Burning Today Options

[SubRosa]

We are hurtling toward the final showdown with the necromancer/lich I see! And in a city torn apart by a slave revolt. You certainly know how to build an exciting scene! I cannot wait to see what happens next!

I liked Skink's amoral musings at the end. Good and evil, right and wrong, moral or immoral, are terms I always try to avoid myself. The reason is that everyone insists that they are good and right, and that the other person is evil and wrong. They are simplistic, convenient labels people throw around to justify their actions. Reality is far more complicated, and usually much less self-aggrandizing. That muddiness is something you do a good job of bringing out.

Sorry to hear you have to move. I hate doing that.


nits:
How did Firen and company get past the group of Dunmer? They had no other way to go but through them, and Firen was just about to use the frenzy scroll on all of them before Skink turned up. Then afterward they are moving on, but no mention of whether it was forward through the Dunmer civilians, or back the way they had come from, or in some other direction. Were they somehow obfuscated as the mages did on the docks?


I slowed by the mages did not,
I think you meant but?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 29 2010, 01:57 AM

[mALX]

Good luck with your move, I came to hate it, lol. Awesome Write, as usual !!!! Your updates will def be missed!!!

[Destri Melarg]

An interesting summation of two disparate moral philosophies, I think that Skink and Firen are a lot more alike than Firen would like to admit. After all, he did commit a number of murders and sacrificed a number of lives to achieve his goal. Just because he feels bad about it doesn’t excuse him from the acts committed. As the great Homer Simpson once said:

“Sorry doesn’t put the thumb back on the hand, Marge!”

Again I am really enjoying your take on Skink in this story. And now the slowly drawing footsteps . . . thanks a lot for the cliffhanger!!!

[Olen]

Well I'm moved now, at least for the next three months when I get to do it again so the parts should be appearing as before (barring work and holidays which I seem to be developing without really meaning to).

Haute - Cheers for the comment. Less of a cliffy this time.

SubRosa - I'm glad you like the setting, originally Renera was dealt with seperatly but I just culdn't resist continuing in the ruins of Tear because they're fun to write. As for Skink's comments on morality I'd say they largely reflect reality (even if embracing them is a bit iffy). The nit... well I'm not sure to be honest, it didn't strike me as particularly important though I suppose a throw away line would have cleared it up.

mALX - more update

Destri - as ever you hit the nail on the head... but more on that later.

All - just a short bit today seeing as the next piece is a bit longer.



45. A Hint of the Past

Silence gripped the room like a murderer's hand. The clicking footsteps were shards of glass bristling into my mind. I peered down into the warehouse and in the gloom by the door saw her. Renera, but not quite, it had her body but not her movement or grace, rather it walked in a series of jerks like a stiff puppet. The more I looked the less it was her, everything was wrong. She had been smart, the thing below had a tattered robe which had been dragged across Morrowind. It stepped closer to the guard. He muttered something unintelligible, his fingers crawled in an ecstasy of fear. He quivered like a cornered rabbit. I'd felt that magic on me, a crippling fear of horror unknown.

Skink drew alongside me, "Go down to the middle floor," he whispered, "it's not feeling you acutely enough."

"How?"

He pointed over the edge and down. I crawled forward, gripped it and slipped my legs off. Then I lowered my body until I hung by my fingertips and let go. I landed with a thunk on the uneven planks of the floor and fell prone to avoid it seeing me. How much did it already know of the trap? I wondered if it was so easily led or if Skink had underestimated it. I returned to the edge to see it peering up with Renera's startling green gaze, memories stirred but it wasn't the time. It was looking directly at me, but it was too dark for me to be seen, at least I hoped. I told myself it was just looking at noise my fall had made. But I knew it wasn't, the chance of its gaze meeting my eyes and not falling slightly to the side was too minute. After a time it returned its attention to the guard and menaced him until he fell back from his chair to lie on the floor.

