Light through Darkness, Book 2, are we truly safe now? Options

[Thomas Kaira]

Welcome one and welcome all to the continuation of Light through Darkness!

For those of you only now joining us, here is the link to our previous thread:

Light through Darkness, Book 1

Enjoy your stay! All comments and criticisms are welcome.

@haute ecole rider: Magical lore is one of the many things I wanted to tackle in this tale. It is a way of getting my brain in gear, thinking about how I can make a gameplay change actually fit into the lore of the story, so I quite enjoy doing that. As for Dere, don't worry, he's landing in a cave, so he should be alright.

@Lady Syl: Thank you much for your approval of the Recommendation system. That brawl also served a very specific purpose: it let the reader know the Oblivion Main Quest would be taking place in this story, but not through the eyes of my protagonist. That is why I elected to have Julian make a cameo there, it would help to reaffirm that point.

@SubRosa: Interesting letters, I can definitely make something out of those. Ideas have already come to me, but I wouldn't tell even if you tied me to a chair and whipped me. I'm actually playing more on the game's version of Irlav, it makes sense to me that he would be a huge slowpoke who doesn't really have any passion but for making students' lives miserable.
Nit be picked.

@mALX: No, I guess Maxical's contempt for clothing might not be so bad anymore. I'm sure she would adore these Stepstones as they are right now.

@Acadian: Well still, Mer can get impatient, too. You of all people would understand this.
Nits be picked.

@all: A new thread brings new beginnings. But what will these new beginnings mean for our characters, or for Derelas? Only time will tell.

next: Welcome to Anvil, city of the sea.

Light through Darkness, Book Two

Chapter 8-1: Double Trouble

After sloshing my way out of the giant pool of black water illuminated only by the playful flames of my torch, I was feeling quite grateful I wasn’t wearing any shoes. Nevertheless, it was a highly unpleasant feeling for my legs to become so wet so suddenly, and not just because the water was so cold. As I pulled my shoes back on over my flax socks, it started to occur to me that this probably was not the worst I could expect from these Stepstones. The frayed and cracked surface of the stone that received me made me rather certain that it was not supposed to be here. What sort of cataclysm might have transformed what was once a verdant hillside into a musty cave full of tidewater was not something that thrilled me to ponder, but that was hardly the point. If I were to be using these things, there was no telling where I would end up. The only silver lining I had was that they were scattered all over the place; you could find them in farmer’s fields, up on top of the Colovian Highlands, and, as I learned today, perhaps even at the bottom of the sea. Just to use one would be to gamble my life away, assuming they still worked, of course.

Once I finished pulling my shirt back on, I made my way to the small door where the water was only just flowing through the tiny gap between the damp wood and the glistening ground. The water was actually noticeably lower than when I arrived as well. Looks like the the tide was going out -- Anvil was a coastal city, after all, so it would make sense. I placed my palms onto the moistened boards and pushed.

The door did not respond. Two more pushes and some pounding later, and still nothing had changed. Trapped, perfect.

The floor ran completely dry as I contemplated what to do now. I couldn’t burn the wood, as it was far too wet. My only chance would be to break the door down, but I didn’t have anything quite heavy enough in my pack. And all that was in here in this cave were a few moldy old barrels and crates, hardly what I’d call destructive weaponry.

I then noticed the door had a handle. Gnashing my teeth at my oversight, I promised myself that no one would ever know of this as I pulled the door wide.

The time I spent awash in my ignorance (literally) coupled with the sheer distance traveled meant that the sky was now turning orange in the rays of the setting sun. Never before had I witnessed such a brilliantly vivid complexion upon the sky. The majesty was mirrored upon the lazily sloshing waves of the ocean, and the air was filled with the squawking calls of seagulls. To my left stood a great limestone cliff face, roughly hewn and treacherous with water roaring into rapids and out of blowholes along the base. To my right, I could just make out the tops of huge redwood trees along a similarly rocky coastline, and the slowly panning beam of the nearby lighthouse finished the scene. It was one I was quite sure numerous painters had taken upon themselves to recreate on canvas; never before had I had such a spectacular view.

The great spires of Castle Anvil loomed behind me, their cast shadows reaching clear to the other side of the nearby lagoon separating the two shorelines. They were so tall I could barely see the top of them from where I stood, as I would probably crick my neck if I tried to look any higher. As I made my way along golden-grassed and rocky shoreline of what I came to realize was a small island, the walls of Anvil came into view. The walls themselves were nothing special; it was the watchtowers that set them apart. Each tower was topped with a great conical roof, all with tiling to match the sky. The sun-kissed stucco walls beneath the roofing gave them a whitewashed sheen of which the Ayleids would be proud could they have seen them.

The great dual steeples of the Anvil chapel rose above the great brown stone of the walls with such elegance and grace they looked to be dancing with the clouds. Every last inch of the cathedral I could see that was not covered in vibrant stained glass or brilliantly orange roofing was covered in miniature statues, likely of the Nine Divines, as I could not see any faces from my distance. The chapel was easily four times the size of Bravil’s Chapel of Mara, with over twice the number of windows and buttresses, and more steeples and spires than a man could shake a stick at. Instead of one rose window, there were three, and every pointed archway, every toll of the deep, vocal bells spoke of flamboyance and grandeur – of the city that surrounded it.

Screenshot

As I made my way across the bridge leading from the castle to the city proper, I glimpsed a strange sight in the distance. The top of a high mountain peak had been blackened, and I could just barely make out a set of crumbling stone walls, as they were practically camouflaged by the ground and trees – Kvatch. They were still smoking. The sight was a blistering reminder of the reality surrounding the glowing, beautiful façade of Tamriel: danger is everywhere, and can strike at any time. Kvatch was unprepared, and they paid the price for it, but I couldn’t ever feel that they deserved what had happened to them.

