall, and as wide as the city gate itself, was what looked like a curtain of fire. Girded with dark stone columns shot through with crimson traceries, the flames flickered and wept energy, like pus from a wound. Even from where he was, halfway across the city, he could feel the heat from it as if he stood before a blacksmith's forge, and just looking at it turned his stomach. Weariness forgotten, he raced across the city towards the gate, joined by more and more guards, fighting against the tide of civilians fleeing towards them.

As he arrived he heard the voice of his second, Captain Calidia, directing the archers from atop the wall. With legs of lead he scaled the nearest fortification ladder to the battlements. Without the wall shielding him the full force of the inferno washed over him, the sheer heat rolling from it forcing his eyes closed. “It's a portal! That Nine-damned thing is a bloody portal.” He heard Calidia shout at him, between directing volleys from the archers. Forcing his eyes open, he looked out from the wall, and had to cling to the battlements to keep himself from falling as the sight left him weak at the knees.

The portal stood on the open ground before the city, and before it stood an ever-growing horde of daedra. Some of them, tall and humanoid, armoured in black plate edged in crimson, formed up in disciplined ranks. Other daedra; lizard-like creatures large and small, sorcerous wretches that hurled fire at the wall, unarmoured figures wielding heavy weapons with ease, and monstrous blendings of woman and spider, formed in loose clusters. Those with great-weapons were almost as ordered as the ranks of armoured figures, while the rest were marshalled by more of those same figures, wielding barbed lashes. And behind them all, the portal, through which was now being dragged some vast and arcane engine, a siege weapon of some sort. Captain Matius felt an icy current of fear run through him, setting his heart racing, and his grip on the stone tightened until he wondered if it might crumble beneath his fingers.

Then a voice came to him, echoing across time, from when he had been promoted to Captain: A leader must not show weakness, he must be as stone, the foundation from which others draw strength. That was what you were, and that is what you will be again. Though the words had been said a decade and more ago, he heard them as clearly as if they were freshly spoken, and with them came renewed resolve. His fingers eased their grip on the stone, his knees regained their strength, and he buried his fear deep inside himself, where those under his command could not see it.

“Captain Calidia, stay with the archers. Take down as many of those bastards as possible, and do what you can to stop that siege engine.” Not waiting for her response he raced back down the ladder, grabbing the first guards he found. “Dahlia. Get to the Mages Guild, tell them I want every mage who can hurl a lightning bolt on the wall, and everyone who can wield a weapon down here with me. And tell them to bring any healers they have too, we'll need them. Astius. Get to the Fighters Guild, we're going to need every fighter we have.” The two raced off towards the Guildhalls, and he turned his attention to the others gathered before the gates.

He saw the fear in their eyes, magnified by the crimson light that tainted everything, but he had nothing to say. Some men lead by words, others by example. Matius was one of the latter. He had stood when others had lost their nerve, fought when it had been deemed hopeless, and inspired others by doing so. Rousing speeches to give heart to those under his command were as unknown to him as the portal before his city. But he knew he had to say something, so settled for what little he knew, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of bowstrings from above. “The daedra are attacking the city, an army of them has come from that portal. I don't know why, I don't know how, but those questions don't matter. What matters is that we deny them, and we will deny them.”

Astius came jogging back to Matius, notably lacking in reinforcements. “I'm sorry Captain, but the Fighters Guild has been celebrating the anniversary of their branch being founded. Most of them have been drinking since mid-afternoon.”

“How drunk are they?”

“Well, if we propped them up and gave them a torch they could probably belch out a few fireballs, or give them an hour and a torch and they could rain fire from the battlements, the men anyway.” Despite the situation, Astius couldn't help letting his usual levity slip through. The fact that three of the women (and two of the men) had been dancing on the tables in varying states of undress hadn't helped matters.

He was spared from having to reply by the arrival of the mages, half of them racing up the ladders to join the archers, the rest coming to a halt before him. He recognised the three at the front; Arnand LaRouche, a Breton, Norionil, an Altmer, and Miara Felas, a Dunmer. All were aspiring Battlemages, who trained regularly with the guards. Each of them was clad in steel armour, wielding a warhammer, a battleaxe, and a claymore, respectively. Behind them were three robed figures: an Altmer, an Imperial, and another Breton, each wielding smaller, lighter weapons than the Battlemages. Captain Matius guessed them to be the healers.

“Hail, Captain Matius! The Mages Guild stands ready to aid you.” Arnand shouted, even as the crackle of lightning bolts began to accompany the sounds of archery. “What's the situation?”

“Daedra have opened some manner of portal before the city gates. A horde of them has assembled, and they're bringing through some form of siege engine.”

“A portal? That's impossible.” Norionil butted in, his expression a mixture of anxiety and curiosity.

“Impossible or not, it's bloody well happening. Once that siege engine starts working on the gates, I want them reinforced with shield spells. The longer we can keep them out, the more the archers can thin their ranks. When they break the gates it's going to be bloody.”

