Burning Today Options

[Remko]

Wow.... the description of the horrible situation the slaves are in.... The brutality of the guards.... just.... wow.

[haute ecole rider]

Wow.

I thought you topped yourself with your description of Tear, but this is even better! The emotional wreckage that is slavery, that touches not only the slaves but also the slavers themselves, is so well written here I'm hard put to think of another writer that does it as well. I think you captured it better than even Alex Haley himself. The feelings Firen experiences as he progresses through the slave pens and waits for his opportunity to strike are well drawn here.

And I loved this:

The craving was becoming strong, the cat on my shoulder had its claws in deep and it was starting to get angry.

A terrific way to describe what we commonly call "the monkey on my back" - I may have to borrow "cat on my shoulder" for my fiction! May I? Pleeeasse?

I didn't see any nits this time. Great job!

[SubRosa]

Impressive, most impressive. You created a scene of sheer horror in the slave pens, expertly conveying the mood of terror, outrage, and hopelessness that the slaves felt. Outstanding!

I agree with h.e.r. on the "cat on my shoulder" metaphor. It is perfect for ES!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 6 2010, 06:09 PM

[canis216]

This is fantastic, gruesome, glorious work. Keep 'em coming.

[Olen]

That's some heavy praise there... I'm glad you enjoyed it, this piece is quite short as it was that or a quite long part. Things happen at a rate now so i went for the shorter option.

As for the metaphor, of course you can use it. I think the RL one is american anyway (I've only ever come accross it in books by King) but it came to mind in the modified form and fitted far better with ES than anything else I could think of.


38. Fury

"Lots two hundred and seventy to two eighty. Fit and strong. Two seven eight is a rarity, a human of prodigious strength and stamina. Prime example." The lot caller shouted. I felt sick. It happens when the skooma runs out but I didn't dare let it show. Or it might have been at what I was doing and accepting. Perhaps I wouldn't have without the motive of vengeance but the others had no such excuse. I kept my eyes down, away from the peering crowds considering my worth like the most profound of judges. I was looking forward to this afternoon, and by the sun that was scarcely an hour away. I allowed myself and grin and ran back into the stair and underground.

We were taken to a second section of holding cells and again ordered to wait, presumably until the bidding finished. Okun wandered up behind me, "They could at least have decent handwriting."

I looked at him wondering if he was going as mad as the rest of the place.

"When they painted on you. I wonder how long do you think it took them to teach that fool to count."

I wasn't really listening. They hadn't rebound our hands and the cell was not only flimsy, it was also full of slaves who'd just undergone the same humiliation. Was I likely to get a better chance than this? I looked at Okun, "It might be time."

"But the afternoon bell hasn't sounded," he paused, "But yes. We're not likely to see a better chance and I don't want to wait any longer to get a piece of the Dres."

I let my hands slip down to my leg where the scroll was hidden within the trouser lining. I dug my nails into the seam at the back and pulled. They ripped. I eased out the parchment, its enchantment stirred. "I've got one of the big ones," I said, "Get your copy of Morden's Instigator ready in case this goes wrong."

He nodded, already rummaging by his leg. I was into the lining of mine but was attracting questioning looks from those around me. We were near the back of the crowded cell but a guard must have noticed them looking and shouted, "Human what are you doing? What is that. Get here."

My insides turned, I'd hoped to have rather more time but I nodded and acquiesced. At least until I was in the midst of the group when I whipped the scroll up and held it out as I read. It was simple enough, unlike the one Skink had given me. There was a similar sense of worry though, experimental magic is the source of many bar tales. Being turned to paté is a funny story until it's about you. The guard gave a shout and threw the door open to get to me. But it was too late.

"Psheneechya xortuchya nemiroff," I read. The scroll crumbled in a howl of magic.

A blast of anger scattered everything from my mind leaving only rage. It burned hotter than the white pits of hell, every injustice I'd borne and hate I'd felt glowed like the noon sun. A pyre to be quenched in blood. Glancing around I saw the argonians the same, hissing, spitting their lips drawn back to reveal needle teeth. I launched myself at the guard but couldn't reach him as a pile of scaled bodies dived on him. Blood and fragments flew as they just tore him apart. Outside other slaves down the corridor were going berserk. A guard killed one before his fellow lashed out. I dived from the cage and into bedlam.