I waited like a coiled spring for Skink to act. It was playing with its prey like a cat with a mouse. He had drawn it out so why did he wait? Because there was to be a better moment, it had to be that simple, but I didn't like what that better moment might mean. It stood over the guard and I made my decision. I slipped away from the edge and scurried across the mezzanine to the wall where a low stair descended. I went down it a little and peered out across the bottom floor. My movements had disturbed the necromancer again and though it still loomed above the prostrate guard it had done no more. Another few tense moments passed before it returned its attention to the wide-eyed dunmer. I couldn't imagine the terror he was feeling but his jumpy attempts to shrink into the floor gave me some idea. It raised its hands and began to weave magic. The mages still did nothing. Something in me gave way. I couldn't stand by and watch any longer waiting for the guard's death, I didn't care that Skink's accusations of hypocrisy were justified. I knew this was wrong.

The spell was a killing blow, with a final flourish it went to deliver it. I jumped down from the stairs and annihilated the crate I landed on. It looked at me. "Renera," I projected my voice to fill the space as well as I could, "stop." I started forward and the room exploded.

Blazing fireballs rained down shot through with blinding flashes of lightning, beating globes of poison flew like amorphous hearts a deadly game while multi-hued magics filled the air and left a crisscrossing pattern etched into the darkness. The heat and smell of it was immense, like some crackling tinworks in hell. Smoke and dust filled the air and grated on my throat, afterimages of the bursts and flares scintillated in my eyes like the skooma filled dancers of the Khajit. I shrank away from the assault on my senses but even as I did the initial burst was cleared and through it I saw the necromancer stood amid the raining spells in a furious weave of counter-magics, dispels and shields. It was bowed under the weight of the attack but it still stood.

Even I could see it was losing though. The barrage continued for a moment, the necromancers robe smouldered and was full of tears, Renera's long black hair was scorched and stood at strange angles, pushed up by the charge of magic. Then with speed like I'd never seen it shot a spell down at the guard and leapt away. One instant it was breaking under the hail of spells, the next it was halfway to the door. Before I could stir myself it had run away into the night. I paused a moment to regain my senses then ran over to the unmoving guard.

He was dead. By the look of it a cleaner end than he might otherwise have had, but nonetheless I'd failed. As had the mages. I hadn't expected them the try to kill the necromancer by killing Renera as well, and I didn't want them to. Now I'd seen her again I realised I still did hope, if she could be cured perhaps the past could repeat itself, but work out this time. My train of thought was broken by the arrival of Skink whose red eyes blazed rage.

"What in oblivion did you do that for?"

"She... It was going to kill him," I replied.

Skink kicked the corpse, "Looks like it did, and because you distracted it we failed."

"You shouldn't have betrayed the guard," I replied.

"You've killed enough, what was different about this betrayal?"

"That exactly," I said in a calm voice, he was angry but he needed me. I knew it. "He was in your employ so you were responsible for him. I never went out my way to kill any, I simply killed those who stood between me and a greater end."

"A greater end? Burning half a city and killing thousands anyway, maybe more. Definitely more by the time it blows over."

"It was necessary. There were no betrayals."

"The slaves who are recaptured wouldn't agree."

I fell silent, but I think he did see the difference, however subtle. After a time I spoke again. "You tried to kill her."

Skink gave me an incredulous look, "Yes. I've spent enormous effort and resources on killing the lich, what did you think I was trying to do?"

"Kill the necromancer, not Renera."

"They are one and the same now, its mind inhabits her empty shell. There is nothing left of whatever woman used to be there. It must be killed for the sake of all."

"She drew it out of Varnan did she not?" I replied.

"And look what she left, that was after a day, two? Before it had even taken control. There is nothing left of her." There might have been a hint of pity in the tone, but not enough to detect its sincerity.

Before I could continue the argument a mage ran to us. He didn't wait before saying, "She's escaped us but she was after the other one."

This post has been edited by Olen: Jun 3 2010, 08:01 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Now this is nail-biting suspense!

Still a cliffie, but better than the last time!

Good to see you again, Olen!

[SubRosa]

Phew! That was intense! You definitely delivered on the excitement, and left us with more to come!