“But-”

Captain Calidia's shout cut him short. “Captain Matius! The Daedra are retreating!” Matius wasted no time in joining her at the battlements, arriving just in time to see the siege engine disappear back into the portal. The archers and mages continued to fire on the retreating Daedra, though Matius could see how little effect they'd had. Perhaps one in thirty of the Daedra lay dead between the gate and the portal, though many of those retreating were visibly wounded by arrow or spell.

“Something isn't right” He turned towards the voice, finding the statuesque figure of Sigrid, head of the Kvatch chapter of the Mages guild, standing beside him. A detached part of Captain Matius wondered how her hair could be so artfully arranged at this time of night, and why it was that mages seldom dressed appropriately for battle. She was looking out, as he had been, watching the retreating daedra, the confusion clear to see on her face.

“Norionil already told me that opening a portal like that shouldn't be possible”

“It's not that. Those armoured daedra down there, the ones herding the others through the portal, they're Dremora.. They're a warrior people, reputed to be honourable, even though most of them worship Mehrunes Dagon. To assemble in such numbers, only to retreat without even launching an attack, would bring dishonour on their leaders. Not to mention enraging Mehrunes Dagon.”

“So why would they retreat? They're not going to be able to catch us off guard, now that we know they can open portals like that. Why waste an advantage like that just to flee without attacking?”

Sigrid turned to answer him, but as she opened her mouth a chorus of hideous screams sang out behind them. Terror crystallised in their stomachs as they turned, both knowing what they would see, but unable to ignore it. As they looked out across the city, the sky turned crimson once more, and a half-dozen lesser portals tore their way up from the ground. From them emerged the same hordes of Daedra that moments before had stood before the city, and the night air grew thick with screams of horror and cold, bestial laughter...

[Acadian]

Great to see you back and continuing this!

Wow! I was white knuckled and sweating even as I read this. Showing the Daedric invasion of Kvatch through the eyes of Savlian Matius was a masterful choice. I’ve said countless times that when it comes to a noble selfless hero, he is the gritty real deal – and you certainly did him justice here. As you did with Sigrid – that she was perfectly coiffed was just the small touch of light humor that was needed.

[haute ecole rider]

I'm with the Paladin regarding Savlian Matius and Sigrid's portrayal here. I really loved that you chose to bring us to Kvatch just as the Gates were opening. Being inside Savlian's head as things are happening around him adds depth to what is typically a done deal in the game.

I share Acadian's admiration for Savlian Matius an epitome of the selfless real deal - maybe the only one - in all of TESIV. He is certainly my hero.

[Darkness Eternal]

As the sun gave up its struggle against the horizon, and night began to coil its shadowy arms around Kvatch.

Great image you painted for us!

This chapter was gritty, dark and scary as we've been given a glimpse of the horrific Daedric invaders to the mortal realm. Seeing Matius as the pov character in this chapter was a great touch and it was such a good thing to see everything unfold through his eyes. For certain, he is a brave and selfless hero. Things doesn't look too bright with the sky darkening red and more Daedra pouring in. I can't wait until we see the battle unfold . . . and if, by chance, we see our hero(es) venture in Oblivion!

[Grits]

I love that you showed the beginning of the invasion through Savlian Matius’s eyes. It was great to see the Mages Guild show up ready to defend their city.

“A portal? That's impossible.” Norionil butted in, his expression a mixture of anxiety and curiosity.

Perfect! Just like a mage.

[Callidus Thorn]

Well, I'd originally planned to bounce over to Tarvyn for a while, but following some advice in another thread I decided to cut it. I was having trouble getting into it enough to write, and it's pretty much a sideshow anyway, but the story will shift back to Tarvyn for the next part.

For now, other characters hold the spotlight...


Kvatch, the fourth day after The Fall

Captain Matius awoke with a groan, besieged by the aches sleeping in his armour left him with. It was the fourth day since Kvatch had fallen, and he had yet to remove his armour. None of his command had, unless it was in need of repairs. More than one of the camp's defenders wore ill-fitting armour, taken from a fallen comrade and hastily repaired, because their own was too damaged and the smith too busy. The hard ground and thin bedroll only made the aches worse.

He sat up, only to choke down a cry of agony and fall back, clutching at his ribs where a Dremora mace had broken them three days previous. Only one healer had survived The Fall, and she had more than she could handle with those more seriously wounded, so the bones were only half-healed. As he fought back the pain he felt a nagging sense of wrongness, but between the aches and pains of waking and the lingering grasp of sleep, he couldn't work out what was behind it.

Managing to get to his feet on his second attempt, he left his tent and made his way back to the hasty fortifications, still being added to whenever possible. More than once, he noted the survivors looking even more grim than the day before, and the feeling of wrongness once more assaulted him. He was still trying to figure out what was different when he reached the plateau, where Leond Aerius, his second in command, was waiting to be relieved.

“Something's wrong, Leond, something's different.”

Leond looked at him for a moment, his expression somewhere between shock and sorrow. “Aye Captain. It's the screaming. It's stopped.”