There was not thought but to kill the nearest Dres. A slaver stood there cudgel in hand. In two bounds I was on him with animal ferocity. The wolf within was free. I fought with fists and nails and teeth. His cudgel flew from his hand as I hit him, my knee went to his crotch and he doubled with a high scream. Then I had him by the ears kneeing his face until my leg hurt and I was soaked in blood. Another staggered at me. I stopped pulverising the dead slaver's face and launched myself at the next one. The weight of my attack bowled him over and I howled with glee. The howl cut off as I sunk my teeth into his throat tasting hot blood. He stilled. I jumped twice on his head to be sure and scooped up his club for the next target.

Dead slaves littered the ground among the guards but with the stolen weapons the tide turned. Although more guards flooded in I could hear fighting immediately above in the arena and down the corridors to the side. Some guards still fought amongst themselves. I swept up behind two neatly breaking their skulls. A madness was on me, they were beasts masquerading as men, worthy only of destruction. More enraged slaves poured from another pen. I looked to see Okun had opened it and smiled before picking up a dying dunmer and caving his face in.

The next couple of minutes passed in a buzz of blood and madness. I waded through the dead and dying to find more to add to my collection. A hate like nothing else consumed me, reason alone could no longer support its tumescent growth which blossomed like fungus in my mind. I couldn't reason, and didn't want to, the anger was an ecstasy which thrilled in my veins. A guard's hand was severed by another slave and the blood squirted out burning in my eyes. But it was the fresh explosion of rage which blinded me, I struggled even to breath as I fell on him beating the corpse past pulp well after he had departed this hell. But slowly reality returned and the madness passed, the magic wore off and I looked around. I blinked as, quite suddenly, the rage died leaving only the embers of my own, natural, anger. The scroll had been brutally, awfully efficient. The sounds of fighting still rang though the halls and from the pens outside but around me I saw the light of madness leave my fellow argonians' eyes.

I stood where the corpses were piled one atop another and looked over the devastation. Dazed survivors glanced about in a mixture of horror and satisfaction at what I had wrought, the dead lay strewn everywhere. There was not a Dres in sight who did not lie in a pool of blood but so too did many slaves, for just as they had outnumbered the slavers in life now so too did they in death. A sacrifice which must be made. "Freedom," I said. The survivors looked to me, "Now you see what can be done together. At a price, yes," I waved at the human abattoir, "But a price worth paying to go free and to end the Dres. If you wish then run now, but for those who are noble." I paused. They all looked and I knew I had them, "Let us free all our brothers and let Tear burn!" The afternoon bell rang with the final word.

This post has been edited by Olen: May 9 2010, 12:06 AM

[SubRosa]

Wow! That scroll sure worked! Let Tear Burn!

I liked the description of the scroll's enchantment stirring. It is very evocative.

This was a particularly good metahpor:
its tumescent growth which blossomed like fungus in my mind.

More!

nits:

away form the peering crowds considering my worth like the most profound of judges.
Just a typo on from here.


I ? how long do you think it took them to teach that fool to count.
I think you missed a word where I put the question mark in. Probably wonder?


There was not thought but to kill the nearest Dres.
You probably wanted no there.

[mALX]

Your description of the scrolls effects was amazing! Who would think to descibe it like that? Your mind is brilliant, as is your writing! I loved this!

[haute ecole rider]

Amazing.

The violence triggered by the scroll is overwhelming, and your description of it very effective. It was like I was caught up in the effect of the scroll and subsumed by anger.

The chapter was well titled!

[Remko]

Awesome!! You should be writing horror

[Olen]

The concept of illusion spells always fascinated me in game. I've always felt there was something uniquly sinister about using magic to make someone attack you so you could kill them legally. In fact the whole of that side of magic: command, frenzy, demoralise etc. all struck me as far more sinester than a bit of necromancy. I'm glad you liked it.