More please!


nits:
One instant it was breaking under the hail of spells, the next it was halfway to the door.
I think you want at least a comma where I placed it in the middle of this sentence, perhaps followed with an and?

[Destri Melarg]

My favorite thing about the last few chapters is the way that Skink’s ruthlessness seems to push Firen ever closer to his better nature. It is almost as if, with the rescue of Varnan and the skooma withdrawal receding, Firen sees in Skink the reflection of the man he no longer wishes to be. There is an amazing transference of character happening here that only comes from a writer working at the top of his form.

A miniscule nit:

The heat and smell of it was intense, like some crackling tinworks in hell.

Given the setting, do you not think that ‘oblivion’ might be a better term here than ‘hell’?

MORE!!!

[mALX]

Holy Cow!!!!! (edited for content) Awesome Write Olen!!!!!! WHEW !!!!

[Olen]

A longer bit this time, with just a hint of horror.

Haute - More suspense to come and the bits should come at a reasonable rate (every second or third day now the home straight is near).

SubRosa - I'm glad you're finding it exciting, I'd say with fair certainty that the last sections of this are some of the best things I've written. As per the nit, agreed on the comma, cheers for pointing it out.

Destri - Thanks, its always good to read what you think of the characters, you nail it down so much more elequently than I manage in my notes. As for using oblivion instead of hell there's a few reasons. Firstly I prefer to use less lore friendly words if they come with better connotations but also most of oblivion isn't very hell-like with the exceptions of Dagon's Deadlands and Molag Bal's Coldharbour (though this is cold not hot) so it wouldn't fit so well anyway but saying 'like a tinworks in the Deadlands' doesn't work.

mALX - thanks

All - this piece is a bit longer, any thoughts on length/ frequency are, as ever, welcome.



46. A Mistake Made

Tear was ablaze. The clouds of choking fumes glowed from within with a hellish light and rained tiny sparks which spread the fires, some of the wharfs nearest the city now burned as did the slums, their wooden walls providing brighter flames than the stone blocks of the cantons. We took to the deserted streets at a run, a face would appear at the occasional window but generally they looked empty. We didn't speak, two mages had been killed in the wharf but there were still five with me. That alone was the most convincing evidence of how worried they were. Nearer the cantons and slave pens was more evidence of the havoc which still raged in pockets of fury, the guards Skink had bewitched on the way to the failed trap both lay dead and the sharp smell of blood mixed with the smoke and the grotesquely pleasant smell of burning flesh, like roast pork at a good inn.

In the pens was an aftermath of hell, Molag Bal himself could not have wished for better. We still ran, and fast. I began to flag and couldn't understand how the bookish mages were able to hold a pace I could not. Explanation came when I was clearly struggling and had slowed a little, the man behind me put his hand on my back and I felt the tingle of magic. A moment later I felt as if I had rested an hour and was fresh again. With magic like that what value is skill? Still I was grateful for it in the circumstances. Skink led us through various culs-de-sac running a door at the end through the back of a shop or finding some tiny alley, he seemed to know the place by memory. Always we went southwest, we knew where Varnan would likely be, the necromancer did not. We had that much advantage at least. There was a crash to our right and fumes and sparks billowed from the lower windows of the canton. Two wild eyed dunmer burst through a low one tailed by grasping fingers of smoke. They saw us and ran in the other direction.

We passed a makeshift gallows on which hung the maggot filled corpses of half a dozen slaves. The fighting here had been fierce and I nearly stumbled on the corpse of an argonian who had crushed a guard against him. They lay together in death. Who knew of wrong or right, slavery could not be tolerated, but was all this destruction a suitable price to strike against it? It was done now, questions had no meaning. Around the next corner we came to an abrupt halt.

I moved forward beside Skink to look. We had come to a wide path within the cantons with many hatches and gantries on either side and piles of rough bowls, like the one I had eaten from, lying smashed here and there. A couple of cauldrons were upset by their fires, rats gnawed at the thin gruel within, or feasted on the richer pickings of the dead. This was where all the food for the slave-pens was produced. It was also a maze of crates, high gantries between what must be stores, crude roofs over burnt out fires and small sheds. Further down a scrap of movement caught my eye, a small group, maybe four or five, dunmer huddled in one of the lean-tos.