Passing through the city gates, I was immediately brought to the courtyard surrounding the grand cathedral. Every inch of land that was not paved was covered in a lovingly kept bed of velvety golden grass, and unlike in Bravil, none of the tombstones in the graves had been allowed to crumble. Across the street, just north of the numerous fountains and gardens in Chapel Parkway (if the signs were to be believed), I saw yet another peculiar sight spoiling what was otherwise an untold majesty. It was a celebration of architecture and nature coming together as one in the autumn breeze here in this courtyard, but just this one sight removed all pretenses this city had to splendor. A manor house stood nearby, squalid, unkempt, and crumbling in the salty air. Every last one of the numerous vines snaking their way up the fragile walls was dead, and the roofing had fallen off in numerous places.

“Quite an eyesore isn’t it?” A voice came from behind, making me jump.

A guard clad in embroidered orange leather had come up behind me as I stared transfixed at the rapidly splitting personality of the city of Anvil. For I could just make out the High Street from behind the cathedral now, and I saw that for every majestic manor and shop, there stood another crumbling slum. It was like the city was at war with itself, fighting for whether its beauty or its sheer despicable squalor would dominate its walls; as if it refused to admit to itself that the splendor I saw from afar was little more than a farce.

“Owner’s been trying to sell that dump for a month now,” the guard continued, casting a contemptuous look back at the dilapidated house. “I have to say, I’ll be quite surprised if he can even give that place away, it’s such a blight.”

“I’ll say,” I responded, eyeing an upturned rubbish bin nearby.

“You new in town?” The guard then asked.

“Very,” I replied, “and I’ll need a little help figuring out where everything is.”

“Well, we patrolmen have got to do something,” the guard responded with pomp. “What are you looking for?”

“The nearest inn,” I replied, “and the Mages and Fighters Guilds.”

“The Count’s Arms is the best inn in the city,” the guard replied, indicating a large, well kept building a ways up Abecea Walk. “Ask for Wilbur, he’s the publican.”

“And the guilds?” I asked.

“Yokuda Loop, just across from Sea Queen statue,” the guard replied. “They’re both right beside each other, so you can’t miss them.”

“Thanks for the help,” I finished, waving a quick farewell to the guard.




----




A man in a black cloak arrived at the small wooden door, and it opened the instant he knocked.

“Ahh, Lucien,” the Dunmer greeted the shifty man warmly, allowing him to step inside. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“As I noticed,” the man returned. His voice carried a hint of malice and mystery that he was incapable of fully hiding. “So, for what have you summoned me, Tadrose? The journey was long and I am quite tired so do please try to remain brief.”

“You know why you are here.” Tadrose replied, offering a goblet of deep violet wine to the man named Lucien, which he accepted after a mild bout of consideration. “Your Brotherhood has been giving us quite a hard time as of late.”

“We are assassins, it is our business to interfere with your noble callings,” Lucien retorted smoothly. “I expect your plans have held up, all the same?”

“Yes, our mutual friend is safe in Anvil now,” Tadrose replied. “And I am going to need your help to keep it that way.”

“You would ask me to commit treason against my order?” Lucien questioned, cautiously but unfazed as a faint smile came to his lips.

“If it is not too much trouble for you,” Tadrose briskly responded, raising her own goblet of wine to her lips. “There is a man of some stature under your command, one Vicente Valtieri, I was wondering why he called for the death of our friend.”

“He fears what he might become,” Lucien replied. “He would rather see our friend dead than allow him to be given an audience with the Vampire Lord. He knows of what the Lord carries, and he knows that our friend is the only one capable of taking it from him. Naturally, he hastened to preserve his own life.”

“And you allowed this?” Tadrose interrogated.

“To refuse him would have compromised my comfortable position as Speaker for Cheydinhal,” Lucien replied smoothly, “I deemed it prudent.”

“Then I hope you have given some thought as to how you might reverse this problem you’ve caused for us?” Tadrose responded, her eyebrows narrowing. “I do not think our masters would particularly enjoy being told by you that one of your assassins managed to pierce our friend’s heart in the night.”

“And given their prodigious skill, I am quite surprised that he still yet lives.” Lucien added.

“Really?” Tadrose inquired, a dangerous note in her voice.

“There may have been some tipping of the scales in Vergayun,” Lucien responded, still unfazed. “That much I will tell.”

“But can you, or can you not make this contract vanish?” Tadrose pressed. This time, Lucien did smile.

“There is a certain exploit I might be able to take advantage of,” he replied, draining his goblet.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Apr 13 2011, 02:49 PM

[Grits]

Congratulations on Book 2! I appreciate your recap very much.

In Chapter 7.2, the open-ended deal with Kud-Ei shows us just how threatened Dere must feel. Now what does she want?? It must be pretty dangerous.

In Chapter 7.3:
“Find an Ayleid ruin, look for stepstones, and make an attempt to use them,” Kud-Ei responded. “All the details you need are in the book.”
Yep, dangerous. And it sounds like Delphine can also make chickens explode.
the stark reality dawned on me.

And currently:
What sort of cataclysm might have transformed what was once a verdant hillside into a musty cave full of tidewater
Love the lore reference! Your description of Anvil is magnificent, right down to the squalor that becomes visible up close. Tadrose and Lucien’s conversation was intriguing. A glimpse of so much more to follow, without fully revealing anything!!

[haute ecole rider]

Congratulations on your second thread!

I enjoyed your description of Derelas's first impression of Anvil. Of course, it is not the same as Julian's, but then, she grew up there, so her memories are likely stronger.

Loved your use of Chartres Cathedral for the Chapel of Dibella! But why are they called Chapels instead of Cathedrals? I guess we haven't moved past the stage of character limits (just look at Twitter!).