Thing's move faster from now I'd say...


39. Varnan

A cheer rose as I stood down, already three heavily built lizards were running for another section holding dead guards' weapons. I spat, my words tasted of death. At my feet a dunmer moaned, I knelt and grabbed his hair, "I am looking for someone," I said, "An imperial slave from up north."

"Could be anyone," he spluttered and blood dribbled over his lip.

"He came on a train from Alt Bosara, lead by a dunmer named Inren Dres. Blond hair."

The broken face tried to smile, and the dunmer gave a spluttering laugh, "The mad one? Yes I know him."

"Where? I'll ease your ending."

He laughed again, "His mind? It comes and goes. One day mad as a marsh rat, the next fine and sane, the next? Who knows, maybe he watches the wall, maybe he raves, maybe fine again and we try to sell him if he can stay himself long enough. We almost did today."

I banged his head off the ground, "Where?"

He groaned then pointed, "Round that corner and to the right. Third cell."

"Thanks," I said and enacted my promise.

I was still brushing his brain from my chest when I met Okun. He looked as if at a wolf, or a madman. "I think," he said, "The scroll worked. The plan?" he licked his lips, "Well."

"What happened?" I asked. I'd seen him releasing more in the bloodlust, but not partaking.

"I was hatched under the atronach," he replied, "Magic does not always effect me. But I see the scroll worked, quite spectacularly." He nodded at the litter of corpses.

"Enough are free that the revolt will spread. Hides and Hassde will have set a similar blast off somewhere else, I saw smoke down past where we spent the night. I can only surmise..."

"So what now?"

Therein lay the rub. I sought Varnan, not the best for the escapees. I could have avoided the issue but I owed Okun more than that, "There is a friend of mine somewhere near. I shall release him and open cages I pass this way. You do similar in the other way, and remember, they seek a leader. As their saviour that is a burden you will bear."

"What of you?"

"I have urgent business. Now keep the revolt boiling, but do not pause in fleeing when it flags," I had intended to run then but could not. I stopped looking him in the eye, "You know your mind well enough and have the will to see it through. Do as you will, but remember what I first said. Make your own decisions, do not wait for events to push you."

He nodded slowly.

It was all I could manage, and it was a betrayal, however dressed up I made it. I returned the nod once and ran away, and around the corner out of his sight, so dreadful in its lack of accusation. It was a narrow corridor between two rows of cells. The jailer lay dead at my end of it, I rifled through his pockets and came up with a ring of keys. The first cell was empty but the second contained a Khajit chained to a wall. I tried a key at random in the lock. Fortunately it was the wrong one for when he looked up I recoiled from the madness which burned in his eyes. He threw himself at the door and fell to the ground with a grinding of chains. I pulled the key out; he could stay there.

I hurried on to the third cell and put my face against the bars. Near the back an emaciated man looked at me through a straggle of blond hair. An ugly scar puckered one of his shoulders. Varnan. In spite of his haggard condition I savoured the moment, I had decided to go and rescue him. My choice and my will against the world; and I had succeeded. The sound of battle from somewhere ahead returned my sense of urgency and I tried a key.

At the sound he looked up. I tried a second and a flicker of recognition passed behind his dark bagged eyes. The third opened the door and I stepped in.

"Firen?" he said as if he barely believed his own voice.

"Yes Varnan, I've come to get you out," I put out a hand to help him up.

He was shaky on his feet but steady enough, he studied me, "Are you real or just some phantasm," he murmured before he spoke out loud, "How... no that can wait. I suppose," a crashing and cut-off scream interrupted him. "We need to move. Gods be praised you caught me on a good day. I have such terrible dreams and visions. I scarcely believe this can be real, but perhaps. It is not so bad as the others."

So the guard was right, he was mad. Perhaps it was the stresses of slavery and the memory of the ruin which had warped his mind, but I suspected not. Whatever had happened in that ruin had done something to him and I had left him barely conscious with the Imperial Cult back in Firewatch. Had he been mad there? Was it simply taken as fever ravings? It was too much to deal with and brought uncomfortable thoughts which I had kept buried in a mound of skooma. "Come on," I said, "I think we had best find a place to hide."