I looked to Skink. "You know Tear awfully well," I didn't bother to hide my suspicion.

"Alas not, I memorised the best map we could obtain on the way here, but one cannot get the feel from a map. Still fortune favours us with a second chance."

I didn't like his tone, "What do you mean?"

He gestured to the wider channel between the cantons, "This is ideal. We do not know where the lich is, but you are a warrior, you can see how good this is for an ambush. And those dunmer should keep it occupied and help attract it. It has a certain... affection for murder. We can draw it here and destroy it, your... friends... need never know and will be quite safe."

"And those dunmer?"

"A couple of hours ago you were killing them. But I realise you seem to have given up on that, Mabrel would be most disappointed. Still you have seen what this necromancer is capable of, you were at Irrith when it visited. What are five lives to the saving of hundreds, maybe more."

He had a point, the end would justify his means. I would not even have to act, I would simply be a bystander free from blame. But I knew that was untrue, he needed my cooperation, and by allowing the ambush I condoned it, could I sacrifice five, possibly innocent, strangers to free Renera? "What will you do?"

"In short? Wait until it's busy with the dunmer and roast it."

"What of Renera?"

He gave an exasperated snort, "I told you, she is dead, gone. Look at Varnan."

"He is himself sometimes, maybe even improving. Could none of her survived?"

He paused for a moment, doubt flickered behind his eyes and that was answer enough. "The chances against it are enormous. Even if there was any left it would be so far buried you'd never see it and she would be utterly divorced from reality. Killing her would be a mercy."

"No," I said, "and no, the ambush does not go ahead. She is making for Varnan yes? Then you have an idea of where she is, and know where she will be. We know roughly where he is, she does not. You have your ambush there, free from the blood of strangers."

"This is not about strangers Firen," replied Skink with a heavy tone, "but very well, let us go." He ran on between the stained walls of the cantons.

When we passed the huddled dunmer they shrank back away from us. I couldn't blame them for what must we have appeared? At the next corner another monument to the cruelty of the Dres and again I thought that perhaps the price had been an acceptable one for the damage we'd caused them. A row of cages suspended above the crossroads, barely big enough for a grown man, the corpses inside were emaciated and pecked by crows. I hoped that some effect of the hot climate on death had given them their final expressions of agony. Below was a whipping post, the wooden boards before it stained dark with dry blood. It had needed stopping. I had stopped it, or stalled it anyway.

The next alley was more of the same. The dead lay amid their monument to pain, master and slave equals in death. I barely saw it, just another street in another place. Half way down it Skink paused again, this time, however, his look was of alarm rather than thought. He glanced to the breton witch.

"Did you feel that Aurnelle?" he said, his eyes were wide.

She nodded, "Yes," her tone was that of a constipated headmistress, "east, it was big."

"That it was," agreed another mage.

"B'vek! Run." Skink was already pounding down the narrow street.

I followed in bemusement. With some effort I drew alongside the witch Skink had called Aurnelle, "What is it?"

Her harsh tone was breathless with running. "You are really so unattuned, I should have expected a mere apprentice to notice something. Magic, powerful magic."

"The lich?"

"It is likely." I didn't reply, I wasn't sure how much longer I could take a tone like hers.

Skink's memory was as prodigious as his reputation and he led us thought a maze of alleys, closes and vennels, even through a smithy. We burst through a narrow gate onto a wider road. He immediately turned right. "The secure holding," he said and turned to me. "Did you release any there?"

I shrugged, "What secure holding?"

"Fetcher," he muttered shaking his head. "Slaves they expected to escape were held in a more secure building. I think that was the source, if nobody released them..."

The secure pens were housed within the central canton, there were no windows, just an expanse of blank wall with a squat and heavy-looking iron door hanging on a single bent hinge at ground level. We stopped just outside and the mages rolled up the sleeves of their robes, two readied staffs covered in iridescent lines of magic, like a dewy spiders-web. I loosed my sword a little and checked that it moved well, both were pointless for it was a well made weapon. Skink went in first and I followed him.