I did spot an awkward sentence:

The water was actually a noticeably lower than when I arrived now, as well, so at least the tide was going out; Anvil was a coastal city, after all.

First, I think the 'a' can just float right on out with the tide. The entire sentence is long and awkward. You use as well and after all in rather close proximity - both phrases serve very similar functions. I think you can break this up into two sentences and eliminate either one: The water was now noticeably lower than when I arrived. Apparently the tide was on its way out - Anvil was a coastal city after all.

Such a delightful start to the new thread. And the plot thickens even further!

[Lady Syl]

Thank you for ending book one with a recap of what happened in all your chapters! That is very useful, and it allows me to catch up for the time being! In time, I will read through all the chapters, but I can stay current and not have to worry about catching up, so I can read the first book in my own time. I will happily join the rest of you now in book 2, and not be so far behind!

EDIT: Well now I have read this first part of chapter 8, and as always, your descriptions are incredible! Anvil at sunset is an amazing sight. And I love how you made the chapel of Dibella larger and more distinct, so that it's not as if they all look the same. Thanks for the shot of that beautiful French cathedral, btw. I love the gothic French cathedrals of old.

So, will Lucien actually go against his order to help Derelas keep his life? Of course, an excellent cliffhanger--just leave us all hanging!

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Apr 14 2011, 05:37 PM

[mALX]

Great idea doing those summaries at the end of the last thread !!!


ARGH! Came up from Marseille through Lyon to Paris, missed this beautiful Cathedral !!! Did you get to walk the Labyrinth? See the Sancta Camisia?

*

Uh Oh! Trapped like a rat !!! Wonder how high that tide gets when it comes in?

I then noticed the door had a handle. Gnashing my teeth at my oversight, I promised myself that no one would ever know of this as I pulled the door wide.

ROFL !!! No one but all of us, Dere !!!

*

GAAAAH!! What is Tadrose involved in ? Is Lucien's "exploit" going to be the "purge?" GAAAAH !!! Cliffhanging !!!


*

[SubRosa]

I then noticed the door had a handle.
Poor Derelas!

Once Derelas was able to escape his near prison, you treated us to quite the stunning view of Anvil. Just looking at the city through Derelas's eyes, we see that it is a place of great wealth and prosperity. Quite the contrast to Bravil! Yet marring the picture perfect scene is the smoldering ruin of Kvatch. Just as Derelas thought to himself, proof that one is never truly safe in Tamriel.

our mutual friend is safe in Anvil now
Our? Derelas certainly has friends in strange places!

Well, you certainly thickened the stew with the second half of this episode! Tadrose is in cahoots with Lucien Lacroix? Interesting indeed! Teresa had better be careful!

[Acadian]

I agree that Dere overlooking the door handle was a great addition to his arrival to Anvil!

Across the street, just north of the numerous fountains and gardens in Chapel Parkway (if the signs were to be believed),
This is a very clever way to introduce us to some street names and make it crystal clear how Dere gained the knowledge. Similar nice touches when the guard introduced some more street names.

And the DB makes an open entrance!

which he accepted after a mild bout of consideration
Lucien taking the wine was nicely written and extremely easy to visualize.

[Thomas Kaira]

@Grits: I'm glad you appreciated the recap. This is the main reason I am splitting the story across multiple threads, as it allows for newcomers an easier way to catch up with the plot and it also allows me to consolidate my recaps. Your words are quite appreciated, and I'm quite happy you are intrigued by the sudden appearance of Lachance.

@rider: Chapel? Cathedral? Those poor Cyrodiilians never seem to make up their mind! In this case, we are certainly looking at a true cathedral. Unfortunately, it would not be a very good idea to mod that into my game, since... well, the size of one Gothic cathedral is roughly the size of an entire city ingame!
Nit be picked.

@Lady Syl: Glad you appreciated the recap, as well, and also that you found it so useful. Thank you for your kind words. As for Lucien... you'll see.
Feel free to comment on any previous chapters, as well. I appreciate any and all feedback, no matter how far back it goes.

@mALX: Never been to France, unfortunately. I did pay a visit to Espana, though, it was quite impressive to see how Christian and Moorish architecture came together in their cathedrals.

@SubRosa: Yes, Derelas sure does have strange friends, and well connected ones at that. And thickening stew? I prefer roux, but occasionally slurry at home. Once it lightly coats the back of your spoon, you're done. I like to translate that into my writing, as well, and I'm quite happy you noticed.

@Acadian: Glad my door handle mishap was well received. We all have to slip up somewhere, right? Thank you for you kind words on my characterization of Lucien, he was quite a lot of fun to write.

@all: Now we have thrown the Ancient and the Brotherhood off the trail of our Bosmer, it's time to set ourselves free once again. Adventure awaits, and danger around every bend. I also notice that my intro here was decidable similar to my intro to the complete story. Quite a coincidence, if I may say so....

next: Ayleid ruins beckon...

Chapter 8-2: Garlas Agea

“Garlas Agea,” the Altmer magister replied to the question I posed to her. “Up in the hills east of town.”

I thanked her and turned to leave, but before I could exit, the Altmer beckoned my ears back to her with another question.

“Why exactly do you wish to go there, Associate? You know very well the dangers inherent to those ruins. Certainly our library would suffice your studies?”

“Unfortunately, it can’t,” I replied back with a wry smile. “Books can only get me so far right now.”