The slave market in the centre of town had many doors and I had intended to hide there with him, but the sounds of battle still raged inside and smoke poured from many windows so I turned to the adjacent cantons. The one at the opposite end of the cell block had a hatch in its wall low above an empty cage and I made for it. I stepped from the other end of the cell block my eyes fixed on the best way up.

Had the guard not given a shout it would have been a fatal blow, instead I half turned and half ducked it. He wasn't just a slaver, he was an officer of the law and knew how to handle his sword. He wore bonemold armour in the Dres style, long spikes pointed from his pauldrons, and their blue and yellow sash. I dodged his next swing and his stance became more aggressive.

"On the ground slave, I might spare you. This little... farce will not go unpunished." His next swing was fast. I avoided it, but only barely. My usual tactics weren't going to work and Varnan looked in no state to leg it. Take the fight to him, force him to do what you want, I remembered a lesson I'd taken years ago for this sort of thing. I'd never really expected to need it.

I stepped forwards and to his right. He made a quick forehand slash: it was all he could do. I made to dodge but too slowly, he committed more but I already knew how he had to move. The sword met the slave bracer with a jarring clash of metal pulling my arm up over me. It took my balance but his was worse and as he tried to rein in the wild swing I grabbed his pauldron, slammed my elbow into the front of his helmet and pushed my foot through the side of his knee. He fell with a cry, though not the crunch I'd hoped for. I grabbed his sword hand and twisted like opening a doorhandle. He screamed at the crack which rewarded my efforts. I twisted the sword, still in his grip, and drove it between his cuirass and greaves. Blood poured out.

"Up there," I said to Varnan as I fiddled with the buckle on his sword belt. I pulled it off the dead guard and put it on pushing the sword home and followed him up the lattice iron cage. He was slower than I would have liked an seemed unable to use his right arm. Once on top of the cage the goods door was at my shoulder height, I used the sword as a lever and the bolt gave a splintering sound and pulled clear from the wood of the door. I threw the sword in and hauled myself up into the dull room. It was musty and had a disused feel, assorted junk and crates lay around as though whoever owned them had forgotten, or died. When Varnan didn't appear next to me I looked down. He was trying to get up one armed and failing. Most of the muscle had gone from him and his ribs protruded all down his back. Lines of scars made a checked pattern over them like the iron cages or a farmer's shirt on his skin. Attempt to cure the madness, I supposed, the Temple went in for similar, not that it was ever successful.

I knelt and gave him a hand up into the store. The flesh on his right shoulder was twisted and boiled where Renera had planted the dagger. I wondered what she did now, had someone caught and killed her? I had failed there, but now I was successful. I sat down on a rat gnawed grain sack and looked at Varnan, "It's been a while."

This post has been edited by Olen: May 12 2010, 11:43 AM

[mALX]

Bleah, there goes my breakfast for sure! Riveting action from start to end, your detail and descriptions as always are perfection even when (GAK) gross. I could not tear my eyes from the page, AWESOME write!!!!

[haute ecole rider]

Yay! Firen found Varnan!
But he left Okun behind?

Wonderful chapter, very well written. Varnan's condition is well-described, and consistent with what we have seen of the Dres slavers so far.

One nit (rather, two in one sentence, but . . .)

It took my balance but his was worse and as he tried to reign in the wild swing I grabbed his pauldron, slammed my elbow into the front of his helmet and my pushed foot through the side of his knee.

Rain, rein, reign, go away. Come back another day -- oh, wait, it's a nit. I think you want rein here, it refers to pulling something back (from rein, the leather straps used to control horses). Reign means to rule. Oh, and the second part looks like your words were leapfrogging a bit, shouldn't it read: pushed my foot?

Very gritty, very bloody, very painful, and very - well, emotional in its own right. Though I've never been in combat, I've seen the aftermath of some very traumatic incidents, and what you describe are, like I said before, very consistent with the context.

Outstanding!