I was glad I hadn't eaten for I felt bile claw at the back of my throat. The bitterness was matched by the scene and the smell of flesh. I've seen many things but this was worse than even that most imaginative production of The Horror at Castle Xyr the Telvanni magister had preformed using the previous archmagister. The entrance was little more than a corridor but the only way to tell how many had been hiding there would have been to weight the blanched mince which coated the walls floor and ceiling. I gazed in horror as the other mages entered. Most of a set of lungs splatted to the ground from the ceiling they'd been stuck to. One mage bent over and vomited.

"Now you see," said Skink holding iron composure, "what we are against. The lich is ancient, and it is utterly insane but for all its madness it retains far greater strength than we individually can master. Such is the effect of thousands of years of practice."

"Then shall we continue together?" I asked, he was not the only one capable of looking unphased. I started down the narrow corridor and was glad he followed close behind. The feeling was only a thousandth part of that of the ruin, but my every fibre still screamed to run, but I had pride to goad me forward and so continued.

I wish the doors of the cells had been as solid as their bleak stone walls because the cell behind each set of thick iron bars was a gallery in that museum of repugnance. The first made me recoil into Skink, its former occupant lay dead, his intestines burst from his belly and wrapped about his throat. His blue lips and bulging eyes made me shudder. I steeled myself and continued through the dark corridor, the floor was slimy with fresh blood laid over decades of old terror. In the gloom I stepped on the hand of the next guard with a crisp crunch. This time I leapt. He looked a hundred years dead, like the desiccated remains which are seen in tombs, the translucent yellow skin stretched over bones giving him an angular appearance, his eyes stared from oversized sockets like prunes. I stepped over him, tense as a humming lute string. I wanted to run. To hunt the lich which did this was madness beyond words, but it needed doing. How close we had been in the wharf, how sweet an opportunity that now seemed, safe, blameless and certain. How Skink must have raged, must now be raging that I let such an opportunity slip, but I was only doing what was right by what I knew.

The next cell sent the bile to my throat battering to get out, but I held it in. A Khajit this time, blessedly the fur hid most but I could see the look of anguish on his face, the blood on his torn claws and the gashes he'd gouged in the walls. Now he lay in heavenly peace on a white cloud of maggots. They clustered around his mouth and poured in a syrupy waterfall from a wound in his chest. As I watched one fell from inside a closed eyelid. Quickly I turned away and continued. The fear that the lich might lurk in the darkness ahead helped focus my mind to a point which hid away inside itself and away from the odious visions my eyes blindly passed to it. I quivered and jumped at every sound or shadow, as if of its own volition my sword found its way to my hand and I advanced. I don't think any of the mages were any better, save perhaps Skink though he looked troubled beyond words. It can only have been minutes but I could not say how long the ordeal continued, or, thank all the heavens, what else I saw. My mind was folded in on itself again and again like those rare puzzles left by the dwemer, packed away into a tiny box away from harm. Eventually I saw a light and hurried towards it.

It was a hole in the wall, rough blocks and mortar lay across the lane outside. I stepped through, glad to escape the horrors of the holdings and to breathe the open air and bask in the half light of the slave pens of Tear.

This post has been edited by Olen: Jun 5 2010, 09:16 PM

[Remko]

Oh my...... gruesome! Clive Barker eat your heart out
The amount of detail is staggering.

[haute ecole rider]

Yes, quite gruesome.

And yes, enough to beat Clive Barker.

However, one little detail is nagging at me - that Khajiit. I gathered that the lich had gone through the secure holding pens literally moments or hours before Firen did. Yet the Khajiit is crawling with maggots. It takes about a day for maggots to appear on a corpse (18 - 24 hours). Perhaps my time sense is wrong? Perhaps the lich went through the secure holding on its way to the wharf? Is that what you are conveying?

Just the vet/CSI/scientist part of my brain pounding the reader part of my brain into submission.

It does nothing to diminish the compulsion I feel to read this fiction!