----




The crumbling, yet still gleaming stone arches curving to an elegant point at the tip loomed out of the rolling golden grasslands. There it was, I thought, right where Carahil said it would be. This was the closest Ayleid ruin to Anvil, and the best place for me to begin my quest. The looming, regal cathedral of Dibella towered above the great walls not too far off in the distance, dwarfed only by the nearby island castle. Even from afar, one could see the bustle and hubbub of the harbor. It is said that Anvil Bay is the busiest port in all of Cyrodiil, and today it was certainly looking the part. No fewer than twenty grand galleons were moored, towering over many hundreds of trade cogs and fishing trawlers zipping in and out of port into the grand Abecean Sea. The great waters stretched on and on across the never-ending expanse of Mundus, and was broken only by a small island rising from the vast blue waters just on the horizon. From this distance, one would never notice the dank, secretive poverty the city tried so desperately to hide.

Tearing my eyes away from the mesmerizing sight, I turned back to the sun-kissed ruins before me. The arches were bent to odd angles, recalling my thoughts to the cave in which I arrived. Thousands of years of cataclysm and upheaval had shaped the world between the time of the Ayleids and the time of the Septims. Nothing would be as it once was. The portcullis into the hillside glinted in the morning sun, beckoning me forward, and who was I to disobey its calling?

My eyes were cloaked in blackness as the door swung open at my lightest touch. I carefully closed it behind me so as not to disturb any of the residents I knew would be within, and the darkness became complete. I swung my pack down to retrieve my torch, and that’s when I saw a most peculiar sight.

The Kissing Mares Blade was gleaming at my side, as if it were still broad daylight within. I gripped the hilt, and drew the gleaming silver blade, slightly curved and viciously sharp on one end, and listened to an unnaturally loud blade song that reverberated throughout my ears. As it sang, the blade began to glow a blindingly white, and a split-second later the entire chamber was bathed in white-orange light.

I froze. I was not alone in the chamber I just entered. There was a woman, Breton, by the looks of her, and she was clad in a black robe emblazoned with blood-red skulls.

Necromancers.

I was at a loss over what I should do. I was certain she had seen me, I mean, how couldn’t she? The entire chamber was bathed in light as if midday sun was penetrating through the rock and stone. At the same time, she was acting very strange; she was squinting like she was blinded. Perhaps the sudden illumination dazzled her? No, if that were the case, she’d be shielding her eyes….

“Hmm, whatever it was, it’s gone now,” she suddenly spoke, turning her back to the door.

I then had an epiphany. Only I could see the light my blade was providing. To her, it was still pitch black inside, and I was lesser to her eyes than the shadow of a ghost. I slowly eased my breath from my lungs, and took a short time to consider my options. She was a necromancer, and I was trespassing in their lair. This meant that if she did see me, I would be met with open hostility. Necromancers are not known for their hospitality, though I am told their welcoming committees are quite spectacular. Not this time, though. My only adversary was convinced it was just a lowly traveler peeking inside, nothing to worry about. She hadn’t even bothered to light her own gaze or investigate properly. Her mistake would be short-lived.

Creeping forward so to mask my footsteps, I inched my way towards the turned back of the necromancer. The foul stench of rotten flesh made itself well known as I closed distance with her. Revulsion stole through me as I halted, a burning hatred for their desecration of the dead, of the spirits who had earned a peaceful rest. I slowly rose, and in one smooth movement, I brought my right hand to cover her mouth, as my sword rose to her throat in my left.

The keen edge was stopped only by her spine as it drank of her foul blood, though it carried not a drop of the tainted liquid upon its gleaming silver visage. Her scream went unheard, and her death came before she even noticed the blade cleaving her neck.

“Walk with those you’ve defiled,” I whispered, easing her to the ground, “and give back to the dead what you stole from them in life.”

The sickly sweet odor of rotting flesh was soon replaced with the acrid scent of the same thing burnt, and the wound on the necromancer’s neck was smoking as I removed my sword. Though her throat was slit to the bone, no blood found its way out; the heat of the blade had thoroughly cauterized the wound. I was highly thankful for this, as it would mean less blood for me to have to wash out of my clothing when I was done in here. Searching her pockets, I found a small bagful of healing and Magicka potions, as well as a small coinpurse jingling with silver Drakes. Leaving the body, I continued onwards.

The chamber I was in split off to three small hallways. The ones on either side of me remained rather level, but the one directly in front of me sloped up with a set of stairs. I chose that pathway, hoping that whatever was on the other end, it might give me a decent view from which I might figure out what I could do… and perhaps allow me a better chance of finding some Steps.

The stairwell led to a balcony overlooking a large central chamber. Thanks to the illumination provided by the saber in my hand, I could see every detail from wall to wall. There were several alcoves inside, and no less than three necromancers patrolled the area. Each was carrying a staff that was having a strange effect on the light my sword provided. The colors were acting very strange around the mages; one was bathed in blue, and another in green. Their staves were probably enchanted in a similar manner to my blade, only not quite as discretely. I then wondered if it would be possible to turn off the lights for a moment, just to be sure of my thoughts.

Completely on cue, the light vanished, leaving a compressing and disorienting darkness like a veil upon my eyes. However, now I could see that my thoughts were true. It would be a lot more difficult to sneak up on these necromancers; they were ready for trouble, and the Altmer wandering with them looked quite nasty. It would probably be best for me to stay out of that chamber for now. The good news was that the passage I was crouching in now encircled the entire room, so it would be quite easy for me to continue exploring without risking my life. I requested the Kissing Mares illuminate my path once again before I continued.

To my right was a strange cask similar to the ones I saw in Henantier’s Dreamworld… no, Vaermina’s Oblivion. It was small, eight-sided, and crafted from what looked like dark gray glass, but from what my father had told me they were actually Onyx. Upon lifting the lid, a bright blue glow washed over my face, and I gazed down upon a small pile of similarly colored coins unlike anything I had seen before. Each and every one glinted and glittered even though, to them, there was almost no light to reflect, and they each carried the symbol of a pointy-eared Mer being lifted into the heavens by a great eagle. This must be Ayleid currency, I thought.