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: May 11 2010, 07:08 PM

[Destri Melarg]

O.K., I have finally caught back up. Here are my impressions:

33. Enemy of my Enemy

I find the difference between the way Firen sees himself and the way that the world sees him fascinating. He seems to regard himself as more or less normal, a veteran of one too many battles perhaps, grizzled around the edges definitely, but more or less normal for all of that. Yet here he is, preparing lay siege to a city with an army of four individuals (including himself) and he already has a plan! Not to mention the fact that his name alone cowed Mabrel and forced her to listen to his proposition. Firen may be a lot of things, but ‘normal’ isn’t one of them.

34. No Return

Here again we see the qualities of leadership in Firen effectively displayed. Face it, if anyone else hands Hides a pair of slave bracers that person is going to be eating a dagger. Only an exceptional leader could ask a group of Argonians to willingly don slave bracers, weak enchantment or no.

35. First Taste

It put my mind to rest though, any god worth worship would be blind to whatever black deeds I might commit in opposing this. The imploring eyes’ of the plantation owner’s wife flirted into my mind but the memory was robbed of its power. Destroying the system would come at a grave price, but I could accept it.

I love this paragraph! The first sentence alone is worth publishing. The way that you use Firen’s inner monologue to move him to action is spot on. To paraphrase Val Kilmer’s Doc Holliday in Tombstone:

That’s what I love about Firen, he can talk himself into anything.

36. Tear

Let me add my own voice to the chorus of praise heaped upon you for the incredibly effective description of Tear. I have always been of the understanding that it is pronounced ‘teer’, as in a tear on the pillow, as opposed to ‘tare’ as in a tear in the pillow. I don’t make that assumption based upon anything that could be found in the lore, but to me it just sounds right. Especially given what all accounts depict as happening there.

37. In the Beast

This whole chapter is a quote fest. I fear that if I start singling out the passages that I liked I won’t stop until I’ve spammed the whole chapter into your thread. So I will refrain from exposing myself to temptation.

Okay, maybe just a few:

There could be no god. No true god worthy of devotion, merely malevolent spirits grown fat and mad on their own power just as the blessed saints Almsivi.

Just great!
And this:

Fear. That was what the place was built of. True there were cages of iron and walls of stone but the soul of the place was forged of fear.

I said before that you have an amazing understanding of the self-loathing that attends self-destructive behavior. It also appears that you have a profound understanding of the single word that informs the life of a slave.

I could go on, but this post is already too long and I still have chapters to go.

nits:

We were driven through it between the screams and horrors and mad and broken.

I’m not completely sure what you were trying to do with this sentence. My guess is that you meant ‘of the mad and broken’.

Not a nit per say, just an observation:

I wondered how deep a soul must venture into hell to find somewhere worse than this.

Given the world of the story, I can see how a character might feel more comfortable saying ‘oblivion’ instead of ‘hell’.

38. Fury

DEATH TO THE DRES!! LET TEAR BURN!!!

After all that they have experienced in Tear’s slave pens, the unleashing of the spell and the carnage that followed was wonderfully cathartic.

I especially like the fact that you tie it all up with the ring of the afternoon bell. (another observation here is that you might think to call it the mid-day bell).

39. Varnan

At long last Firen accomplishes his goal. I for one was not disappointed with the way that he left it with Okun. I think that the young Argonian will make a splendid leader for the new Argonian Liberation Front. I agree with haute that Varnan’s condition and mental state were well-described.

I would have liked to know more of how Hides and Hassde fared, but I suppose that is a question for another chapter. This story continues to get better and better.

MORE!

[SubRosa]

Whew! Very fast-paced and action-packed. The final goal is now finally in sight. Varnan. The man whom Firen has essentially sold his soul for. It looks like he has not been so lucky as Firen since the last story however. The guard's having tortured him to try to make him sane was a nice touch. It seems so very like Morrowind.

I am not surprised that Firen would leave Okun to his own devices. That was his plan all along after all. To be honest, it is rather surprising that Okun and the other two survived as long as the did. People around Firen have a habit of dying...