[mALX]

Bleah! There goes my breakfast! GAAAAAAH! You have an uncanny (URP) ability with (GULP) descriptive phrases that help the reader (ULP) visualize the (GACK) scene! Awesome Write !!!!!!

Bile is clawing at the back of my throat and battering to get out. - There is no way anyone could read this and not experience it with the characters, nor the horror of their finds. You put your all into your writing, and that is always great, even when the content is gross.

This post has been edited by mALX: Jun 4 2010, 04:56 PM

[SubRosa]

Well that scores a 10 on the ewwww! factor! You used this segment to great effect, building an incredible amount of tension with it. The scene in the secure pens was extremely gruesome. Jalbert would feel completely outclassed (and be taking notes...) At the same time we see more of Firen's sobriety-found morals battling with his pragmatism (as always happens with everyone). As much as Skink is hard to argue with, I do hope that Firen has the opportunity to kill him before this is all over.


haute: My impression was that the lich summoned the maggots within the Khajiit, and they ate him from the inside out to kill him. My understanding is that maggots only eat dead flesh, hence their use in treating wounds, but I think an exception can be made for ones summoned by a millenia-year old necromancer...


nits:

but was all this destruction a suitable price to strike against it.
I think you want a question mark to end this.


barely big enough for a grown man, the corpses insider were emaciated and pecked by crows.
I think you wanted a comma in there after man, and for that be inside.


two readied staffs covered in iridescent lines of magic, like a dewy spiders-web.
I think you wanted an of in there, as well as a comma.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 4 2010, 07:40 PM

[Verlox]

And I thought my stomach got sick watching the Unborn; the scene in the club bathroom.

I need some crackers and sprite....

[Destri Melarg]

With magic like that, what value is skill?

With eight words you perfectly illustrate the resentment and fear that must exist in the uninitiated of Tamriel towards the mysteries of magic. To be fair the attitude of the practitioners (which, again, is perfectly illustrated) doesn’t do much to assuage that fear.

I love how Firen questions whether the price paid is worth it to stop the sin of slavery. I imagine that the same question was being asked in America in the mid to late 1860's. I also love how it is Firen’s pride instead of his courage that forces him onward. The others have been quite effusive in their praise of this chapter. You can add my voice to theirs. Just great!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and address my ‘battering bile’.

[Olen]

Remko - Glad you liked the gore. IMO horror is like salt, a bit of it makes anything better but you wuldn't want it just on its own...

Haute - SubRosa was right about my intentions about the khajit, I had meant it as some sort of magical rapid onset gangrene complete with being eaten by maggots. I know they only eat dead flesh but the image was too good to miss. As for timescales of decay I haven't even tried to get that right for a climate like Tear's...

mALX - glad you liked it (if not you're breakfast after)... Gangrene has always struck me as one of the least pleasant ways to die.

SubRosa - you hit the nail on the head with the Khajit. Cheers for pointing out those nits, they're fixxed now. As for Skink... well...

Verlox - I haven't seen unborn. As far as nasty goes Lucio Fulci is an expert, I've seen a great many zombie films and some of his are just nasty. As far as writing goes not many beat King for the occasional stomach turning line.

Destri - As ever thanks for the comment. The general feel of magic and its practitioners in the games matches all that's worst about academia, I spend enough time stuck near academics that writing the mages isn't too hard...



47. Second Attempt

In spite of our hurry we took a moment to recover from both the horror we had passed through and the fear of meeting the lich. A few deep breaths smoothed my tattered nerves and I looked around again. Soon the late sun would disappear behind the cantons to the west. An invitation for sealing night to seep through the streets and envelop the day's conclusion under its mysterious shroud.

I looked to Skink. "She is ahead of us."

He nodded. "And we must run ever faster to ensure we reach your friend before it, and use more desperate shortcuts." I wondered at his enthusiasm but saved my breath.