I gathered the coins into my purse and quietly replaced the lid on the cask before moving on. The passage curved lightly to the left as I made my way around. About halfway from one side to the other after the turn, another passage branched off to another flight of stairs. Deciding I would come back to it later, I continued to move forward.

Suddenly, I felt a very hard object smash into the back of my skull. Stars winked into view before my eyes as my blade left my hand, and I was soon blinded by the lightshow upon blackness; my blade’s luminance had gone out. Flipping over, I saw a tall figure bathed in bright blue light standing over me, his illumination staff poised to strike, and electrical sparks building in his free hand.

“Well, well, looks like we have a new plaything,” the Altmer commented in a cackling voice. “Too bad this dolly’s still stuffed. No matter, we can fix that in a trice.”

My sword clanged loudly as he kicked it away. He then raised his hand to cast the spell he had readied – readied to shock my heart to stillness.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Apr 19 2011, 01:46 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Oooh, a cliffie!

I loved your description of Anvil from a distance, especially with the number and variety of ships in the harbor. In-game all the NPC's behave like it's a beachfront resort, but you and I know it is the busiest and hardest-working place in town. There's ships to unpack and repack, there's goods to move off the docks and to bring up onto the docks, there's papers to shuffle and officials to bribe, and the list goes on . . . It's hard to imagine anything busier than a seaport in all of Tamriel.

Don't leave us hanging for too long - we wanna know what happens next!

[SubRosa]

the Altmer beckoned my ears back to her
This is a wonderful play on words here, especially considering how wood elf ears are so prodigious.

Derelas' observation that Anvil is not only a busy port (but shouldn't the busiest be Cyrodiil City? I would expect that is where everyone in Tamriel is either going to or coming from), but also hides a dark underbelly. Even at the height of the British Empire, London had gigantic slums. The same can be said for Rome, Carthage, and all the capitals and major cities of great nations.

Quite a neat sword that Derelas has there, creating light that only he can see. And it does fire damage as well. That is quite handy. The necromancers having staves with similar effects was an especially good touch. One mistake many fan fic writers make is to never acknowledge that the protagonist is not the only one to use magic that is useful, such as detect life, invisibility, etc...

Oh noes, poor cliff is hung again too! By an Altmer no less!



nits:
No fewer than twenty grand Galleons were moored
I do not believe you want galleons to be capitalized, as you are not using it as a proper noun.

a pointy-eared Mer
This seems redundant. Are not all mer pointy eared?

[mALX]

Adventure awaits, and danger around every bend.

Isn't that a line from "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory?" GAAAH !!! (Just kidding)

As SubRosa said, you had many picturesque phrases in this chapter - regardless of the gross subject matter, lol. She quoted my favorite line as well.

Great Write !!!

[Acadian]

Several very effective images brought to vivid life here, ranging from the description approaching the ruin, to slitting the necromancer's throat. Let me quote only one such gem:
To her, it was still pitch black inside, and I was lesser to her eyes than the shadow of a ghost. I slowly eased my breath from my lungs, and took a short time to consider my options.

That does indeed sound like quite a wondrous sword Dere now wields!

And you leave us with poor Dere in a shocking predicament!

Nit: “Garlas Agea” the Altmer magister replied to the question I posed to her. “Up in the hills east of town.”
I would recommend a comma after Agea to introduce the speech tag that follows.

[Lady Syl]

Ahh! Another cliff hanger! *glares at you with arms crossed*

“Walk with those you’ve defiled,” I whispered, easing her to the ground, “and give back to the dead what you stole from them in life.”
I LOVED this line. Excellent! ^^

[Grits]

The Kissing Mares have fire damage to go with their hot name! I enjoyed experiencing each revelation with Derelas as he discovered what his blade can do.

The images you created of color and light in the darkness made me read this section more than twice. And each time finds Dere still on the floor! I’m so glad you finished your mod, congratulations. And hint, hint...

[Thomas Kaira]

@rider: Unfortunately, I did leave you hanging for a rather long time. Apologies, but I got a bit sidetracked, what with my new mod and school winding down, I had a lot to deal with over the past few weeks. I'm back now, though, and ready to continue things along. I'm glad you enjoyed the picture I pained of Anvil.

@SubRosa: Indeed, Cyrodiil City is the busiest city in Tamriel, remember I haven't yet shown you the Waterfront down their way (but I did show that it was quite crowded, remember?). Anvil is the major port-of-call for Hammerfell and High Rock, and so receives about as much business as the Waterfront does because ship captains don't want to have to go all the way around the Niben just to deliver their goods, after all.

@mALXicoon: If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it! Anything you want to, do it! Want to change the world? There's nothing to it!

@Acadian: Unfortunately, things are about to get even more shocking for Dere. I am humbled that you enjoy the writing so much, thank you so much for your words!

@Lady Syl: Okay, okay! I'll get with the program, my demented Duchess!

@Grits: I didn't call it Light Through Darkness without reason, you know! Wow, I'm so glad you liked that installment so much! Thank you for your kind words.

@all: Time to break out of this latest hiatus. Sorry it took so long to get this segment out, but I had prior commitments to attend to.

next: We are in a pickle, how will we escape from these vile necromancers now?

Chapter 8-3: The Sylvan Ranger

My vision returned. I was staring at the dark stone ceiling of a chamber I could not hope to determine the location of. The ominous flickering of red-orange flames, licking away the darkness with their own shadowy light, lit the chamber. As my vision slowly sharpened, so did a searing, yet blunt pain in my chest. Looking down at my torso, I could see my clothing had been removed, and the pain was originating from an angry red burn in the center of my chest, coupled with an odd tingling feeling that spread from my bones to my fingertips. I tried to move one of my arms to cover the burn, but I couldn’t. I had been bound to the stone plinth upon which I lay, as well as disrobed and disarmed. If there was ever a time that I would feel such helplessness and fear for my life, it was now.