Matius almost reeled in shock. How could he have failed to notice something so obvious? Now he understood the looks of the survivors, the resigned slump of the defenders' shoulders. He nodded. “Then that means-” His voice broke, and he couldn't force another word past the sudden lump in his throat. He knew nobody had said it, that nobody wanted to say it, but that they were all thinking it.

There were no more screams from inside the city, because there was no-one left alive.

Weye, the same morning.

Baurus had never been so glad to leave the Imperial City. He had spent most of the four days since the Emperor's death meeting with various members of the Elder Council, in open meetings or private audiences. Three days without an Emperor, and already the Elder Council was paralysing itself, squabbling amongst themselves over morsels of power and influence while Chancellor Ocato tried to maintain order.

He was glad to be back in his armour too, freshly repaired, the Legion armourers efforts were such that no trace of the damage it had taken could be found. His Akaviri Katana and shield had been similarly repaired, and though he was grateful for their efforts, he felt a nagging sense of unease about his equipment. That feeling only intensified as he reached the crossroads just beyond the village, and before setting off towards Bruma, he hesitated.

Could he return to Cloud Ruler Temple, sole survivor of the Emperor's Guard? Would his brothers and sisters of the Blades wonder at his survival, when more experienced Blades died? Would they ask, in whispers behind his back, how the assassins had known of the secret passage, unknown to any but the Blades? Did he even have a place in the Order, having failed so?

He found neither answers to these questions, nor further time to consider them. He heard the dull thunder of approaching riders, and turned northwards to the sight of a score of riders, every one of them a fellow Blade, bearing down on him. He recognised the Breton woman leading them, Sabine Ernarde, who brought her horse to a halt before him and dismounted. “Captain Baurus, I have a message for you from the Grandmaster.” As she spoke she handed him a roll of parchment, sealed with wax.

“Captain Baurus? I'm no Captain, Sabine.”

“You are now sir. Grandmaster Jauffre sent us out to find you. He said further orders will come from you, after you've read the message.”

Baurus looked at her for a long moment before turning his attention to the scroll. The wax bore the Grandmaster's seal, and showed no signs of having been tampered with. Breaking it, he opened the rolled parchment and began reading.

Baurus,

Firstly, do not blame yourself for the Emperor's death. That such a plot came to fruition makes it my failure, and that of the late Spymaster, long before it is yours. Let the blame fall on those who most deserve it, rather than those who did all they could to prevent it. In my eyes you did not fail, nor did any of the Emperor's Guards who gave their life that night.

Secondly, you did well in sending Tarvyn to me. The Emperor's trust was well placed, as was yours in the Emperor. Tarvyn served his role, and will likely be given another before the end.

Finally, I must entrust you with a new task. The last heir to the Septim line can be found at Kvatch. His name is Martin, you will find him at the chapel of Akatosh, where he serves as a priest. Bring him to me at the Priory as soon as you are able. You are now Captain of the Emperor's Guard, and Sabine and those with her are under your command.

Though the enemy scored a victory in assassinating the Emperor, it cost them dearly. Our only hope lies in swift action, while the enemy is weakened by their losses.

Baurus folded the parchment and tucked it inside his armour. Sabine gestured to one of the Blades, who led over the riderless horse that they'd brought with them. Baurus climbed into the saddle, a little awkwardly, before turning to face his Blades. He thought for a moment about how much to tell them, and decided that if time was of import, then explanations could wait.

“We ride for Kvatch.”

[Acadian]

A chilling moment indeed when we associate the lack of screams to mean no survivors inside Kvatch. Bone-tired, Matius’ crew has just changed from rescue to containment.

In the meantime. . .

You portrayed Baurus’ guilt perfectly. And I love how Jauffre also blamed himself. Wise choice of the grandmaster to promote Baurus and put him in charge of fetching Martin. If anything can redeem Baurus’ confidence, this assignment from Jauffre can.

Let's ride, knights!

[haute ecole rider]

I truly loved this review of two of my favorite paladins from the MQ - Baurus and Matius. They have always held a special place in my heart ever since that first play through (right up there with Captain Steffan at CRT).

I especially loved how you delved into the aftermath of the first Gate opening - Matius stiff and sore from sleeping in his armor, dealing with half-healed injuries and half-repairs ill-fitting armor thanks to the scarcity of healers and blacksmiths. I also felt the same chill as Matius when we realized there were no more screams from the ruins of the once-glorious city on the mesa.

I especially liked the missive from Grandmaster Jauffre where he blames himself for the Dragonguard's failure. It holds to the credo that the superiors are ultimately responsible for the actions of their subordinates.

On to Kvatch, indeed!

[Grits]

“Something's wrong, Leond, something's different.”

Leond looked at him for a moment, his expression somewhere between shock and sorrow. “Aye Captain. It's the screaming. It's stopped.”

Oh, that’s just heartbreaking.

Great to see Baurus in the days following the assassination. I liked the contrast between his cared-for gear and the dire situation outside Kvatch. Excellent choice to send Baurus with a score of Blades to fetch Martin!