Now the big question is, what next? How are our two going to escape from Tear? Not an easy proposition, especially seeing that Firen is the most wanted man in Morrowind.


nits:
At my feet and dunmer moaned,
That should probably be a dunmer

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 11 2010, 11:43 PM

[Remko]

I loved it. All the nits have been picked so I will refrain.

AWESOME!!

MORE!!

[Olen]

Cheers to all for the comments, I'm glad it's enjoyed.

mALX - I'm glad you liked it, if you think that last part had nasties... well... just wait until the final 'act'

Haute - another spelling I was previously unaware of... I'm glad you though it retained its sort-of realism, to be honest there's only one way a fight between a trained person with a sword and someone without would go but it is fantasy and in close a sword is fairly useless.

Destri - that's quite a comment. Thanks
the difference between the way Firen sees himself and the way that the world sees him fascinating - bang on, I was sort of going for that. Everyone think's they're more or less normal and I've tried to paint things from his point of view... Sort of ties in with him convincing himself to do things, I wanted things from within his head.
I sort of agree on the 'hell'/'oblivion' front but as with using the word 'grail' the connotations are important and lore friendly words don't offer that so I sometimes go against it.

SubRosa - Thanks for the compliments. You're spot on with the stuff about Firen and what next... As far as essentially tortureing the mad it's morrowind but it's within living memory that it was still done in the western world...

Remko - I'm glad you like it, and as requested:


40. The Test of Choice

Success. No more was I a leaf upon tempestuous fortune. I had set my course, and had reached my destination. Varnan was rescued, leaving Tear would be possible in the chaos, once the battles were ended. He was free. I tried a smile but it didn't sit well on my face, how many had died for this moment? My treacherous thoughts drifted back to that wild night in Firewatch then to the flames of the plantation and the dunmer woman's terrified eyes. It was right that he was free but the swathe of devastation left in my wake gave me pause. Perhaps this was the cost of free choice, maybe I'd have been better allowing events to shake me from the course.

A clash of steel brought me to the present and I peered out. A guard and two slaves had met in the street. The first argonian was already dead and the second as hard pressed. I rose to help him but stopped, it would give us away and soon another would step in. After a few moments it became clear that I was his only chance of help. Varnan stared into space mouthing words. I sat on the edge between thought and action. To help was to support the revolt I began, to go back on my betrayal and take more responsibility. I knew where that led, but to sit idle while a fellow died could not be the right thing. I thought not of the guard, his decision was made, but even as I drew the stolen sword the point was moot. The guard drove a brutal slash across the argonian who fell dead by indecision. I sat again an the guard walked on, unknowing.

Varnan rocked back and forward his eyes intent on something I could not see. "Varnan," I said and put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm."

His hand flew over mine clamping it there, "Soon," he hissed, "Fires within fires, doors within doors. Soon. Now he is near; forces move Tear." His hand fell away, its sudden strength gone. I was aghast. Perhaps the shock of the riot and seeing me had finally broken his mind. What then? Was all for nothing? Then he spoke again, his voice his own, "Sorry. I lost myself, it happens in the quiet. I think, my mind leaves the present. They think I'm mad."

"What was all that..." I struggled for a word, "Muttering, about 'soon' and the like?"

"What? Ignore what I said, my mind had wandered."

There was no doubt he was insane. Perhaps it was just the time in slavery after the bungled mission, but I suspected not. Something had happened in the ruin, of that I had no doubt. The thing, for man it most certainly was not, had known necromancy. Renera had said as much, and something about Sloadic books and taking bodies. I cursed my ignorance of magic for I had no way of knowing what could be. Renera had done something with something which was in Varnan and had lost. It was in her, but had been in Varnan. That, I suspected, was the root of his madness, but the root made no odds, either way I would get him out and hope it went away.

***

We sat in the store for a time, the sounds of fighting rose and fell throughout the city, acrid smoke drifted from somewhere I could not see, yet it wasn't as loud as it should have been. Worry and possibilities ran though my mind eroding paths into my will. They needed led, apparently there was no strong knight ready to throw down the yoke and fight for life and liberty. That left me. I laughed: it was that or breakdown completely. I could feel my mind's frayed edges. Their best hope was an addict spread thin as cuttle on a temple sandwich. The shakes were burning, my hair all stood on end. I was cold but sweaty. And I was quite possibly their only chance.