There was chanting nearby. No fewer than six necromancers had gathered in the chamber. Their heads were bowed, and their words spoken in a black language I could not understand a word of. I recognized the Altmer who had bested me; it wasn’t too hard, given his height, and also because he had belted my blade around his waist. The sight nearly sickened me with rage. Seeing such filth wear my father’s sword was despicable beyond words to my eyes.

“Release me, you s’wit! Let me go!” I exclaimed, struggling against my bonds as hard as I dared.

“Silence!” The Altmer responded in a commanding tone, sending a cascade of bright green energy into my body that caused my voice to evaporate and my muscles to harden like stone. Unable to move or speak, all I could do now was watch, and wait for a torturous undeath to take me into her cold, frail arms.

“Sylvia,” The Altmer spoke again, this time to a Bosmer dressed as he was, “prepare our guest.”

The Bosmer approached, but as she did, I saw something different about her. She did not carry herself with the ostentatious, proud gait the rest of the dark wizards did. Rather, hers was lithe and graceful, and her eyes carried not mockery, but determination. When she was but inches from me, she spoke to me in a barely audible whisper….

“Do not struggle—yet. I can release you from here, but only if you do exactly as I say.”

She slipped a small dagger beneath my arm, completely hidden from view of the other wizards. As she did, I felt the blade snag at the ropes that bound me, and cleanly cut through them. She masked the movement by then bringing her hand down to her side to retrieve her own dagger--an ornately carved silver blade.

“When I tell you, cut yourself loose with this. Until then, remain still and say nothing.”

I blinked my acquiescence, and she gave a small nod in return. She then brought her dagger up with a flourish, and then back down onto my skin. White-hot pain gripped my body as she carved into my flesh. Blood began to weep from cuts just deep enough that they would scar. After several moments, she stepped back, and I was left to admire the ritual glyphs she had carved upon my chest. This time, the Altmer stepped forward, slowly drawing his blade… no, my blade, and ready to skewer me on the tip of it. Though frightened beyond all comprehension, I still kept my now unbound right hand resolutely still, waiting either for the Bosmer’s word, or the very last second I would have before death.

What I next heard was a wild cry of pain and shock as a long, slender saber’s tip appeared before my eyes penetrating his stomach. This one did not shine with the same vigor as my own, but I could still detect a similar delicate beauty in its craftsmanship. The dripping blood only barely avoided contact with my hand, which was now taking up the small knife the Bosmer had hidden beneath my wrist with all the due haste I could muster. The air began crackling with electricity as the remaining necromancers readied spells to shock their new traitor into submission as the knife in my hand sliced through the ropes binding my hands and feet.

The Bosmer quickly turned, shielding herself from the five massive shock spells sent barreling her way with the body of the Altmer. The air around him exploded as his robes were set aflame by the heat and magnitude of the spells. The wood elf behind him was blasted backwards into the plinth. Quickly regaining her footing, she kicked the Altmer’s body away into the arms of another necromancer, who yelled out in shock as he jumped out of the way. I had now leapt up from my prison, and was now standing next to my Bosmer savior with my father's blade back in my hands. The chamber was now bathed in light, and my blade gleamed with heat, ready to slay those who had threatened its master.

The knife I was grasping in my left hand disappeared from my grip as the Bosmer snatched it away. She then threw it with carefully controlled force into a necromancer who was readying another bolt of lightning to cast. It hit him, blade first, clean in the neck. He fell to the ground, blood gurgling in his throat and spilling out of his mouth, as the two of us then stepped forward to charge down the remaining four wizards. The first to fall by my hand was the one who had nearly received the flaming body of the Altmer in his hands. Before he could find his footing again, my blade sliced twice through his pelvis and once across his neck, sending him to the ground in a blaze. I quickly grabbed his staff from his slackened grip and threw it at the next nearest necromancer to myself. It smacked into the female Breton’s head with a satisfying thunk, forcing her gaze away and breaking her concentration on the spell in her hand, which then fizzled and died. Unfortunately, she was not the only one aiming for me, and immediately after, I received another immensely painful shockbolt to my chest. The intense pain hit me like a stabbing knife and a thuggish punch at the same time, and I was barely able to keep my feet. The intense pain was coupled with the odor of burnt flesh and a noticeable tingling throughout my body. Wasting no time, I leapt up to the necromancer I had unbalanced with the thrown staff, and sent my blade slicing through her wrist. Her casting hand then parted company with the rest of her arm as she screamed in agony, but I would hear none of it, for I was already advancing on the wizard who had shocked me half to death.

Two things then happened at once. First, he conjured a white spell from his staff which smashed into me with the force of a barrel thrown by a giant. As I was knocked off my feet, completely winded, a visceral slashing noise, followed by his buckling legs, told me that my Bosmer partner had just hamstrung him. The body of another necromancer lay nearby, his head lolling ominously, only just still connected to his body by the smallest bit of skin and sinew as blood pooled around him. As the necromancer who had knocked me back fell to his knees, the Bosmer pulled his head back with all her strength, and sliced through his throat with her sword. Drips of blood flecked the walls as he slowly fell forwards, defeated. The only noises left now were of me and my partner’s breathing, and the moaning of the necromancer who had lost her hand.

“Why in Y’ffre’s Green Gables did you come here?” She asked. Her voice was light, but carried well. “Couldn’t you have picked someplace better to clown around?”

“Not really,” I rebutted, “I’m looking for something, and that something happens to be inside these ruins.”

“Oh, an adventurer, then, right?” She replied in an uncouth tone. “You must not be that experienced to have been bested by this lot.” She kicked one of the bodies to reinforce her words. “These fetchers haven’t been able to snatch a victim for months now. Well, not since I was down here.”