I followed close behind him with the other mages behind me, the running had brought me a second wind and I kept the pace without magic. The streets were more of the same but the trial through the holding cells made it seem nothing. The group could not have made it so far and with Skink's navigations we were moving quickly in the right direction. We ran through another narrow corridor flanked by small storerooms and came out onto a wider street. The smoke was thick there and billowed from every vent in the opposite canton. Further up I could see flames issuing from windows leaving black marks on the white walls.

"We're probably just behind them," said Skink without pausing, "Anton will have lead them this way."

We passed a pile of splintered wood, perhaps the detritus from some crates or a row of cages, and saw the group ahead. I sighed relief - they were unharmed. We pounded after them and soon one glanced back and they stopped. The mage who escorted them came to the back and looked at us in concern.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It failed," Skink shot me a look, "it's after the man who's with you."

"You mean the lunatic?" The mage turned to the group and said something. I peered over his shoulder trying to catch a glance of Varnan or Okun, the former was immediately visible as he shakily walked towards us but I couldn't see the latter. Argonians all look the same though.

Varnan glared at Skink. "He comes," he said.

"What?" demanded Skink. I think his shock was as profound as my ambivalence.

"Through time and thought. Soon now, and near. Almost overlapping. Musting that we are here and not there..." his mumblings became unintelligible.

The mage shook his head. "Mad as a marsh rat. But if it's after him... B'vek! Take him away."

Skink nodded. "Varnan come here."

"Come whence. Here and now or just there. I'm there already but not any more. Maybe again. Maybe meet myself," he spoke as if lost in thought as he wandered over. I went to him while Skink and the mages connived.

"Varnan it's me Firen. Are you alright?"

He looked at me through dazed eyes. "Hmm... Firen. Yes," he said with an expression of concentration, "yes. The memories are so loud now, all disordered. He comes. Near now."

"Who?" He only looked confused, as if I had asked him to point to the tree in a forest.

Skink and the mages spilt from their discussion and the one led the slaves away almost at a run. Skink walked past me. "Come on," I said to Varnan and fell into step behind the argonian mage. Varnan walked along side me with a vacant expression, I wondered what was wrong. He had seemed almost normal in the morning, though he mentioned that he was sometimes mad. Now he was divorced from the arms of reality. The world in his head seemed to fill it pushing that without away. I'd seen those sad wretches touched by Sheogorath and knew that this wasn't it. They were wantonly deranged and wallowed in lunacy, he seemed more confused and struggling to separate reality from whatever worm coiled in his mind.

"What do you plan?" I asked Skink. The shock of seeing Varnan had reminded me of my vow not to be carried by events.

"The lich will be drawn to the two of you together like a dog to rancid meat, we will set up a second ambush and this time it shall not fail."

"Why is it drawn to us?"

"I don't know, I suspect it will have something to do with its touching you but I don't know."

"And how will you remove it from Renera?"

He closed his eyes, the gesture might have gone unnoticed but his fist also clenched. I realised how old he looked. "I don't know."

"What do you plan for her then?"

"We shall cure her and destroy it. Somehow we shall."

I nodded, I had my guarantee that they meant to drive it from her and not just destroy both together but I still didn't like it. They were desperate with too little plan for my tastes, and how much had she been following me? In truth I couldn't know but Varnan was in no fit state for an ambush. No more being driven by events, my old words echoed through my head. I knew what I needed to do.


It was a while before I got a chance though. We kept mainly to the larger streets both looking for a good place to spring the trap and to draw the lich away from the group of argonians, it wasn't a comforting thought and I kept glancing back over my shoulder. It was after us, and after what I'd seen in the secure cells I had quite a pressing urge not to be found. I wondered what madness had brought things to this and glanced over to Varnan who followed with a blank look on his face. What I planned wasn't going to be easy, or, quite probably, wise. We turned off the main street and into the bottom level of the canton. Thick smoke hung in the air but a gentle breeze wafted it away from us. I could hear the distant crackle of flames. We continued into the burning building and I stifled a grin, this was exactly what I needed. At the first junction things got better, the wooden ceiling on one side had collapsed so we were forced down the other lane, if that was the correct word, perhaps tunnel was more appropriate. We were a short way down it when the wind changed.