But I had chosen this path now, I had betrayed them. What for, the skooma asked, All this for Varnan? Or for yourself? I tried to shake the thoughts away, but as ever failed. To do so much to save someone I'd worked with once? That was the realm of heroes, and my red wake left no chance of that. Clammy sweat drenched my underarms, a pang of withdrawal hit my gut like a dull blow, my actions were not the product of a good man. I'd sought to do the right thing, to make amends for what I was, to escape it. I had revealed a monster. The right path was clear now. But it was not the one to success. If escaping now with Varnan still, or ever, was. Outside cinders danced in the smoke, like the spirits of slaughtered dreams.

Varnan stirred and I rose from my thoughts but then he was calm again. He listened to the sound of history being forged. A noise of blood and pain and steel. It was for him I'd done all this, I had given them what they wanted and now I was done. The bitter taste of betrayal lingered. Before my thoughts could fall into their well worn black spiral a group of slaves ran down the street below. I crept to the door and looked out. They had a harried look and from behind them came the shout of guards. They slowed to a clumsy stop, in front was a second group of guards. It was five, maybe six Dres against twenty or more and I couldn't see why the slaves were afraid. But the fear which imbued the lower levels of Tear was in them, watering their resolve and rusting any iron their souls might have had. Even so, they had numbers on their side.

They moved like sheep, each trying to avoid distinction. The guards were the wolves, they moved in and the argonians shrank away. Then they held, my spirit lifted with them but it was short lived, with the first blow from the guards their line turned to water and the guards were amongst them. With dread for the future I knew I could not stand by. Not this time. I picked up the sword, it was heavy with responsibility. "Follow," I said to Varnan and burst out the door and over the cage.

I fell on the guards from behind, they were dispatching the slaves with brutal efficiency but were not ready for the fury which took them. I didn't let them turn. I didn't issue any challenge, or parley. I struck and I killed. The first two were dead before they realised but the other three turned and saw me. They moved trying to get round my guard but they were amid the argonians. I readied myself but before they rushed me a slave punched one then another broke a plank over the head of the guard nearest me. I tried to seize the chance but he blocked me and countered. It missed by a margin but I was tied. In my peripheral another approached my side. This would have to end soon but the guard knew he need only to hold out for a few moments and defended hard but showed no aggression.

I tried a series of increasingly wild moves, he defeated them but made no move to counterattack even when I was open. His sole intention was holding me for his fellow then. That was fine. I made a feint to his shield then swept my sword down and up in an arc whose floridity was more semblant of a child playing than a trained warrior. I was rewarded with its point pushing through a joint at his hip. Blood poured out and he backed off. I moved in for the finish but he had held long enough. His fellow was almost on me from behind and slightly left. I couldn't evade both. I half turned, the one I'd stabbed would be slower, if I killed the other he would get me, but perhaps I could take him too. I tensed for the final moment as the second went to lunge.

Then he fell forward. Varnan was borne down by the ferocity of his attack, a kitchen knife was embedded in the back of the dunmer's neck. I faced my first opponent again but he had been quick and his sword end opened my left arm. Had it not been for the slave bracer deflecting the blow it would probably have taken the hand clean away. He had left himself open though. A final lunge showed him his error and he fell face down in the mud. I turned for the third but it was done. The slaves surrounded his corpse beating it with planks and iron bars but he was clearly dead and had been for some time if the pool of blood and mince his misshapen body lay in was any judge. As I approached them their frenzy slowed and they stopped.

The one nearest me looked up then beamed, "Cidus," he said, "You are most welcome."

I wondered for a moment what he was speaking about then I realised it was Chalur, the argonian I'd met in the slave train. "Hello Chalur. What have you seen?"

"I was in the north pits when everyone went wild, I think I saw magic before the rage took me. We threw off and tore the guards to pieces," his glee was a sharp juxtaposition to my own disgust, "But since then we are normal again. And frightened. All the northern cantons burn now but the Dres control them. Their guards are many and cruel, and even though they're in disarray we cannot win."