“So, why the change of heart?” I asked, ready to know what this woman was playing at. “Didn’t want my death on your conscience, or was I just unworthy of being zombified?”

“Hardly,” she replied, lifting her robes off her lithe frame, revealing gleaming silver armor of what I recognized to be Mithril. “I am Sylvia of the Smoke Hole Sylvan Rangers. I was sent here to keep an eye on this lot, make sure they kept their noses out of my clan’s business. I could have let them kill you, but fortunately for you, I’m not one to let innocents die so easily.”

“Well, lucky for me you were here,” I responded, getting to my feet having found my breath again.

“And lucky for me you at least know your way around a blade,” She added. “Do you have any idea what those cretins almost did to my hair?”

That comment was just enough to remind me that I was standing talking to her with no clothes, and possibly with enough electricity in my own hair to start a small storm outside. I felt myself growing very red as I searched for the rest of my possessions.

“Erm, would you mind?” I timidly asked Sylvia the Sylvan Ranger, and noted that she, too, grew rather red. Apparently she didn’t realize I was in a bit of a soft corner, either.

“Oh, uhh… right.” She replied hesitantly, quickly shifting her gaze away. “Your pack is over there,” she indicated a corner of the room with several glass apparatuses set up on a small table, “and I hope you packed a change. The clothes you brought with you here are in quite bad shape.”

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: May 8 2011, 01:15 AM

[Grits]

Poor Dere keeps waking up naked, and so far it has not been fun. A gripping battle! And then:

“Do you have any idea what those cretins almost did to my hair?”

After months in the ruins with a bunch of necromancers, Sylvia could probably stand a full spa treatment!

Sylvan Rangers, I am intrigued. Hopefully Dere has a change of clothes, it would stink to walk into a Ranger camp wearing a necromancer’s robe!

[SubRosa]

Blood began to weep from cuts
I doubt Cutter could have put it better!

Derelas is lucky that yet another secret agent was on hand to rescue him in a thrilling, buck-naked battle. I guess he is now an honorary Gaesatae!


nits:
couple with an odd tingling feeling that spread from my bones to my fingertips
I believe you were looking for coupled?

and was now standing next to my Bosmer savior with my father blade back in my hands.
And that father's?

The chamber was now bathed in light, and blade gleamed with heat, ready to slay those who had threatened its master.
The part I highlighted feels like it is missing something. Did you mean and my blade?

Finally an observation. A fight with six necromancers, and not a single one summoned something? This feels extremely strange, as summoning is one of the signatures of necromancers. Are you reworking necromancy so that summoning is not part of how it works perhaps?

[Thomas Kaira]

To clarify: this bunch weren't the greatest necromancers in the world. If summoning had occured to them, this battle would likely have played out very differently. We will be seeing real necromancers (who are indeed very dangerous) in due course, this group was simply a bunch of wannabes, for lack of better term.

The only semi-competent one there who might actually have summoned something was the Altmer, and he was the first to go.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: May 7 2011, 08:45 PM

[Acadian]

Damsels are always rescuing Derelas in distress. This time it was Sylvia the Sylvan Ranger. Wonderful touch to have an infiltrator among the necrogang.

And a heart pounding fight with plenty of various tactics and tricks.

I'm looking forward to learning more about Sylvia and her clan.

Nit: 'First, he conjured a white spell from is staff which smashed into me with the force of a barrel thrown by a giant.'
I think you wanted 'his' staff.

[Thomas Kaira]

@Grits: We will have to wait on those Sylvans, this chapter simply laid the seed of a possible future endeavor. Right now, we need to investigate some Ayleid arcana, and figure out how it works, if we can.

@SubRosa: As I said before, not really necromancers.
Nits be picked.

@Acadian: Glad you enjoyed the battle. That's why I work to keep them widely spaced, as you know. Things would get pretty dull if there was too much death and destruction going on.
Nit be picked.

@all: Now that I am back in business here, it is time to move things forward. We have business to attend to in here, after all.

next: We try to figure out how to work some Stepstones. Will we be successful?

Chapter 8-4: Blue Clues

“Well, no reason for me to stay any longer,” Sylvia commented once I had pulled on the spare shirt and slacks I kept in my pack. “These louts can’t annoy my camp anymore, so I’ll need to find something else to do with my time. I don’t think there are any more in here, so feel free to look around if you want.”

“These guys weren’t really necromancers, then?” I asked. They certainly looked, and smelled, the part.

“Just because you can cast flashy spells and smell like a tomb doesn’t make you a necromancer,” Sylvia replied. “This bunch mostly passed the time breaking into village churchyards and digging up graves. They’ve never actually managed to imbibe a dead body with unlife. Worst they would’ve done is kill you.”

“Small comfort,” I responded with a mild scoff. “Dead or undead, I’m still not breathing anymore.”

“So be glad I was here to break you out then,” came Sylvia’s reply. She was making her way through the ornate metal gates out of the chamber when she turned back, a quizzical expression on her face. “You know, I still can’t believe they caught you. What happened?” she asked.

“The Altmer snuck up on me,” I replied, surveying the room by light she could not see. “Let’s just say I took my safety for granted.”

“Fair enough,” Sylvia responded. “Just do me a favor and keep your guard up inside these ruins from here on. I might not be able to rescue you a second time.”

And with that, she dashed off, leaving me alone in the chamber to survey the damage. Considering how Sylvia spoke of this bunch, I had to assume they were not very skilled. None of them had even thought to call forth an undead minion. I suspected the Altmer was the only person in here who actually knew what he was doing. But I was getting off key; I came in here because I needed to look into how these Stepstones Kud-Ei told me about worked. Trouble was, I still needed to find one that was intact.