A wall of smoke descended on us and grasped us in choking spectral arms. The sounds of the fire became louder. Somewhere another ceiling collapsed. I fought the urge to cough, grabbed Varnan and ran. I heard choked shouts from the mages behind and threw myself against the nearest door which burst inwards. I hauled Varnan in just as a spell flew down the corridor. The room we'd entered was full of smoke, I bent low to avoid the worst of it and hurried towards a door which lead onward. A kick saw it off its hinges and revealed an inferno beyond. I heard the mages behind, there was no choice, I braved the flames and ran on.

The ceiling had come down in one corner and sagged ominously elsewhere. The furniture to one side was ablaze while elsewhere it merely smouldered. "Run," I said to Varnan and led the way to a small window. I put my elbow through it but the mages were already entering the first room, "Out. Now!" I said. Varnan obeyed. I grabbed a heavy chair and swung it upward with all my might. It hit the thin boards of the ceiling with a cloud of sparks. I swung again and some wood fell, the mages were too near. I hurled it at them and jumped through the shattered window.

The ground was further than I expected. Varnan didn't help me up, he stared into a distance which didn't exist in the dark underbelly of Tear and murmured something to himself. I hadn't time to find out what as magic erupted against the window. There was shouting from inside then a monumental crash and a plume of smoke fire and sparks. At least some of the ceiling had come down. I ran, enough corners would lose the mages. There were six of them. Would they split up? Probably not completely, the cells had shaken them too badly. So three corners at the most, then we might loose them, even assuming the room was passable and they had all survived.

The thought died as through the smoke and flames Skink emerged like a demon of oblivion, his robe smouldered but some magic seemed to protect him. He drifted down from the window ledge followed by another two mages. I ran onward. With every ounce of energy I still had I ran. The alley was straight and bare though, high windows, like the one I'd fallen from, flanked it but at the ground level there was nothing. They followed, not gaining, but neither being left behind. My mind raced, what could I do? Nothing. Fight, perhaps, but they would expect that and I'd failed before. That left being caught. For a moment it crossed my mind to give up but I did not.

For the corner of my eye I was vaguely aware of movement above. The whoosh of fanned flames made me glance back and I saw a barrel tumble from the window with a blazing cloth jammed on it. It fell as if in slowed time, then it shattered against the ground. Flames engulfed the alley behind me and the smell of cheap liquor wafted over me. Surely chance could not be so with us? Moments later a sack followed the barrel. It thumped to the ground with a cloud of dust which promptly vanished with a mighty whooph which left my ears sore and my head spinning. I staggered up and went to pick up Varnan when the side window in front of us burst open. I felt a moment of dread then a figure jumped from it and landed in a heap. I pulled Varnan up and ran to the figure. It was Okun.

This post has been edited by Olen: Jun 6 2010, 08:56 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Boy Olen, you sure know how to ramp up the tension and excitement!

I'm chewing my thumb in dread and anticipation!

[SubRosa]

Yay for Okun! I am glad to see that we have not seen the last of him. Although the fact that he is still around Firen does not bode well for his life expectancy.

I am glad to see Firen has decided to take the initiative, rather than going along with Skink's plan. I am sure that once he succeeds in killing the necromancer (and Renera), Firen and Varnan will not be far behind. They are loose ends after all, and he does not strike me as someone who likes to leave those laying around.

This was a particularly good metaphor:
whatever worm coiled in his mind

nits:
He had seemed almost normal in the morning
I think Varnan's sanity took an in here when it vanished.


I ran, enough corners would loose the mages.
That would be lose

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 8 2010, 05:27 PM

[mALX]

WOO HOO !!!!! Okun !!!! Now you're talking!!!! The Alley reminded me of Fallout 3, really well done!!! Awesome Write!!!

[Destri Melarg]

An unexpected turn of events, I am curious to see what Firen has up his sleeve. Okun continues to surprise with his resourcefulness and devotion. I know what mALX means when she compares that alley to Fallout 3. Does that mean that Okun is Firen’s ‘stalwart ghoul manservant, Argyle?’