"If you stood together you would."

He nodded, "It won't happen."

He was right, not one of them was a soldier. A lifetime of obeying had taken its toll and now they couldn't do anything without being led. His eyes told me he knew what needed done, but was unable to take it on himself. The drawn out crash of a falling structure accompanied my thoughts. I sought the best option but it was foreign to me. If this group was anything to go by, and I suspected they were, Tear was lost. I hadn't planned this far, perhaps because I didn't expect it to get here but maybe because this was all that could happen. Already the full might and wealth of the Dres would be moving against us. The question was not just could I unify the scattered slaves against the Dres and lead them away, but should I even try. A great leader would have. He would be a shining paladin uniting the slaves to victory or to a glorious defeat from which legends would spring. I am not a great leader.

"Very well," I nodded to Chalur before shouting out in argonian, "Those who can grab what weapons you can. We're leaving Tear."

I looked to Varnan but he didn't offer any ideas. The burden was mine, and I chose the safe option, attacking the plantation had been bold, and even attempting Tear bolder. Both caused far more pain than joy, and I shied the third audacity. Perhaps Okun would try it, if he did he would die. The choice was impossible, but at least there was a good chance I would get this group out.

We hurried through streets which crackled with tension. The occasional survivor joined us, others passed by, more hid. Mostly we saw the dead though, the fighting had been fierce, slaves, guards and civilians lay in sanguine piles, perhaps the madness appealed to some god who pulled my strings. I didn't follow the thought, to ponder gods is to court madness. Instead I paid the dead what respect I could and looked upon what I had wrought.

"They will hate me," I mused aloud.

"Yes," said Varnan, "But I understand your choice. There will be no victory in Tear, now or perhaps ever, only losses on every hand."

This post has been edited by Olen: May 14 2010, 11:49 PM

[SubRosa]

Very cool and creepy how you portrayed Varnan! Is it madness he suffers from, or insight? Or both? His words make me suspect that Renera may not be far either. Somehow I get the feeling that we will be seeing her again before all of this is over.

Outside cinders danced in the smoke, like the spirits of slaughtered dreams.
This is an outstanding line!

Now to see if Firen ends up the same as Spartacus did...

nits:
They needed led, apparently there was no strong knight ready to throw down the yoke and fight for life and liberty.
Led is past tense or past participle, and is a little awkward here. Changing it to "to be led" would smooth it out.


A lifetime of obeying had taken its toll and now they couldn't do anything without being lead.
The tense is wrong here, it should be led.


slaves, guards and civilians lay in sanguine piles,
You need a comma between "slaves" and "guards".

[Destri Melarg]

Another quote fest! This time I won’t even try to restrain myself. In addition to what Sage SubRosa pointed out, I really enjoyed these:

The guard drove a brutal slash across the argonian who fell dead by indecision.

This is pretty much a contextually perfect sentence!

Their best hope was an addict spread thin as cuttle on a temple sandwich.

How wonderfully evocative this is!

But the fear which imbued the lower levels of Tear was in them, watering their resolve and rusting any iron their souls might have had.

I really like what you were going for here . . . ‘watering’ and ‘rusting’. If I may be so bold, I think that ‘damping’ might work better. ‘Watering’ gives the indication of their resolve as something that could grow.

The drawn out crash of a falling structure accompanied my thoughts.

How symbolic, we all know what happens to the best laid plans.

It seems that events are conspiring to force Firen into being a hero despite his best efforts.

[haute ecole rider]

There really is nothing I can say that SubRosa and Destri haven't already said.

Each post just keeps getting better than the last! As you started off at such a high level of quality, my hat's off to you for continuing to improve post by post. It's mighty hard to do, but you do it well.

[mALX]

What Destri and Hauty both said. Your imagery shines in so many places it would spam your thread to post them all. Destri hit on a couple of my favorites. Each time I think you have to have hit your peak with this story you out-do yourself in the next chapter. Awesome Write Olen!!!!