Perusing the book Kud-Ei gave me last night before I went to bed, I had learned that the Stepstone grid had fallen into considerable disrepair over the several eras of neglect they saw when their creators had died out. Very few were still in serviceable order, as many had cracked and frayed surfaces. This apparently compromised the magical energies that allowed them to transport people, and this would cause various unpredictable results. As far as the writers could tell, that was, as still no one knew how they worked. The two inside the small cave I arrived in fit that description, both of them looked ready to fall apart, and it seemed to me to be a wonder they had even received me in the first place. If I were to get good results, I would be looking for a Step that still looked to be in serviceable order. And, of course, that was why I got stuck in here with a bunch of grave robbers.

Then there was the problem of actually finding out how they worked. On that, the book contained no information, other than a reference to the expedition in a ruin called Vahtacen by Irlav Jarol, and that they had made very little progress over the three months it has now taken place. When it came to actually working the Steps, I was on my own.

The light from my blade dimmed for a moment as I reflected on what I had read, and in the brief moment of darkness, I noticed that this chamber was not only lit by the orange braziers arranged on the ground. Aqua blue lights glinted down from the high alcoves nearby, and my eyes were drawn upward to one of the most amazing sights I had ever laid eyes upon.

“This is called a Welkynd Stone,” father explained to me, holding out a large blue stone with sloped sides and a square shape. The surface was carved with ornate vine-like patterns, and into the top was etched the symbol of an eagle carrying a Mer away in its talons. The entire stone glowed with the same blue light that made up its complexion. “This is one of the rarest and most valuable artifacts in all of Tamriel.”

“Really, why?” I asked, eager to know if there was something magical involved.

“Because of the magic imbibed into these stones,” my father explained to my youthful face. “It is said that they are crafted not of materials you can find on our world, but of Meteoric Glass, or as the Ayleids called it, the Tears of Oblivion. This material, they found, was exceptionally good at storing Magicka, and that when filled, it would glow like shoreside sky, as this one is.”

“Wow,” I breathed, “where did you find this?”

“You can only find them inside the ruins of the Ayleid cities, now,” my dad explained. “They were often used to light the royal chambers of the ancient kings, as the Ayleids considered them a symbol of their dominance over lesser creatures, but you can occasionally find them in the ruins of the homes of the wealthy, too.”

“And can you use the magic inside them?”

“It is possible to coax the Magicka stored within to pass from the stone into your own body, but I would not recommend doing that unless you had to,” Dad explained.

“Why not?”

“Meteoric Glass likes to take in Magicka quite a lot, but by the same token, it abhors letting it go. Once you ask it to give up its Magicka, the stone will not survive the process. However, despite that, there are some who believe that in lieu of their Star Wells, the Ayleids used these stones to power their magical creations.”

“Really?” I asked, “like what?”

“No one really knows right now,” Dad explained, “but the Guild wants me to find a few more so they can study what else they might have been used for. The Mages Guild is funding the expedition out of their pockets, this time, so I’m afraid I can’t stay long. I expect this journey will take some time, so do take care of your mother while I’m gone.”

In the high alcoves of the chamber, no fewer than four stones were suspended on small metal plinths. The tops were of the same ornately carved blue-green stone my father had brought home that one day of my early teenage years, and the bottom was wrapped in an intricate pattern of Onyx. If anything could be used to put some life into the Stepstones, I thought, it would be these. There was but one problem: they were much too high for me to reach, and so I would have to knock them down.

My bow had not seen much use since the Ancient Yews, and it was badly nicked in places where it had been used to shield my face from low hanging branches. I would need to get a new one soon, but it still looked to be okay for use to knock the stones down for me to grab them. I would need to be careful on the draw, though, least the staff snap, and then I would have to resort to throwing things. It didn’t fluster me too much that my bow was dying, as it was the first bow I ever made and it was a bit rough around the edges, but it didn’t make me particularly happy to know that its life was nearly over. I removed my bow from my back, carefully added a string so as not to bend it too much, readied an arrow, and slowly brought it back to a half-draw that didn’t tense the staff.

The force of the arrow when it was let fly was just enough to make the stone overbalance and topple to the ground with several sharp clinks, and there was not a ding on the stone when I picked it up. Grinning to myself, I quickly retrieved my arrow and placed the stone into my pack. I repeated the process three more times for each stone in the room, and I soon had all four stones packed away. I now had a possible source of power for the Stepstones, so now I simply needed to find some.

It did not take long for that to happen, either. A quick examination of the central chamber under the warm illumination coaxed from my blade brought forth the presence of four of the small, round plinths, just large enough for a Nord to comfortably stand on. Closer inspection was not quite as I would have hoped, only one of them looked to be any good. The rest had cracks running the entire width of the stone in multiple places. Still, it was a start, so now came figuring out how to work it.

When I moved to take a Welkynd Stone from my pack and sheathed my sword, I was met with an amazing sight. The glow surrounding the stones had become so bright it was filling the entire room with sea-blue light, no small feat given the size of the chamber. It was like they had sensed the presence of the Stepstones nearby, and they were now eager to absorb more power from the ancient constructs. Taking one of the brilliantly glowing stones in my hands, I slowly stepped up onto the stone and allowed the Welkynd’s crystal surface to touch it.




----




I stepped out into the evening light rife with disappointment and dejection. Despite everything that occurred to me, including casting spells on both of the stones and, when my temper had flared, kicking them, nothing had worked. I remained resolutely fixed in the same hallway for several hours as my every experiment failed. Only minutes ago, I gave it up as a bad job and left to return to Anvil. I would stay in the Mages Guild hall tonight, so that I might probe the minds of those more learned in the secrets of the Ayleids tomorrow.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: May 11 2011, 01:04 AM